#Robert and Cora always seemed to be fighting in some way

[whenthegoldrays]

Sybil, anything involving Sybil, best girl in the world <3

On that note, Gwen’s success story (and her brief return in s5!)

Tom’s entire arc (except for the thing with Edna... and with Miss Bunting probably)

Mary and Matthew in seasons 1 and 3 (not 2, we don't talk about s2)

Isobel and Violet's entire enemies to besties arc and friendship

Anna and Mr. Bates in seasons 1 and 6

Daisy and Mr. Mason’s chosen family story

Daisy and Alfred but specifically the scene where they part ways in season 4, the maturity and warmth there

MRS. LEVINSON AND HAROLD

Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson in seasons 1 through 5 (because being perfectly honest, they were kind of annoying post-marriage)

Isobel and Lord Merton (yes, they won me over)

Rose and Atticus!!!!!

Miss Baxter, full stop

Mr. Molesley's multi-season arc of finding his own place in the world

Edith and Bertie’s romance

Cora getting involved with the hospital

Just Mrs. Patmore. in general.

Thomas’s redemption arc

Cora and Robert in season 6 specifically

George and Sybbie (them in general and also Thomas’s friendship with them

I don't know if I'm capable of ever sitting through the entirety of Downton Abbey again, but man there were some very Good and Valid and True things in there amidst the mess that I'd like to experience again

[optimistredsox]

2024 Red Sox and thank goodness the Dodgers beat the Skanks

Mookie Betts knocking in the game-winning run, even in a Dodgers uniform, made me very happy. The Yankees looking like they should've had Yakkity Sax from Benny Hill playing behind their error-laden disastrous top of the fifth also made me very happy. If you are going to have the two richest teams in baseball fighting it out for the World Series, then at least the one I hate less won. And I don't really hate the Dodgers. I could never hate Dave Roberts or Mookie Betts. I even have a fondness for Kiké Hernandez's brief time at Boston. Anyway. I am delighted the Dodgers won and, as always, fuck the Skanks.

It also provides a bit of comfort that the Sox performed admirably against both World Series teams this year. They didn't dominate, but they didn't roll over and die either. Which I think is my takeaway on the season as a whole. We didn't roll over and die. I would have liked a winning record but will totally take .500 considering how low the lows were (and how low the pundits put us at the beginning of the season).

Speaking of lows, I might as well get those out of the way first. We were diabolical on the field. Our unearned run totals looked as though we were the Skanks in the top of the fifth in game 5 almost every day. Those were so decisive at the beginning of the season I'm sure they ended up keeping us out of the Wild Card. Yeah, it's a young team, but oof. It was painful to watch. And to have to watch it so frequently was brutal.

We struck out A LOT. We did not walk very much. On the 20th anniversary of The Comeback, seeing the incredible level of plate discipline and willingness to lay off bad pitches, it was tough to see a Sox lineup so free swinging and impatient. It also led to struggles with runners in scoring position and getting runners into scoring position. Anyway. That was grim.

Jarren Duran never really felt contrite for the homophobic slur he used. It undermined my ability to cheer for him for the rest of the season and left me downcast that he was the problem but actually indicative of the unreconstructed atmosphere of the clubhouse and perhaps even the nature of the whole of Major League Baseball. Which is a fucking bummer in this day and age.

That all said, the 2024 Red Sox could be so much fun to watch. The avalanche of injuries at the beginning of the season, instead of burying them, allowed a young, exciting, not-terribly-disciplined group of players keep us on the edge of our seats.

The rotation and bullpen at the beginning of the season were lights out when we were on the ropes.

Wilyer Abreu and Ceddanne Rafaela were so much fun to watch. Except when they were striking out.

We signed Rich Hill! Pride of Medford!

This team gave us way more hope than any of us ever expected. They were three games up for the Wild Card at the All Star Break.

Connor Wong was fun. Most athletic catcher since Joe Mauer?

Dom Smith was such an appreciated addition whilst Tristan Casas was recovering from his injury. One of the lone veterans on a super young team.

Tanner Houck, anti-vaxxer though he may be, grew into a solid ace.

We extended Alex Cora who managed a hell of a season with almost no help from upstairs (ownership/senior management, not god).

I'm not sure what the future holds. FSG and John Henry seem to still be chasing the illusion of a chasing championships whilst not spending any fucking money, which I don't think is going to work. But this last season gave us some good baseball. I want the Red Sox to play good baseball. I'd like them to play MORE good baseball in 2025. Winning record and playoffs. Let's do this.

[juliasdowntonstuff]

Chapter 54

Chapter 54 is a bit of a more emotional chapter once again, and also quite a long one. Anyway, it is out now posted on ff and ao3 and I do hope you like Cobert in what seems to be their favourite place on earth — their bedroom.

A little taste of this chapter is under the cut as usual, plus two pictures of our fav Edwardian couple that represent this chapter's mood quite well I'd say.

Robert's brow was furrowed as he entered, his mind somewhere miles and miles away. Cora watched him as he untied the sash of his robe agonisingly slowly, taking it off and then proceeding to fold it neatly over the back of his chair before sitting down there with a low grunt.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Cora smiled shyly as she looked at him.

His eyes were still unfocused, staring into nothingness ahead of him, as he began to take off his house shoes. Before slipping out of them, though, he stopped and reclined in his chair, his arms coming to rest on the armrests on either side of him. "I'm afraid that would not quite cover it," he retorted absent-mindedly.

Right when Cora saw that he was slipping deeper into whatever hidden depth in his mind that was occupied with whatever was troubling him, she spoke again. "Come to bed, Robert. It's been a long day."

Maybe it was her soft tone. Maybe it was the truth behind her statement. Maybe it was her thinly veiled concern. Whatever it was, it finally snapped him out of his daze and he quickly sat back up, put his shoes away and slipped into their bed beside her. Turning out the nightlight, he came to lie on his back next to her, his arm raised to prop up his head some more. It had always been his way of inviting her in to cuddle up to him and she did so without hesitation. The crook of his neck had always been the perfect fit for her to rest her head in, and her hand found its way to his chest more subconsciously than not, just the way it always had.

"What is it, my dear? What is troubling you?"

She felt his chest rise and fall beneath her hand with each of the deep breaths he took. Whether that was a good or a bad sign would have to remain to be seen for her. Either it meant that he would share his concerns with her and needed to muster up the courage, or it meant that he was racking his brain for an excuse that would allow him to keep silent on the matter weighing so heavily on his mind. Cora hoped it was not the latter, but she had no way of being sure with her husband.

"I just can't believe that she kept this from us. From everyone. All these years, she carried the weight of this all on her own. To lose Papa and Marmaduke within a few years was such a great test for all of us already, but to lose a child then as well? While her husband was fighting on some distant shore, only to never return home to her, either?" His voice was quiet, but full of desperation as he finally spoke. "Do you think we should have paid more attention earlier?"

"Darling, if she had wanted us to know, she would have told us."

"But it is not right that Mary knew and we did not! I am her older brother, I should have been there for her. I should have protected her. I-"

"Robert, you can't be there for everyone all the time. You could not have helped her, and you could have prevented it even less. You had just become the Earl — so many years before you should have. You suddenly had all these responsibilities to shoulder while grieving for your father. You were thrust into this new life years before you should have. We all were. You heard Rosamund, not even your mother knew for quite a while. And you could not have helped her, you know how you are with anything medical."

He knew that she was right. He was aware of the circumstances; Rosamund had explained them in all detail that afternoon, not without tears. It had been uncomfortable for all of them, but such conversations were almost always bound to be. Robert thought back to the tearful hug he had shared with his sister. He remembered how small and vulnerable this usually strong and independent woman had seemed as he simply held her in his arms. Involuntarily, he had to think of the two young boys that could have been part of their lives had fate not decided differently many years ago, and he could feel his eyes beginning to sting and water.

[adoracora-elizabeth]

Drabble - I am feeling pretty rough

Robert changed into his pyjama. He had a gnawing pain in his abdomen. It was getting worse every day. The whole hospital business did not help much. Tomorrow, Neville Chamberlain, the minister of health, would dine with them. He did not like the war that was going on between his mother and his wife. He was not able to choose a side. He knew he should support Cora. Of course, he should. But Violet was his mother, and he did not want his ears clipped by her.

“Is that all, Milord?” Bates asked.

Robert turned and nodded. “That is all, thank you.” He walked towards the dividing door, Cora sat in front of her vanity mirror. Baxter was just finishing up and walked out of the room.

Cora looked wonderful, especially in her night clothes. He loved the way her hair was down. Baxter always made a side braid for the night. He would love to see her hair down during the day. She had the most beautiful chestnut brown curls. But unfortunately it was not the fashion. The robe Cora was wearing gave her skin an extra glow, Robert thought. “I’m dreading this dinner on Friday.”

Cora turns half towards him and smiles softly. “So are we all, but we have to get through it.”

“I’m afraid Mama seems to see this argument as the last battle, the last big fight of her life. If she loses, there’ll be hell to pay.” Robert continued, untying his robe. The movement hurts, and he presses his hand into his abdomen.

Cora walks towards her bedside. Ready to get in and fall into a deep sleep. She wants to be well rested before that minister will come tomorrow. “Then there’ll be hell to pay.” This time, she is not backing out she thought. Violet needs to know that sometimes things need to change.

Robert breaths in sharply. The pain in his abdomen is bad tonight and says. “Added to which, I’m feeling pretty rough. I’m sure it’s only indigestion, but whether it is or not, I’ll be glad of a chance to put my feet up.” He sat down wearily on the chaiselongue.

Cora turns back around with a worried look on her face and steps closer to him. This afternoon, Robert also complained about some pain. This whole business needed to stop as soon as possible. Robert needed rest “It’s too late to cancel, but I’d be happy to manage the

Evening without you, if you’re ill.”

Everything inside Robert wants to grab the rope she is throwing him. But he knows that it is not an option. His mother would not accept him being absent. No, he just needed to battle through.

“Mama would only say I’d ratted on her. No. As you say, I’ll get through it and then take things quietly for a few days.

He heaves himself to his feet and walks to his bedside. He feels Cora’s eyes burning. He knows she wants him to stay in bed and take his rest. He also knows she will not press. She gave him a way out, but she would not press on him. He gets under the covers and waits for Cora to do the same before he turns off his light. With a slight groan, he turns on his back. He feels the bed move, while Cora scoots closer to him.

Carefully, she puts her hand on his abdomen and presses her lips against his neck. “Try to get some sleep. I hope you will feel better in the morning.”

“I love you, Cora. I love you.”

Her arm moves up and is now resting on his chest. Robert feels her head heavy on his arm, Cora is already asleep. He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the glooming feeling. He can only hope Cora knows how much he truly loves her.

[dream-of-ragtime]

And I hope I can be everything for a while yet

*MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR DOWNTON ABBEY: A NEW ERA”

Evidently, I have been haunted by THAT scene ever since I first saw it. This is my first attempt at writing Cobert fan fiction so any feedback is very welcome:)

There’s both original text by none other that our holy master Julian Fellowes and I wrote additionally what I imagined to be their thoughts and fears when they were faced with the possibility of losing each other.

“I know it’s late, but could we go for a walk?”

Although Cora had known for a long time that she would someday be obliged to discuss the matter with Robert, being confronted with that very situation made her feel nauseous. This was something she was used to by now, as it took her often all the willpower she had left to get down a few bites during dinner, but she knew that this time it was not predominantly the illness that made her feel this way. It was the thought of looking into Robert’s unknowing features that scared her the most.

The Marquis de Montmirail and Robert exchanged some final words, but Cora didn’t really understand much of any of it, as behind her still and smiling façade she was fighting an indecisive battle on how she should best deliver the words she was bound to pronounce.

Only after Robert had slipped his arms underneath her own did she once again notice the surroundings clearly. The villa was enlightened by the sparkling party that pulsated around the beautifully decorated walls and for a second, she caught a glimpse of Tom and Lucy swaying in each other’s arms. Another wave of grief suddenly struck her. Robert had also requested earlier that night to share a dance to the cheerful music, just like the two of them had done so many times.

Dancing together had always been one of their passions. Not only because Cora was convinced that she had earned Robert’s love during one of their most memorable dances, but because they would always forget everything and everyone surrounding them when the two of them whirled around the dance floor intertwined in each other’s arms.

However, this evening Cora had to decline. She knew all too well that her constant dizziness would never allow her to spin around. Her muscles, weak as they had become in the past months, could never muster the quick beats she would have to follow along.

Robert had glanced at her somewhat irritated, given the fact that it had not rarely been his wife who had urged him so desperately to share a dance with her. The decline did seem rather unusual.

Luckily, Robert slowly strayed away from the dazzling party, turning into a much calmer corner of the property. Only delicately could the two of them hear the band playing a slow and melancholic ballad.

Staring at the velvet fabric of her dress, Cora still had not made up her mind how she would deliver the news. She knew precisely that Robert was still so agitated due to the possibility that he may have never been the rightful heir to Downton that it felt harsh to confront him with another unsolvable problem. Because yes, it was indeed unsolvable.

Robert must have understood that Cora walked peculiarly silent next to him, as it felt odd to him that she didn’t carelessly start to talk. He had found himself often confused by the way Cora would always find a topic to discuss, no matter how irrelevant it may have appeared to him. Although their arms were tightly intertwined, Robert felt as if thousands of kilometers were in between his wife and himself. In order to break the uncomfortable silence, he asked the first question that came to his mind, even though he did not really care for the answer, as he was still so preoccupied with the unsuspected turn this journey down to the south of France had taken.

“Have you enjoyed our trip, dear?”

Oh, it was too much. The words instantly evoked a feeling of deep hopelessness and Cora felt the panic bubble up inside her chest. She felt as if all the blood inside her head had sacked down at once, leaving her with a strong lightheadedness. She could no longer rationally control her thoughts and so the words just spilled out surprisingly cold and unfiltered.

“I think I’ve got cancer, Robert”

She had stopped her steps and let go of his arm, just staring into the open night and the Mediterranean expanding into the unknown horizon in front of them.

There was a long and heavy silence.

Neither of them dared to breathe and it seemed as if the concept of time had been destroyed all together as they were standing still side by side.  

“Cora, what are you saying? What do you mean?”

Robert knew very well what the concept of cancer signified but it was a sort of perplexed denial that tried to keep up his strength.

“I- I’ve had some…”

Cora’s voice cracked slightly as she tried to pronounce the words. She finally turned to face her husband, standing there with his fists tightly clenched together. His eyes sparkled dangerously, even though his mouth was pressed tightly together to keep up the image of a somewhat steady posture.

“I’ve had some- some symptoms for quite a while, you see, some very evident symptoms and there is no use in denying that”

Cora was once again surprised how rational she made all of this sound. Inside, she could barely keep herself from falling apart.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?!”

“I was going to and then suddenly we were coming here”

Robert’s heartbeat sped up and he as well fell victim of a panic rising inside him. To keep himself from succumbing to the overwhelming emotions, he chose a feeling he could handle much more easily. Anger.

“But you should never have come here! We have to get you to a proper doctor. And I don’t mean some cackling Marseilles!”

Now it was Cora’s turn to feel enraged. She didn’t particularly know why, but it made her feel safer and she liked the sensation of feeling more in control of her feelings, so she answered with a much steadier voice:

“Doctor Clarkson is more than capable of coming up with a diagnosis”

Robert on the other hand felt the panic leak through every fiber of his being. He felt hot and cold, his head throbbed and his hands started to sweat heavily. But didn’t he need to reassure his wife? He was the strong one, wasn’t he?

More to soothe himself than anything else, he said with a stutter:

“We’ll go to London. We’ll- We’ll go to America if we have to”

There was no question that he stumbled and fell down the slippery slope of a deep-rooted fear: He was going to lose Cora. The one person he could not live without.

Cora knew all too well that there was no use in all of this. The symptoms were evident. Gastric cancer. No doctor, whether in London or America, could alter that.

“We’ll discuss it when we know more”

Was there more to know, though? Beside an exact diagnosis, which didn’t leave much room for interpretation at this point, there was not much to discover. Nothing pleasant, anyway.

The tranquility in Cora’s voice triggered a sudden reaction in Robert and he could not help himself but shout.

“You should have told me!”

His face was bright read. The grass underneath his feet felt as if it had started to move and he could not recall having ever felt so lonely. His wife stood there opposite him, but it seemed as if he was trapped in an overwhelming loneliness.

Robert’s outburst started another reaction. This time it was Cora who lost control over her emotions.

“With the chance of a last treat before illness to cover our lives?!”

Her voice lost all of its strength and by the end of the sentence it had almost vanished completely.

“It can’t be as bad as that”

“Robert, I’ve run the hospital for years! Do you think I just sat there with my ears blocked?!”

Like a dam that had been opened abruptly, all that had been building up inside Robert’s chest suddenly burst out. He rarely was a man to openly display his emotions, but now no strength on earth could hold back his genuine fear.

Seeing him like that immediately made Cora feel guilty. This was exactly the reason why she had evaded the topic for so long. Nothing to her was more painful than to watch her loved ones suffer. To be herself the cause of such great sadness seemed unbearable and so she took on the role she had learned to play ever since her first daughter was born: The caring mother.

“Oh no, no no no. No. No”

She started towards her husband, embracing his shaking figure between her arms, trying to reassure him with her warmth and proximity. Although Robert was almost a head taller than his wife, he appeared to be much frailer beside her. Tears fell down the side of his cheeks and his head turned numerous directions in order to evade the face of his love. He could not bear to look at her.

“That’s not what I wanted at all”, she said. “We’re not sad people! My being ill now doesn’t make us sad!”

The words seemed completely ridiculous and she knew so as well, but she wanted to end this moment so desperately that she could not think of another way of reassuring her husband. While his head constantly turned away from her gaze, she tried to catch his glimpse. Looking into each other eyes had always been their biggest comfort after a disagreement and it appeared to her to be the most sensible thing to do now. How could she possibly ease his pain?

Robert chocked up some word fragments she could not quite understand as they were so heavily drenched with his sobs.

“To lose my mother, and my name. Must I lose you too?! I can’t bear it”

His fingers delicately traced her shoulders down her back. Never until know had it appeared to him how slender her frame had gotten. She always had been very slim, but know as he touched her, the narrow shoulders almost seemed to give in under the very subtle pressure of his hands.

Finally, their eyes met. Oh, his beautiful blue eyes. Him loosing her? She had never thought of it that way. She always felt as if she would be the one to lose him. It was her who had always wanted him. Always. So much so, that she had accepted the possibility to live in his company without reciprocated love when she married him. There was no one on this earth that she cared for more, ever since she had first laid eyes upon him in a stuffy London ballroom. If anyone had the harder burden to carry, it was her.

“If I can bear it, you can. Remember, I’ve loved you from the start! I loved you before you loved me!”

Those words hurt him deeply, but Robert knew they weren’t intended as an insult, but simply a mere stating of a fact.

How he hated himself for having been so blind. He had been fond of Cora from very early on, did recognize her kindness and her warm nature, but he was so caught up in the whole “Save-Downton-No-Matter-What-Business” that he didn’t pay enough attention to the actual soul behind the solution to his problem. The shameful feeling of having wasted almost an entire year beside the love of his life would haunt him to his grave.

“I’ve always been ashamed of that”

“Don’t be. I had money. You needed it”

There she was again, the pragmatic wife who, more often than not, had been the calming guide to Robert. Although society might have been convinced that an American heiress may never have control over her emotions, there was no doubt that the English Earl had been dependent on his wife’s matter-of-fact statements more than once.

Cora’s hand brushed over Robert shoulder, feeling his tensed muscles.

“And then love came. And we have been happy, haven’t we?”

In that moment, even though the sentence only lasted for a mere second, their whole life story flashed before their eyes.

The way Robert had awkwardly introduced himself the first time to her, while Cora couldn’t help but giggle.

The moment she had told him that she was pregnant for the first time and the way he didn’t let anyone get too close to her after that, in order to make sure she could not be hurt in any way.

The day Sybil spilled the whole pot of coffee in the library and although Carson had been furious, the two parents burst into laughter.

Their ups and downs. Their most cheerful memories and their most heart-wrenching moments. It was all there, hovering in between them.

“Oh Darling!”

In desperate need of each other they brought their faces together and exchanged a kiss. But it wasn’t just like any other goodnight kiss they had been sharing for more than thirty years of marriage. They clung onto each other as if it would mean they could never touch again were they to separate. Cora tasted the salt of Robert’s tears on her lips, which led her to initiate another kiss before the previous one came to an end. Even though their bodies were as close as they could possibly manage, Cora wanted to be even nearer to her husband, so she let her hands grasp the silvery strands of Robert’s hair and pulled herself even more into the passionate embrace.

After all, she didn’t know how many times life would allow her to feel her husband that way.

A slight sob escaped her lips as they separated once again.

Robert took in the beautiful features of his wife. The moonlight reflected on her pale skin, her eyes sparkling even more due to many tears that gathered on her long, dark lashes. How beautiful she was. How beautiful she always had been.

“You have been everything to me. Everything!”

Oh, and he was to her, indeed. He always had been. But Cora felt her heart relax at the statement. She knew her husband adored her, but it always brought a smile to her face when he reassured her with such a confirmation.

And so it did now, even though the two of them found themselves in such a desperate environment. Their life, laid out in front of them, in pieces. Nevertheless, her smile couldn’t have been more genuine.

“And I hope I can be everything for a while yet”

[bella-caecilia]

#12 – power, please? 😊

Thank you for the prompt <3 I hope you like what I made of it (I only realised when I had already finished it that Robert basically isn’t in it but it does contain little hints of Cobert so I decided to go with it anyway). This is set in s1e1. Parts of the dialogue belong to JF.

Black – Power

The sun was high up in the sky and spent its heat with all its might. The brim of her hat gave Cora some protection from the burning light but it didn’t really make up for the stuffiness that was trapped under all the layers of heavy dark garments she was wrapped in. She hurried to take the few steps to the motor that waited patiently in front of the Abbey’s stately entrance.

Cora was on her way to her mother-in-law. Even in the summer’s heat, it was better to pay the Dowager Countess a visit instead of having her over and having her inviting herself for dinner when she was already there for tea. Mama might be an ally in the whole Mary business, from the entail to finding appropriate suitors, but the amount of time Cora could bear to be in her company until her snappiness bothered her too much was still limited. So, driving by the Dower House in her heavy mourning attire was without question the way to go.

Cora settled in the backseat of the motor and gathered her skirts around her legs before Thomas closed the door and the chauffeur started the engine. Her gloved hands ran over the extent of black material. Yes, they were in mourning because of James’ and Patrick’s unexpected death but Cora thought to make the best of the obligatory dress code. Today’s attire was very obviously one of complete mourning. Her gown and coat were high-closed, all she wore on her body was pitch black even the feather on her hat, there weren’t any coquettish accessories. But she somehow liked it and she had no problem posing confidently and gracefully in it. Her daughters didn’t share her attitude towards the mourning’s dressing. Edith was fully convinced that going into full mourning like that was the least they could do but Cora didn’t think her middle daughter enjoyed wearing black. Mary didn’t hide her aversion, and Sybil didn’t protest but as the sweet little sunshine she was, black wasn’t right for her either.

Cora didn’t despise the mourning’s black as the girls did, Mary especially. There was no question in wearing it the next months, and she wasn’t counting the days until the colours could return to her daily closet. Cora even liked how she looked in black. There were striking black gowns that did perfectly well on all kinds of dinner occasions, and they pulled Robert’s gaze to her exposed shoulders, arms, and cleavage in a slightly different way than her lighter gowns did. The effect of black was strong, and sometimes it felt to Cora as if this strength was something she absorbed when Robert watched her in her black dresses. When she had been much younger, she had thought at first (and maybe it had been like this in the very first years) that black made her – or any young woman for that matter – unapproachable; if it was mourning’s black or not. Though, it sometimes managed to give the wearer a strong appearance most often it was perceived as not very welcoming. Robert also had to learn that this hadn’t had to be the case. It certainly wasn’t anymore.

Now when she wore black evening gowns, she felt less like the young inferior bride but nearly like an equal to the men with might. Her power, though, was a wholly different one than the power of these men. But she liked being a bit more at eye’s level with the gentlemen and making Robert aware of the power she had over him and in their marriage.

When her thoughts started wandering into fields less grave and too pleasurable for times of mourning, the motor neared its destination and Cora tried to shake off the memories that intensified the heat under her high-neck gown.

Clouds covered the sky and the short moment of the real summer sun was gone already as she arrived in front of the Dower House.

Cora had asked her mother-in-law for an invitation because there was a letter she had received and wanted to discuss with the older lady. The letter had excited her but because it was a rather delicate matter, she had decided to approach her ally, her partner in crime, to make a real decision about it.

As soon as she walked up the way towards the front door the Dowager’s butler opened it and greeted her as obligingly as ever. With a small nod and a smile, Cora appreciated his silent effort to take care of her coat. The quietly muttered “Milady” was less talking than a necessary addition to moving around her busily, acknowledging her presence. When Cora touched her hat a little to make sure it was still in place, the knocking sound of the cane announced Mama’s arrival.

“It is nice of you to come, my dear,” she greeted. The form of endearment towards Cora was something she had used nearly since the beginning of Robert’s and her marriage but it never had anything affectionate about it primarily. It sometimes could be a way of showing a bit of empathy but that wasn’t the norm.

The Dowager Countess was in one of her all-black gowns as well. Mourning and all that came with it was something she knew better than anyone living at the Abbey. She didn't bother how it made her look as long as everything about the gown was proper. Cora thought the black attire perhaps made her mother-in-law look even more intimidating.

Cora followed her into the sitting room. She sat down slightly sideways on the armchair the Dowager offered with a rather impatient gesture of her right hand. Cora tried to adjust her skirts a little that strained slightly in the position the seat forced her to adopt. Violet repeated the nervous shake of her hand towards the butler.

“The tea,” she muttered before sitting down as well. Cora slipped her gloved hand between the folds of her skirts and brought out the reason for her visit. She handed the letter to Mama.

“Here, this arrived yesterday with the afternoon mail. Have a look at it.”

Violet grabbed her reading glasses from the small table next to her. As she unfolded the paper, she sent a short gauging look at Cora over the rim of her small glasses. All the while Violet skimmed the letter and the butler brought the tea, Cora tried to make herself a bit more comfortable on the antique seat. She was still warm in her clothes. For a moment she thought about slipping off her gloves but she wouldn’t stay long anyway. So, she just leaned back as much as possible (more would also have been improper) and held on to the cushion at her left. She enjoyed the slightest of breezes that brushed through the curls at her neck when the butler opened the door to serve the tea.

“So, the young Duke of Crowborough is asking himself to stay.” Mama had finished reading the letter.

“And we know why,” Cora inserted instantly, opening the conversation to the topic that had defined all their latest talks.

Mama provided her with a wary expression. “You hope you know why. That is not at all the same. You realise the Duke thinks Mary’s prospects have altered.” She took off her glasses and emphasised her statement by pointing to the letter with the folded pair of glasses.

“I suppose so,” Cora admitted. She had hoped Mama wouldn’t come to the same conclusion. It would all be much easier if the Duke was interested in Mary no matter what. But Cora knew best that this wasn’t how marriage and courting worked in the English aristocracy. When would a gentleman be interested in a lady just for herself first before securing his family and estate could benefit from her? Was it really always the same? No matter how rosy she managed to have made things work with her dear husband she was aware of the brutal and heartless business of marrying off one’s children, particularly daughters. She wanted her three girls to have good prospects for the lives ahead of them and apparently this meant she had to play this game of matchmaking the best she could. She would always do the best she could for her daughters even if this meant engaging in customs of the peerage that went against her beliefs. Her girls would be dependent on husbands that could and would secure them a safe and happy future. Safety and happiness were closely tied to position according to English nobility, and Cora knew that sadly there was a kernel of truth to it in this society.

“There’s no ‘suppose’ about it,” the Dowager countered with a short shake of her head. “Of course, this is exactly the sort of opportunity that will come to Mary if we can only get things settled in her favour.” She threw another short glance at the lines on the letter before she asked, “Is Robert coming round?” with a circling gesture of her hand.

“Not yet. To him, the risk is we succeed in saving my money but not the estate. He feels he’d be betraying his duty if Downton were lost because of him,” Cora explained calmly. The matter of the entail has bothered Mama, Robert, and her continuously over the last weeks, and Cora knew it wouldn’t help anyone if it was discussed with overbearing emotions.

“Well, I’m going to write to Murray.” Violet’s answer was resolute. She had made a plan with Cora and was determined to make it happen.

“He won’t say anything different.” Cora shook her head. It seemed like there were treading water and everything that had been decided for them – for her (years ago when she had to sign this stupid contract) – was out of reach to change.

“Well, we have to start somewhere. Our duty is to Mary.”

Cora was slightly baffled at her mother-in-law’s resilience. She had never thought that there was someone who would fight more for her daughters than Cora herself. Robert was very close but as became apparent once again (and Cora didn’t hold it against him) Downton was a very high concurrence to the girls. Violet, however, had a determination as fuelled as Cora’s when it came to securing what was right for Mary.

The Dowager Countess sighed, “Well, give him a date for when Mary is out of mourning.” She handed the letter back to Cora who took it with a smile. When Mama was thinking there was still something to fight for, Cora would certainly go with it. She really hoped there were good prospects for Mary. Maybe Mama and she could really achieve something if they continued putting their abilities together for good use. Cora had never thought she would be so powerful with Mama by her side when she had been the young bride she once was. That Mama and she were such a great team ironically was only one of the nice surprises the years had brought.

“No one wants to kiss a girl in black,” Mama said slightly theatrically before they started sipping their teas. Their conversation left them both with a lot to think and so they were mostly silent while drinking the warm tea. Cora was happy Violet seemed to have no other topics she wanted to discuss. She was glad to make her way home again and think about what could still be done about Mary’s situation. Dear strong Mary who shouldn’t be restricted in all her great abilities to form a promising future herself. Things didn’t seem right that way, to rob a girl of what could very well belong to her and could assure her great conditions for her future life. It just didn’t seem fair.

Cora sighed as the door of the Dower House closed behind her not much later. The challenge Mama and she had taken on wasn’t easy but Cora was sure if there was someone at the moment who could achieve something on that score it was the ally she and Mama had formed.

She walked back to the motor. The sun still hid behind a cloud but it was warm nevertheless. Cora moved sparsely therefore and gave a short nod to the chauffeur who held the car door open for her. She had power; she knew it. Strange only that out of all Mama was the one to remind her of that.

On the slightly bumpy road back to the Abbey Cora remembered a particular thing Mama had said earlier.

No one wants to kiss a girl in black.

Even if she shouldn’t, Cora had to smile remembering Mama’s words. She knew someone who didn’t object to kissing a certain girl in black. A girl that has already been kissed in black quite a lot of times.

[mercurygray]

Fandom ships for... Downton Abbey! Juno xx

I just finished watching the movie on Christmas Day, so I have all kinds of thoughts.

otp: Edith + self discovery. Edith's journey from sour-faced spinster who hated to see anyone else happy to self-actualized media mogul is a thing of beauty. Still angry Michael Gregson never got a chance to make an honest woman out of her - I love Bertie, but I think that could have been a really great marriage.

favourite canon pairing: I like the stability of Robert and Cora. I like that they fight and get petty and somehow always still come back to each other.

worst pairing ever: Mary and Henry. Get it out of here. It is contrived, it lacks chemistry, and I fail to see why or how Lady Mary Crawley, social climber from way back, would settle for a man who doesn't seem to appreciate the best parts of herself, after having been married to someone who absolutely did.

guilty pleasure pairing: I loved Tom and Sybil, do not mistake me, and I don't care if they're feeding it to me on a spoon, but I really like Tom and Lucy. Some of the women this guy has had to put up with over the last couple of seasons have been real nopes and she's so sweet!

a pairing character you want to see more: I wanted to see more done with Moseley that didn't make him into the clown that made it into the movie. I really liked the storyline where he talked about how he was going to become a teacher.

that pairing everyone likes but you’re like “lol no” : I like them, but I'm sort of over Anna/Bates as a thing.

favorite non-romantic pair: I love Mary and Tom as friends. I think they work great together, they each bring out the best in the other, and the way this got characterized in the movie was great.

[moonlessmondays]

Sailing Close to the Wind || Cora x Robert | Alternate Universe

This was supposed to be part of CobertWeek 2017, but things got lost in translation and it took me almost 3 years to even type this up and post it. Anyhoo, enjoy! Let me know what you think!

The prompt is: Pretend relationship.

______________________________________________________________

Cora Levinson feels her heart knock inside her chest as she walks the long hallway leading to the office of her boss. She’s not entirely sure how this meeting is about to pan out, not really sure how it’s going to go. Gwen, her boss’ assistant, had called her from the office line and had politely told her that her boss had asked to see her. 

She’d bit down on her lip in anxiety, but she knew. She knew what it was for.

It is, after all, a very clear cut what’s about to happen, or at least, it's a very clear cut to her what needs to be done, or not be done anyway. 

It’s a waiting game at this point.

Honestly, it’s all a very stupid mistake, after all. She’d not been paying attention, absorbed as she had been with the new project. As an architect, she had wanted to be hands-on. She hadn’t wanted her design to be butchered by the hands of an engineer who did not consult her or didn’t bother to consult her.

She takes pride in her work, on being hands on and available for her clients. If anything, she’s reliable and competent, knows the in and out of her own design. She likes to see it first hand as it is built, having a say on how it is built. She’s also known for being on time, on driving hard to get to finish projects on her given deadline.

And that is exactly what’s gotten her in this mess in the first place. 

It appears she is able to keep with her deadlines on all of her projects, but not in other things in her life - the ones that make it possible for her to even have projects.

Sighing, she halts her steps once she reaches the office. The door is closed, a heavy, dark brown surface - cherry wood, beautiful, she’s always thought so. She isn’t exactly excited about this particular conversation she’s about to have, and is in fact dreading it. She raises her fist and knocks on the door lightly.

“Come in,” she hears a muffled voice from the other side. Slowly, she opens the door and peers into the room, finding herself face to face with her boss. Rosamund Painswick is the Chief Operations Officer, an Architect by profession, with an MBA from Oxford. She ran the business with other members of her family - a brother, if Cora remembered correctly.

Cora noticed another strange face that is almost familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it in her head. They were sitting on the couch on the other end of the room. 

“Hello, Miss Levinson,” Rosamund greeted with a terse smile. 

Cora tried to read the room. Tense, that’s all she can think about. She swallows and urges herself to come in, telling her feet to their part and move. Her legs are shaking but she tries really hard to notice, or let it give in. 

"Uh, hello," Cora greets although it sounds more like a question than a greeting, and she fights a grimace as she pushes herself forward. 

She watches her boss, and notes that the way her red hair glows in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window makes her beautiful, but decidedly scarier.

Relax, Cora, she tells herself. You are not here to be executed.

"Have a seat," Rosamund invites politely, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. Rosamund's blue eyes are trained on her form, and they are icy as they are warm, and Cora has had first hand experience of the ruthlessness of the woman, as well as her generosity. Rosamund is known for her designs as well as her stance in the boardrooms.

Rosamund is only a couple of years older than Cora, but has already accomplished so much more than Cora could ever imagine. Rosamund Painswick is formidable and more than capable, of course, but she is also a member of one of the wealthiest and well-known  families around.

Their family - Crawley - owns the biggest firm in town. They've built many skyscrapers around Grantham, which parts of had been - from what Cora has heard - owned by their ancestors in the early days. A good number of infrastructure in London had been designed and built by them as well,  spanning decades and generations of Crawleys. 

When Cora had moved to London to study Architecture - much to her mother's consternation and her father's concern - she had planned to move back to New York and work her way up in some other architectural firm there. She had been hopeful, given how well she'd been performing her school and the series of internships she'd managed to get - it all looked very well in her portfolio. But then, she'd fallen in love with Grantham, one of the busiest, most beautiful places just outside London, when she'd managed to get an internship with Downton Designs. 

They had offered her a position just before she finished her internship and before she graduated from her degree. The visa process had also been quick and easy, sponsored by Downton Designs themselves, and she'd worked for them right out of University - almost two years ago now. Going back home to New York with such a wonderful prospect in one hand had become such a far away dream, and it fell down on the list of her priorities.  

After all, Grantham is just like New York, almost, with the added bonus of being thousands of miles away from her mother.

It's been a win-win situation for her.

Cora reminds herself that it's not going to be as bad as she fears. She already has a couple of contingency plans in place.

She hears Rosamund clear her throat, effectively waking Cora up from her reverie. Cora looks up with wide, apologetic eyes.

"I'm sorry," she says, sitting up and straightening in her chair. She swallows the lump in her throat.

Rosamund nods and folds her hands on top of the desk daintily. "We seem to have a problem," she murmurs, and boy, oh boy, don't they. "What happened?"

Cora is certain her boss already knows exactly what happened, but launches into an explanation of her current predicament anyway.

It's a stupid thing really. A colossal mistake. An oversight on Cora's part. She had been so absorbed with her new project - the first really big one after almost two years in the company. She had, of course, worked on many projects before - big ones where she's the junior, or smaller ones where she's lead or working solo - but this is the first one she had worked on a really big one where she's the lead. She had wanted it to go so well and so smoothly, to produce great results. She'd been tied in meetings left and right, that she had forgotten the deadline for her visa application. Her best friend and roommate, Phyllis, had reminded her of course, but she still had forgotten. She had missed the extension as well, and had only realized with such a sense of dread, when she'd received the letter telling her that her failure to submit required documents and complete her application had now subjected her for reapplication, which means she has to go back home to New York. 

It's a right mess.

Cora breathes deeply as she finishes her story and looks up at her boss. The other woman's face is unreadable, and Cora feels her heart sink further into her stomach. She licks her lips and turns her gaze to the other man in the room. His lips are pulled down in a frown, and his brows are furrowed. He looks just about as readable as Rosamund Painswick is.

She turns her attention to her boss and watches her nod. "Alright we'll get back to you, Miss Levinson."

And with that, Cora is dismissed.

Read more here.

[welllpthisishappening]

An American Haunting (2/2)

Emma Swan does not believe in ghosts. She simply talks about them on tourist-filled walking tours at Colonial Williamsburg.

It’s a belief she’s certain she’ll always hold, until, one summer she starts hearing a voice, asking her for help. And, suddenly, every certainty Emma Swan has ever had starts to shake just a bit, a hint of history and a past that’s far more extensive than she could have imagined.

—-

Rating: Still teen. Still kind of unexpectedly freaky.  AN: Hey, thanks for reading this incredibly self indulgent nonsense, internet. It was and is very nice. One time we went to Colonial Williamsburg and my sister, Justin and I kept mentioning the end of the Revolution, but it was supposed to be 1779 that day. So, we were two years early and a reenactor told my sister that she should go to the mental hospital. Because she was clearly a future-telling witch. Anyway, here’s more ghost story. 

|| Part One here and the rest on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. ||

—-

They picked quarter of midnight. 

Something about giving them a cushion, which felt a little ridiculous, but then Emma was standing in front of the Wythe house with her hand wrapped up in Killian’s and her stomach in her throat and— “I can practically hear you thinking, love.” She glanced at him, lips curling up and a spark in his eye that might have been ninety-six percent of the reason Emma was sure this was going to be alright. “What do I have to think about? A ghost is begging me for help about who knows what and—” “—Tell me a lesser known Revolutionary War fact.”

“Oh, you think you’re very charming, don’t you?” “I know I am,” Killian promised, tugging her hand up to kiss the bend of her knuckles. 

“I had a crush on Lafayette when I was a kid.”

He clearly wasn’t expecting that. Emma grinned triumphantly. “Have you ever seen a portrait of the Marquis, love?” “No, no, I know,” Emma muttered. “And it’s definitely a weird thing, although not the weirdest thing about me, I guess and—I just...I don’t know. Growing up the way I did and bouncing around houses and cities, I guess it was just appealing. Fighting for an ideal. Joining a cause that wasn’t necessarily yours, but was, at least, kind of good. There’s a certain romanticism to it, isn’t there?” “Revolutions are always a little romantic for those who win them.” “That was philosophical.”

Killian chuckled, lips still on Emma’s skin and she yelped when his teeth nipped at her fingers. “You’re not going to do anything ridiculous tonight are you?” “Aside from the seance?” “I think it’s only a seance if there are candles involved.” “Ah, right, right. Then, no. I’m not.”

 “Alright, so, basically, we just have to...wait.”

Emma made a noise in the back of her throat, David’s instructions lacking any real instruction. She wasn’t really sure what she wanted to happen, couldn’t really even see anything that was happening because at some point they’d decided not to turn the lights on and that felt like a bad move, but— The clock behind Emma’s head ticked. 

Midnight. 

Killian’s hand, the same one that hadn’t ever left hers, tightened, thumb brushing over the back of her palm like a metronome. She counted swipes — one, two, three…

Clack, clack, clack. 

“Holy shit,” Emma breathed. The sound got louder, moving up the stairs opposite them, but there wasn’t any body and she seriously could not see, just bits of moonlight peeking through wooden blinds and stretching across historically accurate area rugs. 

The noise stopped. 

Only to be replaced by the tell-tale sound of a door hinge and more footsteps and Emma’s whole body convulsed as soon as she heard it, barely keeping her balance. Her head dropped back, colliding with Killian’s collarbone and he must have been muttering words in her ear because she could hear something, but it didn’t sound particularly like him and— She was moving. 

Emma took the stars two at a time, David and Killian’s matching cries echoing in the air behind her. She didn’t stop. She didn’t slow down. She raced down the narrow hall, the door to the corner room wide open and a shadowy figure staring out the only window. 

“You have to help. He’s getting stronger.”

“I don’t understand what that means,” Emma said. She wrapped her arms around her middle, fighting off the chill that crept under her skin. “Who? How is he getting stronger?” The woman turned, the same dress and disheveled hair and Emma had no idea how she knew. That was also a frustrating theme. 

“You’re repeating the same thing over and over again, aren’t you? The night you ran out of the Palace, that’s—” “—I didn’t run out of the Palace.” “The gardens, then?” 

She nodded, Emma trying to piece together a puzzle with far too many pieces. “Ok, ok, so you were here when Rochambeau got word to Washington, right? To come back to the Chesapeake? That’s—did you not want that?”

Emma had never put much stock in the idea of time travel before, but she was also talking to a ghost on the reg now, so she figured maybe she could work with that as well. And immediately use it to retract her question. 

Because the woman still didn’t look all that solid, but her eyes flared, a spark of anger that made the hair on the back of Emma’s neck stand up. She could dimly hear grunting from the bottom of the stairs. “Want that?” the woman sneered. “That’s all I wanted. That’s exactly what we’d been working towards, trying desperately to end it. But he was...he was stronger than even I realized, a demon. He thrived on the chaos, stoked the rumors and he—if he’d had his way, the war never would have ended at all.” “Who?” “Robert Gold.” Emma’s hand flew to the doorframe, trying desperately to keep her balance and her sanity. She wasn’t sure she could get both. “Robert Gold. He wasn’t...was he not human?” The entire house shook. Possibly the entire world. 

Emma’s knees rattled, what felt like her actual brain bouncing around her skull and she wasn’t sure she’d ever made that noise. The pain that bloomed behind her left eye was excruciating, as if she were being split right down the middle. She grit her teeth, trying to breathe evenly, but it failed spectacularly and the taste of blood in her own mouth made her retch. 

She dropped down, barely able to keep her eyes open as the shadow in front of her flickered, smoke on the water and breath on a window pane, a soft laugh in her ear that made every inch of Emma recoil. 

The footsteps behind her were impossibly loud. 

“Emma, Emma! God, fuck, Emma, are you ok?” Her right knee was bleeding, the pain in her head ebbing slightly as soon as Killian pulled her against his chest, and Emma wasn’t sure when she’d started crying. It felt like she was choking on her tears, panting with the effort to contain emotion that absolutely was not hers. 

“You’re ok, you’re ok,” Killian said, over and over, as if repeating it would make it true. His hands brushed over her hair and the back of her neck, tracing over the curve of her shoulders and Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him that pale before. 

David was visibly shaking behind him. 

“What just happened?” “I don’t know,” Emma whispered. “But I don’t think we’re dealing with fun ghost stories anymore.”

 “You’re kidding me, right?” Regina asked archly, sitting behind a massive desk with picture frames and even more stacks of paper. She looked more tired than she had two days earlier. “A demon? Be serious, Emma.” “I am,” Emma promised. “This is—Regina, you’ve got to tell me if I’m losing it.” “Honestly?” “Ok, c’mon.” Regina waved both hands in the air, impatience in the movement and the ringtone of more than one phone. “I don’t have time for this. And don’t think my husband an I aren’t going to have a serious conversation about him letting the three of you into the Wythe house after hours. You could have done serious damage, you could have—” “—Have you ever heard the name Robert Gold before?”

It was as if all the oxygen had been forcibly removed from the room. Regina’s lips practically disappeared, a flicker of recognition that Emma was going to cling to. 

For her sanity. 

“How did you hear that name?” “Is that a yes?” “Emma,” Regina hissed. “This is important. Where did you hear that name?”

“The ghost in the Wythe house told me last night.”

Regina slumped in her chair — a move that was nearly more ridiculous than any of the incredibly ridiculous things Emma had encountered in the last seventy-two hours. “What happened last night?” Emma explained the whole thing. The voice, the dress, the shoe. She told her about the woman’s pleas to help and how much stronger he was getting and every bit of information seemed to personally offend Regina. Her tongue kept darting between her lips, breathing through her mouth with her eyes darting towards her office door like she was fully expecting the demon to arrive at any moment. 

“So,” Emma said, voice a little scratchy. “You know more about this place than any of us combined, Regina. Your family’s been here for hundreds of years and—” “—Yes.” “Wait, what?” Regina ran an exhausted hand over her face, not bothering to adjust her posture. “Yes,” she repeated. “Or, at least in theory.” “Explain that better.” “I don’t know the exact number of greats, but however many it was, my grandmother, her name was Cora. She was old money. The kind of money that could buy influence and decisions in several courts across Europe. Only she, well...rumors swirled, mutterings of virtue and eighteenth-century mindsets and that led to a rather quick betrothal to a man without much else to his name except the letters it was made of. They sailed for the colonies shortly after they were wed.” “And?” “And they lived here,” Regina said. “The man—his name was Henry. He owned the coffee shop near the Capitol, but that’s a far cry from what Cora was used to and, if my family’s legends are to be believed, she started cavorting with… a very particular crowd.” “Did you just use the word cavorting in real life?” “Witches. Magical folk. There’s plenty of documentation of that in the Tidewater region, going back even to Jamestown. So Cora starts working with magic, looking for something to better her own standing and, maybe, get back to the continent and then, wouldn’t you know, shots are fired at Lexington and Concord.”

“And I’m sure she wasn’t the rebels biggest fan?” Emma guessed. 

Regina shook her head. “Didn’t speak about it, obviously. Especially with Henry’s business and his own political leanings, but, again, this is all just hearsay, passed down through generations.”

“What are you hearing?” “That Cora wanted out. Of the colony, of her marriage, away from anything even remotely American. But her options were limited and her magic, if she even had any, was basic at best. So she had to seek out some help.” Emma’s insides froze. It was gross. It felt gross. And cold. And uncomfortable. 

She was certain she was forgetting to ask something. 

Something big. “There are letters,” Regina continued, “between Cora Mills and Robert Gold starting in October 1775, shortly after the Continental Congress instructed the construction of a naval fleet. No going back after that.”

“And Robert Gold had magic?” Regina made a noncommittal noise. “Honestly? Fuck if I know, Emma. But that was the rumor. He was said to be an immensely powerful man, although it could never be found what side he was on. He seemed to dance that line in almost perfect rhythm. No abject support for the colonists or the British, just for himself.” “That’s what she said,” Emma muttered. “The ghost. She said that he thrived on the chaos of the war. Makes sense for a demon, doesn’t it?” “You’re talking in the hypothetical now.” “No, I’m—I saw something last night Regina. Something that was...I know it sounds crazy, but it happened and it’s not going to stop.” “You know that for sure?” Emma’s lungs hurt. “Killian said we’re close to the beginning of the siege of Yorktown. That’s not...I mean, it’s not an important anniversary.” 

It took, by Emma’s admittedly shaky count, exactly four seconds and one knocked over picture frame for Regina to jump up, eyes wide and fingers fluttering at her side. “Two-hundred and thirty-eight years.” “What?” “Add up those numbers.” Emma shook her head, but her mind was already calculating and it wasn’t really hard and—”Oh shit,” she breathed. “Thirteen?” “Pretty magical number, right?” “You tell me. You’re the one with a history of witches in your family.”

Regina didn’t look impressed. “What I can’t figure out is why this woman came to you. That’s...it doesn’t make any sense.” “Well, add that to the list of questions with seemingly no answer. What do we do now?” “You want me to repeat myself?”

Emma clicked her tongue. “I guess.” “Fuck if I know.”

There were no ghosts for the next three days. No words or whispers, but a few pointed glances from Killian and neither he nor Emma had said anything about feeling her. 

That felt like a very large leap in a relationship that was still without any qualifiers. 

And she did look some things up when she felt so inclined, but demon sightings in the Hampton Roads area was kind of a broad search. 

Emma didn’t really want to find anything anyway. 

So she worked at Tarpley’s and ignored Ruby and Mary Margaret’s whispers that abruptly ended as soon as she walked into any room or how often David kept trying to force feed her ginger cookies and she didn’t notice the brick sitting outside her door until Thursday night. 

She wasn’t sure if that was important. 

“What the hell,” Emma mumbled, ducking down to pick up the thing and it was heavier than she expected. “Oh, shit, God, that—”

Eventually she would have loved to finish some of her sentences. 

As it was, the words and expletives kept getting stuck and Emma barely got her phone out of her pocket before she was dialing. 

He answered on the second ring. “Swan?” “What do the bricks look like in the garden?” Killian blinked. She couldn’t see him. She knew anyway. “Elaborate on that for me.” “Are there people buried back there?” It sounded like he dropped the phone. Emma glanced towards the sky. She couldn’t bring herself to go in her apartment. That also probably wasn’t important. “Swan, where are you?” Killian asked, an edge to his voice that she knew wasn’t directed at her. “What the hell are you talking about?” “There is a brick in my hand.” “Love, I can’t read your mind if you’re not in front of me.” “I came home and there was a brick here,” Emma explained. “That hadn’t been here, I don’t know—at least last week. And I think...it looks like the wall to the palace gardens. That’s got to be a sign, right?” “Of what, exactly?” “What are you doing right now?” “Emma.” “That’s not an answer.” “You cannot go back there,” Killian said. She could hear the crunch of seashells under his feet. He was outside the Randolph house. That felt oddly appropriate. 

“Someone left this here for me. That’s—the woman said he wouldn’t stop and I...Regina was right, there’s got to be a reason that I could do this.” Silence. 

Emma grimaced. “You talked to Regina about this?” Killian whispered, and Emma knew the wind around her was just that. She hoped so, at least. 

“You told David I was hearing voices!” “Ok, that is not the same thing and I was—” “—Worried. I know, I know, but...ok, Regina thinks Robert Gold was a bad guy who, possibly, was involved in some serious magic-type shit and the ghost told me he never wanted the war to end. Someone had to tell Rochambeau about Cornwallis’ plans, right? Yes, the answer is yes. And we thought it would be this Gold guy, but what if it..” 

Emma licked her lips, a step back from the door that was suddenly rattling in front of her. That couldn't have been good. 

“What if it was the woman?” she asked. “It’s not totally unheard of at the time. Women turning spy and moving information. If she thought her husband was the good guy he was pretending to be, it’d make sense he was there too. Only he wasn’t a good guy. He was a fucking demon, playing both sides and teaching magic to angry loyalists and—”

Emma dropped the phone that time. 

Because the noise on the other end left her gasping, tears pricking her vision and knees threatening to buckle again. It wasn’t a scream. It was...worse than that. It left Emma shivering, darkness wrapping around her like that was even possible, until she was certain she’d never be warm again, a hollowness in her chest and emptiness in her soul. 

She squeezed her eyes closed, clenching her jaw until the pain moved there as well and there was a voice coming from her phone. 

“Oh, Savior! It’s time to come out and play.”

She must have run there because there was a stitch in Emma’s side by the time she skidded to a stop under the archway leading to the palace gardens, but she genuinely could not remember a single moment of it. 

As if she’d blinked and willed herself to the spot. 

The darkness stretched in front of her there as well, impenetrable and a little intimidating, but she had no idea where Killian was or what Savior meant and she’d left the brick behind. 

“C’mon, Swan,” Emma mumbled, and talking to herself was a sure-fire sign of impending insanity. She took a step forward. 

It had been years since she’d been back there at night, but Emma didn’t remember the whole thing being quite so creepy, oversized hedges and flowers that looked colorless under a dim moon. Emma walked slowly, every move measured so as not to make too much noise or draw attention from an enemy she couldn’t see. 

And it absolutely, positively did not matter when she heard him yelling. 

Emma sprinted. Loudly. Quickly. Sticks and stones under her feet and lungs feeling as if they were actually collapsing in her chest, winding through the maze behind the palace because of course they were in the maze behind the palace. “Killian! Killian, where are you?” She jerked her head around, looking for something she did not want to find, but there wasn’t anything just that same laugh she’d heard in the Wythe house, low and maniacal, like it believed it had already won. 

Emma stopped short, a silhouette in front of her. 

He wasn’t that tall, might have been slouched slightly, leaning against a cane, and Emma knew he wasn’t right. Like, on a fundamental level. His jacket was very clearly late eighteenth-century. The collar was always the tell. 

“Are you Robert Gold?” she asked, another step forward with far more confidence than she actually had. 

He nodded. 

And moved into the bit of moonlight between them. 

Emma gasped. 

She hated that. It wasn’t particularly heroic or powerful, was nothing more than scared, but it had nothing on the whimper she let out as soon as Gold snapped his fingers, Killian landing in a lump at her feet. 

There were bruises on his face, blood caked to his cheek and she’d never been particularly worried about the prosthetic at the end of his left arm, but that was gone now, skin a nasty gray color with more than a few open gashes. 

“Killian,” Emma cried, but any attempt to lean forward proved fruitless when Gold tilted his head, as if there were an invisible barricade in front of them. 

“No, no, no, my dear, we’re not doing that quite yet,” Gold said. “We’ve got to get a few things cleared up first. I’ve heard you’ve been talking to my wife.”

Emma’s eyes flickered to her right, a shadow appearing there suddenly and she only had one shoe on. She was crying again. Or, maybe hadn’t ever stopped. 

That was understandable. 

“You see, my wife, she doesn’t understand what power is,” Gold continued, “What it’s like to be rife with it. To hold the potential of nations in the palm of your hand. She wanted me to give that up. For an ideal. For the future of a few thousand rabble-rousers.” Emma did not want to laugh. She didn’t. And yet. The sound tumbled out of her, soft and skeptical and—”I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ve just never heard the phrase rabble-rousers used in real life. That was unexpected. Also, just, like, FYI, you’re not a god, so...controlling countries is—” “—My right,” Gold roared. “Humans never do understand, but you always wanted to be like them didn’t you, Savior?” “I don’t know what you're talking about!” Gold hummed, mouth twisted. “I’m sure you don’t. Well, let’s fix that, shall we?” He snapped his fingers once more, the rush of something colliding with Emma’s stomach making her breath soar out of her and the memories slammed into her. Like punches. Or cannonballs. In a water-based siege. 

She remembered dresses and meetings, quiet discussions at candlelit tables, a voice in her ear and a smile that she thought about as soon as he was gone. She remembered secrets and promises, guarantees to come back and light at the ends of her fingers. 

She remembered a woman, angry and evil, looking for something to change her fate, but unwilling to accept her own faults. She remembered letters, plans that could change everything, end it and secure a future with opportunity and possibility and— “It was us,” Emma whispered, Gold’s lips twitching. It wasn’t pleasant to look at. He wasn’t entirely opaque. 

“Eh, that’s where it gets a bit confusing,” Gold argued. “Not so much you as...it was...your spirit. Past lives are common in those with power and you, Ms. Swan, have been nothing short of powerful since your very first life. That had an impact on the people you love.”

He nodded in Killian’s direction. 

The tears that landed on Emma’s cheeks were questionably warm. 

“Shall I continue?” Gold quipped. “You don’t have to answer. I was planning on it. You, Ms. Swan are very powerful. A talent that the world was waiting for from the start of it all. Only, you’ve been tasked with this pesky thing called good will and you want to bring that to everyone around you. Including those rebels. Oh, yes, a rather soft spot for them—I’d imagine, mostly because of him.” He pointed at Killian. “Indentured servitude does do wonders for inspiring a rather strong hatred of the crown. So, Captain Jones served in the Continental Army. Fought and believed until his talents took him elsewhere.” “Spying,” Emma breathed, Gold humming in agreement. “Precisely. And as much as it pains me to admit it, he was quite good at it. Executed it perfectly even under my nose and—” “—Because you were playing both sides,” Killian growled, Emma dropping down to him and he actually had the gall to try and smirk at her. “That’s what it was, love. What we were saying, all those ups and downs, both sides unable to get an edge. He did it. God, did you—was Benedict Arnold you too?”

“That’s my knowledge to have now, isn’t it, Captain. Where was I?” “She helped, didn’t she?” Emma asked, glancing at the woman and she wished she knew her name. It felt disrespectful not to. 

“Oh, yes, quite the little patriot, my Belle. And she also had some support I didn't initially know about. I think you received part of his grave marker?” “What?” “William,” Belle said. “He was...he worked with Captain Jones. Served under him and he—” “—He was the one who found out about Rochambeau, Swan,” Killian said. “I...I can remember that. God, that’s weird.” Emma let out a strangled sound. “That’s the weird part?” “You all are ruining the flow of my story,” Gold complained. “Yes, that Scarlet bastard was quite a thorn in my side and he did effectively ruin my plan at the time, that’s why…” Emma shuddered when another memory slammed into her, the scene playing out like she was watching it in front of her. 

“General Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette will make their way from New York here,” Will explained, standing at a map-covered table and Emma could barely make out the hint of a smile on his face. “Rochambeau is already making preparations to blockade Cornwallis in the Chesapeake, just outside of Yorktown. If all goes to plan, we’d have nearly double the troops the Redcoats do and we’ll be able to cut them off completely. No one in, no one out.” “The end of the war,” Emma whispered. “It’d all be over.”

Will nodded. “The ink on the treaty should be dry before the leaves start falling.” “Optimistic,” Killian mused. His thumb brushed over the back of Emma’s hand. 

“Honest. I’ve already sent word to the General and I think —”

He didn’t say anything else, a swipe of a sword and flashes of red and Emma didn’t think before she reacted, a burst of light and surge of heat that moved from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair. 

Robert Gold laughed. 

At her. 

And her inability to realize magic when she saw it. 

And both Killian and Will were laying at her feet. 

“No, no, no,” she whispered, more magic and none of it worked, bouncing against barricades she couldn’t see and Emma would eventually regret the next four and a half minutes. She waved her right hand, tying Will to the land, a rather pitiful attempt to keep his soul on this plane. And she couldn't hear Killian breathing, blood staining his uniform and a distinct lack of anything at the end of his left arm. 

Emma shook her head, mouth moving with unspoken words. He smiled at her. The ass. 

“It’s ok, Swan. It’s — if it ends, it will all be worth it.”

She shook her head, footsteps receding and Robert Gold must have left and she didn’t care, couldn't care, not when this was happening and — ”No,” Emma objected. “That’s...I’ll see you again, I know it.” “I hope so, love.” The white flag came on October 19, 1781. With the leaves changing. 

Emma shook her head, eyes springing open and Gold chuckling in front of her. She waved her hand, certainty and confidence and a power she’d forgotten until that very moment. He stumbled backwards. 

“That was impressive, Savior,” he muttered. “But it’s not going to make a difference.” “How are you here? You’re...you look dead.” “Not dead. Simply without a vessel. Belle is dead.” “Did you kill her?” “Oh, yes. In that house you lot were all in earlier. Only she managed to do a bit of damage to me as well, a dagger that helps me harness my power and it did sting quite a bit when she stabbed me. That left me, as I said, without a vessel for quite some time, but now—” His smile widened, too many teeth and unspoken threat. “Well, you’re here. Come back to work in this place in another life with that.” He kicked at Killian, the toe of his boot colliding with ribs and Emma hadn’t realized he’d moved closer while he was talking. 

“But I don’t—what is your game here, exactly?” Emma asked. “Because I hate to tell you this, but the Revolutionary War ended. Like years ago and—” “—And did humans suddenly decide to stop hating each other?” Gold interrupted. “That’s what brought Cora Mills to my doorstep to begin with. Someday I’ll have to thank her. She did inspire me to get involved in that little revolution. The Captain was right. I toyed with both sides, and it would have lasted forever if it hadn’t been for your meddling. Trying to save everyone, give them the opportunity to thrive. 

So, I ask you Savior? Did any of it make a difference? Did the human race evolve into something better? A horde I couldn’t persuade to follow me, no matter what I was saying? See, that’s your problem. You believe these things...that they can be better. They can’t. They will hate and they will fight and they will kill each other. And that will only make me more powerful. It’s what brought me back now. And, by extension, both you and the Captain.” “And Will?” “Oh, still here. Also dead, though. The palace gardens are haunted, aren’t they?” Emma exhaled, oxygen and more tears and the blood from Killian’s arm was starting to stain the edge of her shirt. And she was sure, maybe in her third life, she’d start thinking before she reacted, but in that moment, with a demon laughing at her and a man she’d loved even longer than she remembered bleeding out at her feet, she simply...was. 

The light around her was bright, dancing off leaves and the branches of trees, casting Robert Gold in a glow that made the shadows around him disappear. 

Killian reached up towards her, fingers cold, but determined and Emma didn’t gasp when they curled around hers. She smiled. “It’s me,” she said, not a question, but the absolute certainty that she was right. “The only thing that can stop you because you don’t exist in this world and I do. In both of them. I’ve got—oh, you know what? I am more powerful than you!”

Gold tripped over his own feet, trying to move away from her and back into the darkness. Emma nodded, a soft laugh that was really more triumph than humor. 

“I am,” she continued. “That’s why I turned down Cora Mills when she tried to find me first. And that’s why this will work. Because I wasn’t the only thing that came back to fight you.” Emma crouched down, ignoring Killian’s objection because this could not have been proper military tactics, but she had a hunch and—well, more than a hunch. 

She looked directly at him, a mix of past and present, and God, she hoped, the future and his lips parted underneath Emma’s as soon as she touched him. 

It wasn’t particularly dignified, couldn't be when they were twisted at such awkward angles, but Emma swore she could feel it in every inch of her, a softness to it that was almost tender and still, somehow, greedy, making up for lost time and could have beens and—

“I love you,” Emma whispered. 

It was like the goddamn sun and the moon and something, Emma was sure, about the rocket’s red glare, just to drive home the patriotic point, but that was a different war and none of it mattered when Gold screamed. 

The sound echoed off those same trees, Emma jerking her head up with narrow eyes and a thrum of energy under her skin. She didn’t pull her gaze away or blink, staring at Gold and focusing on that one, particular shadow behind him.    He fell backwards. 

And the shadow wrapped around him, like rope and something about a hangman’s noose. It curled around his shoulders and twisted around his elbows, pinning his hands to his side and moving towards his mouth, blocking any sound or any screams and Emma was thankful for that. 

She didn’t want to hear what the shadow did to him. 

Watching was bad enough. 

It engulfed Gold, moving slowly so that Emma saw every inch of him disappear, but Killian’s hand didn’t leave hers and the wisp that was Belle looked like it was getting more and more corporal. It felt like it lasted forever and not nearly long enough. Until. There was nothing there. 

No Gold. No shadow. Just a tree and a breeze, bits of light hanging from the tips of Emma’s fingers. 

Killian wasn’t bleeding anymore. 

Emma kissed the end of his arm. 

“Belle?” The voice at the other end of the clearing was almost bursting with hope, the emotion hanging off all five letters and they needed to stop gasping. 

Maybe after the emotional reunions. 

Will Scarlet was still wearing his army-issued uniform, but his hair wasn’t matted to his forehead anymore, a brightness to his eyes and the tilt of his lips. He took a shaky step forward, hand grips the hilt of his sword and— “Are you wearing only one shoe?” Belle let out a watery laugh, hand flying to her mouth, but then she might have been flying, arms around Will’s neck and both feet off the ground and it was all romance and feeling and alive, sort of, at least. 

They lingered in each other’s space for a moment, oblivious to anything else, but then Will jerked his head towards Emma, eyes going wide. “Did you do this? Me here, I mean?” “Did you leave a brick on my doorstep?” “I wasn’t sure it would work. I’m kind of...stuck in this area, you know.” “I’m sorry about that.” “Don’t be. I...I didn’t want to leave.” “I think I can help with that, actually.” The hope returned. In spades. 

Emma nodded once, a quick inhale and sharp exhale, focusing on a different path and the corner of the maze and the tiny pinpricks of light leading towards something that was far bigger than she could process in the moment. 

“Thank you,” Belle said. “For all of it.”

She didn’t respond. Again. Still. But Belle didn’t seem to mind, just smiled softly and laced her fingers through Will’s, his curt nod the last thing Emma saw before they both disappeared around the corner. 

They went back to Killian’s apartment. It wasn’t not so much a decision as it was the only acceptable possibility, far too much... everything to go back to at Emma’s and— “You want to move in together?” she asked, curled against his side with his shirt on and eventually they’d have to talk about past lives. If only because she wasn’t sure if that meant he’d always be able to feel her magic. 

Emma figured that’s what had happened. 

“Yeah.” “Yeah? Just like that?” “I love you too,” Killian said. “I didn’t say that before, that was ridiculous.” “You were kind of busy.” “Avoiding death, yeah.” Emma rolled her eyes. He smirked. The ass. Again. “Which you saved me from. More than once, it seems.” “And that’s not freaking you out?” “Oh, yeah, absolutely. But only in a fear for my own mortality kind of way. I’m not sure my soul is quite prepared to move on at this point.” Emma quirked an eyebrow. “That so?” “Nah, lots of things I had planned. Both times around. The schedule’s been a little hectic, though. So I’d very much like to start crossing things off the to-do-list, as it were.” He moved as he spoke, hovering over her until Emma’s shoulders pressed into the corner of the couch and she had to hook her leg around his in an attempt not to fall on the floor. Killian groaned. “That’s your own doing,” she mumbled, already working her fingers under his shirt. “Take this off.” “I think we’re very much on the same page, love.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” His mouth dropped towards hers, all want and need and she was never going to stop thinking about his tongue. No matter how many times they did this. It swiped across her lips, Emma sighing against him and she was going to brag about whatever sound he made as soon as she canted her hips up for, like, at least the next few weeks. 

She tilted her head, trying to crowd into his space more, or possibly just take up some room in his soul and she got the distinct impression it wouldn’t be that hard. Killian’s hand moved under her back, palm flat on her skin and goosebumps there and for a moment it was all heady rhythm and tongues and teeth, slightly squished noises and panted breaths. 

And then— “I would have followed you anywhere, you know that?” Emma stilled. She’d closed her eyes at some point. Idiotic. Particularly when he was staring at her like that, several jokes about the sun and North Stars and—“Let’s not make a habit of it, ok?” “Deal. I love you.” “That’s twice now.” “Consider it an attempt to reach an overdue quota.” She laughed, fingers trailing over the stubble on his jaw. “You want to sleep? I haven’t—it’s been kind of hard to do that recently. I mean I’m all for the to-do-list, but…” “The rest of our lives, right?” “I hope so.” “Deal,” Killian repeated, and his arm found its way back around Emma’s middle as soon as they dropped onto his bed. 

They didn’t stop working the extra ghost tour shifts. 

And they didn’t ever say anything about magic or past lives or anything, although Emma had a fairly strong suspicion that Regina had her own suspicions. If only because she let Emma stop wearing that one particular hoops skirt when it got especially warm. 

And Killian kept working the audience in every crowd, the groups getting a little bigger every few weeks, gasping on cue at stories and hauntings and— “Isn’t that right, Mistress Jones?” he asked, a summer later in the middle of a historic heatwave, and Emma couldn’t stop her answering smile if she tried. She didn’t really try. 

“Oh, yes, absolutely. Very haunted here in the capital city. Now, uh, if you’d all like to follow me, we’ll move on to the next location, just up the street and you may want to double check for anything in those photos you just took.”

Emma glanced Killian’s direction when the reactions came, one side of his mouth tugging up and a bit of light glinting off the ring on his right hand. 

He took a step forward, a quick kiss to her cheek that only a few tourists noticed, far too preoccupied with their photos and possibility and— “I’ll see you at home, love,” he muttered. 

“Liar.” Killian hummed, squeezing her hand and he was waiting outside the staff room when Emma finished, an upturned palm and the undeniable spark of magic in the air around them.

[shiftyskip]

Robert Van Klinken

The real Robert Van Klinken 

While he is a really minor character in the show, he’s still a part of Easy. Everyone’s important to remember, especially the boys who didn’t come home. 

Robert Van Klinken was born October 31, 1919 in Loomis, Washington to Walter and Cora. His grandfather immigrated from Holland to the USA in the late 1880s. It is reported that he still spoke a bit of Dutch, even overseas. His family moved from their town in Loomis to a town called Twisp in the early 1920s. He had a sister named Susan, called Susie. She was a bit younger than he was. When Robert was around 15 years old, his mother had another son, Gene. 

Robert was a country boy, who loved hunting and fishing. His parents became tenant apple orchardists. They never owned their own farm because they were very poor. Even though they were very poor, they never went without food. His sister was also described as spoiled. She even had her own horse. But even when she was spoiled, her and Robert never fought.

Robert graduated from Liberty Bell High School in 1939. His sister graduated the next year and almost immediately got married to Robert’s good friend Johnny Klinkert. They had a son together, named Walter (called Walt). After graduation, Robert began work as a diesel mechanic. He also worked some in logging. Robert was said to be “a good natured young man who dated a lot and dreamed of getting married someday.” 

When the war started, Robert was in his mid twenties. He believed that he was too old to go to war. at the time, he was working with a defense industry company in Alaska. The job would’ve kept him out of the war. Robert was registered for the draft on July 1, 1941 and was drafted soon. Robert wrote, saying “Uncle Sam sure played a dirty truck on me when he put me in the army. I signed a contract with Deims Drake Company for 1 year to work as a mechanic in Kodiak Alaska at $450 a month. I bought a ticket for $87 on the steamship Yukon and $40 of clothes and was all ready to sail. Just about 15 hours before I was to leave, the Army called. If I’d got to Kodiak they would have given me a deferment as it was an air base for the Navy.”

(I HAVE NO VAN KLINKEN GIFS FIGHT ME)

Robert sent many letters home to his parents, Susie and her husband Johnny. In his first letter to Johnny, he stated he was trying out ot be a paratrooper. He got in, and became a member of Easy Company. A month later, Robert wrote to him in September of 1942, from Camp Toccoa. Which he wrote, “Toccoa has a reputation for making Supermen, and it’s not wrong.” In another letter to his parents, he wrote, “This is the best and toughest outfit in the army. It beats the regular army and the navy. It’s like the Marine parachute troops. The definition of a paratrooper is a soldier who lands in hell in a parachute and runs the devil away with his own fork.”

The harsh training under lovely, lovely Sobel didn’t seem to bother Robert. HE ACTUALLY ENJOYED THE WORK OUTS. He wrote, “Boy I sure feel swell. Nothing to worry about, and got a swell bunch of fellows in our barracks.” Winters wrote that along with Pat Christenson, Lipton, Carson, and Rainer, Robert scored among the highest in the physical competition. 

Robert, as previously stated, really, really liked dating. So in one letter, he wrote, “All the girls want to do is sit at home or go to church. I had a home cooked meal last Sunday at my girlfriend’s place. Boy it sure was good.” In another letter to his sister’s family and his dog (Sleepy), he wrote, “What do you think of the snapshot of my lady friend? She is going to be madder than hell at me because I didn’t go to see her and go to church. I sho cain’t figure out these Southern folks. All they want to do is go to church.” He later wrote to Susie and Johnny about a girlfriend he was serious about, “I am going to my girlfriend’s house in New Orleans. I might get married, but I won’t say for sure...We haven’t made up our minds yet, we might wait till after I get out of the Army. I figure it’s better that way...There’s also a darned good chance of me not coming back.” (cue me ugly crying)

He signed most of his letters : “So long, Bob”. 

Robert made his last jump Christmas Day. He states that after getting their wings, they were going to have a feast. Robert enjoyed all of his jumps. He said that 80% of jumping is guts. 

Robert was head over heels in love with his girlfriend, Joyce. (Trust me, I don’t know if all these women are the same women...) He wrote, “I am the happiest man in the U.S. The little lady is going to wait for me to get out of the Army. She is a girl any man could be proud of...maybe you think I am a damned fool for going with a girl that has been married. I don’t care what you or any of my relatives think about it. Al that matters is that we have each other....We both cried when I got in the plane in Oklahoma City...When I got over the camp...I jumped out and said, “Joyce, this one is for you.”...I am so darned happy that nothing can hurt me.”

(Source: @alexpenkala, thank you for sending me this photo and the link with it!! Here is the link: https://ww2gravestone.com/people/van-klinken-robert/amp/)

Sadly, Robert’s happiness wouldn’t last long. Walter, Robert’s father, died in early 1943. Robert received an furlough back home. He got an extension to stay a bit longer with his family. 

Apparently Robert liked guitars. He wrote in one letter, “I bought another guitar the other day...It sure is a honey.” He even signed this letter with a nickname, Rip.

He wrote in February, after arriving back with Easy, “How did Sleepy act when I left? Hope he didn’t feel too lonesome. The poor little rascal. Walt is sure a sweet little guy. I sure wish I was back home and had a cute little fellow like him to take care of....I have to write on to my “old lady” tonight. She only wrote 11 letters to me while I was on furlough.” 

1943 was not a good year for Robert. By the time April came around, Joyce had broken up with him. She had met another guy and left Robert for him. But even with all this, Bob’s letters were always happy. He wrote this about the break-up, “Well it looks like I got “outranked” by a 1st lieutenant from Fort Sill, Oklahoma. She figures the duration is too long to wait. Anyways, it’s all over and it makes no difference. As Johnnie Rogers says, “I can get more women than a passenger train can haul.”

There were a few occasions that Robert wrote about him and his fellow Easy Company members went out and had wild drinking parties. One time, he and all of first platoon got drunk. They all received punishment for their drunken actions and had to sleep outside. Another time he claims that after he and Skinny Sisk came out of the hospital together, they were drunk for three days. He also got into a bar fight. Some civilian pulled a knife on a “one of the boys”, so Robert and a few men from the 506th and 505th Airborne “cleaned out the joint.” Robert was punished with a fine of $20 and 3 weeks restrictions, with K.P. duty. He also had to buy a new shirt after ruining his.

Robert has health problems in late 1943. He was up for a medical discharge, but received a 10-day furlough that he spent hitch hiking. After the furlough, he continued going to the hospital everyday. When his health cleared up, he was reinstated to Easy.

Soon after, they were headed across the sea to England. Sobel wrote to Johnny, with the famous letter:

(THIS IS NOT THE REAL LETTER. This is from Marcus Brotherton’s quoting Sobel’s letter. AGAIN NOT THE ORIGINAL I AM JUST LAZY)

Aldbourne and training left no time to write letters for Robert.

Robert jumped on D-Day, June 6, 1944. He and other Easy men eat the cookies and cake sent by his family right before they entered the planes. He survived the jump but was injured some point after the jump. He got a piece of shrapnel stuck in his arm, what he called “a flesh wound”, and was sent back to England to recover. He wrote that being in the hospital was worse than fighting. “You get to thinking about your buddies you lost over there and you can’t do anything about it.”

Still interested in the women, Robert wrote home about Phyllis, a woman from home. But he stated it didn’t matter that he hadn’t heard from her in a while, since he had too much to worry about over there. He also said “there will be lots of girls left in the states when I get back.” That was his last letter home.

(This is the transcribed version of Robert’s letter. Again: NOT ORIGINAL)

Ten days after this letter was written, Robert jumped into Holland.

Robert fought to Nuenen on September 20, 1944. In most accounts, once in Nuenen, he was hit by a machine gun burst as he tried to run forward to attack the Germans with a bazooka. He was killed instantly.

But according to Pat Christenson, after Robert’s death, Robert didn’t die that way. Pat writes, “The last house had an open field next to it. I parted the foliage of the hedge that separated the field from the house. I just have been spotted by a German machine gunner. Before he could fire, I pushed through the hedge and dropped into a ditch just on the other side. Robert Van Klinken, one of my riflemen, was following me closely. [Van Klinken] must’ve peered through the same opening as I had, just as the German machine gunner depressed the trigger. Van Klinken was hit with three bullets.”

Christenson grabbed Robert and pulled him through the hedge. Robert was still alive, but he was dying. Robert had been hit in the groin and twice in the chest. The men had to temporarily leave him behind to take cover from a German tank, they retreated behind the house. Christenson attempted to get Robert back to the safety of the house, but the Germans fired upon them every time they made a move towards Van Klinken. Finally, Private Longo, the medic of first platoon, walked over to Robert “as if the war had ceased”, picked him up, and carried him. Robert was still alive, but his face was ashen and Christenson knew he’d be dead soon.

Robert’s death would have a lasting affect on Christenson.

The telegraph home to Johnny on October 9, 1944 (19 days after Robert had been killed), read: “The secretary of war desires me to express his deep regret that your brother-in-law Pvt. Robert Van Klinken was killer in action of the 20th of September in Holland. Letter following. Ulio-adj. General”

October 11, the letter arrived, still addressed to Johnny. It restated the facts that Robert had been killed, with no further details. It ended with: “I know the sorrow this message has brought you, and it is my hope that I’m the time of knowledge of his heroic service to his country, even unto death, may be sustaining comfort to you. I extend to you my deepest sympathy.”

A telegram was also sent to Robert’s uncle Herbert that informed Herbert to tell Robert’s mother. The telegraph, not the letter, to his mother. A letter was sent to Robert’s father, but his father had passed away already, informing him that Robert had been awarded the Purple Heart posthumously for his actions.

On April 13, 1945 Captain Himes, a chaplain with the 506th PIR, wrote to Cora, Robert’s mother. The letter read: “I believe I can answer some of your questions...Robert was killed while voluntarily acting as a scout locating enemy positions during an attack. He was given a Christian burial in Holland. You asked for some names of his friends. I can give you these, Sgt. Denver Randleman, Pvt. William Wingett...He was a fine soldier, and an expert rifle shot, and was aggressive and brave in action.”

One final letter was sent to his mother, four years later to tell her that Robert’s remains had been interred at the US Military Cemetery in Holland. To this day, that’s where he remains.

Robert did not have an official funeral back in the USA. His grave marker in Twisp says the wrong year, marking his death as 1943 instead of 1944.

Susie took his death hard for several years. She felt a lot of resentment for 45 years after his death. One day her daughter Cora found Susie crying, worried, she asked her what was wrong. Susie replied, “Today is the day I finally have forgiveness in my heart.”

Susie always wanted to visit her brother’s grave. Sadly, Susie never did. But her granddaughter Gariann and a friend backpacked across Europe. Gariann asked her Grandma if there’s anything she wanted her to do in Europe. Susie told her, “Tell him we love him and haven’t forgotten.”

A neighbor, a young boy at the time, of Robert’s family was affected by Robert’s death, his name was Chuck Borg. He later joined the army. Years later, he was in Holland when he stumbled upon the cross bearing Robert’s name. When Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose was published, he saw the name again. He was later adopted into the Van Klinken family after reaching out to them. When he returned to Twisp, he created the Robert Van Klinken Memorial Scholarshop at Liberty Bell High School in Twisp, Robert’s school. The scholarship rewards hardworking, adventurous country boys like Robert with college money.

Robert’s grand-grand-nephew J.R. Matkins even got to attend an Easy Company reunion along with his family.

Gariann says, “...our family will always love him. He’ll always be very much alive in our hearts.”

[eddycurrents]

The Crooked Man & Others: “The Crooked Man”

Words: Mike Mignola | Art: Richard Corben | Colours: Dave Stewart | Letters: Clem Robins

Originally published by Dark Horse in Hellboy: The Crooked Man #1-3 | July-September 2008

Collected in Hellboy - Volume 10: The Crooked Man & Others | Hellboy Library Edition - Volume 4 | Hellboy: Complete Short Stories - Volume 1

Plot Summary:

In 1958, Hellboy travels to the Appalachian Mountains where he and Tom Farrell try to weather a storm of witches to bury Farrell’s father on consecrated grounds and beat the devil.

Reading Notes:

(Note: Pagination is solely in reference to the story itself and is not indicative of anything found within the issues or collections.)

pg. 1 - I love that during this period of Hellboy stories, where Duncan Fegredo became Mignola’s stand-in for the tales set in the present, the main visuals for the past tales was Richard Corben. Corben is a master of horror and weird tales himself and the collaborations with Mignola, Dave Stewart, and Clem Robins on Hellboy legends were gorgeous. Here in the opening, he and Stewart wonderfully set the rich detail of the nature in this story.

pg. 3 - It’s kind of interesting as to how simple the set up is to get Hellboy into the story. Just checking in on a poor girl who’s been hexed.

pg. 5 - Tom Farrell is mostly a stand-in for Manly Wade Wellman’s character Silver John, a veteran with knowledge of the supernatural, albeit without lugging around a guitar. The little bits and pieces Mignola throws in of Hellboy’s past in passing conversation is nice.

pg. 6 - Chekhov’s church being set up here.

pg. 7 - More witch balls confirms their suspicions. I think these ones are pretty interesting, looking more like sea urchins. 

pg. 9 - The empty skin sure is creepy.

pg. 10 - I love the silence before Hellboy goes into asking Tom a question about his past.

pg. 11 - Never trust the naked girl luring you to the devil. Never. Though, to be fair, it’s interesting the parallels to Eve’s temptation of Adam, if Adam were a lustful fifteen year old boy. Sometimes, I wish, though, that they didn’t necessarily trade off a woman’s sexuality as a taboo.

pg. 13 - Corben’s design for the Crooked Man is amazing. Just creepy and frightening all in one. It’s also neat how Mignola weaves in some backstory for the area, building up the lore of the Appalachians by telling another tall tale within this narrative.

pg. 10-15 - I quite like how these flashbacks are presented. Other than the panels with the Crooked Man’s death, there’s really only a minor softening to the colours, but the indication of a flashback is through a simple rounding of the panel border’s corners.

pg. 16 - This raccoon is adorable. Sure, I know it’s Cora Fisher as an animal crawling back into her vacant skin, but adorable little raccoon.

pg. 17 - The death of her husband and her kids does at least make her sympathetic.

pg. 19 - Effie Kolb, on the other hand, just seems nasty.

pg. 22 - The bridle turning Tom’s father into a horse is a pretty neat trick. Horrifying, yeah, and debilitating for Tom to see him that way, but it’s a kind of evil of these witches and the devil that you didn’t necessarily expect. A way to drive a needle into Tom’s side in an unexpected fashion.

pg. 23 - A good set up for the quest up the mountain, and Hellboy’s inclusion.

pg. 24 - I like Tom’s intent on getting Cora free from her deal with the devil. These pretty much never work out, but it’s at least a nice sentiment.

pg. 25 - Tom’s father as a burden that he must carry himself is representative of one of the themes that often appear in these kinds of Americana tales, in that you have to own your own foibles and face the consequences. Lest things turn worse for you.

pg. 29 - This mixture of American folktale, history, and what I believe is largely Mignola’s own invention to give us another little side story is wonderful. It’s always impressive to see him embellish little details into the broader narrative. Also, Corben’s designs for these witches are terrifying.

pg. 30 - That they’re calling Cora by name just adds to the creep factor.

pg. 31 - That the passage of time seems to be affected by the presence of the devil and the evil that’s seeped into the land is interesting as well. That their presence could essentially fix darkness at noon is kind of neat.

pg. 33 - There’s a bit here that you can’t outrun fate, that you still have to pay for the evil that you’ve done.

pg. 35 - Hellboy versus these frogs and bugs makes my skin crawl, just showing how effective the storytelling is. Corben is a master at drawing these creepy crawlers.

pg. 38 - That’s some nightmare fuel. The vision overall, reinforcing the idea that the devil can’t set foot in a church put forth in the first part of the story, again seems to foreshadow something that might occur.

pg. 39 - Clem Robins’ font for Effie’s laughter has a nice haunting effect.

pg. 40 - Even with what they’ve faced so far, I love the feeling of dread that Corben and Stewart instill through the art, just through a simple moon shot.

pg. 42 - This is at least a little comfort. Despite her death, Cora still escaped the clutches of the devil.

pg. 44 - I think it’s interesting in a lot of horror and fantasy fiction that treats witches almost as though they’re a different class of being. That whatever it is that they become, they’re not quite human. At least, not any more. I suppose it could be a way to essentially other them, to make it all right when the heroes in the stories ultimately kill, burn, and/or destroy them utterly during the course of a story. Rather than thinking that someone can be redeemed of their wicked ways.

pg. 45 - Two neat things here: first, Corben’s designs for the witches are nice. Love the variety and detail among them. Second, I like the question of faith and belief in regards to whether or not magic will or will not work.

pg. 47 - The Crooked Man come to collect his due is an amazing visual.

pg. 48 - Wonderful little cut away on how to make a witch ball. This is both hilarious and frightening when you look at that cat closely.

pg. 49 - Just as there’s the idea common in folklore that the devil always tells the truth, there’s a certain logic and fairness to what the Crooked Man is saying. A deal was made, services were rendered, and now he’s here to collect on his end of the bargain. It is ultimately weighted unfairly in his favour, given that the immortal soul is a real quantity in Hellboy, but there’s the idea that he’s not really wrong planted here.

pg. 50 - The idea of a witch siege of a church is different.

pg. 52 - The witches essentially punking Hellboy is funny.

pg. 53 - The reverend not taking any guff from the Crooked Man is one hell of a mood. Also, trying to bribe him in order to get Tom out of the church and off the consecrated ground is really a tell.

pg. 55 - There’s a nice parallel to Job in the reverend’s temptation and acceptance of his tribulations.

pg. 56 - Taking a different approach of raising the dead within the consecrated ground is something new. The Crooked Man and the witches can’t seem to cross, but their magic does seem to still be able to cause things to manifest and change. Which kind of makes you wonder why they don’t just whip up some kind of spell that whisks Tom off to their clutches. You get the impression that maybe he has to willingly give up.

pg. 57-60 - I like that through this we still get an almost standard Hellboy fight sequence. It’s weird with the raised corpses from the church graveyard, but it looks great.

pg. 61 - Cute little young Hellboy. Also, the Crooked Man trying to get to Hellboy through his destiny is definitely going to wind up in a backlash.

pg. 63 - Consecrating a holy shovel sure does beat all.

pg. 65 - Defeating the devil with a shovel, that sure is something. I love how this panel of the strike basically just goes all white.

pg. 67 - Gorgeous panels from Corben and Stewart. Also, time appears to be working again.

pg. 68 - Interesting that despite fulfilling the quest of burying Tom’s father,  they realize that their job’s not done and they still have to really kill the Crooked Man.

Also, that Cora is still there is somewhat sad. You would hope that she’d have moved on.

pg. 69 - The appearance of a stately mansion in the middle of the Appalachians is weird. It just reinforces the idea that the Crooked Man, in life, lived one of opulence and extravagance.

pg. 70 - And his “true” appearance, hoarding his gold, is both pathetic and creepy.

pg. 72 - A humorous and fitting end to Effie Kolb.

Final Thoughts:

In part it was due to giving a lot of lead time to Duncan Fegredo in order to wrap up the present-day Arthurian trilogy in The Storm and The Fury without too incredibly long breaks in between issues, but I quite liked the somewhat parallel approach to the final three volumes of the original Hellboy series and the Plague of Frogs narrative cycle for BPRD. Both features two volumes that focused on the past before diving into the grand finales.

As per his introductory statements to this story, Mike Mignola wears the influence of Manly Wade Wellman on his sleeve. Not just through the feel of the Silver John stories, but the overall feel of his down home weird Americana within the Appalachians. More so than similar stories from Nathaniel Hawthorne, Ambrose Bierce, and Robert E Howard, Wellman’s stories exhibited a kind of matter-of-factness that’s missing from the others. The supernatural and oddities in the world are almost accepted as a given, something as normal as the sun rising, which carries over well into Hellboy stories since Mignola has developed a similar aesthetic. So witches running around as raccoons and devils who appear as a dead, greedy landowner that used to cause problems for the area.

d. emerson eddy has danced with the devil in the pale of the moonlight.

[thisisamadhouse]

The Tale of Robin & Regina

For @oqmovieweek, a little something inspired by the Tale of Aragorn & Arwen from the Lord of the Rings. AO3 link

I did it , Robin thinks as he glances out the high window towards the people milling down below, some working on the final touches for his coronation, others already gathering to see their new King. After all those years of hardships, battles, and sacrifices, he is finally about to assume Earnur’s crown and reunite the realms of Men under his banner.

It should be a day of rejoicing, the beginning of a new Age for Middle-earth, but Robin’s heart is heavy with the memories of those who can’t be here by his side, family and friends lost to him forever. Most of all, Robin misses  her more than any other, the one to whom he has given his heart and soul: Regina, the fairest of the High Elves still living on this side of the shore.

Lightly touching the pendant she gifted him the last time he saw her, he wonders if she has already left Middle-earth, if her mother, Cora, has finally convinced her to give up on him and seek refuge and everlasting peace in Valinor. Cora Half-Elven, the Lady of Rivendell, is powerful, respected and feared in equal measure among the Elves. A distant relative to Robin, she had chosen to embrace immortality as an Elf rather than the mortal condition of his ancestors. She reluctantly took in Robin and his mother after his father’s death, recognizing that the last heir of the thrones of the North and the South could prove valuable in the fight against the Dark Lord. She never foresaw that he would capture the heart of her greatest treasure.

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

It was a strange day for Robin. At barely twenty years of age, and almost all of those spent in Rivendell, he had finally found out the truth about his origins: the last heir of Isildur, he was the only one still able to claim the thrones of Arnor and Gondor, but the path was full of obstacles, with the Dark Lord’s Shadow growing everyday.

He was walking in the woods, pondering his fate, recalling the stories of old, tales of bravery and glory, and imagining if his name would one day appear alongside those of revered heroes. Singing one of his favourite ballads, lost in his thoughts, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks at the vision standing in the clearing before him. He must have fallen asleep, he thought, or all those evenings spent sitting at the Minstrels’ foot had granted him new abilities he had been unaware of until then, for he had been intoning the Lay of Luthien Tinuviel, the most beautiful of all beings, mortal or immortal, that ever was, whose love for a Man had once inspired the world and moved even the Judge of the Dead, and surely there she was, conjured up from his words.

 Barefoot in the green grass, she wore a pale blue gown, with short sleeves just off her shoulders, revealing a smooth, sun-kissed skin, her long, dark brown, silky, wavy hair fell down to the small of her back, the light filtering through the high trees caught highlights of copper in them, and Robin was mesmerized, the desire to run his fingers through the soft strands overwhelming.

  Stepping closer, he called out “Tinuviel, Tinuviel”, as his forefather had once done, but when she turned, startled to find him here, she seemed confused and arched an eyebrow, asking him why he would use that name. It took him a long moment to answer, he had been struck speechless at the sight of her. All his years in Rivendell, amongst the grandest and most refined creatures in Middle-earth, could not have prepared him for how utterly enchanting this Lady was. She seemed young, but then most Elves did, one of the many blessings granted to them, her chestnut eyes were intense, appraising him, her face was as flawless and unblemished as the rest of her, only a scar marked her upper lip, but it took nothing away from her beauty, only added mystery and made him more curious. She was petite but held her head high, her bearing was regal, and looking closely he could link her features and manners to the Lady of Rivendell herself, and he wondered if they were related. 

  As he studied her, she tilted her head, still waiting for an answer, and he stammered a response, telling her of how he had been singing about Tinuviel and thought he had made her appear out of thin air.

  “I am not Luthien, though I have been told that I look like her. I am Regina, daughter of Cora, Lady of Rivendell, and I think I know who you are: Robin, son of Robert, the heir of Isildur, my mother’s ward and our distant cousin,” she told him, and he couldn’t hide his surprise at hearing this, for he had never known that Cora had a daughter.

  “I spent the past few years with my father’s kin in Lothlorien, I have just returned to Imladris, and I wanted to walk through the woods the way I used to do… before,” and though she looked away, he couldn’t possibly miss the sorrowful expression that swept over her face, even the sunlight seemed to dim, a dark cloud obscuring it. 

  He had heard about the fate of Cora’s husband, Henry, once a mighty Elf Lord, who was attacked by Orques and wounded beyond any hope of healing in Middle-earth.

  “I did not mean to cause you pain, Milady, please forgive my tactlessness.”

  She shook her head, dismissing the memories and the shadow, the clearing bathed in sunbeams once more. Robin could see that she was about to take her leave, and he couldn’t bear the thought, so he spoke up once more.

  “I must admit I have not yet trailed far from Rivendell, would you tell me about Lothlorien, whose splendour, I have been told, is without equal on this side of the Sea?”

  She hesitated, biting her bottom lip in thoughts, but then his sincere eagerness seemed to persuade her, and she sat down, beckoning him to join her.

  Robin had been smitten at the mere sight of her, but after hearing her talk about the beauty of her father’s land, evoking images, sounds and smells so precise that he felt like he had already been there, he knew that he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life by her side, listening with rapt attention to anything she deemed him worthy enough to share with.

  That first encounter sealed their destiny: though she only seemed amused by him in the beginning, after weeks of finding him always close by, never overbearing, only willing to listen, or distract her, or simply sit in silence, she started seeing him in a different light, and it confused her.

  “I never thought that Luthien’s fate was to be envied,” Regina told him once. “All those sufferings, trials and tribulations, and in the end they were given so little time together. Was it really worth it?”

  He clasped one of her hand gently, giving her time to withdraw it if she so wished, and squeezed when she didn’t. “I’m sure they thought it was, to have the chance to live their love in any way possible.”

  “But to give up everything she had, to renounce her gifts, leave her family behind, forsaking the chance to ever see them again?” She trailed off, looking away, and Robin felt a pang when realization hit him. He cursed himself for his selfishness and his thoughtlessness, he had been so spellbound that he had failed to understand what their attachment could mean for her. She had eternity to look forward to, thousands of years to see all the wonders of the world, and what did he have to offer?

  She noticed his grave mood, and offered him a small smile. “You are so young,” she said. “You know nothing of the world. Once you leave here, you will forget all about me.”

  “I doubt I would ever forget meeting you,” was his reply, but she only smiled indulgently, as if humoring a child.

  “Maybe you should.”

  It was only a matter of time before Cora got wind of their close friendship, and she was not pleased with him. She had him summoned to remind him of his mission, of the very reason she had harboured him in the first place: to prepare him for the War to come.

  “You are not worthy of her hand, Robin, son of Robert,” she told him coldly. “You should not trouble yourself with an infatuation, but should get ready for the fight waiting for you beyond the borders of this land,” and so with clenched fists and gritted teeth, Robin bowed to her and left the room.

  Knowing that he could not risk losing the Lady’s benevolence, he tried to avoid Regina after this, thinking that severing their bond would be less painful. It wasn’t though, and his heart was bleeding. She found him in the stables, less than a week later, on the eve of his departure, as he brushed his horse, readying it for the long journey ahead. She was silent at first, gently stroking the stallion’s head, feeding it an apple, as she softly spoke in Elvish.

 "My mother does not speak for me,” Regina whispered, covering his hand and stopping the movement of the brush. He turned his head towards her, holding her gaze as she stepped closer to him and cupped his jaw. She brushed her lips against his. He barely felt the pressure before she leaned back, closely watching his reaction, and he would be damned if that was the first time he saw her unsure of anything. He crashed his lips to hers, trying to convey all the passion and love he felt into his kiss. If she was surprised, she hid it well, instead returning his embrace fiercely until they had no choice but to part to breathe.

  “She is right though,” Robin murmured against her hair, after a long moment of peaceful silence. “I am no one while I stay hidden here, a mere title does not a King make. If ever I am to be the one who redeem my ancestor’s weakness, I can’t do it from the safety of Imladris.”

  She looked at him with eyes full of such intense sorrow that he was tempted to pretend he had never spoken a word. “The world out there is dangerous, you may not return. So many have already been taken, and countless more will follow before the end.” The tears falling along her cheeks were like daggers stabbing him in the heart.

  “I am not afraid, Milady. The Dark Lord himself could not stop me from finding my way back to you,” he swore.

  He left the next day, watching back to keep her in sight until she was too far away to distinguish, and then he launched his horse into the gallop, wanting to put as much distance between him and his love as possible before his resolve failed him.

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  Every single moment spent with her was so clear and sharp in his mind. He hung onto them during the hardest moments of their separation. More than twenty years passed before he saw her again, in Lothlorien this time. The Lord and Lady had let him through, offering him to rest for a while. 

  He had changed, had become a Man, a soldier, a leader, he was broader in stature, and more somber in spirit, with the weight of his fate sometimes stifling him, but when he set eyes on her, he felt all of twenty again, the smile splitting his face wider than it ever had before. He didn’t spare a thought for the curious eyes on him, or the decorum of the graceful Elves around them, he couldn’t have stopped himself from running to her and pick her up to hug her against him if he had tried. And she, who mere moments before had seemed forlorn and lost, was now clutching his brand new tunic tightly in her little fists, suppressing a sob as he murmured how much he had missed her, how many times the thought of her had given him strength before battle. 

  The Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, Regina’s grandparents, are more indulgent than her mother. Her grandmother is wise, only wishing for Regina’s happiness, and she knew that their hearts were true. She blessed their union, though she reminded Robin that triumph was his only prospect, Cora would never accept that her daughter renounced her immortality for anyone less than the greatest King.

  Once more Regina and Robin had to say goodbye, but this time she would not let him go without a promise, a promise that she would bind her fate to his, that she believed in him and his victory. She had made her peace with what it meant, that she could never follow her kin to Valinor, that she would never see her father again, but her father would understand, he would want her to follow her heart. She gifted him her pendant, a jewel reflecting the light of the brightest star in the night sky who had once belonged to her grandmother.

  “Your mother will accuse me of stealing it away,” he managed to lightly tease, the emotion of the moment nearly choking him.

  “You can’t steal something that has been given to you,” she replied, and he knew she wasn’t just talking about the necklace.

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Robin shakes himself from his memories, they have spent more time apart than together, his stays in Rivendell and Lorien few and far between as the Enemy grew stronger. She had her own responsibilities, her talents required to help protect the realms of the Elves. She is fierce his Regina, a skillful warrior who trained herself hard after her father was brought down by the Orques, and who inherited great gifts from both sides of her family. More than once, he thought that together they would be unstoppable, but never would he have wanted to put in harm’s way. He doubts that he will have the chance to find out now. A knock at the door and Will, his friend and long-time companion, enters the room to bring him outside, the time has come.

The joy of the crowd gathered is infectious, and he lets it fill his heart as the crown is placed on his head, and as he stands back up and walks among his people, accepting their love and gratitude, he feels Will stop and gasp by his side. Turning his head he sees people part, letting through a company amid which he recognizes many familiar faces: the Elves have come, and Robin feels his hope returning.

The Lord and Lady of Lorien grin widely at him, and even the Lady of Rivendell give him a faint smile. She stops his progress and seems to steel herself for what she is about to say.

“My judgement may have been hasty, but remember that she is my greatest treasure, I could not entrust her to just anyone.”

And Robin nods, understanding, because he is not sure he would have reacted any differently had he been in her stead. Cora moves away, and there she is, more radiant than ever, Regina, his Regina wearing the same gown than the first time he saw her, and almost a lifetime has passed since that fateful moment. He has to touch her, to make sure she is real, and his hand meets hers, bringing it to his chest and brushing his lips against it.

“You did not think I would miss this day,Thief?” She asks, her hand pressing against his heart, the tips of her fingers covering their pendant.

“Not for one second,” he says, and as she laughs, for he was never able to lie to her, he embraces her tightly, twirling her around as they kiss, everyone clapping and rejoicing.

This is the beginning of a New Age, and he wouldn’t want anyone else by his side to share it with.

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 2X22 - And Straight On ‘Til Morning

Despite all the mourning from the last episode, we’re gonna go straight on ‘til we finish off this season.

...Wanted to make my last pun of the season classy. Now you know what to do.

Press Release The inhabitants of Storybrooke brace themselves for the end when Greg and Tamara detonate the trigger Regina had placed within the curse, with the annihilation of the town and its residents imminent; and Mr. Gold mourns the loss of his son, Bae/Neal. Meanwhile, back in Neverland of the past, Hook discovers his connection to a young Bae after he rescues him from the sea and soon realizes that the Lost Boys are in hot pursuit of the boy. General Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness Past I really struggled with how I felt about the past segment. Something about this flashback has always rubbed me the wrong way (Or at least, as much as the two times I’ve watched it can do) and I spent the lesser part of two days wondering why. And I think I finally figured it out.

The actions and broad strokes of this storyline are great, as is admittedly much of the dialogue. I like the bond that forms between Killian and Bae and I like how Killian’s framed. The dialogue is for the most part pretty good and I love all the time we get to spend on the Jolly Roger. However, the thematically heavy lines like “being alone” and “caring only about yourself” are honestly so distracting because Killian’s is blatantly committing revenge on Milah’s behalf and he has a whole crew with him.

Now on one hand, I get it. Especially given Killian’s decision at the end of the flashback, one can argue that Killian’s revenge and the decisions stemming from it are more for his sake than Milah’s. It’s similar to what Regina was doing with Snow and her subjects, where she claimed that after she killed Snow, she’d show them love. On the other hand, as I said before, it’s honestly so distracting and I feel like if the above were the case, there would’ve been more to paint it that way.

Okay, so now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, just remember: The segment is good, but dialogue choices like that separate good from great. The drama between Killian and Bae is one of the most important parts of Killian’s redemption and their bonding provides serious insight into who Killian is as a character.  Present First off, I love the way Neal’s “death” was handled. First, let’s talk about the acting. Robert Carlyle continues to be flawless. He shows how Rumple’s overcome with sadness and regret immediately upon hearing the news. Second, I love how he’s paralleled against Henry. While Henry has his mother to lean on and hold (A great if not tragic Swan Believer moment in and of itself), despite being told the news by two people, Rumple’s in the shot where he first takes it in alone and only comforted from a distance. Third, it gets Rumple questioning his own philosophy and is one of the biggest cases of “all magic has a price” being turned on him. It’s nothing short of a spiral and the way he pulls everyone down with him fits the character so well.

I got so many Spongebob Musical feels as I was thinking about the main story here. XD I’m going to explain it when I get to arcs, but I think that the main story does a good job bringing together Emma, Regina, Henry, Snow, and David’s stories. Every emotion here hits and the main story, which seemed to rightly get the most focus, was handled well.

Keep that in mind when I go off here.

”I did it [Kill Cora] because it was easy. It was a mistake.” FUCK THAT NOISE! NO! IT WASN’T EASY! IT WAS ACTUALLY BOTH DIFFICULT IN EXECUTION AND IN ITS AFTER EFFECTS! It was cruel, sure. And I get the guilt, but honestly, it was Cora (An uncontrollable monster) or Rumple (Someone who had been persuaded to do good in the past and could in the future AND had two morality pets to keep him on the straight and narrow). Fuck the noise where this was a wrong decision and that GOD this is the last instance where Snow says something like that! “There were other paths -- harder paths.” AND THEY WOULD’VE RESULTED IN MASS MURDERS ALL AROUND. FUCK! The ONLY good thing about that shitty flashback in “The Cricket Game” was that you supposedly learned that this idea was bullshit and you just threw that idea out like a dirty diaper! FUCK THIS SET OF LINES! It’s especially infuriating because it comes in the middle of a GREAT Snow scene where her optimism and leadership are so well shown!

Finally, What’s interesting to me is how Killian immediately dismisses Emma’s speech about being alone and being part of something by asking “Why are you really doing this?” Bae, being dead and Henry no longer having a father, is the spark that becomes the flame of his redemption. I’m with @sab031794 with the idea that Bae is definitely his turning point, while Emma’s words further the point, something he appreciates. Insights - Stream of Consciousness -Was there ever a concrete answer as to who drew the Milah drawing? Was it Killian? Milah herself? Like one of the people at theme park who paints people? -SMEE!! So by this point, is Smee Killian’s first mate or is he still just a regular crew member? Also, got to hand it to Smee for his faith in Killian. Smee’s a scared dude, so to see him with so much resolve in his voice as he tells Killian that they’ll avenge Milah, it’s so much bigger of a moment! -I didn’t realize how closely this episode borders on child trafficking until now! Dark. -I’ll never quite be over the way Bae’s eyes pop when he tells someone what happened to his father. Powerful! -It’s great seeing Killian piece together the puzzle that’s this new boy and immediately making a plan upon realizing just who he is. -It’s so creepy seeing how having only Lacey to depend on as a morality chain can corrupt Rumple so much. Hurting Henry to save himself at the very least was a point he was torn on when he first found Neal and learned the truth about his and Henry’s relation. But as he sees Henry on the swing, he’s so close to giving in and killing Henry. (Okay, someone write a dark ass fic where this happens. Henry dies and Emma goes crazy trying to figure out if his death was an accident or not. Can you IMAGINE the final confrontation there?!) Also, I refuse to believe it’s a coincidence that it’s David that snaps him out of it. Sheep Bros to the rescue! -Colin acts that last scene in the mine so freakin’ well! Like, less than three minutes later, that’s gonna turn out to be horseshit, but he sells that so believably! -I will say, while I don’t like a lot of platitudes this season, I’m cool with Henry’s “work together” schtick. -David, that was an amazing punch! XD -WHAT AN EXCELLENT REGAL BELIEVER SCENE! Once again, Regina apologizes to Henry and it’s very sincere. She’s not blaming anyone and is saying that it’s she who failed to live up to his standards. And Henry’s reaction does not absolve her, but lets her know that he loves her. THAT is GOOD! -”The things we do for our children.” This is kind of a weird line. -I love how it’s so obvious that this Pan is “him” and they are doing every backflip to make this a killer twist. -Oh My God! Felix is trying to be so menacing and it is just the HAMMIEST thing ever! XD I love it! It’s not appropriate at all to the mood they’re setting, but fuck it! I love it! -Grumpy, that is the best cup I have ever seen! I can’t even blame you for taking it back for Sneezy (And then maybe channel your inner-Stealthy and take it for yourself)! -I’ve been trying to do a count of the number of men in KIllian’s crew. So far, I’ve seen at most six pirates (Killian and Smee included). Does anyone have a better count? -Left is port, right is starboard. I don’t know why, but I always forget it. Hopefully, Captain Hook will be able to help me remember! -It’s interesting to me how Killian, even when he was just using Bae, used a real and vulnerable part of his life to relate to him. It’s great insight into Killian’s life and a subtle nudge in the direction of Killian coming to care for Bae even before the truly touching moment on the scene hits. -I do have to wonder, why does Killian want to live so badly? During “The Outsider,” Killian was more than willing to die so that he could return to Milah, but he wouldn’t have even killed Rumple then (though one could argue that he’d at least leave a black mark on Rumple and Belle’s relationship). Here, he’d be killing Rumple and there’s no sign he care about saving anyone else. -”I’m not your mate.” Give it a season, Davey! -Emma and Regina work brilliantly together here. There’s such a softness to Regina sacrifice and the way Emma tries to fight against what looks to be the inevitable. It’s a great testament to their dynamic. -Wow! The CG for the destruction of Storybrooke is awful! XD -Farewell, Lacey. I hardly knew ye. -Snow, that is not all of Storybrooke. That’s not even a quarter of Storybrooke. There should be a giant ass crowd of people, not just your besties! -The moment when Bae is told the truth of his mother by Killian is so powerful! There’s so much rage, passion, and love, all of it left on on the floor in the scene. -”I’ll track them down in Hell if I have to.” Granted it’s not regarding the same character, but give it a few seasons, Emma! -”There’s no way. I spent a lifetime trying to cross worlds to find my son.” Hindsight makes that line utterly hysterical! -Rumple! Let Belle help! Get some other stooge to cast the protection spell! Belle’s such a good tracker! -Why is this goodbye making me flashforward to Belle’s death?! *bawls* -GOLDEN HOOK WORKING TOGETHER!!! That look they exchange as they understand the map’s destination! YES! I’M FILLED WITH THE POWER OF YESSSSSS! Arcs - How are These Storylines Progressing? Regina’s Redemption - Regina’s redemption was handled masterfully in this episode. The focus of it was put on Henry. As the inevitability of the end hits her, all she can and does focus on is keeping Henry alive. But that’s not all. Her acceptance of ehr bad reputation being her own fault goes a long way towards washing away the exasperation from the last few episodes away. Her sacrifice works on every level, reinfusing sympathy into Regina without it feeling out of character because of the sharp focus on Henry. Rumple’s Redemption - So like usual, Rumple takes one step back and one step forward, and I felt that it mostly worked. I say mostly because I don’t really get how Lacey attempting to use Bae’s shawl is the turning point for Rumple using the memory potion on Lacey. It’s not like Lacey used the shawl maliciously and she even apologized for it. Was it so she could help him grieve? If so, I wish it came across better. That said, I like the effect that Lacey has been corrupting Rumple, but he realizes that he both needs Belle in her real state and that his thoughts of murdering Henry are awful and need to be shunted. At the same time, he’s not willing to lend a finger to help with the end of the world. Killian’s Redemption - What’s interesting to me is how early on in this episode, Killian is pointed at for not believing in something by Tamara, and when he does turn, Killian himself is one of the most belief-heavy people on the show! Additionally, in the flashback, Killian is so belief-heavy, believing that he can get his revenge on the Dark One and later that he and Bae can fill the empty holes in their hearts. But aside from that, Killian’s turn around is actually pretty simply set up for a sympathetic character. First, it comes through in the decision to go to the heroes to help stop the diamond, knowing they’re more effective. Second, it’s of course the decision to turn his ship around. It represents Killian’s decision to start caring again, allowing himself in a way to be reborn. Emma Accepting Her Parents - “Mom...Dad…” ...Do I even need to say any more? ...Well, apart from the fact that it’s a great closing out of the arc in the beginning of the season, it’s also a PHENOMENAL setup for the events of Season 3. Greg and Tamara - Greg and Tamara kind of get stupid in this finale upon revealing that they don’t know who runs the home office and all the deflectation that takes place when Killian questions them. Really? A group of people who supposedly value science over magic wouldn’t ask who their boss is? Favorite Dynamic Emma and Regina - Emma and Regina are amazing to watch. The episode doesn’t pretend that they’re friends or even that they like each other all that much, but that their bond over Henry is powerful enough that they can overcome those facts and at least start in that direction. For the first time, I feel these two come together as real mothers. They act in Henry’s best interests and that includes saving the other, being honest to Henry, and portraying the other in a good light. Darker Elements (TW: Mention of Child Trafficking) I’ve seen it be said that Killian’s decision to abandon Baelfire was the most evil moment of his life. While I’m not sure how much I believe that, I must point out how this is as close to child trafficking as OUAT can ever get without outright saying it, and that is fucking dark. While trying to examine my own feelings on the issue, I think in terms of the show, because of the fantastical distance of the child trafficking being conducted in an equally fantastical way by a pirate with a hook for a hand and a set of children in cloaks putting a boy in a dinghy to take him to Peter Pan, it’s different than other instances of Darker Elements that I’ve already touched on. If a woman is assaulted or someone is raped by deception, the resonance with the treatment of women and the realities of sexual assault, especially in our modern political climate, makes it difficult to cloud with fantastical elements. And I’m not saying trafficking isn’t, but it’s not something a large portion of OUAT’s audience sees on a constant basis.

Writer A&E are as usual in charge of the finale, and honestly, while well delivered, I expected better. So much of the dialogue works, and that makes the fact that some of the crucial dialogue doesn’t hurt so badly. I feel like they were trying to make square pegs fit in round holes when they talk about things like Killian choosing to be alone and how kiling Cora was easy and and how Rumple decides to turn back Belle because Lacey accidentally used Bae’s shawl as a napkin. it almost overshadows the genuinely good dialogue in other places and I feel like with another draft, those problems would either be minimized or non existent. It pains me how this episode reminds me in a lot of respects more of “The Heart is a Lonely Hunter” (My current least favorite episode of the series) than some of their better episodes like “Broken.” Rating 8/10. I’ve been torn on ratings before, but never quite like this. So much of the Season 2 finale does work, but it does have failings and they chip away. However, I’ve gone on about some of the dialogue choices enough. Let’s talk about the good stuff. This episode is a good culmination point for so many of the arcs started and presents a good jumping off point for them to be furthered in the next season. It’s entertaining to watch emotionally resonates where it counts. It’s dark, but optimistic and has that Once-y feel! Flip My Ship - Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness” Swan Fire - We get to see some pretty sad and yet hopeful Swan Fire stuff. Emma is barely able to mourn Neal’s loss, but when she tells Henry and Killian the truth, you really feel the grief she’s going through. And then Neal’s alive! Swan Queen - It was so great seeing Emma and Regina working together! You really feel for the emotional bond they’ve formed as they fight off the diamond and it’s gotta be said that there’s a serious weight to the fact that the two of them together managed to fight off something that neither thought possible. Captain Swan - I feel like Emma and Killian really get their deserved start here. Emma not only tries to get her bean back, but tries to invite him to the hero squad with as much effort as she can given all else on her plate. And while it initially doesn’t work, Emma’s speech does find its resonance with Killian through remembering of his love for Bae. Rumbelle - My thoughts on how Rumple decided to use the potion aside, the moment where Belle comes back and they kiss is beautiful and heartwarming, as is their goodbye at the docks. Grumpy Beauty - Grumpy went out of his way as they were all gonna die to get another memory potion to restore Belle! That is so cute!!! I love this ship!!! There’s also such a real feeling of sacrifice as Rumple sees Belle off before his trip to Neverland. ()()()()()()()()() Oh My God! Season 2 is completed!!! Well, sort of! Like last season, I’m going to do my overview where I talk about everything from the quality of the season itself to the best dynamics to who was the best writer! I hope you’ll join me for it because it’s gonna be a lot of fun!

Thank you all for reading and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales! Couldn’t have done it without you!

See you next time!

Season 2 Tally (194/220) Writer Tally for Season 2: Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis: (58/60)* Jane Espenson (44/50)* Andrew Chambliss and Ian Goldberg (40/50)* David Goodman (24/30)* Robert Hull (24/30)* Christine Boylan (26/30)* Kalinda Vazquez (28/30)* Daniel Thomsen (18/20)* * Indicates that their work for the season is complete Operation Rewatch Archives

[juliasdowntonstuff]

Chapter 53

Forgot to post it yesterday, so this is Chapter 53 - out now (also on ao3)

this chapter not only has some Rosamund-Cora-Robert content, but also some Edith-Mary interaction since I did not have the heart to properly separate those two quite different discussions into two chapters. One long one it is :)

As usual, there's a sneak peek under the cut — this time from two different sections of the chapter

"I know I asked you this once before, but seeing as the circumstances have changed since then, I thought I might just as well ask again."

"Yes?"

Mary shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had no clue what would follow, but she sensed that it would not be an easy question if her sister was so careful with her words.

Hesitantly, Edith drew in a breath and then continued: "Will we be seeing more of Mister Barber in the future? It's just that you two seemed to get along so well together when they were all here to shoot the film last year, and I know that you thought he was more than just easy to look at. We all did, honestly. I had not seen you so at ease around anyone since -" Edith stopped for a second, worriedly looking Mary over. The last thing she wanted to do was upset her. "Well, since Matthew. I certainly never saw you like this around Henry."

Mary had expected anything. Anything at all. Just not this, and her surprise must have shown on her face, for Edith quickly added: "It is alright, you needn't answer. It's quite insensitive and impertinent to ask, I know."

////////////////////////

"Rosamund?"

The redhead seemed to be trapped in some sort of panicked trance, the way she stood there and stared into nothingness where her niece had previously been. However, when her sister-in-law gently reached out, she snapped out of it and stared directly into Cora's eyes. It almost seemed to Cora that she was staring right through her as if she had seen a ghost.

Rosamund's rapid breathing began to slow down, steadily normalising again under both of their watchful eyes. Suddenly stifling a sob, she swiftly turned around to face the stone, her eyes reading the name engraved once more.

Her voice was quiet when she eventually began to talk slowly, and it sounded much more vulnerable than her brother ever recalled hearing her speak. "Marmaduke and I, we always wanted children. We tried for a long time after we got married, but it never happened for us and we had made our peace with the fact that maybe having children was just not in the cards for us. However, after years, our prayers were finally heard and I got pregnant. It was a tumultuous year, with you volunteering to go fight in the Boer War, Marmaduke deciding to follow you, and then Papa dying unexpectedly just after you had left. I was fortunate enough that mourning clothes were not flattering, so nobody suspected anything at the funeral. And if they did, they were too preoccupied otherwise to pay me any mind or give it a second thought. Once everything was taken care of here, I went and hid away in London. I was missing him terribly, and it made me sick. I was worried sick day in and day out, hoping he would come home to me."

"You were pregnant, Rosamund?" Cora asked, trying to carefully dig deeper as she stepped up to Rosamund. She, too, looked at the memorial on the ground again, reading the inscription while the knot in her stomach tightened. She knew the answer. It was there, written in stone at their feet, but the spoken confirmation did not quite want to register with her.

[adoracora-elizabeth]

The truth always comes out, chapter 17

"Mama?" Sybil’s voice sounded through the phone. "How are you doing?"

Cora had curled herself up in one of Rosamund’s comfortable chairs. Yesterday she went to a doctor in London, the coughing seemed to worsen. She got some different medication to help loosen the mucus in her lungs and the order to make daily walks to activate her lungs. This way, the mucus would be easier to cough up. "Not much better, but I hope that the new medication is going to work." She told Sybil everything about her doctor’s visit and the advice she got. Cora knew how interested Sybil was in everything medical. "How are things at home?"

It stayed silent for a second, Cora heard Sybil breathe in. "You are missed." She said.

Cora felt her heart ache. She could imagine how Robert was feeling and behaving. Was he eating? She suddenly thought, and was he able to sleep? The last part was hard on her end, too. Every night, images of Robert and Jane haunted her.

"Mama?" Sybil said cautiously. "Why did you leave Papa?"

Cora swallowed. She could have known, Sybil would figure out, that it was not just for her health that she went to Rosamund. "I did not leave your Papa sweetheart."

"Is it because of Tom and me?" Sybil continued.

"What? Oh no, no, no, no. It is not that sweety." Cora wished she could wrap her arms around her little girl. "Your Papa and I are not fighting because of who you love. Darling, do not worry, Papa will get used to having Tom in our lives."

"If it is not that, why are you not coming home?" Sybil's voice cracked.

Cora felt a tear rolling down her cheek. "Darling, I need a bit more time before I can come back." She paused for a second. "You know what, why are you not coming here for the weekend?"

She could hear Sybil cheer up. "That is a wonderful idea, I will tell Papa and pack my bag immediately."

"And Rosamund will pick you up from the station, just let us know when you will arrive."

"Can Mary and Edith come too? We will make a girls weekend out of it."

Cora chuckled, "If they want to." She could not see Mary going on a trip together with Edith, but who knew.

"Are you ready for a walk?" Rosamund popped her head around the corner. She spooked Cora. "Look at you, you cannot go for a walk all wrapped up in a blanket." Rosamund continued.

"Sybil, darling, let us know when you arrive, and we will be there, I need to hang up. My drill master is urging me outside." Cora joked and gave Rosamund a smile. "See you in three days."

Sybil’s voice sounded serious. "But that advice of the doctor is very good. You need to listen and go for that walk. You will feel better, I promise."

"Doctors orders, come on." Rosamund insisted.

+++

"Are you all going to London tomorrow?" Robert said surprised, they were all sitting at the dinner table. Violet had come to join them.

"Not me, Papa." Mary said. "I do not have time, Mama can decide to leave this house, but we have so much work for the next events left."

"Mama is in London for her health, Mary you know that this is not fair." Edith said defensive.

"We are not all, that stupidly naïf as you are, Edith." Mary sneered back.

"Well, well, girls. Watch your manners." Violet said. She turned to Robert. "Cora is in London to recover, is she not?"

Robert nodded. "She is." He could not say more without his voice breaking. What if Cora wanted a divorce? How was he going to deal with the girls. Where would the girls go, were they going to stay here, or follow Cora? And where would Cora go? All her family lived in America. He almost gasped. What if she left for America. He would never see her again. His mother noticed his shock.

"Girls, you can go through, your Papa, and I will follow." Violet said, urging the girls out of the dining room.

"But we have not had desert yet." Edith complained.

"You can eat that in the drawing room, now chop chop."

Once Mary and Edith left the room, Violet turned towards Robert. "And now you are going to tell me what is wrong."

Robert did not look up. He twirled the wine that was still in his glass. "Cora's lungs are not improving. Rosamund told me that they went to a doctor to get her checked out again."

"Robert, if Cora’s health was that bad, you would be there with her. No, there is something else."

Robert sighed.

"I noticed that you did not eat much, and you drink a lot. Now, I know you long enough to know something is wrong. The girls are in a different room, there is no staff around. You can tell me."

He could tell her. How, he could not even tell Cora. Let alone his mother. There was a small chance that Violet would support him, because she still treated Cora as if she did not know how to run this household.

"I am waiting." Violet said.

Robert looked up. "Cora and I have to figure some things out, and it was better for us that she would be away from here for a while."

"So, you two are lying about her health towards your children and me?"

"Oh, no, Mama." Robert raised his eyebrows in shock. "I wish her lungs were better, but unfortunately, they are not."

"She could have stayed here. Our doctors are good, especially Dr. Clarkson."

"Mama, it was better for her to go to London. We are it discussing this any further."

"As you wish, you would rather talk about Tom?"

+++

Rosamund padded Cora’s back while she was leaning with her hand against a wall to steady herself. "The doctor was right. Walking helps loosen the crap in your lungs." She offered Cora a tissue.

Cora used it gratefully and asked for a second one to blow her nose.

"As long as it is coming back every time, it does not help, does it?" Cora said, slightly annoyed. "Can we please start walking back? This is our second walk today, and I am exhausted."

Rosamund hooked her arm in Cora’s and bumped her shoulder softly against Cora’s. "But it is keeping your mind of things, is it not?"

Cora had to admit. She had so many coughing fits during their walks that there was no time to mull over Robert’s escapades, and in the evening, she was now so tired that she fell asleep instantly.

Tomorrow Sybil and Edith would come. She had hoped to feel better and do something fun with them. She rarely did something with just her girls these days. They were growing up so fast. Sybil would soon leave their house. Once Mary would start dating Matthew, she would also leave soon. The only one who would stay was Edith, she thought, poor Edith, she always struggled with everything in life. Cora worried if she had given her enough attention in her younger years.

First, she had Mary, a first born is always difficult when Edith came, things were easier. Edith had been an easy baby who did not ask much, and it happened a lot that Cora’s attention went to Mary instead of Edith. Mary asked a lot of her time. Then came Sybil, her darling cuddly baby. She had loved soaking up her warmth, her small body wrapped around her chest. It took Robert and her quite some time before they finally held a healthy baby in their arms again. They never had a boy, Robert’s biggest wish. Her last pregnancy was unexpected, but more than welcome. Unfortunately, the little boy did not survive the hard stumble she made, stepping out of the bathtub.

Cora felt Rosamund grip strengthen on her arm. "Let's have another coughing fit, it will stop your worrying."

Both ladies laughed so hard that Cora ended up in an actual coughing fit. https://verhalenvantraan.wordpress.com/2023/07/14/the-truth-always-comes-out-chapter-17/

[thank-god-and-you]

A/N: This is a very, very belated birthday present for the lovely Amy. I am so, so sorry it’s taken me so long to finish this for you. I hate myself. But I hope it was worth the wait and you can still enjoy it even though your birthday is long gone.

-- --

Broken Eggs, Mending Hearts

“Well, look at you,” said Robert. “All set up in a home of your own. I’m proud of you.”

John snorted, a touch bitterly. “You have low standards, then.”

They stood together in the pokey front room, squashed tightly together. Neither of them were small men and the living space, advertised as comforting, was most definitely uncomfortable.

“At least you’ve got a place of your own now,” said Robert bracingly. “It’s better than still being stuck in that house with Vera, you have to admit.”

Yes, he could concede to that. The house had been a point of contention with them over the last year, with Vera demanding that he give it up to her, and him refusing in turn. But he was so tired of the way that it was stalling the divorce, so tired of being tied to her, and in the end he had decided that no property was worth this level of unhappiness. So he had conceded to signing the house over to her if she was willing to put her signature to the divorce papers. So far she had remained silent on that matter, but he hoped that the promise of winning that particular battle would make her more amenable to compromising. This flat was far from the thing that he’d wanted, but it got him out of the house and on the way to being an independent bachelor once more, so at least that was something.

He just wished that he’d been able to afford something a little better than this. Vera was trying to bleed him dry in the divorce, and until all that was settled, he couldn’t begin to build up his savings. For the time being he was stuck here.

“You’re right,” he said. “The only good thing about this whole shitty situation.”

“Don’t be like that. There’s always a silver lining, no matter how small. Sometimes we have to take small steps to achieve big things.”

“Are you just going to stand there and spout nonsense from self-help books at me?” said John, reluctantly amused.

Robert put his hand over his heart, pretending to be mortally wounded. “I’m just trying to help you, Bates. But if you don’t want that, then fine. I’ll go.”

John checked his watch. “That might not be a bad idea. I’ve still got to get these things sorted out, and I’m going to have to nip to the corner shop to get some things in for tonight.”

“I can do that for you. Or you can come over to ours for tea. Cora would be happy to have you.”

John wasn’t sure how true that was; he and Cora were polite and civil to one another, but he had the feeling that she wasn’t overly keen on him. She’d told him that she was very, very grateful that he had saved her husband’s life but he thought that she was a little jealous, too, of the tight bond they had shared for so many years. After all, there were things that John knew about Robert that he doubted his friend would ever breathe to Cora, no matter how strong their marriage was.

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “I ought to go out and get a feel for the surroundings. But thank you. I do appreciate it.”

“No problem. You know where I am if you need me. And I insist that you come over at the weekend for Sunday dinner. I don’t trust you to look after yourself. You’ll need a good feeding, and I won’t see you going down the nick.”

“You’re worse than my mother.”

“I know what you were like during our time in the army, that’s all. And you couldn’t cook for toffee.”

“Neither could you. In fact, you were a lot worse than I was. Who was the one who almost set fire to the whole camp?”

Robert waved his hand dismissively. “Details, details. Besides, I lucked out with Cora. She’s clever, gorgeous, and can cook a decent meal. I’m forever in her debt.”

“And never forget that again,” said John mildly. “If you really don’t mind having me, I suppose I’ll come over.”

“Excellent. See you soon, then, Bates. Good luck with the unpacking.”

John glanced around dismally at all of the cardboard boxes, the categories that his entire life had been packed into. It was rather depressing, really, that his life had become this. All of his achievements, all of his milestones, everything had been condensed down into a few paltry boxes. “Thanks, mate. See you soon.”

Robert waved, and was gone. Resigned, John set about emptying the boxes, decorating his sparse new space with a few more homey touches. It would probably take quite a while before it began to feel like a true home.

After a while, however, his stomach began to growl insistently. It had been a long time since the soggy sandwich he’d scarfed down at dinner. He wouldn’t be able to carry on without some sustenance. The supermarket was a drive across town, so the corner shop would indeed have to be sufficient for tonight. He grabbed his wallet and keys from the side, locked the door behind him, and set off.

He enjoyed the walk to the shop, glad to be away from the chaos of his flat for the time being. He certainly wouldn’t be able to avoid the mess when he returned, and his knee was beginning to ache with the repetitive motion of lifting the boxes onto the sides for unpacking, but it was nice to be carefree for the moment. He picked up a basket when he arrived and strolled around the tiny aisles scrutinising the goods. Figuring that he’d do a good shop at the supermarket tomorrow, he settled on the essentials: bread, milk, butter, cheese, ham, eggs. If nothing else, he could make himself an omelette. One step at a time; he didn’t have to channel Jamie Oliver on his first night. He paid for his goods and stepped back outside into the cool evening air.

Transporting the goods home, however, proved to be a trickier feat. Saddled as he was with the cane, it meant that he had to gather all of the carrier bags in his left hand. They were not heavy, but they still left him feeling decidedly lopsided, and he knew that he must look a right sight to anyone peering through their curtains. Poor cripple, they would probably be thinking. Or lazy lout. It was usually fifty-fifty these days.

As much as he hated to admit it, by the time he reached the building’s doors, he was a little breathless. The brisk walk, coupled with the strains of the day, had left him feeling sore, and he paused to gather himself before he pushed on to the final leg of his journey. The lift wasn’t an option; there was a limp ‘Do Not Use’ sign taped to it. He would have to struggle up all the flights of stairs.

He was just worrying whether his knee would let him face it when he heard a voice behind him say, “Need a hand with any of that?”

He turned at once to find a petite young woman walking towards him, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. His first instinct was to stiffen in self-defence, ready to fight yet another battle against someone who wished to pity him, but the sunny smile she sent his way disarmed him. She had a kind, open face, and as ridiculous as it sounded, he had no wish to offend her; he had the distinct impression that showing kindness to strangers was a regular weapon in her arsenal.

And, though he hated himself for even thinking it, he could not help but notice how beautiful she was. Her features were pale and delicate, with light blue eyes which sparkled like the cerulean sky above. Her blonde hair looked so silky, the sort of hair that he’d be able to run his fingers through for hours without ever getting bored. She was small in stature, but slim, the kind of enviable physique that seemed to come naturally to some women.

With the way that the sun was shining behind her, making her almost glow, she looked like an angel sent from God, the answer to all of his prayers. All she was missing was the damned halo.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he said instead, as politely as possible, hoping to dispel the disconcerting thought. He’d been raised a Catholic by his fierce Irish mother, but it had been a long time since he’d given any kind of thought to religion, disillusioned as he’d become by death and destruction. There were no such things as angels, even if this gorgeous stranger almost fit the bill to a tee.

“Sure,” said the woman. “I’m glad. Don’t mind me. I just know what a pain this place can be.”

“You live here?” said John, surprised.

She laughed. “Of course I do. Though I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

“I’m new to the area, moved in today,” he supplied. “John Bates.”

“Anna Smith,” she returned. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

She held out her hand to him to shake. He scrabbled to shove his cane in his left hand so he could return the gesture, but he must have caught it in the plastic carrier bag, because the next thing he knew there was an ominous ripping sound. Time seemed to slow as he lurched to stop the contents of his shopping from falling out the ruined sides.

No such luck.

Anna squealed as the bread bounced and rolled, the cheese hit the ground with a flump, and the milk burst and pulsed in the street like the blood of a dying animal.

And the eggs made a horrible, dull thunking sound, like a head being cracked open.

“Shit!” John yelped, stumbling backwards away from the wreckage. “Shit. There goes my tea.”

“Bugger,” said Anna. “I didn’t intend for that to happen.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I offered you my hand.”

“Because you were being kind. Here.” Now hands free, John thrust his hand towards her again. “You might as well finish the deal.”

Tentatively, she did so. She had a nice grip, confident but not too firm. If John allowed it to, the frustrations of the last few months could come bubbling over, culminating in his irritation that his meagre tea plans had ended up all over the floor. It meant that another trip to the shops was on the cards. But none of this was Anna’s fault, and he was trying his hardest to be a better man. He would not take that out on her, especially when she had been nothing other than friendly.

“I’m so sorry,” she said when she dropped his hand. Her accent was soothing. He liked the way that she elongated her vowels. He had a good ear for accents, having spent a lot of his time travelling with the army, and he knew a native Yorkshire tongue when he heard one. There was something very attractive about it. “What were you planning on making?”

“Please don’t apologise,” he told her, rapidly shaking away that treacherous last thought and bending with a huff to pick up the bread, cheese, and ham to give himself something else to focus on. Those, at least, appeared okay. The ham was the only thing that had escaped unscathed; the bread was a bit squashed and the block of cheese had lost its shape a little, but otherwise they were edible. “It was an accident. I wasn’t planning anything spectacular, just an omelette. I can hardly manage anything else. All the same, I’d better get this bread upstairs before I head back down to the shops.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I bet you’ve got loads of things you need to be getting on with if you’ve just moved in today. Whatever you say, I do feel partially responsible for this, so the least I can do is the neighbourly thing and offer you some eggs.  That way you can at least still make your omelette.”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was start accepting charity.

Anna, however, seemed determined to ignore him. “No, really, I insist. Which flat is yours? I’ll hurry inside really quickly and bring them up to you.”

She jutted her chin defiantly and, as much as he hated it, he knew there was no arguing with her. He knew nothing of her, this stranger, but he could tell that she was a little spitfire. It was a refreshing change to see that fire used for good and not ill, as had always been the case with Vera. It was the thought of his wife that made him nod now.

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you. I’m flat 4D.”

Anna brightened. “You’re right above me! I’m 3D.”

She was almost a neighbour. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. Clearing his throat, he gathered his things together and said, “Well, I’d better be heading up.”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

She was quicker than he was, and bounded off in front of him like a little fawn. He watched her go for a moment then set off at a much more sedate pace, gritting his teeth against the wrench in his knee—he must have injured himself when he tried to catch his wayward things. By the time he’d got back to his flat and laid his things out on the worktop, Anna was only a few minutes behind, offering him a sheepish smile and half a dozen eggs in a neat little carton, along with some mushrooms and tomatoes.

“I thought you could spruce your omelette up even more,” she explained. “I know it’s not a lot…”

“It’s lovely,” he interrupted her, touched by the gesture. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Welcome to Downton, Mr. Bates.”

She walked away then, and he closed the door behind her, unable to keep the smile from his face.

Perhaps there really were some angels in disguise after all.

-- --

Wilting Flowers, Blooming Hope

Life in Downton was certainly not perfect, but it was a damned sight better than what he’d been used to in the past five years. There were no screaming matches, no drinking until he passed out, no rutting that bordered on the painful. He was free in a way that he had not been for years, and bit by bit he was finding his feet and beginning to enjoy his life again. Most people would not find it the least bit fulfilling, but after being trapped for so long in such a stranglehold, it suited him down to the ground.

All of it was significantly improved by the presence of Anna, who had become a firm and steady friend, almost to the point where she overtook Robert, though if the latter ever found that out then he’d probably throw the biggest most moping fit of all.

At first, they had simply exchanged pleasantries when they saw each other, asking after each other’s welfare, with John never leaving without a smile. But, when they had bumped into each other at one of the Crawley gatherings and realised that their ties ran deeper than they’d initially thought, they’d grown even closer. Mobile numbers exchanged, trips to the cinema taken, days out to the nearby beaches organised, meals cooked in or eaten out, TV shows binged. It was amazing just how quickly he’d felt comfortable with her, when usually it took him a long time to see anyone as more than a passing acquaintance, but there was something almost fey-like about Anna’s abilities to get him to open up to her. He’d told her things that he’d never thought he’d share with anyone else again, and she in turned seemed to trust him with some of the more intimate details in her life. And he had to admit: it was nice to have a friend so close to hand, and a friend who never judged or pushed him to be anything other than he was. Robert was a wonderful man, but he did not have the listening skills that Anna possessed. With every day that passed, it became more and more apparent that he needed her in his life.

Which terrified him. Because the longer he spent with her, the more he began to realise that she was the kind of woman men dreamed about. She was funny, she was kind, she took no shit, and she was gorgeous to boot. His early thought that she’d looked like an angel had only been cemented further with her every action, and with someone like that, it seemed almost inevitable that the soft feelings he had for her would melt into something more.

He’d told himself that he would keep all women at arm’s length, and he’d failed miserably. She made him feel things that he had never, ever felt before.

It was all futile, of course. Anna would never look at him the same way he looked at her, and that was the best thing all round. What could he possibly have to offer her? In the last stages of his divorce he was poorer and more bitter than he had ever been, and well aware of the mistakes he had made which would prevent him from loading his baggage onto someone else’s back. Anna did not deserve that. She deserved someone young, vibrant, free.

Which no doubt she was getting now.

John pushed his food around his plate moodily, trying very hard not to imagine what might be going on at this very moment. When Anna had come to him asking if he would check in on her flat during the weekend because she was going away, he had agreed readily. She was a trainee nurse and worked hard every single day caring for those around her, and it was about time that she got some time away from work to relax and do something for herself.

But that was before he’d realised that she was going on a mad weekend with Mary and Sybil to Magaluf on a hen party. Magaluf, of all places. Or Shagaluf as Mary had candidly told him on the day the minibus had arrived to whisk them all away. The place of drinking until dawn, of no inhibitions, of hooking up with someone new every night.

The thought of it made John’s skin crawl. Anna was, of course, entitled to go out there and do whatever she pleased. She was a young woman in the prime of her life and deserved to have fun. It was on him that he’d started to develop feelings for her and did not want to think about her in bed with some young Spaniard with rippling abs and irresistible brown eyes.

Even though he knew it shouldn’t, it had put him in a bad mood for the rest of the weekend. He had shut himself in his flat and tried to concentrate on the book that he’d been neglecting for the past few weeks, but his mind wandered constantly, wondering who Anna was with now. He would not ask her—it was none of her business—but his heart ached with the thought that right at this very minute some gym buff was running his hands all over her body.

If only drowning his sorrows in the local pub was an option.

In the end, he’d decided to buy a last-minute ticket at nearby Elland Road. At least being in the zone of a football match would work for a little while.

It certainly did help for a short while, but the brooding thoughts returned when it was all over, and there was nothing else to distract him. Sunday passed slowly and Monday even more so, his eyes straying to the clock to count down the hours to her return. She was due back at some point later that evening.

On the way home, he was struck by a stupid, rash urge. He should do something nice for her, something that would hopefully brighten her mood after a long, tiring few days.

He should be careful. It was a reckless move, would likely imply more than he should say. But he could not stop himself.

He stopped off at the supermarket and dithered in front of the flowers. He was disappointed with the range. Where were all the pretty, vibrant bouquets? These ones were on their last legs, heads drooping, leaves on the turn. He stopped one of the workers, a bored looking young man.

“Is this all there is?” he asked desperately. “I was hoping for something…else.”

“Sorry, mate,” the lad replied, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “We’ve had a bit of a problem with the flowers over the last few days. Someone hasn’t been watering them properly. These are the best of a bad bunch. We’re not due another flower order until mid-week.”

“Shouldn’t be selling them, then, if they’re all so bad,” John said grumpily, but in the end he chose the least battered bunch he could find. They were not worth the five pounds that the sticker demanded, but he paid it anyway. He just hoped that Anna wouldn’t be too disappointed with them. He’d have to explain himself to her.

He made his way back across town to the block of flats and dithered for a moment. When he stopped to think about what he was doing, it was ridiculous. What man went out and bought flowers to freshen up a friend’s flat? He could not imagine any of the men he knew doing something like that. What if it aroused Anna’s suspicions? What if it made her uncomfortable? That was the last thing he wanted to do. And yet he could not back out now. It was too late. He had to go through with it, for better or worse.

Taking a deep breath, he fished her key out and let himself into her flat. It was pristinely clean and sunny. He liked coming here; its warmth and brightness felt very much like coming home.

Much like being with Anna always did.

He shook that thought away because it was not constructive. He did not want to pry into her personal things too much when she wasn’t here to know about it, but he located a vase in one of her cupboards and set about arranging the flowers. They looked feeble when he’d done, made even worse by his poor handiwork, but there was nothing he could do to change that now.

He was just debating where he should put them to give them maximum effect—Christ, he needed something to make them look better—when he heard a scuffling out in the corridor. It was probably the young couple that lived across from her. They were always having some kind of argument. How Anna put up with them was a mystery to him. They’d drive him mad. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the flowers. Would putting them on the coffee table be his best bet?

The door behind him creaked open. He whirled around at once, his heart pounding, clutching the vase of flowers as if it was going to ward off whatever was coming…

…And he came face to face with Anna.

She blinked, as if surprised to see him there, but a broad grin soon overtook her features. “John! It’s so good to see you!”

“You too,” he managed, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck. He wished that he could put the flower down. What a prat he must look, standing here with them like this…

True to form, Anna’s eyes honed in on them at once. “Oh! What’s that you’ve got there?”

“Flowers,” he muttered, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. “I just…I thought they might cheer your flat up for your homecoming. I wasn’t expecting you back until later tonight. I wouldn’t have been here otherwise.”

Anna dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “Oh, don’t worry about that! I’m glad you’re here! I’ve missed you.”

Those words were hard to process. To think that someone like Anna, someone beautiful and kind and funny might miss him when she’d probably had men falling over themselves to keep her company this weekend, was mind-boggling.

But he didn’t have time to even reiterate her sentiment before she had moved on, as if her words had been nothing more than a casual observance. “And you’re right, we were supposed to get home later, but our flight was changed last-minute. The one we were supposed to catch has been cancelled because of air miles or something, and so the airline managed to squeeze us on to the one before. Not everyone has been as lucky as that. Some have had to stay an extra day. I think Mary was gunning for that, to be honest. She met a bloke whilst she was over there and I don’t think she would have minded seeing him again.”

That did not surprise John in the least; Mary was as fickle with her men as she was with her clothes. “I see. Spare me the details.”

Anna shuddered. “Don’t worry, I will. It’s enough that I’ve had to know about it. I don’t fancy bringing the memories up again. I think I’ve seen more of her this week than I ever wanted to. I will admit, he was nice-looking though. A Turk.”

John’s mood soured further at that. “I see.”

Seemingly oblivious, Anna smirked. “You know what Mary’s like. Nothing but the most gorgeous things for her.”

“As long as she had fun,” he managed.

“Oh, she definitely had that,” said Anna, pulling a face.

“And what about you?”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them; they seemed to hang for an eternity between them before Anna shot him that smile, the one that was slightly crooked and altogether too beautiful. “Well, I enjoyed the relaxing in the day, but the rest of it wasn’t much fun.”

“It wasn’t?” John did not dare get his hopes up. He would not be able to take it if she admitted that she had met someone out there. But nor could he stop himself from wanting to know, from needing to know, like the witness unable to look away from the most gruesome of sights. “I would have thought you’d have enjoyed yourself.”

“I did, mostly,” she clarified. “But I must admit that I started to feel my age. The others are so much younger than I am. They spent all of their days sleeping away their hangovers and all of their nights drinking until seven in the morning. I couldn’t keep up with that. I’d had enough after the first day. I don’t think I’ve ever been as sick as I was then. I made sure I took it steady after that.”

John had to smile at that. He could well imagine Anna lying there, groaning, swearing that she was never going to drink ever again. He knew that the Crawley girls could be bad influences, especially carefree Sybil and reckless Mary. It would not be difficult to be led astray by the two of them. And that wasn’t even taking Ethel into consideration, and she could be worse than anyone.

“Well, I can empathise with the raging hangovers,” he offered. “I’ve had more than enough of those in my time, much to my regret.”

“I definitely regretted that one,” she agreed. “And I’ll be honest, I rather turned into the mother of the group after that. It made me feel ancient.”

“You’re twenty-six,” he scoffed. “Hardly ancient.”

“Compared with Mary and Sybil I am. Sybil’s only eighteen, for goodness sake. I felt like I had a duty to keep my eye on her. I think Robert and Cora would have killed me if anything bad had happened to her. Though I must confess that I didn’t do my job all that well…”

“What does that mean?” said John. “Did she do something outrageous? Get a tattoo while drunk or something?”

“Worse,” Anna shuddered. “She met someone.”

“Ah,” said John. It was coming back to sex again, and thinking about his goddaughter in that position was even less appealing than thinking of Mary. Sybil was still a baby, to be kept wrapped in cotton wool and protected from the world.

“Yes,” said Anna miserably. “Though he wasn’t too bad, I suppose. He spent the whole weekend following her around like a little puppy. He did seem to really like her, and he took her phone number with him. I’m not sure it’ll last, though. He’s from Ireland.”

“Oh, that’ll really please Robert if he ever finds out,” snickered John. “You know his feelings towards the Irish. He’s a prejudiced patriot at heart.”

“Tell me about it,” said Anna. “But I’m going to deny all knowledge of it. I’ll say it happened out of my eye line.”

“And what could you have possibly have been doing to keep you so distracted?” said John, then immediately wished he hadn’t; although it had been meant as a joke, it brought the image of Anna wrapped around some tanned athlete to his mind.

Anna rolled her eyes at him. “Fishing for details doesn’t suit you, you know.”

“I wasn’t—” he began, blushing like a damned schoolboy all over again.

Anna’s mouth curled upwards in a teasing smile. “If you say so, Mr. Bates. Now, give me those flowers. I think I ought to put them pride of place.”

“They’re not very nice,” he said tentatively as he handed them over dutifully. “I’m sorry. I wanted to give you nicer ones than that.”

“Don’t apologise,” she said. “They’re lovely. It’s the nicest thing that anyone has ever done for me, buying me flowers just to cheer the place up.”

“I doubt that very much,” he said. She was the kind of woman who would inspire anyone to make grand gestures. Surely she was teasing him about his weak, wilting flowers, so very pathetic in the light of all she really deserved.

A reflection on him, perhaps.

But Anna shook her head. “No, I mean it.” She brought them to her nose and inhaled deeply. “See? They still smell heavenly. I’ll give them some water and I’m sure they’ll bloom beautifully. Some things just need some time and attention, Mr. Bates. You shouldn’t give up on something just because it looks a bit battered on the outside.”

John cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Yes, well. I’m glad you got home safely. But I ought to get going. I’ve still got some things to sort out of myself.”

“Of course,” said Anna, stepping aside. “We’ll catch up soon?”

“Yes,” said John. He debated bending in to kiss her cheek—Christ, he’d not seen her in a few days and he’d missed her so much—but he resisted the urge. Limping past her, he made it to the door and wrenched it open a little more roughly than intended.

“John.”

He’d already stepped over the threshold; her voice made him turn.

“Yes?” he said, frowning. “What is it, Anna?”

She stared him down for a moment, before tilting her head to the side. “I didn’t meet anyone out there, you know. I’m very, very happy with the way things are at the moment.”

He did not know what to say in answer to that, but it sent him back up to his flat with an extra spring in his step.

Perhaps…perhaps, as insane as it sounded, something could bloom after all.

-- --

Burned Toast, Raw Emotion

John woke early on Saturday, to the low morning light and the chirping of the birds. For a moment he simply lay there, exulting in the nothingness, before pushing the sheets away. It was time he got up and did something. What, he wasn’t quite sure. But he was meeting Anna later for a coffee, and as much as he was looking forward to seeing her, he had to take some time out to reconcile the war in his heart with the future that was now sure to be in front of him.

Anna had been on a date last night.

No doubt she would fill him in on the details today, and he had to practice looking pleased for her when inside his heart was breaking. He’d had opportunities to do something about the vortex of feelings that swirled around inside him, but he’d been too cowardly to face his fears, and now all opportunity had passed him by. This was different to the holiday in Magaluf; he’d spotted them leaving through the window, and the man that Anna had been with was nothing like those immature prats who had swarmed her abroad.  Whoever this guy was, he was clearly well-groomed, in a sharp suit and a crisp white shirt. He obviously knew what money was, and would be able to treat her like a princess. They hadn’t been holding hands when they’d gone out but they might have been when they came back; he hadn’t gone to look, but he’d heard their voices through the wide-open window after midnight, and it had sounded as if they’d had a good time.

He swore to himself and scrubbed a hand down his face. It was time to accept the facts of life, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

He shaved off his overnight shadow and showered, then headed to the bedroom to pull on his customary jeans and shirt. It promised to be another scorching day outside—Britain was in the throes of its first heatwave in years, and it was horrible—then decided that the best way of getting rid of some of this pent-up frustration would be to go for a morning walk. The experts always said that exercise was good for that kind of thing, didn’t they? Well, there was no better time to try it.

As he was swiping his keys up from the coffee table, however, he heard it below his feet. A bang and a shriek. Christ, that hadn’t sounded good. Had Anna hurt herself? Heart hammering, he snatched the keys up, locked the door quickly behind him—it took him three attempts to get the key into the lock—and hurried for the stairs as quickly as his knee would allow. He’d take a detour on the way down, just to make sure that she was okay. He’d never be able to go out now without checking that she was fine, and he’d never forgive himself if she’d hurt herself and he’d not gone to see if she was all right.

And what if her bloke is there? a sly voice in the back of his head said. What if she asked him to stay for the night?

He shook the thought away, taking a shuddering breath even as the thought made him feel sick to the stomach. If that was indeed the case, well, he’d have to face it like an adult and get on with it. There was nothing he could do to prevent the tide, and he could not take out his bitterness on Anna, not when she was the person who meant most to him in the whole world. He would simply have to deal with it. She’d never been meant for him, anyway.

He drew up short when he reached her door, taking a second to compose himself before raising his fist and rapping his knuckles against the wood.

“Anna?” he called. “Anna, are you all right?”

He could hear shuffling behind the barrier. “I’m fine.”

“Can you open up? I’d like to see for myself. I won’t keep you long. I’m just heading out.”

There was more rustling, then the door creaked open.

His breath caught in his throat.

He’d never seen her like this before, and the sight of her in her natural environment simply took his breath away. This was not the carefully composed, sunny Anna he was used to seeing. The Anna before him was a little puffy-eyed from not having enough sleep, her hair was a tangled mess, there was no makeup in sight, and she was wearing a baggy t-shirt and oversized shorts that had slipped over her hips.

She was gorgeous.

“’M all right,” she mumbled, not quite meeting his eye. “I dropped something on my foot.”

With a lurch, he realised that her feet were bare. As petite as the rest of her, the intimacy of the sight made him flush all over. What a stupid thing to touch his heart. And yet he couldn’t stop it. There was indeed a darkening patch there, which suggested that it would bruise.

“What did you drop?” he asked.

“That bloody paperweight Mary bought me. I was trying to get my papers out from under it and it slipped off and hit me. Came bloody keen as well.”

“Ice it or something,” he advised.

“Don’t have any in, do I? Stupid really, given what this weather’s like.”

“I could pick some up for you on my way back round,” he offered. “I can detour to the corner shop.”

For the first time all morning, her eyes met his, peeking up at him shyly. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course I wouldn’t. I’d do anything for you, you know.”

The words lingered between them, and he cursed at their implication. He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet.

“Well, thank you,” Anna said softly. “That would be most kind. Do you want to come in a moment?”

“I’d better not,” he said, checking his watch. “I don’t want to intrude.”

Anna furrowed her brows. “Since when have I ever said that you’re intruding?”

He shrugged, careful to keep his gaze well away from her. “You might have company for all I know.”

From the look on Anna’s face, he knew that she’d cottoned on to what he was inferring. She coloured delicately, but shook her head. “There’s no one else here, John. Just me.”

The admission lightened some of the load on his shoulders,, but he did not change his stance. “Still, the longer we put off icing that, the worse it’ll be.”

“Well, perhaps you can stay for a cup of tea afterwards?”

“I’d like that,” John admitted; he could not lie. “I won’t be too long, perhaps half an hour or so. In the meantime—” He broke off, sniffing the air. “Hang on, do you smell burning?”

“Burning?” said Anna, puzzled, taking a deep drag of air herself. Her eyes widened. “Shit! The toast!”

With that, she scarpered back into the room, leaving John blinking after her. Deciding that he’d rather not be lingering on her doorstep like an uncertain teenager, he followed her inside. He could hear her banging about in the kitchen, and he followed the sounds there. The toast under the grill was almost on fire, smoke coming off it in an alarming manner, and Anna was frantically searching through her draws for something to get it out with. If they left it much longer they might have a fire on their hands, so John gritted his teeth, grabbed hold of the nearby tea towel, and wrapped it as best he could around the grill pan. He managed to hook it out and Anna dodged out of the way so he could fling it in the sink. It sat there smouldering dangerously, the acrid smell almost making him gag. Anna ducked under him and scrabbled to get the window open, flinging it as wide as she could.

“I had you down as a better cook than that,” he managed, hoping to lighten the mood.

Anna glared at him, but it was playful. “I’ll have you know that I am. I blame you for this.”

“Me? What have I done?”

“Distracting me with your gallant behaviour. I would have had perfectly nice toast if you hadn’t come sweeping in like a knight in shining armour.”

“Well, excuse me for caring about you.”

These slips of the tongue, weighted with so much, would be the death of him, he knew. Anna looked at him steadily and he turned away on the pretence of checking on the charred thing in the sink.

“How about I bring some kind of pastry from the coffee shop on the way back?” he said. “Would that make it up to you?”

“It might,” she said. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Go and sit down,” he said. “I’ll make you a cup of tea to drink while I’m gone, and I’ll just pop out for you.”

“What would I do without you?” she murmured, hobbling towards the tiny sitting room. John waited until she was gone, taking the time to gather himself, before switching on the kettle to boil. He listened to the sounds of Anna getting comfortable on her couch, and banged about making her the perfect cup of tea. That, at least, was one thing he was guaranteed to get right. He could make a mean cup of tea.

Once it was done, coupled with a few biscuits to satiate Anna’s sweet tooth, he limped back into the room. Anna had her foot elevated on the coffee table, and he kept his eyes on her face as he handed her the cup. “Here you are, milady. Now sit tight.”

He’d half-turned away when her soft voice stopped him. “John.”

“Yes?” he said.

“Wait a minute. Lean down a little.”

Confused, John watched as Anna placed the mug on the coffee table. “What?”

She huffed. “I’m not in the best of states to come to you right now, so I want you to come to me.”

“Why?”

She huffed, a definite edge to her voice now. “If you keep questioning me, I’ll lose my nerve.”

“Lose your nerve to do what?”

She huffed again, almost grinding her teeth in frustration now, and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. John barely had time to register alarm that she would probably be able to see his hairy belly underneath before she tugged him towards her with surprising strength. He flailed about, narrowly missing hitting Anna with his cane as he dropped it so he could put a steadying hand against the back of the sofa just above Anna’s head.

“What the hell—” he yelped, heart beating far too fast in his chest, but Anna’s spare hand snaked between them, yanked the collar of his shit still further down towards her, and angled her head up to his.

Time stopped.

Anna was kissing him.

Anna was kissing him.

His brain was frozen, as if he’d plummeted into icy depths and could not make himself function again. It was the one overwhelming thought in his mind as Anna’s mouth moved softly over his, that Anna, his best friend, the woman he had been longing to kiss for so goddamned long, was actually doing this.

Before he could even stop to enjoy it, however, she pulled away from him. With a jolt, he realised that she was scowling. Christ, that was all he needed, for her to regret it as soon as it had happened. He had not been the instigator, thank God, but how could he laugh it off when inside his heart was already beginning to crack…?

“Bleedn’ hell, John,” she said.

“What?” he said, his mouth feeling thick. He could still feel the weight of her mouth on his, like a phantom.

“I’m putting myself out here! The very least you could do is give me a sign!”

“What?” he repeated. Her eyes flashed, and he had a nasty feeling that he was sailing perilously close to the wind with his inability to form any other words.

But how could he? Words had fled the moment that Anna’s mouth had touched his, so soft and warm. He had dreamt about that moment over and over, had ached for it so desperately, and it had happened like that, completely out of the blue, robbing him of all intelligence. How was he supposed to articulate the things that were going around in his head, his question of what the hell was going on, of what this meant for them?

“Give me something!” Anna said, and there was a definite edge to her voice now. If he didn’t answer her, he had a feeling that he would be facing down her wrath. He had never seen Anna lose her temper—she was so sweet-tempered and measured at all times, a stark contrast to Mary’s wild changes in mood—but even the most placid person would reach breaking point at some time. Apparently this was Anna’s.

“I—just—what?” he managed, then, realising that he had said the dreaded ‘W’ word again, hastened to add on, “Did that just happen?”

“Yes,” she ground out. “Yes, John. That just happened. I just kissed you.”

“Wow,” he said. “Wow.”

“God, you’re terrible at this,” she snapped. “I still don’t have a clue whether I’ve just screwed everything up for us or not.”

John blinked at her, brain sluggishly beginning to work again. “Oh, no. No, you haven’t messed anything up.”

“But are you just saying that because you’re such a gentleman, or do you actually mean it?”

He thought back on all those days of longing, all those nights of aching for her and torturing himself on how much he wanted to confess how he felt. He thought on his determination to let her go and live the life she deserved with a man that he could never be.

The right thing to do for her would be to let her down gently, to tell her that he loved her as a friend but they could never be more than that. It would kill him inside, but it would be wrong to tie her down. If one of them had to sacrifice happiness it should be him, to atone for all of the sins in his past.

But the words got stuck in his throat, like cement, and he could not force them out. The plain truth of the matter was that he wanted this woman, and he didn’t think that he’d ever recover if he watched her get on with her life with someone else. Hadn’t the date yesterday proven that to him? This would be his last chance, of that he had no doubt. If he did not seize it now, he would never get another.

He bent his head down and caught her lips again.

Anna made a muffled sound of surprise against him, but her arms wound eagerly around his shoulders and she kissed him back in earnest, her mouth opening up beneath his with such enthusiasm that it made him shudder. She tasted of tea, and he pushed closer, desperate to have more of her. He was walking through an oasis after years of being denied; he couldn’t remember the last time he had kissed someone, and the simple pleasure of it was crashing over him now, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The movement of her mouth was sending pleasure arrowing straight down to the pit of his stomach, and he cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, angling her head just slightly so he could meet her tongue. Electricity exploded down his spine, and when Anna ran her hands down his body to pull him even closer, he broke the kiss, burying his head into her shoulder and taking deep breaths, trying to control himself. He resisted her attempts to bring him closer, hyper-aware that if his body touched hers he would embarrass himself by letting her know just how much he wanted her. She seemed to understand his desire to pull away this time; her hands smoothed down his back reassuringly, and she pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, nestling her nose there. For long moments, neither of them said a thing.

“I think that answers my question,” Anna said at last, then started to giggle. He couldn’t help himself, laughing too; it seemed the best way to release the disbelieving, relieved tension in his body. Christ, he was trembling. He’d never been like this in his whole life.

“So I take it you won’t be seeing your date again?” he asked.

She shook her head, wrinkling her nose. “No. He was nice enough, but…”

“But?”

“He wasn’t you,” she said simply. “Mary insisted that I go, but I wasn’t quite ready to give up on you.”

“Mary knows?” he said, not quite sure how he felt about that. He tried to remember if she had ever dropped any obvious hints that he hadn’t picked up on at the time, too busy wallowing in self-pity.

“No,” said Anna. “No, I didn’t tell her. I didn’t want her to make things uncomfortable for you if you didn’t feel the same way. I know how awkward she can be about those kinds of things sometimes. But I’ve been single for a long time now, and I suppose she decided that it was time I got back in the saddle. I didn’t really know how to tell her that I wasn’t interested without having to confess that I had my eye on someone, so I went along with it. He wasn’t a complete arsehole, which I ought to be grateful for. Mary does like to pick them.”

John knew that from experience; Mary had dated some frights in her time, including that awful Tony Foyle, who had stalked her for a few months after she had broken up with him.

He could well imagine that Anna’s type of bloke was a long way from Mary’s, and the idea of the younger woman match-making for her was laughable in its own way. Still, the knowledge that Anna hadn’t had the best time in the world simply because the bloke hadn’t been him cheered him no end.

“And you’re sure that you’re making the right choice?” he ventured.

“Yes,” was the instant response. “I want you, not him. I’m not going to pretend that he wasn’t nice. He was. But he didn’t get my heart racing, and he didn’t give me butterflies.”

“I give you butterflies?” he asked, nonplussed. It was a thought that he couldn’t get his head around; what on earth about him could make Anna feel that way? He had much more flab than muscle, and at fifteen years her senior he would hardly be the sort of person that most women in their mid-twenties found attractive.

“You always have,” she said vaguely. “I thought I’d been pretty obvious on that score, John.”

“I’ve never been much good at reading women,” he admitted. The only woman he’d read with ease had been Vera, but she’d been so obvious about everything that only an idiot would have missed the signs; she’d set out to snare him with her sexuality, ad young and stupid as he’d been, she’d succeeded. In the years that had followed, it had been impossible to miss her venom and indifference towards him. After the injury, that had only got worse, and there had been too much poison for their relationship to possibly survive.

“I’ll say,” said Anna, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, no wonder I’ve never been one for dating. It’s utterly exhausting.”

“But you’re willing to give it a go now?” he said hopefully. Perhaps foolishly. There was no such thing as plain sailing in his life, and he doubted he would be lucky with this.

She tilted her head just so. “Yes. Though I’m going to have to let Lee know, which I expect is going to be a horrendously uncomfortable conversation. I at least owe him that after everything.”

“‘After everything’?”

“Well, you know. He did take me out to dinner and walk me home like a true gentleman.”

“And kissed you on the doorstep?” said John. His heart lurched horribly in his chest at the thought of this bloke with his hands all over Anna’s body, perhaps holding her in the places he himself had been holding her only minutes before.

Anna smirked at him. “Jealous, are we?”

“No,” he lied, pulling away completely. “You have the right to kiss whoever you want to.”

“How kind of you to say.” She kept the tension going between them for a few more seconds before shaking her head. “Honestly, men are ridiculous, pouting over every tiny thing.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“Yes, you are.” She reached up and ran her index finger over his lips. He promptly relaxed his mouth, scowling at her. “Don’t look so worried, of course I didn’t kiss him. I think he wanted me to, but he was a perfect gentleman about it all. And I’ve already told you: it’s you I want. I’m not going to go around kissing anyone else when as far as I’m concerned you’re the only one I want to kiss.”

Her words placated him, and he ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry if I was a bit of an arse. It’s just…I’m not used to the idea that you might have feelings for me. It feels too good to be true.”

“Well, believe,” she said softly. “I’d never lie to you, John. You’re my best friend, and I’d never want to hurt you.”

“I know,” he reassured her. “I feel the same way. It’s just…surreal.” He couldn’t stop his grin from spreading. “Christ, I can’t believe you kissed me.”

She ducked her head, suddenly shy. “Neither can I. It was…rather forward of me. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that.”

“I’m glad it did. I liked it. And if we’re being honest, I don’t think I would have had the courage to make the first move.”

“Then I’m glad I did. It felt right. You were being so caring, I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d tried.”

“It did feel right,” he agreed softly. So right. More than he could ever put into words. As clichéd and pathetic as it sounded, it felt like coming home, as if he’d found the missing part of his soul after so many years of searching. He’d had feelings for people before, and he was sure that Anna had too, but there was something about the way he felt for Anna that transcended everything he’d ever felt. The idea of soulmates was corny…but on some level he truly believed that that was what Anna was to him. He could have this was someone else and no doubt be comfortable with it…but there would always be the sense that something was missing, just some tiny piece, like the final one in a jigsaw that prevented the full, glorious picture.

Anna shifted with a wince, and he suddenly remembered the purpose of this mission before he had been distracted by the delights of Anna’s mouth.

“Ice,” he said. “I was going to get you ice.”

“You needn’t bother,” she said. “I can manage. You can stay here and keep me company.”

A tempting as the prospect was, he was determined to do this properly. He would not jump into bed with her at the first invitation, no matter how agreeable that sounded to his body, which had been without the touch of a woman for so long. No, he did not want her to think that that was all he wanted her for when her mind, her cheerfulness, her wit, all was so much more appealing to him. “I’m a man of my word. When I say I’m going to get you ice and something for breakfast, that’s what I’m going to do. But then I’ll come back and perhaps we can sit and watch a movie?” A movie would be safe. It would give them the opportunity to cuddle up with each other, but he was determined that it would go no further than that. Escaping for a little while would give him time to regroup and strengthen his resolve. He’d had to have nerves of steel during the war, and he could rediscover them now.

Anna looked slightly disappointed, but she nodded her head. “Sounds good. See you soon.”

He bent his head one more time and kissed her, pulling away before she could deepen it too much. Taking a moment to breathe in the scent of her skin, he pecked at her forehead, gathered his cane from where it had fallen, and stumped towards the door. In the doorway he turned to look at her one more time, mussed and beautiful as she was, and felt a surge of deep, deep affection for her. It was too soon to tell her he loved her, but the feeling was growing nevertheless, sweeping him away on a riptide.

What a lucky, lucky man he was.

-- --          

Sour Milk, Sweet Victory

The text came when he was halfway through the day. There was nothing to suggest that there was anything inherently wrong, but it gave John a reason to pause nevertheless.

If you can get away ASAP, I think you should. It’s important. x

It was precise and to the point, and very unlike Anna. Emojis were the bane of his life, but she loved them; she wrote him essays by text message, to let him know that she was thinking about him, that she couldn’t wait to see him.  The kiss was reassuring, but there was something ominous about it, and it put him on edge. Had something happened? Was she ill?

Christ, had she fallen pregnant?

That would certainly be a speedbump in the road. It wasn’t as if he might not want children with Anna in the future—she would make a wonderful mother and he was certain that he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life without her—but these were still early days, and if he was truly honest with himself, he had not planned children into his relationship until further down the line. Realistically, there was no question about what they would do in his mind, but it was something that would need a great deal of consideration—after all, it was Anna’s body, not his.

He was probably getting ahead of himself. There was probably nothing to worry about. Still, he needed to put his mind at rest.

Thankfully, begging off work early was not difficult. Robert was quick to point out that he always worked more hours than he needed to, and he was happy to let him take the afternoon off. Grateful, John shot off a text. I’ll be there in ten minutes.

Anna did not respond on the way home, and he parked his car and practically ran inside, damn his leg. He hammered on Anna’s door for a full minute before realising that she might be up at his flat. They’d exchanged keys a mere two weeks ago for convenience, and he used his now to quickly check that she wasn’t anywhere in the flat before heading up towards his own. His key scraped in the lock as he pushed open his own door.

He stopped short, feeling as if the bottom had just dropped out of his world.

“Hello, Johnny,” said Vera. She was standing in the little kitchenette, leaning against the worktop. “You’re out of milk, I’m sorry to say. It’s gone off. Which is a shame, as I rather fancied a cup of tea. Of course, I wouldn’t say no to a nip of something stronger if you have it. I can usually rely on you to have that.”

The absurdity of the statement, of her standing right there in his flat when he had not seen her since she had signed her name on the dotted line in the solicitor’s office was simply overwhelming. Surreal. She was talking about sour milk as if he’d just gone back in time five years.

“What the hell are you doing here?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, spat with more vehemence than he wanted to show her.

Vera folded her arms across her chest, her icy blue eyes flashing with gleeful malice. “That’s not a very nice way to greet your wife, Johnny.”

“Ex-wife,” he spat back at her.

“Ah, of course, you wouldn’t let that little detail slip me by, would you? It’s no surprise you’d want to remind me of that fact, not when your pretty little piece is here. Didn’t take you long to get your end away, did it? There’s no wonder the milk’s gone sour. I bet you’re never here to use it.”

It was then that John realised that Anna was indeed there too, standing quietly behind the sofa, analysing the scene in front of her. He hardly dared look at her, terrified that he would see regret and judgement in her gaze. He could only imagine how this scene must have played out. Vera had never been known for her grace, spouted vitriol on a regular basis. If Anna had already been here when she had arrived—and she must have been, given the text, given her presence here now—then he could only imagine the things that she might have said. It did not bear thinking about.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated, closing the door behind him.

“I came to see how you are.”

“Bullshit.”

“Don’t be like that, Johnny. I won’t stand to be talked to like that.” Vera turned towards Anna, a snake-like smile curling her mouth. “Do you know that he’s got a horrible temper, dearie? Snaps at the slightest thing and says the most awful things. I feared for my life sometimes.”

“Like hell you did.”

“See? I feel sorry for you, putting up with someone like him. You must be desperate.”

Anna rolled her shoulders back, jutting her chin defiantly. “On the contrary, I count myself fortunate.”

“And that’s the most unfortunate thing I’ve ever heard. Your standards must be exceedingly low if you consider yourself fortunate to be with a broken down old drunk. Has he told you about that, eh? That he gets so pissed that he shouts and breaks things and sometimes wants to fuck you even though he says that he hates you?”

John felt himself going cold all over, bile rising in his throat. He could not bring himself to look in Anna’s direction, terrified of what he might see in her face. Revulsion. Horror. Belief in Vera’s words.

“John doesn’t drink,” Anna said calmly.

Vera’s face twisted in an ugly sneer. “How naïve you are.”

“He hasn’t touched a drop in five years. Since splitting from you, in fact.”

“He told you this, did he? And you believed him. What a silly little girl you are.”

Anna shrugged. “I believe him because he’s telling the truth.”

“And has he told you about all of the other ugly skeletons in his closet? Has he told you about prison?” Vera’s eyes gleamed with triumph; clearly she believed that she was going to shake the very foundations of their fledgling relationship.

“Of course he has,” said Anna without missing a beat.

“Really?” said Vera scathingly.

John stepped forward. “Really. People have the right to know the worst of me.”

“It just helped me to see the best of him,” said Anna. “He’s made mistakes in his past, but he’s not the same man anymore.”

“Mistakes!” cackled Vera. “You call having a criminal record a mistake? Men like my husband never change.”

“Ex-husband,” said Anna, sounding bored. “Look, is this all you’ve come to do? Try to intimidate me out of being with John? Because it’s not going to work and I’ve got better things to be doing with my time than listening to a jealous ex.”

“Jealous? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I’m not. That’s what you sound like. A bitter old woman who can’t stand to see anyone else happy.”

“Batesy doesn’t know how to make anyone else happy.”

“He makes me happy,” said Anna defiantly. “He makes me very happy. So if you’ve come here hell-bent on revenge, I’m going to have to burst your bubble. I know that he struggled with alcoholism. I know that you were poorly matched. I know that he’s had a suspended prison sentence.  Nothing you’ve come to say will shock me, so let me save us both some time.”

“You’re an arrogant little bitch, aren’t you?” said Vera.

“Don’t speak to her like that,” John snarled, taking a step forward, but Anna held up her hand.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, John,” she said.

“But you’re quite happy to fight his,” sneered Vera.

“Because he’s too much of a gentleman to do it himself,” Anna retorted. “He’ll fight with honour, but I can fight as dirty as the rest of them. So go on, I dare you. I can take you down any day of the week.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Are you willing to test it?”

The two women stared each other down. Anna was several inches shorter than Vera was, but she stood tall and unafraid, and in that moment John felt, despite the sickening pounding of his heart, such a warm surge of affection for her. She really was the best of women. No one had ever defended him like this before, and it did not make him feel vulnerable. In fact, he had never felt more powerful. Taking a deep breath, he limped around the room to Anna’s side, positioning himself protectively at her shoulder.

“I think it’s time you left,” he told Vera quietly.

Her eyes flashed. “I don’t think so, Johnny. I’m not going to make this easy for you.”

“Then allow me to make this easy for you,” said Anna, taking a step forward. “If you don’t leave now I will call the police. John owes you nothing. If you continue to harass him then I will personally make sure that you get your just desserts, starting with breaking and entering. I have a friend in the police force, you see, and he’d be very happy to take my case up. A quiet word in the right person’s ear and you’ll be behind bars in no time. I suspect that you wouldn’t like it there.”

“Are you threatening me?” Vera hissed. “Because I can have you tied up just as quickly.”

“I’d like to see you try,” said Anna. “Who would believe you over me? I’d be willing to wager on that outcome. So go on, try me.”

Vera glared at them with a stare icy enough to freeze before turning on her heel and storming to the door. In the threshold she turned.

“This isn’t the last you’ve seen of me,” she said.

“Yes,” said Anna, “it is.” She marched across the room. “Darken this doorstep again and you’ll be sorry you ever did.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No,” said Anna. “It’s a promise.” With that, she slammed the door in Vera’s face.

Ringing silence followed. Every muscle in John’s body was tensed, as if ready for battle. He strained to hear Vera’s footsteps fading away.

“That won’t be the end of it,” he said softly.

Anna was breathing hard. “I beg to differ. I don’t think she’s stupid enough to test it.”

She wasn’t stupid, no, but she was cunning, and would not take kindly to being made a fool of in front of him. Still, John pushed his disquiet away for the time being. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t be. I always knew that she was a bitch, but I never realised just how much until just now.”

“I can’t imagine it was a cosy atmosphere.”

She laughed. “Oh, it wasn’t. I think I took her by surprise, actually. She was probably expecting to see you coming through the door and instead she got me. For a split-second I think she thought she’d broken into the wrong flat before she put two and two together. It was an interesting fifteen minutes to say the least.”

“I’d understand if this changed things between us.”

“Don’t be silly! I meant what I said, John Bates. You’re a wonderful, wonderful man, but you’d let her walk all over you. I won’t let that happen. And I certainly won’t let her ruin what we have. It’s good, isn’t it?”

He looked at her. Yes, it was good. Better than good. He’d never known relationships could be like this. Such bliss.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it’s good.”

“There we are, then,” Anna said simply. “That’s all there is to it. She’s not going to win. I won’t let her.”

“I just can’t believe meeting her hasn’t put you off me.”

“I know you have a past, John. So does everyone else. I meant what I said. I know you’re not the same man as before, and I like you just as you are. She was right about one thing, though.”

“Oh?” said John, his heart twisting.

Anna gave him a little smile. “Your milk has gone off. So how about we do what we’ve done all week and go down to mine?”

She came over to his side and wrapped her arms around him. John squeezed her back tightly, stooping to rest his chin against the crown of her head. He couldn’t share her certainty that Vera was gone for good, but there was one thing that he had total confidence in:

No matter what, Anna would be right there, fighting tooth and nail for what they could build together.

And he’d never been happier.

-- --

Melted Chocolate, Gooey Hearts

These days, Robert frequently liked to tell him that he had become one of those exceedingly dull people whose personalities all but disappeared when they met someone they liked. John rolled his eyes in return, though he suspected that there was some truth in his friend’s words, and more than a little fear that things were changing. As happy as Robert was for him, their friendship was entering unchartered waters; in all of the years that they had known each other—over two decades now—Robert had never known him to be in a happy, stable relationship. It was bound to be weird for him. Hell, it was weird for John himself.

But as incomprehensible as it all sounded, things were going better than ever with Anna. She was endlessly patient with him as he navigated through feelings and situations he had never known before; after their first real fight, he had been sure that it was all over, that she would scream that she never wanted to see him again. That was something that Vera would have done, screeching abuse at him about everything from his worthless disability to his inadequacy in the bedroom, before she would have stormed back into his life as if she knew that no one else in the world had a right to be there but her.

His tongue, often sharpened by the drink and by Vera’s goading, had not completely forgotten how to injure, but he had been racked by a crippling guilt he had never known before as soon as he’d uttered harsh words to Anna. She had not flinched, but he had sensed the hardening of her mouth, and her request for him to leave had not been an unreasonable one. He’d gone at once, too cowardly to do any different, and had spent the following day with his phone in his sweaty palm, trying to work up the courage to speak to her, to grovel at her feet like she deserved. In the end, inevitably, Anna had come to him, still stony and barbed, but at least willing to work on his awful imperfections. He had not been able to thank her enough for giving him the second chance he did not merit, and had promised himself that no matter what it took he would master that stupid Irish temper of his, because Anna had already sacrificed so much for him, and he would not pay her back more poorly than he already was.

They’d worked through it, like adults should, and he marvelled at the fact that he was able to have a mature, normal relationship with a woman that did not involve constantly breaking-and-making up. Anna stoked his desire to be a better man, and if there was anyone he was determined to succeed for, it was for her.

So they had gone from strength to strength, and now John finally felt in a place of peace.

On their six month anniversary, he splashed down the high street. The warm August rain was a welcome change to the unbearably hot weather they’d been enduring recently, and he tilted his head up to it, enjoying the feel of it against his face. It brought back decent memories of his time in the army, when any kind of relief from the searing weather abroad had been seized with both hands, and his comrades had whooped and run out into it, relishing the novelty of being cool once more. Anna too enjoyed the rain, and he would never forget the first moment that he’d seen her out in it, drenched to the bone in a summer monsoon, arms wide as if welcoming it; he’d joined her there, kissing her fiercely as if they were in some corny movie, her mouth warm and wet, rivulets running down her skin. It was another memory he’d treasure forever.

He was just splashing past the bright lights of the big name department store when he saw it. The local chocolatier’s shop window was cosy and inviting, filled with all manner of delectable treats, and John was drawn to them at once. He pressed his palm against the cool glass, peering closer at the display.

They’d already exchanged presents that morning, of course. He’d bought her a delicate piece of jewellery, his anxiety rising all the time as he tried to decide what was a suitable gift for a first, small anniversary; in return she had surprised him with a thoughtful weekend away to Harrogate, a quaint little Yorkshire town he had always been interested in visiting.

But Anna loved chocolate, and he had many happy memories of her sneaking the last one, or choosing the sweetest, chocolatiest thing on the menu to satisfy her cravings. Chocolates were a simple gift, but he had already gone for the overt declaration, and he knew that she would appreciate this small gesture just as much as any other. Shaking his head like a dog to dispel some of the excess water, he shuffled inside the shop.

There were so many things that he was spoiled for choice. In the end he plumped for the personal box, which meant that he could fill it with whatever chocolate he wanted. He chose all of Anna’s favourites, from strawberry-centred to caramel, and the shop worker kindly wrapped it up in a neat bow, much better than anything he could have done. Satisfied, he continued with his journey home.

Once there he laid the box down on the table and headed for the shower. It would be nice to scrub the grime from the day away, and he wanted to look his best for Anna. They were not going out to dine tonight—they had reservations for the weekend—but he still wanted to make the best impression he could.

By the time he got out of the shower, however, it was to a missed call on his phone from Anna. Frowning, he swiped it open. What could be wrong? He hoped she was okay. He hadn’t expected to hear from her before he met up with her. He hit the speed dial that she’d inputted for him and thrust the phone against his ear, waiting for her to answer.

She did so almost immediately.

“Hi,” she said, sounding tired.

“Hello, my darling. I’m sorry I missed your call. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she sighed, but she didn’t quite sound it. “Just…I’m sorry, John.”

“Sorry? For what?”

Now her voice trembled slightly. “I think I have to cancel tonight.”

His stomach plummeted in disappointment, but he kept his voice even. “Oh, okay.”

“I hate myself for having to do it.”

“Can I…can I ask why?”

“Oh! Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry, my head’s all over the place at the minute.”

It was all the work she was doing at the moment. When she wasn’t working out in the real world she was coming home to pore over her assignments, determined to get the best grades and achieve her dream of helping others as a career. John was so proud of her, but it was troubling too—he was trying to find that fine line of supporting her with every fibre of his being and also stepping in to make her take a break when he thought that she was doing far too much. He did not want her to think that he was trying to control her life in any way—Christ, that was the last thing he wanted to do—but at the same time he wanted to let her know that he was concerned about her, that he cared about her.

That he loved her.

The words had not yet passed his lips, but that did not make his feelings any less true.

“I’ve got to finish my assignment.” Anna’s voice pulled him back to the present, and he forced himself to focus on her words. “I thought I was done but…well, I think I must have pressed the wrong button last night and it hasn’t saved it and I didn’t notice it because I didn’t go to bed until gone one, so I’m going to have to do the final bit all over again and it’s due on Friday so I have to get it done—”

“Say no more,” he interrupted her. “I get it. We didn’t have any plans.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“Of course I don’t!”

“I wish things could be different,” she said fretfully. “I just feel like a horrible girlfriend, not wanting to see you.”

“I know you want to see me. And it’s not like it’s a proper anniversary. Hell, it’s not a year’s. It’s fine, Anna, honestly.”

“But…”

The idea occurred to him then. “Well, how about…how about I come down to yours anyway, then? I won’t get in your way. I’ll be like a little ghost in the flat. I’ll bring a book to keep me occupied but I could cook you something so you don’t have to stop what you’re doing. And I promise that I won’t speak a single word to you until you’re done for the evening. How does that sound?”

“That sounds wonderful,” said Anna gratefully. “But are you sure you don’t mind?”

“No, of course I don’t. I’d do anything for you. You know that.”

The words lingered all over again, like they had the first time he’d spoken them, and he heard the smile in Anna’s voice. “Then please, come on down. I’d love to see you.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said. Feeling happier than he had at the beginning of the conversation, he pulled on his clothes, swiped the chocolates from the table and then, as an afterthought, raided his fridge for some ingredients. He knew what Anna could be like, and when she was in the zone as she had been this week, she often forgot to check to see what she had in stock. He did not want to be confronted with an empty fridge when he arrived and, since meeting Anna, he had become a lot better about making sure that he had actual food to work with and not just microwave meals for one.

Satisfied that he had everything he needed, he set off down the flight of steps for Anna’s place. He keyed himself in. She was sitting at her little desk in the sitting room, but she swivelled around on her chair when he entered, giving him a beaming smile.

“Hey,” she said.

John mimed zipping his mouth. “I’m not here, remember?”

“So I can’t even say hello to you?”

“Not if it’s going to distract you from what you’re doing,” he teased.

She pouted. “So that means I don’t get a kiss?”

“You’ll get a kiss goodnight when I leave. Or you’ll get one as a reward if you finish your paper before then.”

“Is that a challenge, Mr. Bates?”

“It might be. The question is, are you up for it?”

She jutted her chin. “I think I might be.”

“Great. Well, you get on. I’m going to go through to the kitchen and start cooking. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

“Okay,” she said, turning back to her work. John watched her for a beat longer before moving towards the kitchen. He enjoyed being in here. It was laid out in exactly the same way that his was, but she’d filled her cupboards differently, and each time he opened one expecting to see one thing and finding another he felt like he was getting to know her just that little bit more intimately. It was a nice feeling.

He was certainly no connoisseur, so he stuck to something tried and trusted. His mother had once shown him how to make a mean lasagne, and it had become his signature dish. He chopped potatoes for homemade chips and cleared away his mess whilst his basic creation cooked, determined that Anna wouldn’t have anything to fuss with tonight. When that was done he sat himself down at the table and pulled out his book. The longer he could leave Anna on her own, the better.

Once tea was cooked, he popped his head in on the sitting room.

“Love, it’s ready,” he said.

Anna glanced up, rubbing at her eyes. She was looking sleepy now. “Oh, thank you, John. I’m coming.”

She pushed her chair away and made her way towards him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead as she passed, and it made her smile brighten. That only made the warm glow in his chest kindle more vibrantly. Following her, he plated up the meal and took it across to her.

“Do you want any wine?” he asked her as he sat himself down.

“Better not,” she said. “It’ll send me straight to sleep and that won’t do me any good. I can have a celebratory glass later.”

“Fair enough.” John chewed a mouthful of food, gathered his courage, and said, “I have something else for you.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I know we’ve already exchanged gifts but it’s only something small.” He pushed his chair away from the table and fetched the chocolates, which he had left on the side. Anna’s eyes widened when she saw the box.

“Oh, John, you didn’t have to!” she cooed, taking them from his hands. “You’re so thoughtful.”

He shrugged. “I wish it was something better, but…”

“It’s perfect,” she told him firmly. “These are my favourites. Thank you so much. These will make the perfect dessert.” She leaned across the table and pressed her mouth to his, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“You’re welcome. Now, how about we eat so you can get back to work?”

“That eager to get rid of me?” she teased.

“No, of course not!” he said. “But the quicker you get done, the quicker we can spend some quality time together.”

She beamed at him, and attacked her food with gusto. When they were done, John insisted that she leave the tidying up to him so that she could concentrate on what mattered. She protested a little but soon disappeared back into the sitting room, taking the chocolates with her. John hummed to himself as he returned the kitchen to its pre-tea state.

Once he was finished, he decided that he couldn’t hide in the kitchen any longer, and took his book though to the sitting room. He had no intention of disturbing Anna, but he reasoned that he wouldn’t be too much of a distraction if he just sat on the sofa quietly whilst she worked.

The book was less than enthralling when compared with Anna .He tried reading a few pages but he kept catching his gaze slipping away from the page and latching on to Anna instead, studying her as she studied her notes. The warm glow in his heart spread further, warming him to the tips of his fingers and toes. She had her feet tucked up beneath her, chewing whimsically at the end of the pen she had in her mouth. She looked unbearably adorable like that, the little frown of concentration creasing her brows.

“What are you staring at?” she murmured without looking up from the page.

“How did you know I was looking at you?” he grinned.

“I can feel the weight of your gaze on me. Besides, I haven’t heard you rustling the pages on your book for ages.”

“Guilty as charged,” he said. “I was just thinking.”

“Hmm?” Anna turned the page of the medical book she was using as a reference, her finger moving lazily over the lines. “What’s that then?”

“I was just thinking about how much I love you.”

He could tell that she hadn’t truly registered what he had said, too preoccupied with what she was reading. “That’s good.”

He stretched, abandoning his book to one side. “I hope it is.”

Anna didn’t immediately respond, bending to write something else on the page. This had not been his plan for the evening. He still did not want to distract her from what she needed to do. She was so close to realising her dream of helping those around her. Qualifying as a nurse would be her greatest achievement, and she was a mere two assignments away from doing just that. He wanted to support her every step of the way, but now that he had given voice to the thoughts that had been clamouring in his head for so long now, it was difficult to box them back up.

He’d been careful to hold himself back, not wanting to get too carried away in what they had, but since she had sent Vera packing so admirably, never swaying away from any of the barbs that had been thrown at her, it had made him fall even harder for her, and no matter what came now, it was time that she knew.

“It is,” she murmured, scrabbling about on her desk for a chocolate without looking and popping it into her mouth. They were melting; he watched as she popped her thumb into her mouth and sucked off the excess chocolate. How beautiful she was.

“Well, that’s good, then. I was half-afraid that my confession of love would go down like a lead balloon.”

“Of course it wouldn’t,” she said absently, then froze halfway through turning the page. Very slowly, she turned to look at him, as if she didn’t quite dare believe what she thought she’d heard. “Wait, what?”

John couldn’t help grinning broadly, folding his arms across his chest. “I said that I’m glad you’re not against hearing that I love you.”

“What?”

“Are you going deaf?” He paused for greater effect, then said with slow deliberation, dragging out the words, “I love you.”

Anna blinked at him a few times, as if that would help her to process the information better. “You…love me?”

“I do.”

“You love me.”

“Yes.”

“Bloody hell,” she said, throwing down her pen; it hit the edge of her desk and bounced away. She didn’t seem to notice, leaping to her feet and sending her chair clattering sideways. “You just said—you love—bloody hell!”

“Are you all right?” he asked her, amused. His glee quickly softened into something soft and all-consuming as she turned those blue eyes on him. They were shimmering with unshed tears, and when she spoke again, her voice was quivering.

“I don’t believe it.”

“Believe,” he told her, echoing her word from all that time ago. “And…and it’s okay? You’re not put off or anything?”

She gave a shaky laugh. “You silly beggar! As if I’d be put off by that! In my whole life, I’ve never been as happy as I am in this moment. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words, John. I love you too.”

Now it was his turn to be momentarily paralysed. “You do?” In his most hopeful imaginings he’d yearned to hear her echo those words back at him, so that they could have the fairy tale ending that they both deserved. But somehow, hearing those words in reality blew away every single visualisation that he’d ever had. He’d never been able to conjure up that level of emotion in her voice, an overwhelming mix of delight, desire, and giddy disbelief.

“I love you too,” she repeated. “I love you so much, John.”

She swept towards him then, and practically launched herself at him. He huffed as her full weight careened into him, instinctively moving to wrap his arms around her. She buried her head against his shoulder, squeezing him tight in return.

“This feels like a dream,” she said, her voice muffled. “Please don’t wake me up.”

He toyed with her hair, cradling the back of her head in his hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Although things had hopefully changed forever—and for better—between them, life still had to go on. Anna still had her assignment to finish. He still had to play the role of overseer to ensure that she didn’t get too side-tracked.

Anna pulled back enough to press her mouth against his, tasting of the delicious chocolates. As he held her in his arms, John supposed they could delay for just a few more minutes to bask in this perfect golden moment.

-- --

The prompt was:

I JUST MOVED INTO A NEW APARTMENT AND WENT TO BUY GROCERIES, BUT I BOUGHT MORE THAN I COULD CARRY BACK. I’VE STOPPED TO CATCH MY BREATH WHEN I HEAR SOMEONE ASKING IF I NEED HELP AND I LOOK UP AND THE SUN IS LITERALLY MAKING YOU GLOW LIKE A DAMN ANGEL AU