#SORRY THIS WHOLE THING IS SO STUPID BUT LIKE IT WAS A VERY POIGNANT DREAM

[send-me-a-puffalope]

guys wtf i just had the most detailed dream last night about a girlfriend that doesn’t exist,,, like idk how to explain it 😭😭😭 and i don’t even remember her name, it’s at the edge of my memory but i can’t recover it. but i remember like all the events and her face.

[gaasaku-fanfests]

Misfits (part 3 & 4)

Title: Misfits Author: clem-chan Rating: T Word Count: 27 388 Summary: Marrying a CEO in the midst of a romantic scandal to pay for med school is not the happy ending Sakura imagined for herself. The arrangement that started as constant bickering soon becomes so much more... If only her husband was hers to fall in love with. GaaSaku. Modern!AU Warnings: There is a light make-out session hence the T rating. There's also mention of child abuse and childhood trauma. Minor ships: light KankuKiba, very light ShikaTema, mention of NejiTen.

Author's Note(s): Two little things to mention: First, I wanted to keep this accessible to all, so I have cut out more raunchy scenes which will be posted in the AO3 version of this fic soon. Second, I have this headcannon where Gaara and Sakura are just two misfits. :P So, that's what this story is about: two misfits forced together. XD Hope you enjoy it! ^_^

Trope: Arranged Marriage

. [warnings are for overall fanfic, not individual parts.]

PART 3

Her apartment door was ajar.

Sakura stumbled in the hallway, her heart beating at the back of her throat. She gripped her keys in a fist, her body terse. With her foot, she nudged open the door.

She almost dropped her keys.

The apartment was entirely empty, her steps' echo following her, deafening. She barged into each room, her heart sinking, her body bending down. Each room was a punch that knocked the air, the lief out of her.

Everything was gone.

She touched the walls repainted in white, all traces of her erased, ready for the next occupant.  

"What's going on?" Sakura asked to herself.

"Oh, Sakura-san!" the handy man's voice boomed from behind her, and she spun on her heels, startled. "Why are you back? Did you forget something?"

"Back?" Sakura asked thickly, blinking rapidly.

"Yes, the movers already dropped by. I'm sorry, where are my manners? Congratulations on your wedding!"

Stunned, Sakura felt herself nod at the jolly man. She played with the unfamiliar ring. It was him. Her husband had done this. Hot poignant anger flared inside her.

"Yes, I'm married now," she repeated slowly and she wished she could rip off her wedding ring and hurl it away.

She wished she wasn't married, moved like a doll to another house.

"So, did you forget something? Can I help?" The handyman asked eagerly

"No," she smiled, her face aching, her heart wrenched out of her. Did she even belong to herself anymore? "I just wanted to look at the place one last time," she added lamely.

Married people lived together. She should have known, but they had organized the visit to the notary around Gaara and her schedule. They had barely talked about the future.

"Of course," he glanced around. "Good evening, and congratulations again!"

They bowed, and he disappeared in the hallway, quietly shutting the door behind him.

With shaking fingers, she called Gaara.

"Sabaku Gaara," he answered with a bored voice, the sound of paper rustling in the background.

"What's my address?" she whispered.

If she yelled, she would shatter. She would cry. She was hanging by a thread. His doll. Her wedding, her shift at the hospital had drained her.

"Who's this?"

"Your wife," she snapped. "Don't you have my number saved up?"

"Hn. I'll text it to you."

Gaara hung up without another word, and she lowered her phone from her ear in disbelief.

She cracked.

She burst into tears, dry-heaving, her hands moving across her body to hold up the pieces of her. She leaked and leaked, slipping through her fingers, through her defence. She couldn't square her shoulders, straighten her back or chin-up.

Her hand shook over her mouth, her other arm digging into her side. They moved to the back her neck, they wiped the tears that wouldn't stop.

She examined her body the way she would for patients at the hospital.

'Where does it hurt?' she would ask.

'Everywhere,' patients would infallibly answer.

-X-

Her new house didn't feel like home.

It was hidden behind austere high gates and higher dense hedges. Its architecture was modern, sharp simple lines, sun tinted windows revealing nothing of its interior.

Sakura chewed on her bottom lip, looking over her shoulders at the calm private neighbourhood. She felt out-of-place with her scrub stuffed in her messenger back, her disheveled hair, and her puffing reddened eyes. Shakily, while holding her phone, she punched the code he had given her.

The gate buzzed and opened for her.

She breathed in sharply. Squared shoulders, straight back, and chin up, she recited dully to herself.

At the front door, she pressed another combination of numbers, and it unlocked with a grave tone.

A set of slippers waited for her by the door, next to his. New. Nothing like the old ones she had back at her apartment.

With wobbly knees, she removed her shoes. She hesitated, spinning on herself. She opened a grey unit. His work shoes were lined up, their leather shining. There were a few sportswear. She gulped, at the bottom, there were her the two pairs she owned: flats she wore when she went out, and more comfortable shoes for everyday wear.

Sakura gently placed her shoes there.

She knew this was expected of her. He had left just enough room for her, splitting his home, so she would fit perfectly into her place.

She shook her head, pushing back at the thoughts swirling inside her. Wasn't he swallowing her whole, like his family?

She didn't pick her slippers. He threw away hers.

She didn't pick her home. He emptied hers, repainted it. A shift at the hospital later, and she was a new woman with a new beginning.

She untied her hair, shaking it loose, massaging her scalp.

There was no turning back.

She stepped into her house.

She dropped her messenger bag to the floor.

The light softly illuminated the pale furniture in a wide open space. The kitchen's domestic appliances gleamed sharply, metallic, while the rest was rough naked wood. She ran her hands across a bookcase, her books mixed with his in alphabetical order.

She explored the kitchen, the dining room and the living room, her hands hesitating before reaching forward and touching her things among his.

He had pinned his schedule on the fridge, and fanned out documents for her on the counter, a post-it on each pile detailing procedures and listing phone numbers. Forms to change her address. Forms to apply for citizenship. A business card for a designer. An appointment at the bank.

And a check. The only thing she cared about.

Her fingers hovered above the check he had made to her school.

She tore herself from the black granite counter, looking around her. A gilded cage.

The house was impersonal; there were no accent or decoration, no picture frame, no warmth to the house. The furniture was to its bare minimum.

Sakura climbed up the stairs.

The master's bedroom was painted in light grey and white like the rest of the house.

She found her way on the balcony, then in the walk-in closet.

Her side was almost empty, her few things fitting into only a fraction of the space. She imagined filling it, shopping, careless about money for once. Her stomach twisted. Again, it felt like this was expected of her; fill the space and mirror his side full of designer clothes in various shades.

Her eyes drifted across the bed, her head pounding with her quickening heartbeat.

The finality of her wedding damned on her: they would share a bed. They would build a family together. Until death do them part.

But wasn't this a dream come true?

A beautiful home, her tuition already paid off, her future secured. Shouldn't she be grateful?

The news outlet had already marked her fate as a fairytale: From nothing to the wife of Gaara Sabaku, one of the richest man in the Land of the Wind. A Modern Cinderella tale, some have called their wedding during the TV news. Wasn't it this a tale of hope? Shouldn't they all be envious?

Sakura turned right on the hallway nothing the two bathrooms, before pushing open the door to his study. Unlike the rest of the house, his study was shrouded in shadows, painted in dark red, the desk old, pile of paper perfectly arranged.

She had her own study, and she saw it more clearly now, how he had selected some of her things, and disregarded the rest. She balled her fists, her anger, her sadness battling inside her. Her desk was brand-new, her old beat-up second-hand furniture gone. He had picked a desk of cherry wood.

A part of her flinched, craving this sense of belonging.

The other part of her demanded violent retaliation.

She was grateful.

She was going to kill him.

-X-

"Where's my stuff?" Sakura asked icily at him when Gaara stepped into the kitchen.

Her hair still damp from her shower dripped down her neck, as she bent over her textbook. Impatiently, she tapped on the book, sensing him approach her.

"You have a study. Why are you working in the kitchen?" Gaara asked, ignoring her.

He took a water bottle out of the refrigerator. He leaned against the counter watching her with curiosity, his bow tie untied around his neck. He took a sip.

"Where's my stuff," she repeated through clenched teeth, and roughly highlight a chunk of a sentence about the importance of eye movement examination during neurological assessment. "My study isn't my study. It's a page in some stupid catalogue."

"You're welcome."

Sakura pushed back the chair from the kitchen island and it grated against the floor. She glared at him.

"Are you unintentionally dense, or just very rude?"

Gaara raised an eyebrow in surprise at her, his mouth pressed to the bottle, but he didn't drink. He lowered back his arm, his head cocked to the side as if he was seeing her for the first time.  

"Your 'stuff' as you call it was falling apart," Gaara said quietly, and a shadow she couldn't understand lurked in his pale eyes. "I got you better things."

'Your image is unflattering to us,' Temari's voice filled her head alongside his. Was this the price of belonging, she wondered taking a step back from him, her insides gripped into a frozen, unbreakable fist.

She would be reinvented to fit in someone else's story, was that her future? Was that how ruthless women lived?

Sakura looked around her, at the pristine kitchen, the dining room opening on the living room, beige, fitting with each other.

A fairytale, Sakura had thought before considering her house. Now, she knew, she wasn't Cinderella. Cinderella had loved her prince, she hadn't taken her vows to escape her circumstances. No, she was the last of a Russian doll set. And they would make her fit inside, swallowed, adjusted to their world.

She balled her fists.

"I didn't ask for upgrades," Sakura said through clenched teeth.

Gaara shrugged, noncommittal, and put back the water bottle in the refrigerator.

"They are just things," he said as he brushed by her.

Gaara settled his bow tie on the couch and unbuttoned his collar.

"It's our house, honey," Sakura sneered after him now on her feet, and he looked back at her with an eyebrow raised. "Our. As in your stuff and mine."

"Hn. Fine, buy whatever pleases you," Gaara took out his wallet from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and took out his credit card.

He handed it to her.

Sakura looked at the card, feeling dismissed, small, belonging in the cracks of his life. He sighed and pressed it to her hands when she didn't react.

"Are we done here?" Gaara pointed at the credit card she was still holding, and the back of her throat hurt from the tears she refused to let fall. "I need to go back to the office."

She followed him mechanically. He looked up at her as he was putting on his shoes, frowning.

"Just use the no contact pay option," he added slowly, as she didn't move.

"Do we really need to share the bedroom?" she asked as he stood up again, and reached for the door.

Her face crumpled, but his eyes were on his watch, his hand on the doorknob.

"I'm an insomniac. I rarely sleep. I won't disturb you."

"Fine."

"So, we're-"

"Yes, yes, we're done," Sakura snapped.

She spun on her heels, his card still in her grip. What had she expected? She chastised herself. She threw the card on the counter, tears of frustration brimming her eyes. She pressed a hand to her mouth. It hurt. The back of her throat. The back of her eyes.

The thought of his disdainful eyes flickering across her face.

Temari had been right. She had been picked for their image. Her story would only be a fairytale in appearance.

'What have I done?'

-X-

Late at night, Gaara paced in the living room, the acidic way she had called him 'honey' haunting him.

She wasn't happy.

He had thought it would be easy, companionship in exchange for his fortune and social status. But she was dissatisfied. She didn't use his credit card. She had sulked and glared at him when he returned home. She had snapped good night before making her way upstairs, her steps heavy and angry, booming, then slammed the door of their bedroom.

In the business world, in his world, humans were simple. They were needy. They didn't love things; they simply needed, craved things they didn't have. Things their neighbours had. Things perfect strangers had flaunted on the internet. There was always a need to fill with this or that product. Otherwise, money fixed everything.

Why hadn't it fixed them?

Gaara paced more quickly, his hands deep in his pockets.

He couldn't understand what she wanted from him.

Gaara abruptly turned toward the couch and reached for his cellphone. He quickly dialled Kankuro's number.

"Wut?" Kankuro said groggily into the phone.

"You didn't choose right," Gaara said agitatedly, and he glanced at the staircase plunged in darkness.

He heard Kankuro growl and shift into a sitting position. Kankuro muttered something to Kiba. Then, a door closed.  

"Remember when you were a small annoying kid, and I would tell you I can exchange you for a decent little bro at the nearest supermarket whenever I want?" Kankuro hissed into the phone.

Gaara opened his mouth, and glanced at his watch. 3:40 am.

"It's late."

"Yeah," his brother growled. "But what the hell do you mean I didn't choose right?"

"She's upset about the things you picked out."

"She insulted my taste?" Kankuro sucked in a breath, and laughed with an irony that escaped Gaara. "Tell her I can exchange her at the nearest supermarket."

"No," Gaara frowned. "She just seems to think her old stuff was better."

"Oh fuck, she had stuff? And you threw it away?"

"I just said that, yes," Gaara replied coldly.

"I can't explain this to you right now."

"I can call you back between meetings... At 10h15?"

"Gaara..."

"Don't say my name like that."

'Like I'm not human,' Gaara added silently. He clenched his jaw. He tried. He tried working around his work, and understand her. He checked up on her, but she unsettled him when she asked him about her things.

Temari had Shikamaru.

Kankuro had Kiba.

He had simply wanted to feel needed too.

Gaara closed his eyes, his fingers massaging the tattoo on his forehead. Why wasn't love simple?

"Just apologize, and get her stuff back. And next time, for Pete's sakes, don't just tell me: 'she needs new stuff.' Share the whole story, like that she already has stuff. Hold on." Gaara waited as his brother's muffled voice said something and Kiba answered him. "Kiba wants to have supper with you two. Pick a day. Now, I'm going back to sleep before my boyfriend exchanges me. Night, little bro."

He hung up.

Gaara didn't sleep, he thought of her gleaming green flashing with anger, a different woman from the one who had meekly bowed to him at the coffeeshop.

Were people really like that, Gaara wondered, full of contradictions and conflicting emotions?

He lied down on the couch, a book open on his chest. He rubbed at his temples, entrapped in the difference sides of her.

His mind drifted, roamed, but he didn't sleep.

-X-

Sakura turned restlessly in the bed. It smells inhabited, of floral detergent, the dark grey bed sheets still crisp and unused.

She sat up huffing, muttering to herself: "What a jerk!" Turning her head toward the door, she bit her lip. Instinctively, she held up the bed sheets to her chest. She wore a simple pyjamas, but somehow she felt exposed. In a stranger's home. In a stranger's bed.

'What if he came up?' she thought and shuddered.

She turned her head toward the rest of the room, wondering if she should put one of the chairs from the walk-in closet against the knob.

Shaking her head, Sakura fumbled with the sheets and got off the bed. Skin flushed, she advanced slowly toward the door, listening intensely. She could hear him moving downstairs.

"You didn't choose right," Gaara said agitatedly.

Sakura froze, her hand on the knob. She couldn't listen in. She shouldn't. Curiosity gripped her. Slowly, silently, she turned the knob. She blushed.

With the door ajar, his voice reached her more easily, despite it being low and grave.

"No, she just seems to think her old stuff was better."

Sakura faltered, her eyes shifting involuntarily to her wedding ring. He sounded like a child. Then, an insidious thought whispered at her; what if he was talking to the woman in the picture?  

She closed the door, her face stiffening with conflicting emotions, her heart heavy, sinking quickly in her chest.

She climbed back into bed.

His.

His bed.

She was his, but her husband belonged to another woman.

***

PART 4

The next morning, Sakura ate her breakfast in silence, her lips pursued, barely chewing the steamy rice pudding.

Gaara had served her in silence, his green eyes searching hers. Sakura refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing clearly her puffy eyes, her pale face, and how everything about him ravaged her. Ever since she had his ring, he had torn pieces of her, a roaming scavenger that mercilessly picked at the bones.

"Do you have class or are you at the hospital today?" Gaara asked, and he crossed his arms over his chest, still watching her.

The back of her neck prickled. She was certain he wasn't used to waiting.

She munched slowly, and his eyebrow twitched.  

"Hospital," Sakura answered icily.

"Hn."

Gaara glanced out of the window, his muscled forearms jerking, still crossed over him.

"What time do you finish?"

Annoyed, Sakura glared up at him, but his face was expressionless, unfocused, still turned toward the bay windows. She pinched her lips and bent over her bowl again.

"I don't know, maybe around 7," she shrugged.

"What about tomorrow?"

"What's this about?" Sakura grumbled.

"My brother and his partner," Gaara narrowed his eyes at the garden. "They want to have supper with us."

Sakura pushed her bowl away from her, and reached for her napkin. She wiped her mouth, and he furrowed his eyebrows.  

"Wednesday is fine."

Sakura stood up.

"Thanks for making breakfast," she said flatly.

His head turned back toward her, his pale eyes following her as she left the kitchen.

"Put the bowl away," he growled.

"I'm going to be late, but sure, you should clean up," Sakura shrugged. "It's your stuff afterward."

Gaara stood up too, swiftly, and she walked faster toward the entrance. Maybe she went too far? He followed her, a glowering presence. She bent down to put on her shoes, avoiding the sharp edges of his face.

Gaara leaned over the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, solid, his eyes on his watch.

"What about my sister and her partner?"

Sakura grimaced, occupying her hands with her messenger back.

"Saturday... Maybe brunch?" Sakura shrugged.

'Or never,' she added silently.

"Good," Gaara answered and he turned away from her.

He reached in his pocket for his phone.

Silently, she panted looking at the space he had occupied, her insides twisted, sore. What had she expect?

She heard the sound of clicking dishes as he cleaned up the kitchen table.

"Bye, honey!" Sakura shouted, and she slammed the door after her.

-X-

His office was crowded, the directors sitting around the coffee table in front of Gaara's desk in a tight rectangle of bobbing heads. Their assistants took hurried notes behind them, shifting their weight from one feet to the other, to keep awake, to keep from their legs going numb.

Gaara detached his chin from his laced fingers, glancing down at his watch.

Soon, he would be able to dismiss them. In fifteen minutes, he would go down to the twelfth floor and meet with the executives from the main factory.

Gaara glanced down at the leather file folder in front of him.  

"If we get a new product-"

"Gaara-sama," one of the director said and coughed. An intentional disturbance. The other directors turned their stares to him, fingers pushing back the business plan. An orchestrated plan.

Gaara looked up at them. They squirmed under his stare. He hated when they changed the order of the meeting, shifting his schedule around like it belonged to them.

The director coughed again, his hand in a shaky fist pressed against his mouth.

"Maybe, you should bring your wife to the next fundraiser. Investors from the Fire country will be there. It'll be good for future relations... She was born there, yes?"

"Hn. Can we talk about the new product now?" Gaara said icily.

He lowered his hands to the table, tapping the rhythm of time with one index. 13 more minutes, and he would get up.

"You should dismantle the new company you acquired," Director Orochimaru hissed. "It's a deadweight."

Gaara felt a familiar anger boiled and lashed out inside him. He straightened his back, leaning back on his leather chair. The directors pressed their lips together, a joined front.

"My wife won't come to the fundraiser if you keep pretending we can't save this company."

"Gaara-sama!" one of the directors exclaimed, and the others blinked rapidly staring at each other, nudging at each other.

"She'll be too busy with being newly poor," Gaara said flatly, and he knocked on the table sharply. "Are we going to talk about this deal now?"

"There're times you do business like your father, Gaara-sama," Director Orochimaru said with a smirk, and an elongated feminine hand pushed back his lustrous hair.

A ferocious amusement glinted in his narrowed eyes.

He was a snake.

Gaara knew Director Orochimaru coveted his seat. He was patient. He was deceitful. He had briefly occupied the CEO's chair after Gaara's father had died. He had let the siblings play in his office, musing out loud about their father's disgrace until none of them could smile.

They glared at each other.

They would always fight for the chair, the title, and the power that would make one and defeat the other.

"There are times I wish I was my father," Gaara said coldly, "so I could throw you out of my office."

"The fundraiser is in two weeks," the other director squeaked, his hand on his tie.

Elegantly, Director Orochimaru shrugged, still smiling.

"A new product may save the company if we have deals to sell it in big department stores. Arrange it," Gaara snapped the leather file folder shut, and stood up.

Reluctantly, the other directors stood up too, buttoning back their suit jacket with stiff hands, and displeased frown. They shook their heads, avoiding looking at each other. They would plot, Gaara knew. Director Orochimaru was still sitting, his assistant fervently staring at him.

"It may also not work," Director Orochimaru said softly.

"It's a long way down my office," Gaara said dully, and he pointed at the exit. "That way is slower, but safer."

"Gaara-sama..." The directors bowed their heads, and exited the room.

Gradually, Director Orochimaru got to his feet. His assistant hurried to give him his cane, his arm draped over his shoulder protectively. He barely seemed to notice, stepping toward Gaara.

"It'd be a long way down your office for you too, Gaara-sama," he sing-sang as he brushed by him. "Enjoy married life."

Gaara pressed the button of the intercom. He loosened his tie around his neck, still glaring at the door.

"Matsuri, get the movers I ordered yesterday on the line," Gaara said at the intercom.

"Yes, Gaara-sama. A moment, please, I'm connecting you."

The line rang sharply before a feminine voice answered. Gaara quietly enquired about what happened to things he had chosen to disregard. He listened to her answer, massaging his forehead. Lines creased it, his insides twisted.

Sakura whispered 'honey' in his ear.

She yelled it.

He frowned, disturbed by her intrusion in his thoughts.

He cleared his throat. He cleared his head.

"So, the things are completely gone?"

"Yes, sir. That's our policy!" The woman answered cheerfully.

"Hn. Goodbye."

Gaara hung up. He readjusted his suit jacket, turning his cufflinks back in place, perfectly symmetrical.

He opened the door of his office. Matsuri, his executive assistant, jumped to her feet, her mouth agape, her phone flipped faced down on the desk. She bowed stiffly, her face red.

"Move the executive meeting to this afternoon."

Matsuri stared after him in panic.

She dropped back on her seat once he was gone. Shakily, she reached for the phone.

Her boss never changed his schedule.

-X-

Gaara only remembered she had a hot pink broken stapler that weighed a ton.

He scowled at the stationary section for a minute before a clerk approached him smiling politely. He bowed formally.

"How can I help you, o-san?"

"I need a pink stapler with ridiculous ornaments and stars."

Caught by surprise, the clerk gaped, then walked stiffly toward an alley. He seemed to be fighting a smile.

"Is this what you're looking for, o-san?"

Gaara's eyebrow twitched at the sight of the stapler. It seemed brighter somehow. He nodded stiffly, and the clerk took a box for him. He led him to the checkout area.

"Is it a gift, o-san?"

"I don't know if she'd want it wrapped... Hn. Wrap it without the ribbons. Just a box, is that possible?"

The clerk bowed his head and pinched his lips in a disapproving look Gaara immediately recognized.

"Or one or two ribbons. Pink," Gaara growled and glared at the clerk.

"Would that also be all?"

Gaara narrowed his eyes at the clerk. There it was again; a disapproving look, lips curled up in an icy polite smile. Gaara dropped his wallet on the counter, swearing inwardly. Jewellery. In movies, dutiful husbands always bought jewellery.

"Do you also sell watches?" Gaara asked.

"Yes, sir. This way..." His smile easing, the clerk bowed.

He placed the wrapped gift under the counter and put on some gloves as he led him to another section of the store.

With disinterest, Gaara gazed at the watches on display.

"Hn. Find me something with numbers and without much... accessories." He tapped his finger on the glass, his eyes narrowed to slit at a golden watch with fake diamonds surrounding its frame. "Nothing like that."

Gaara turned away from him and got his phone out of his pocket.

"Tell Baki I'll be late," Gaara said to his secretary when she answered at the first ring. "About five minutes. I need to run by the hospital."

"Oh, is everything alright, Gaara-sama?" Matsuri stammered.

"Yes."

He hung up and approached the counter again. The clerk had picked five watches, all silver and simple.

Gaara pinched his lips. He didn't know which one to pick. Uncomfortable in his silence, the clerk pointed at one.

"It looks like your watch o-san."

"And?" Gaara asked dully.

"Well, if it's a gift to a special someone..." the clerk smiled at him encouragingly.

Gaara raised an eyebrow inspecting the watch. It was lighter, and smaller than his, but the bracelets were formed the same way.

"Do married people do that? Match their watch?" Gaara asked, his nose wrinkled in disgust at the absurdity of it, but his voice was soft, curious.

The clerk bowed.

"I'm sure your wife would be touched."

"Hn. Wrap it up like the stapler."

The clerk bowed and reached for a gift box under the counter.

"What about a gift bag, o-san?"

Gaara narrowed his eyes at his watch.

-X-

Gaara drove to the hospital, his hands clenched around the steering wheel. He resisted the urge to call Kankuro. Didn't he do marry because it was time to stop relying on his siblings? He moved his neck back, uncomfortable, trying to relieve the tension he felt building there.

Husbands bought things to apologize, Gaara knew from movies and books. Even when they didn't understand what they were apologizing for. Husbands' cluelessness was a recurring theme in most media.

It would be fine, he muttered to himself.

The truth was she terrified him like all strangers did. They needed all the little things he could never give them, and they were always insistent. And he couldn't sleep.

He glanced sideways at the gift bag, almost nauseous. He wanted to stir the wheel and drive back to his office. Then, Kankuro had said to get her stuff back, and his older brother was never wrong.

On the highway, the cars queued more intensely behind in, marking the beginning of rush hour.

He took the next exit, his lips set in the beginning of a snarl.

Why wasn't it easy like he had hoped?

Gaara parked the car in the administrative section using one of his grandmother's vignette. He got out of the car and bent down to retrieve the bag from the under the passenger's seat. He scowled. Why did he let the the clerk convince him he needed a gift bag? It looked ridiculous.

He slammed the door shut.

His back rigid, Gaara walked up to the hospital ground.

The hospital swarmed with hurrying personnel, yawning ones, and they buzzed; blurred bodies, extremely still bodies, and bloodied bodies.

The crowd anonymized him.

Gaara headed toward the cafeteria, expecting her to eat lunch there. Calmly, his gaze shifted across the tables knowing the interns wore a white scrub. He froze. Her hair was tied back, and she was talking animatedly with a group of interns. She laughed and spoke loudly. He knew her meek. He knew her sullen and angry.

Gaara cocked his head to the side watching her.

Her gaze briefly met his. Her pink mouth was agape, her flow of speech interrupted. She stood up shakily, staring at him with widened eyes.

Her knee bumped against the able and her food tray jolted upward.

"Gaara-sama!" Sakura startled.

His eyes stopped on her left hand, and hers went to the gift bag he was holding. The other interns watched them with curiosity, chewing silently. Sakura opened her mouth, looked at her friends, then approached him shyly. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, her cheeks turning pink.

"Are you here to see obaasan?"

"Yes," Gaara answered. "Bye now."

He whirled around, and exited the cafeteria. He was no longer anonymous, hushed whispers now accompanied every step he took: "Wasn't that Chiyo-sama's grandson?".

"Gaara-sama!" she ran after him.

He pressed the button of the elevator again, glancing at his watch without seeing the numbers. He kept seeing her empty left ring. And her laughter. And the way she had called him 'honey' once. He pressed the button of the elevator harder.

Anger swelled up inside him, and it was untameable as always.

He glanced at his watch, his heart, an explosion in his ears.  

"Gaara-sama!" Sakura repeated louder and touched his arm. Gaara whipped his arm from her. She pretended she didn't notice the way he flinched away from her. "You're pale. Are you alright?"

"Hn."

Sakura shifted in front of the elevator, then she stepped in the elevator with him, her fingers laced together, her head bowed. He normally tolerated uneasy silence, but he found it suffocating now with her enclosed in a small space. Her and anger. He gripped the handrail behind him putting as much distance between them.

"Where's your ring?" he muttered darkly, haunted by the thought of becoming like his father.

"My ring?" Sakura glanced back at him, guarded.

"Your wedding ring."

"I'm operating all day... I can't have a ring on. It's in my locker."

"Do your friends know you're married?" he spoke above her.

"You mean, if they know you own me?" Sakura scoffed, her eyebrows twitching, and crossed her arms, her face darkening. "Maybe you should have tried peeing around me, so they would know. What's with men, god?"

Gaara wished he could yell this wasn't what he meant, but anger was unpredictable. His eyes shifted uneasily around the elevator avoiding her. He wished he could let the beast loose, but he was terrified he would hurt her. He hadn't thought of this side of him in too long.

But, he wasn't alone anymore.

Gaara turned toward her stonily even if the doors of the elevator slid open. He stared at her, his mouth working. His face contorted as if he were fighting with himself and the words pained him. She took a step back.  

"Are you ashamed of me?"

"What?" she stammered.

He considered the distance between them, the laughter in the cafeteria pounding against his skull. Fear or anger, had he ever learned the difference between the two?

"I must be quite disappointing, I suppose," he said as he took a step back out of the elevator.

The gift bag thudded on the floor.

"No matter what they say in the papers... I'm not prince charming, am I?" Gaara muttered to himself and he walked out of the elevator without a glance back.

-X-

Sakura opened his present after her shift in the locker room.

She smiled, feeling the familiar weight of her stapler. She closed it a couple of times, giggling quietly to herself, her eyes brimmed with tears. Ino had bought her old one on one of her shopping spree and gave it to her when she left. As it was broken, she had recommended using it as a "means to crack skull open of nasty boys".

Sakura reached for her cellphone in her purse and her thumb hesitated over his number. Instead, she took a picture of it and sent it to Ino and Tenten, with the caption: "Cracking skulls of nasty boys with a new one!!"

Ino answered with a series of emojis varying from hearts to pandas.

'Why stop at the skull,' Tenten replied after a moment. 'Aim lowweerrrr'.

Sakura set it to the side and reached for the second smaller box. She pulled off the ribbons. Wincing, she opened the jewelry box. A delicate silver watch circled a cushion of black velvet. She flushed, her mouth dropping open.

Someone whistled behind her.

"Damn, you got yourself a boyfriend there, Sakura?"

Wickedly, Maki winked and sat down next to her to admire the watch.

"Ano, Maki-senpai..." Sakura shifted uneasily, blushing.

"Don't you watch the news, Maki?" Yuri snorted and slammed shut her locker. "Missy Pinky is now Gaara-sama's wife." she smirked coldly. "She's technically our boss, I guess."

Yuri strode out of the locker room, waving at them over her shoulder.

"See you tomorrow, girls. Sakura-sama," she added icily.

Sakura lowered her gaze to the watch. Maki returned it quietly and stood up. She bowed her head. She changed out of her scrub, without a glance back at her.

Sakura returned the gifts to the bag, her teeth clenched painfully over rising tears of anger. Squared-shoulders. Straight back. Chin up.

Her body trembled.

She was the brittle leaf from Konoha.

She was exhausted.

[kawaiikatanabushi]

Hiccups

The relentless tormenting and teasing was enough. She had been trying to be patient and withold the urge to retaliate. Saito-san had informed her that Okita-san was merely trying to get a rise out of her and her greatest ally would be that of inner tranquility. Yet, she was no Saito-san; especially after all that Okita-san had done to her. The day had started with him waking her earlier than necessary on the guise she was running late.  She had been so anxious in her dressing and mentally preparing for apologizing to Harada-san and Nagakura-san in regards to her tardiness, it had not occured to her the sun was just rising. She stumbled into an empty and unlit kitchen, muffled chuckles accentuating her discovery with a poignant mockery. After wiping the tears from his eyes, it was only then that Okita-san related he must have gotten the time wrong. Then, when breakfast had finally arrived, she had watched as Okita-san made a switch of his empty teacup with that of Saito-san's. If her friend had not been discussing with the vice commander over one of his rank-and-file who seemed to be succumbing to illness, she was sure that Okita-san and his folly would be easily detected. Yet, upon finding his cup empty, she was automatically accused by the first unit captain for neglecting "poor Hajime-kun." Fortunately, the joke rolled of Saito-san as water over a stone and he simply requested that his rightful cup be returned to him. During the course of the day, more of these situations arose. She had swept away dirt and debris, only to discover the pathway littered once again. Her hair had unexpectedly fallen into her face as she was polishing the engawa and she slipped upon the hard wood floors, painfully. With a few giggles, Okita-san offered her a hand up and returned her red rope tie with a smirk. The final note struck, however, when he had been lounging on the engawa in a state near napping as she washed the laundry. She had finished ringing out the last haori and left to hang up these final pieces with a sense of relief. At last, she would not be the subject of Okita-san's amusement on this troublesome day off he was thoroughly enjoying. He would be napping upon her return and she would have a moment's peace. She nodded resolutely as she hung the last blue on the line, but turned to discover the laundry basket full of dried clothes was pilfered. She rushed about the area in a panic, heart bounding in her chest. She searched the halls for a clue, only to discover that some of the dried clothes were back in the wash again. The rest were with Okita-san, who was stifling his laughter once more. Before she could stamp her foot, yell at him, or even cry, the unexpected happened. An insignificant little hiccup broke the sound of his laughter and widened those emerald eyes. A beat passed between the two of them, only for a louder hiku to break the silence.

Chizuru's hands flew to her mouth as she tried to swallow back her own laughter. It would not be kind to laugh at him, no matter how relentless his harassment. No matter how funny his facial expression or how he had reaped what he sowed. She held in a breath as he glared dangerously in warning. His mirth was clearly gone and he opened his mouth to utter the same threat she knew by heart.

"If you laugh at me, then, I'll have to kill hiku you,"

Her wide brown eyes blinked once before she collapsed in a fit of giggles. The threat held no fear in it. He had acquired hiccups from all of his teasing and it was her turn to laugh.

"N-nee! It's not funny! These hu-hiku-urt!" He whined, only to cause her laughter to turn all the more uproarious.

He pouted as he watched her hysterics, a full blush creeping itself over his cheeks. Perhaps he deserved the nasty things, but he couldn't stand to have her laugh at him. This wasn't funny to him. He hated being teased. Every time her chortles would settle down, they would meet eyes and he'd hiccup. It started the whole ordeal over again and he wished he could be rid of the stupid things.

"I'm sorry, " she finally sighed out, wiping at Her own eyes, as she stood and walked over to him, "Is there anything I can get you?"

"I don't need your hiku charity," he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Again, she began to shake with uncontrolled giggles and his rolling his eyes skyward seemed to add to her amusement. He held his breath, only to hiccup as soon as he was finished. He growled in irritation, but Chizuru simply laughed all the more. He couldn't stop the onslaught and it was hurting his sides far more than his laughter had. He turned his head from her in a huff only to feel her tiny hand upon his shoulder. He was still irritated at her, but he did like the sensation of her small hand resting upon him.

"Why don't I get you some tea, Okita-hiku-san," she asked, gasping as she realized she had the same ailment.

His head snapped back to meet her gaze and for a breath, both parties simply blinked. Then, a victorious smirk took hold of his features and he chuckled through his teeth. His victory was short lived, however, and was quickly followed by another exasperating hiccup. This time, however, did not end with Chizuru laughing at him. Instead, she blinked up at him, only to hiccup herself and blush a lovely rosey shade. His smile of amusement was warm and genuine, unlike that triumphant smirk. She smiled in return, blushing for an altogether different reason. His eyes were rather handsome and his features far more attractive when kindness shone through.

The moment was short lived, as both hiccuped in tandem. Yet instead of irritation, they fell back on the engawa, giggling and hiccuping as two children. Chizuru hardly realized that she was tucked into the crook of his arm, her head resting upon his shoulder as their sides were wracked with painful bursts of equal parts laughter and hiccups. It was only after they were panting and gasping for breath, everything finally abated, that she felt the warmth of his chest and the strength his muscles held. She was in the grasp of Okita Souji, but fear was not what surged through her heart. A feeling quite alien to her had taken hold of her heart, and a tingling warmth spread through her chest to grace her cheeks. In her fear of him, she had never considered him to be attractive. Yet, as he met her gaze, lounging on his back and drawing an arm about her petite frame, she could note the fondness that softened his eyes and fluttered her heart. He was, indeed, very handsome. He smiled to her, and touched his forehead to hers.

"This is all your fault, you know," he whispered in the gentlest tease, "I haven't been this out of breath since the last time I had to chase you down. You never stay put when you should,"

"You're the one who teased me all day," she retorted, though the quip came much softer than she had intended, "After all that stress, what could I do but laugh?"

"Why don't you nap, then, nee?" He suggested, his eyes still uncharacteristically soft, "This warmth we have going on is making me sleepy. I wouldn't mind being a pillow for a while,"

Her mind told her to run as far from him as she could. He had been the one harassing her, relentlessly. In fact, he was the one who threatened her regularly and what proved she could trust him? A fit of giggles? Still, her heart noted those emerald eyes as luscious and inviting as a patch of fresh summer grass upon a sunny hillside. She found herself nodding and the smile she recieved was more than enough reward for her. He shifted to rest his chin upon her head and lounge on his side. Her nose was mere centimeters from his sculpted chest and she nearly shrieked at the proximity. She was stilled, however, when she felt his sigh fan over her hair and tingle her scalp. This was dangerous, but their intermingled body heat leant her a hazy coziness. Her eyes grew heavy and she settled against him. She went lax as her eyes drew closed and her head tilted forward into his chest. She could register his sleepy hum upon contact, but was too lethargic to pull back. Just this once, she promised herself before her thoughts eased into pleasant dreams. The laundry would simply have to wait.

[longlistshort]

Silver Jews- Random Rules

I first heard about David Berman and his band Silver Jews a while ago, as they were one of those bands you heard about if you were a Pavement fan. But sadly, I never got around to listening to them until now.

Stephen Malkmus and David Berman went to the University of Virginia and later moved together to Hoboken, New Jersey. There Malkmus, along with their other roommate Bob Nastanovich, played with additional bandmates as Pavement, and together with Berman they formed the Silver Jews, although Berman soon remained the only constant member of the band.

When I discovered that David Berman had passed away and read the many quotes from his songs posted online by friends and fans, I finally spent some time listening to his music. There are just so many great lines in these songs. For instance, from Random Rules, posted above- “In 1984, I was hospitalized for approaching perfection/ Slowly screwing my way across Europe, they had to make a correction”. It’s a funny opener and the whole song is filled with quotable lyrics. Towards the end are the lyrics “I asked the painter why the roads are colored black/ He said, ‘Steve, it’s because people leave/And no highway will bring them back’.” So many of his songs are like this, the humor mixed with the pathos.

Silver Jews disbanded in 2009 and Berman quit making music for awhile. In 2011 he started a blog. In May, ten years after he stopped making music, he released the album Purple Mountains. The lyrics to the songs on this album, including the one below, are poignant, made even more so after his death. In a recent interview with Exclaim!, he discusses each song off that album.

Purple Mountains- All My Happiness Is Gone (song starts 2:06)

He also wrote poetry, and this poem, from his book Actual Air, is just so incredible I’m presenting it in its entirety (via poemhunter).

Self- Portrait at 28

I know it's a bad title but I'm giving it to myself as a gift on a day nearly canceled by sunlight when the entire hill is approaching the ideal of Virginia brochured with goldenrod and loblolly and I think "at least I have not woken up with a bloody knife in my hand" by then having absently wandered one hundred yards from the house while still seated in this chair with my eyes closed. It is a certain hill the one I imagine when I hear the word "hill" and if the apocalypse turns out to be a world-wide nervous breakdown if our five billion minds collapse at once well I'd call that a surprise ending and this hill would still be beautiful a place I wouldn't mind dying alone or with you.

I am trying to get at something and I want to talk very plainly to you so that we are both comforted by the honesty. You see there is a window by my desk I stare out when I am stuck though the outdoors has rarely inspired me to write and I don't know why I keep staring at it. My childhood hasn't made good material either mostly being a mulch of white minutes with a few stand out moments, popping tar bubbles on the driveway in the summer a certain amount of pride at school everytime they called it "our sun" and playing football when the only play was "go out long" are what stand out now. If squeezed for more information I can remember old clock radios with flipping metal numbers and an entree called Surf and Turf. As a way of getting in touch with my origins every night I set the alarm clock for the time I was born so that waking up becomes a historical reenactment and the first thing I do is take a reading of the day and try to flow with it like when you're riding a mechanical bull and you strain to learn the pattern quickly so you don't inadverantly resist it.

II two I can't remember being born and no one else can remember it either even the doctor who I met years later at a cocktail party. It's one of the little disappointments that makes you think about getting away going to Holly Springs or Coral Gables and taking a room on the square with a landlady whose hands are scored by disinfectant, telling the people you meet that you are from Alaska, and listen to what they have to say about Alaska until you have learned much more about Alaska than you ever will about Holly Springs or Coral Gables. Sometimes I am buying a newspaper in a strange city and think "I am about to learn what it's like to live here." Oftentimes there is a news item about the complaints of homeowners who live beside the airport and I realize that I read an article on this subject nearly once a year and always receive the same image. I am in bed late at night in my house near the airport listening to the jets fly overhead a strange wife sleeping beside me. In my mind, the bedroom is an amalgamation of various cold medicine commercial sets (there is always a box of tissue on the nightstand). I know these recurring news articles are clues, flaws in the design though I haven't figured out how to string them together yet, but I've begun to notice that the same people are dying over and over again, for instance Minnie Pearl who died this year for the fourth time in four years.

III three Today is the first day of Lent and once again I'm not really sure what it is. How many more years will I let pass before I take the trouble to ask someone? It reminds of this morning when you were getting ready for work. I was sitting by the space heater numbly watching you dress and when you asked why I never wear a robe I had so many good reasons I didn't know where to begin. If you were cool in high school you didn't ask too many questions. You could tell who'd been to last night's big metal concert by the new t-shirts in the hallway. You didn't have to ask and that's what cool was: the ability to deduct to know without asking. And the pressure to simulate coolness means not asking when you don't know, which is why kids grow ever more stupid. A yearbook's endpages, filled with promises to stay in touch, stand as proof of the uselessness of a teenager's promise. Not like I'm dying for a letter from the class stoner ten years on but... Do you remember the way the girls would call out "love you!" conveniently leaving out the "I" as if they didn't want to commit to their own declarations. I agree that the "I" is a pretty heavy concept and hope you won't get uncomfortable if I should go into some deeper stuff here.

IV four There are things I've given up on like recording funny answering machine messages. It's part of growing older and the human race as a group has matured along the same lines. It seems our comedy dates the quickest. If you laugh out loud at Shakespeare's jokes I hope you won't be insulted if I say you're trying too hard. Even sketches from the original Saturday Night Live seem slow-witted and obvious now. It's just that our advances are irrepressible. Nowadays little kids can't even set up lemonade stands. It makes people too self-conscious about the past, though try explaining that to a kid. I'm not saying it should be this way. All this new technology will eventually give us new feelings that will never completely displace the old ones leaving everyone feeling quite nervous and split in two. We will travel to Mars even as folks on Earth are still ripping open potato chip bags with their teeth. Why? I don't have the time or intelligence to make all the connections like my friend Gordon (this is a true story) who grew up in Braintree Massachusetts and had never pictured a brain snagged in a tree until I brought it up. He'd never broken the name down to its parts. By then it was too late. He had moved to Coral Gables.

V five The hill out my window is still looking beautiful suffused in a kind of gold national park light and it seems to say, I'm sorry the world could not possibly use another poem about Orpheus but I'm available if you're not working on a self-portrait or anything. I'm watching my dog have nightmares, twitching and whining on the office floor and I try to imagine what beast has cornered him in the meadow where his dreams are set. I'm just letting the day be what it is: a place for a large number of things to gather and interact -- not even a place but an occasion a reality for real things. Friends warned me not to get too psychedelic or religious with this piece: "They won't accept it if it's too psychedelic or religious," but these are valid topics and I'm the one with the dog twitching on the floor possibly dreaming of me that part of me that would beat a dog for no good reason no reason that a dog could see. I am trying to get at something so simple that I have to talk plainly so the words don't disfigure it and if it turns out that what I say is untrue then at least let it be harmless like a leaky boat in the reeds that is bothering no one. VI six I can't trust the accuracy of my own memories, many of them having blended with sentimental telephone and margarine commercials plainly ruined by Madison Avenue though no one seems to call the advertising world "Madison Avenue" anymore. Have they moved? Let's get an update on this. But first I have some business to take care of. I walked out to the hill behind our house which looks positively Alaskan today and it would be easier to explain this if I had a picture to show you but I was with our young dog and he was running through the tall grass like running through the tall grass is all of life together until a bird calls or he finds a beer can and that thing fills all the space in his head. You see, his mind can only hold one thought at a time and when he finally hears me call his name he looks up and cocks his head and for a single moment my voice is everything: Self-portrait at 28.

There is only so much time to read, listen to, and see all the wonderful things people have created. David Berman made work well worth spending some of that precious time on.

Rest in Peace.

[him-e]

Hey! I love your analysis’ of Reylo. They’re my favorite. I have a loaded question (hopefully you’ve never been asked) — when do you think both Rey and Kylo became PHYSICALLY attracted to each other? And when do you think Rey became ROMANTICALLY attracted to Kylo, because I think we can all agree after killing Han Solo and their fight on Starkiller Base, she was, and rightly so, hostile and angry. Sorry if it’s a stupid question but you just seem to go really in depth with details. :)

ok so I noticed a very similar ask is already making the rounds on here, but since I started writing this post before I saw it, you’re getting mine too, yay. 

First: physical vs romantic can be a false binary. Some people don’t experience a difference in physical attraction vs romantic attraction. On a literary level, and especially in the context of a space opera/fairytale geared towards a young audience, the distinction might be entirely redundant: the two spheres coincide, as the sexual element is never explicit in fairytales, and the romantic interest is often a stand-in for both. You don’t get a point where the characters are “only” physically attracted to each other in this kind of stories.  

Second: going from hating someone to falling in love with said someone is a pretty standard romantic trope. It’s juicy, it’s sexy, and it’s all about CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. In enemies to lovers stories, the initial hatred is not an obstacle but part of the romantic build-up.Usually there isn’t “one” turning point where the relationship dramatically changes, but many. It’s a gradual evolution. 

With that said… I believe a degree of attraction was always there on both sides (Kylo’s side being a bit more self-evident than Rey’s, though Rey’s part is interesting as well, more on that later). The romantic feelings, on the other hand, are still a work in progress. They still haven’t acknowledged them. 

Let’s start with Kylo because it’s easier. 

1) Kylo is VERY attracted to Rey since the beginning.

Our boy is very transparent when it comes to Rey.He instinctively recognizes that there’s something special to this girl, and he’s drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

^ He looks her up and down. Adam emphasizes this gesture with a blatant head motion because he’s wearing a mask and he can’t be subtle about it. Which means he was probably asked to be unsubtle.

^ He gets in her personal space immediately after that. There’s really no need to be this close if he wanted to simply mind probe her. 

This is especially interesting because the way this scene is edited we don’t see how he got so close that he’s practically…what, sniffing her neck? Whispering in her ear? So I guess the final cut was rather toned down compared to the raw footage of this scene, and it’s for the better, since Rey is immobilized and terrified and in no position to give consent to this closeness. (tbh, I suspect he was originally meant to touch her or cup her face in this scene, and they cut it because they wanted to make sure that Kylo never touches her—aside from bridal carrying her into his ship. See also how he touches her during the interrogation in the tfa novelization but not in the movie. This is an excellent decision in my opinion. It’s crucial that Kylo doesn’t cross that boundary without Rey’s consent, so it makes it all the more poignant when he touches Rey’s outstretched hand in TLJ. Yeah, don’t tell me this wasn’t all planned.)

This attraction isn’t conscious on Kylo’s part—he seems to be completely clueless about it. Both Rey and Kylo are coded as very immature for their ages, both because they’re supposed to have a coming of age arc (which in true sw fashion overlaps with a hero’s journey), and because they’re emotionally stunted as neither had a “normal” adolescence (for different reasons).

^ more unnecessary closeness and he’s also blatantly looking at her lips and neck here. I won’t go in deep into the interrogation scene because there’s too much to dissect, but yeah, the whole thing is Kylo being ridiculously fascinated by Rey and not knowing what to do with it.

But this is also where he starts going deeper into her… ahem, poor choice of words, sorry. I mean he looks inside her mind and he’s enraptured. He sees her loneliness, her fear to leave the place where she’s bound in a forced state of childhood, he sees the island of her dreams—and her affection for Han, which immediately triggers a cascade of unpleasant feelings for him. In short, this is where he connects with her emotionally (although forcibly) and where it stops being just curiosity and attraction and becomes something more, on a deeper level than just the physical, for him.

(casual reminder that this is a space opera so yes, Kylo can see a kaleidoscope of Rey’s inner world and HOPELESSLY FALL IN LOVE WITH IT in the span of 2 minutes of mind probe. This isn’t to be taken literally.)

As she slips out of his grip just when he’s starting to know her, Kylo LOSES HIS SHIT. He gives in to a childish temper tantrum at the sight of her empty interrogation chair, and when she shows up again at Finn’s side, he sees red. This is very possessive/jealous coded behavior.

THEN REY SUMMONS THE LEGACY SABER AND HE’S LIKE:

^ Heart eyes, motherfucker. I think at this point our boy’s fallen HARD. He still doesn’t know, of course. But it’s clear that this moment—the whole duel with her—left a huge impression on him. Later in TLJ, he tells Rey that she has “that look in her eyes, from the forest”, which, wow, someone’s been thinking about Rey’s eyes A LOT and memorizing that particular expression and romanticizing the shit of of it.

Verdict: Kylo immediately finds Rey attractive but has probably no idea why he feels that way, and starts making a lot of irrational decisions in order to take her with him and make her stay. By the end of TFA, he’s already caught a variety of Feelings. They will only intensify in TLJ, but the foundation, both in physical and emotional terms, is already there.

2) Rey. Rey is more complicated because she’s our protagonist/main pov, she’s female—female attraction is depicted differently than male attraction—and most importantly she’s in a situation of disadvantage for most of TFA. Due to her limited agency she is forced to react rather than act, and she’s constantly in a fight or flight mode. 

This, of course, makes her (subtle) attraction hard to notice and problematic to discuss, but we’ll get there.

^ Her first reaction to a full masked Kylo Ren is blind terror (with reason: Kylo chases, immobilizes, and then threatens her with his lightsaber). But remember: per the novelization, “she has seen this man before. In a nightmare, in a dream”. This already introduces an element of ambiguity: why this distinction? Was the dream pleasant? Kylo is, at this stage, the physical manifestation of a shadow that seems to be haunting her (in her subconscious, but also in the force vision she had minutes before). It isn’t as much repulsive as it is scary. 

Soon enough, she starts conversing with the shadow. Once the initial terror fades, she regains composure and starts demanding answers, even as tied up to a chair as she is.

The unmasking is a crucial moment.

^ This is when Rey sees Ben’s face for the first time—the prince underneath the beast—and it confuses her. It’s where she loses her combative attitude and has to regroup for a minute. She blinks, she breathes in, her eyes wander across his figure.The novelization states that it’s because he looks so average (LOL, sure) and not monstrous at all, but beyond the surface reading, this already tells us that Rey took time to register Kylo’s facial features and find them strangely unthreatening–even familiar. She definitely doesn’t find him repulsive or odd-looking.

From this moment on, she has trouble looking at him. She’s constantly avoiding his eyes or stealing short glances at him—he turned from creature into man, and she’s suddenly hyperaware of his closeness and her restraints. (this is where most people feel uncomfortable with that scene, because it’s dripping with ambiguous tension). Then she finds Kylo in her mind, she fights back and locks eyes with him again, this time unafraid. She chooses to look into the monster and while she turns the tables on him, invading his mind, she finds herself “inexorably drawn to”… something. His fears? The novelization leaves this unsaid, but the choice of words is interesting. She’s not merely pushing him out, or defending herself anymore. She finds something that intrigues her in there. That draws her in.

This scene is where they truly reveal themselves to the other—Kylo’s humanity and weaknesses, and Rey’s powers and strength. It leaves them both shaking and bewildered. It’s a sort of initiation—for both. To each other’s force powers, but also to the attractive power each has on the other.

Then comes another turning point—Han’s murder, which Rey witnesses from a privileged perspective.

^ There’s a sort of softness, but also enrapture, in her expression here. She’s completely sucked into this scene, all but forgetting she could shoot Kylo from where she is and end this at any moment. No, what she’s seeing is another side of Han, but also another side of Kylo Ren.

It goes back to when she was first introduced to the story of Ben Solo.

See? Raptured. Camera zooming in on her face. Light spheres floating around her as Han tells her about the boy who destroyed it all. This is a magical moment, the cinematography is telling us. 

On some level, even before meeting him in person, she’s drawn to him. Remember, this is a fairytale.

By the forest scene Rey is horrified, angry, exhausted, grieving. In the span of two days she was forced to grow past childhood, cut her umbilical cord to Jakku, and enter a scary phase of transition into adulthood, which Kylo is, like it or not, a big part of. Now she’s seen him murder his own father—he is a monster with a human face, something that seems to enrage her even more. The following duel is more of a discovery of her own powers (and potential darkness) than it is about Kylo (whereas for Kylo it’s definitely about Rey), but in the end she can’t bring herself to kill him. Again, this tells us more about who Rey is and what is her inner conflict than it does about her relationship with Kylo but… it’s something. I think on an instinctual level, even at this early stage, she recognizes something in him that resonates with her. His loneliness, his anger, his misery perhaps.

Verdict: at the end of TFA, Rey is mostly angry and scared of Kylo. All her actions revolve around getting the hell out of dodge, keeping Kylo out of her mind, and punishing him for Han’s death. Understandably. 

But she’s also curious. This man confuses her. He shows up in her subconscious, and he’s inextricably linked to her understanding of the Force, and her first experiences with it. It’s a sort of imprinting.

TLJ is when the really meaty part begins for Rey. In broad terms, TFA was Kylo’s romantic/sexual awakening to Rey, and TLJ is Rey’s to Kylo.The peaceful, safe setting of Ahch-To and the fact that through the force bond they can communicate but NOT hurt or manipulate each other draws Rey out of her fight or flight mode, allowing her to explore on her terms Kylo’s character, and all the questions and doubts he arouses (heh) in her. 

In their first force bond interactions, Kylo is calm and collected. In the other scenes he’s had so far he’s a hot mess of boiling rage and hurt (just minutes before, he smashed his helmet and launched an attack to the Resistance in which he thinks his mother perished), but with this girl who slashed his face in half and left him bleeding like a pig in the snow, he’s quite the soft spoken gentleman, lol. I think he’s been thinking a lot about Rey, he came to terms with his fascination for her, and now he wants to make Rey think about him too. He tempts and taunts her, from a place of relative knowledge/wisdom (or so he thinks). Rey’s the one who is in emotional turmoil. 

^ Initially, she tries to stick to her feisty heroine script, and she still has a lot of genuine rage and disgust for him, but mostly she can’t make sense of him. She feels insecure in what she knows (not just about Kylo but also about Luke, the Force, her role in this, everything. Nobody is telling her anything!), so she overcompensates with knee-jerk aggression and a false display of confidence (”I know everything I need to know about you!”). 

She also calls him “murderous snake!!!!”, which is hilarious and very revealing. IDK about snake symbolism in the GFFA, but here on earth, and especially in western culture, snakes symbolize insidious seduction, and that’s certainly the authorial intent behind this choice of words. By saying this line, Rey is framed as the quintessential virtuous maiden trying to resist (sexual) temptation, that biblically goes hand in hand with knowledge—which is exactly what Kylo offers. 

On a subconscious level, I think she already recognizes Kylo as a seduction.

^ This is the first thing that throws her off balance. She was probably expecting some angry shitty warped-moral-compass rebuttal, instead he quietly agrees that he’s a monster, while also “coming into the light” to let her see his face better. To make her see him. During the whole conversation, and part of the following force bond scene as well, Kylo is almost morbidly insistent to share with her the details of his past (”Did he tell you what happened? Did he tell you why?”). He wants her to see him, ugly as he is (in a spiritual sense).  

At this point, Rey’s sexuality is GETTING ANSWERS AND FIGURING SHIT ABOUT HER ROLE IN THE FORCE. And Luke (the biblical “God” of the island) is giving her none of that, other than hippie lessons about how the Force is a superior power blah blah and you better not fuck with it blah blah don’t go in the dark wet hole and remember that the Jedi aren’t supposed to intervene in mundane shit, blah.

I actually think the deleted fish nun party scene is important to understand Rey’s state of mind entering the third, and crucial, force connection. The point of that lesson—at least the way Rey understands it—is teaching her inaction and second-guessing her instincts. Luke is projecting his own disillusionment on her. He’s telling her to stop believing in heroes, when what Rey actually needs is believing in herself as a hero. She comes out of it feeling more frustrated and humiliated than ever. Depressed, almost.

Kylo, instead, gives her answers. Not definite answers, but something that propels her into action. He tells her, “do this and this in order to become the person you’re meant to be”. He strokes her ego. He talks about her destiny. He echoes and validates her suppressed anger and frustration. He digs up a painful truth about her family, and encourages her to face it. Even as she demands to know the reason he murdered his father, he makes it all about her. First, he made her see him; now he’s making her see herself through his eyes.

And, of course, he’s half naked through the entire thing. This is the first time Rey is confronted with something textually (as in, not simply existing in the subtext) sexual. The shirtlessness is obviously here for a meta reason too (to loudly communicate the romantic undertones of the dynamic, to symbolically strip Kylo of his layers, and to give the audience an eye candy) but even Rey the character is aware that this has to do with sex, someway. 

^ That’s why she stutters and averts her eyes. This is the unmasking 2.0, only this time the sexual implications are in the forefront. In a pg-13 format, of course, but still largely readable even for children.

This is where Rey starts wondering if they could actually touch. Gee, what a coincidence. 

The shirtless scene is a huge turning point where the romantic build up becomes, for a short while, glaringly sexual. It would be easy to say that this is when Rey’s physical attraction is born, but that’s an oversimplification. Everything in this movie and in the movie before has been building to this. Kylo Ren has been at the forefront of Rey’s thoughts since Starkiller. She has a powerful psychic connection to him, talked about him with Luke, wondered about the reasons of his patricide, questioned his backstory, exercised frantically to blow off the steam of their encounters. 

This isn’t when Rey first begins to feel attraction to Kylo—it’s where she’s first faced with the reality of it, and us with her.

And facing this reality is, in part, what prompts her to go into the dark side cave—the one the older male authority figure forbade her from going, the one in which she already subconsciously expects to walk a threshold. The threshold of knowing what happened to her parents, the question that she’s been avoiding for so long, that kept her bound to Jakku, to a version of herself who never grew up past childhood because growing up would make the years and years of abandonment painfully real, rather than just notches on a wall.

The cave scene has all the markings of an archetypal rite of passage into adulthood (and womanhood). The water, the near-drowning experience, the visions, the multiple selves, the mirror. Rey goes into it fully understanding that however it goes, it will imply a loss of innocence. Thematically, it’s a direct continuation of the other loss of innocence she’s just experienced—the sexual one, with Kylo.

Rey doesn’t get the answer she hoped for, but one that forces her to mature and come into her adult self—it’s time to take responsibility and be the hero of her own story, because the adults she were waiting for are nowhere in sight. So she comes out of the cave as more mature… but also desperate for human connection. Or rather, for connection to a specific someone. She feels “relief” when she senses Kylo’s presence in the Force inside the hut. 

And when she sees him, she thinks again of touching him.

In the movie we don’t get how the conversation started, and the novelization doesn’t delve into details either, and boy what would I pay to know what sparked Rey’s confession. But we can imagine. By this point, Rey already feels a kinship with Kylo, and her distrust and skepticism for him has eroded. She sees her own loneliness in him. She feels they were both betrayed by parental figures on some level. She’s made the mental connection that if Vader was brought back, then Ben could be too, by someone who loves him. Their force connections have been strange but they also gave her the chance to discuss stuff she would have otherwise bottled up. He’s physically attractive to her. He doesn’t judge her for going into the darkness. And when he tells her what she needs to hear the most—that she’s not alone—she makes that leap and reaches out to touch him.

It’s an olive branch, a comforting gesture towards someone she feels is just alone as she is, but it’s physical contact she seeks. She could have offered her sympathy in any other way, yet she chose to reach for his hand. Remember, she’s been thinking about touching him for a while already.

Kylo, after a moment of confusion, responds by taking off his glove. This is such a loaded gesture in terms of its romantic/sexual meaning that I’m still in shock it actually happened. He’s baring himself to her, so that this contact happens without barriers. His skin is not covered in first order leather when he touches hers. This is the real him.

^ And then they have their visions of the future, and that One Perfect Tear falls down Rey’s cheek and Luke blows up the hut and this is where my analysis can stop because by this point it’s completely obvious that our girl has FALLEN HARD, and since she’s the *shoot first, ask later* type, she hops on the Falcon to get her boy back before she can admit to herself she’s stupidly in love with him.

Rey saw a vision of herself with Ben Solo at her side, and she’s so blinded by the beauty of it that making it happen as fast as possible becomes her number one priority.

But feelings for someone don’t change overnight so radically. If she’s so massively affected by that vision, it’s only because her romantic attraction for Kylo has been building up at a consistent pace since the start of the movie, getting her to a point where she spontaneously sought an intimacy with him.

It’s the same for Kylo. Rey literally ships herself to him, but he’s no less reckless than she is in barreling into this promise of a future idyll. When Rey gets on the Supremacy, he already knows this has to end with Snoke’s death somehow. He doesn’t know how to do it, but he will. He will sacrifice his master to be with her, just as she did.

If you asked either of them if they’re in love with each other, I bet they would stare at you with uncomprehending eyes—it’s like they lack the basic lexicon to understand their feelings, let alone verbalize them. So Rey’s like “save the fleet because it’s the morally right thing to do!”, and Ben’s like “join me to rule the galaxy!”, and they’re both like, “you’ll stand with me!”. They’re trying to express the love they already feel but they’re doing it in non-romantic terms, because that’s all they know.

(gifs are credited with the “ ^ “ - click on it and reblog the op!)

[cesperanza]

Ragnarok!

Ok, so I loved it, I unabashed loved it, and I keep finding new reasons to love it. This tweet thread gets at some of the reasons why I love it, but for me there’s so much more.  (Spoilers under the cut, much babbling, sorry.)

I mean, YES, postcolonial politics: Taika made a movie where the message is, seriously, BURN IT ALL DOWN.  The idea that they end up overtly questioning where all that Azardian gold came from - framing the whole society as one built on exploitation, Hela as the Return of The Repressed, the massive violence underlying what appear to be the most civilized societies - and then propose this unbelievably radical solution: don’t be afraid of burning it down and starting again. (Talk about a contemporary film in the age of tearing down statues and questioning Columbus Day! This was literally a film about getting history out of the museums, of realizing that these “frozen” artifacts of history represent real, living conflicts.) All of Asgard ends up on an ark, as refugees, literally huddled masses - which gets me to the other thing that I loved about the movie, which was that every (apparently) silly thing turned out to be a serious thing: so, witness, The Immigrant Song, which was cute/funny the first time we hear it but turns out to be the thematic keynote to the whole story. 

In this way, this was the most New Zealandish film I’ve ever seen, because of course the New Zealanders stereotype the Australians (hello Thor!) as drunk, loudmouthed boors - Thor  breaking everything over at Dr. Strange’s - and then you had the Valkyrie who at first appears to be merely “slapstick” drinking /falling down drunk, except that ends up being absolutely serious, too: she’s Native, she’s like so many displaced people: traumatized, alienated from her culture and her own memories, whether she be Maori or Native American or Inuit; her drinking problem got increasingly important and poignant to me. The film was on the one hand, funny, but on the other, very sensitive to trauma, even Loki’s - and omg, Loki staging plays in which everyone loves him, his father, his brother (with Matt Damon et al!) - and JFC, the iconography, the peeling back of the Catholic-style ceiling art to the violent friezes underneath. And Jeff Goldblum’s reality show! They did fucking theatre, film, media, and art criticism in the middle of it! GOD I  LOVED THIS MOVIE. 

ALSO, more randomly, things I loved: Bruce Banner dazzling his enemy with disco, while wearing Tony’s too-tight pants; it was like queer theory weaponized!  The wry dig of Jeff Goldblum changing “slavery” to “prisoners with jobs.” THOR LOSING HIS EYE AS PART OF BECOMING A REAL KING --omg, I could not be happier with the symbolic nature of that (Buffy fans will be with me here), but also Thor leaves us more a king as well as a more powerful superhero than we’ve ever seen before; he’s got a wisdom he hadn’t had before, IMO.  He’s had a real hero’s journey to the garbage pile of history and back and is now set up to be a really amazing king!--for the first time I really see him as a king.  Plus on a comic book level, losing the hammer and grasping the lightning and thunder was AMAZING. (Also on a comic book level, the mocking of Ultron, which needed mocking. I will also say that normally comics lose me when they go intergalactic, but this made the idea of it not seem stupid to me, unlike--and apologizes to those who liked it, Guardians of the Galaxy, which was a film I really disliked; too dudebroish, a world run by adolescent boys. For the first time I have some small hope for Infinity War, though I suspect that they won’t find the infinity stones as stupid as Taika obviously did - I was looking for some rocks, I didn’t find them - which is a pity.)

On a shipping note, you could --and should - ship everyone with everyone in this film, but Thor/Loki in particular had a nice arc: I loved Thor throwing things at him, and the way his physical presence became meaningful at the end; he finally, literally, REALLY SHOWED UP. I love how Loki came with the revolution and got to be the hero of the story like he’d been dreaming of  in his headcanoned fanfiction story - but of course that was the Loki story I wrote for love, so I’m biased toward this interpretation.  And I loved that it was Thor’s fanfiction too: I thought the world of you, I thought we’d fight side by side forever. And of course the mid-credits clip leaves us with them side by side.

I could watch a whole movie about the Valkyrie war, which was beautiful and beautifully shot, and though they said that they cut the evidence of Valkyrie’s bisexuality, I had no trouble seeing the whole story of her lover’s self-sacrifice and her guilt. Valkyrie was a more interesting and complex female character than we’ve had for a while--and I actually found Hela to be really complex too, in that she--how to put--had an honesty to her.  She wasn’t lying, she wasn’t that kind of devil figure; she was forcing us to confront the lies that we’ve been telling ourselves about how power works/has worked. She was literally the pure military force that builds empires, and she was demanding to be acknowledged. Often women are framed as temptresses or liars or seducers - Eve - but Hela was a fury, a punisher of unavenged crimes. \o/ 

So wonderful - as with Wonder Woman - NOT to have that sort of normative, mainstream, mid-century American male perspective on the comic book. We’ve heard it, guys; we know. But you can do so much with this material, and I honestly can’t believe how much Taika did with it--just the range of it. Ragnarok is both the funniest and the most serious of the Marvel films; there was not to my ear a bum moment. It was a souffle, a perfectly executed pastry in a genre that normally lands with the thud of steak and potatoes or the glop of cold oatmeal. (Justice League trailer, I’m looking at you.) The idea of even saying that Ragnarok is not something to be avoided, but something to face head-on; a reckoning; that’s gutsy and brave and interesting--and it got said in THOR!

[karamelsecretsanta]

Fic: Rookie Blue

Title: Rookie Blue

For @supernaturalxreader

Pairing: Kara/Mon-El Rating: Mature Other Characters: M’gann, Alex, Maggie, James, Winn, minor Sanvers. Original Prompt: Explicit / Fluff, AU, Smut / Karamel cop AU please. Mon-El never worked at CatCo but instead worked part time as a bartender, a muscle for hire, and a debt collector as he has just gotten onto the NCPD. Mon-El and Kara become friends and they are movie/tv cuddle buddies Along the way Mon-El and Kara reveal their secrets to each other (Kara is Supergirl and Mon-El is the Prince of Daxam) they end up having a heated argument and don’t talk to each other the day after the argument where they end up having hot make up sex. Author’s Note: In this AU Maggie somehow isn’t a regular at the alien bar yet and hence doesn’t know Mon-El. Also, in this AU Supergirl wears a mask. After his pod crashed on earth Mon-El ran away and was taken in by M’gann. There is also a minor reference to a character from another season dying off screen and some references to domestic violence.

* “What’s that?” Mon-El pointed to the sky as a red and blue dash of color raced across the sky. “That? That’s Supergirl.” Mon-El frowned. “What���s a Supergirl?” “She’s an alien, like us,” M'gann explained. “She’s the protector of the city.” A chill was running down his spine. “Yeah, but what does she do?” “She works for the government, beats up criminals. She’s very strong, just like you or even stronger.” “Like me? Is she…” “Kryptonian.” “I thought there were none left.” “There’s only her and another.” “And they both do this?” “Yes. You don’t look too happy about it.” The Daxamite shrugged. “Relations between our planets weren’t exactly cordial. Krytonians can be demanding, so to speak. Just ask any of their neighbors. I’m not looking forward to coming across one that could wipe the floor with me.” “Well, for now your secret is safe with me. As long as you keep working on paying me back that rent.” He gave M'gann his most accomplished boyish innocent grin. “You know, I’d never disappoint you.” * “You think you can touch me? I’ll tell everybody what you’re doing here. They’ll come down with molotovs and pitch forks and take care of you themselves.” “You are lucky I have no idea what those things are,” Mon-El snarled. “Mon-El, let him go,” M’gann yelled. The dickhead dropped to the floor. He scrambled up, readjusted his jacket. “You’ll pay for this,” he hissed. “Both of you.” Mon-El watched him leave, his fists clenched. “He’s just some lowlife, he’s not worth your time.” “Just some low life? He’s taking your money!” “Look, the police is trying to nail him, it just takes time.” “Ugh, why doesn’t the queen just order him executed?” “There’s no queen here, Mon-El” M'gann reminded him. “Things work differently here.” * “Stay down, Daxamite.”

A red boot on his chest pressed him down on the floor and he blinked against the sun, trying to figure out which part of his body hurt the most. “Hello to you too, Kryptonian, ” he wheezed, his eyes fixed on the glyph on her chest. “This is my city, and I won’t let any harm come to it.” Mon-El groaned and tried to wiggle into a slightly more comfortable position. “Why would I care about your city?” “You are here, aren’t you?” He rolled his eyes. “Let me assure you that my intentions towards your city are entirely honorable.” “Why are you here? To steal? To conquer?” “I’m a refugee on this planet. In case you aren’t caught up on the news, Daxam isn’t doing too well.” She glared at him wordlessly. “Look, if you’re gonna kill me, just do it and stop wasting my time.” The boot on his chest pressed down harder. “Otherwise I’d like to get back to what I was doing, finding a way off this damn planet. ” “I got my eye on you,” the creature said, her face, any expression obscured by the by the dark red mask she was wearing. “I’ll be watching your every move. I’m not gonna let you hurt anyone.” With one whoosh she was gone. * That night Mon-El had an uncomfortable, scorching dream where he bent the haughty Kryptonian over his lap and spanked her, till she mewled like a kitten and begged for his cock. He woke up angry and hard and with the conviction that there was no alcohol strong enough on this planet to wipe the memory of that dream from his mind. Stupid, high and mighty Kryptonians. Wasn’t it just like them to arrive on a planet and decide to take it upon themselves to impart justice? Who was she to tell him what to do? Who was she to tell anybody what to do? * “I want to be a cop,” he announced. M'gann started laughing. “What’s so funny? You said yourself, the cops are keeping an eye on that ratfaced jerk Lardov, but you don’t know what’s taking them so long. Ergo, I’ll join the police and see what’s wrong.” “You are serious about this.” “Why? Don’t you think I could do it?“ "I’m not answering that.” “You would need papers, references, a whole fake identity,” Boris, one of their most faithful patrons piped up. The Valdorian rubbed his hands in expectation of a good business opportunity. “I happen to know a guy.” * The building was bland and nondescript, like so many that littered the city. Seriously, what was it with humans’ obsession with cuboids? He had already scouted it out a few times in preparation, but today was the grand day. “Hi, I’m Mike,” he said demonstratively cheerfully and held out his hand. “Mike Matthews. It’s my first day. I’m transferring in from,” he concentrated to make sure he didn’t mess up the word. “Oklahoma.” The middle aged lady at the reception eyed him with suspicion. “Sawyer said you would come. She and Danvers are waiting for you in the interrogation room.” Mon-El blinked at her, perfect picture of innocence. The woman sighed. “Down the hall, second door to the right.” Mon-El followed her directions and soon found himself peering into a dark room. On the other side of the one way mirror, three women congregated around a table. A petite brunette with long curly hair was chatting to a tall woman with a short bob. Behind them, a younger blonde woman wearing the uniform of the street police was pacing back and forth. He opened the door. “Hi, my name is Mike. I’m new.” The curly haired one rose. “Sit,” she said. “I’m Detective Sawyer, this is Agent Danvers from the DEO.” “Nice to meet you, Detective Sawyers.” Mon-El sat down gingerly and crossed his arms before his chest. “You are an alien! You faked your papers!” The blonde almost lunged across the table and glared at him. “Kara,” the agent woman said and pulled her back. The Kara grumbled and kept staring at him, but at least she had stopped yelling. The two brunettes exchanged a poignant look. Detective Sawyer closed the blinds in front of the two way mirror and locked the door. “You are Daxamite, aren’t you?” There wasn’t much use in denying that. “Yes, you got me. I’m sorry. I’m just your normal alien immigrant, trying to make a contribution to society.” “Why come here of all places? What are you planning? ” The Kara snarled. “I was a guard on Daxam,” he lied, “I figured being a police was basically the same thing.” The Kara was about to respond angrily, but Detective Sawyer silenced her with on movement of her hand. “It’s not,” the curly haired woman clarified while the Kara glowered in the background. “On earth police uphold the law. They won’t be the same laws you know.” “I can learn. I mean, I have learned. Look, just let me go, I’ll find another place.” “You can stay,” she interrupted him. “I can?” That seemed easy. Too easy. The detective and the agent exchanged another knowing look. “Yes,” Detective Sawyer continued. “On a trial basis.” She nodded in the direction of the Kara. “Danvers here will take you under her wing.” Mon-El frowned. “I thought Danvers was the other one.” “That’s my sister,” the Kara and the agent woman said in unison. “Don’t draw attention, don’t tell anybody you’re an alien. Follow Officer Danvers and do everything she says.” “Got it, yes, sir, Detective!” “Like that. Don’t do that. Dismissed.” Kara grabbed him by his arm and dragged him out of the interrogation room, down the hall and towards the lockers. She pointed at one with the number 15 on it. “Here, this one is yours.” He nodded and began to place his few belongings inside while she leaned against the next locker, watching his every move. “Why on earth do you want to be a cop? You don’t even know how to drive a car. This is the stupidest plan I ever heard,” she blurted out eventually, her eyes glaring up at him, sparkling with anger. He wondered what it would be like to have sex with her. * M'gann had gotten him one of those communication devices, to celebrate his first day at work. He hadn’t even made it home when he got the first angry text from Kara. Her message had been oblique, just instructing her to meet him on the weekend and so he stood here, at the designated time and location. Kara pulled up in a vehicle too rickety and dirty that he couldn’t believe that it was owned by her. Even the air freshener dangling from the mirror looked old and worn out. “Hop in,” she said. Kara didn’t talk much, always staring straight ahead on the road. She drove them out into the desert, the city not even visible anymore.   “Why are we here?” he asked. “Look, if we are really supposed to pull of this ruse, you gotta learn how to drive. And here you can do it, without endangering any innocent bystanders.” “Why are you helping me?” She grumbled something unintelligible. He spent the next few hours driving in circles and cursing at earth style machinery while Kara yelled instructions at him from outside. Why couldn’t they design their vehicles more like gliders? They took a break a few hours in. She pulled a cooler from the trunk and handed him a sandwich. They ate in silence, sitting on the hood of the car. They sun burnt down and there was just desert and emptiness as far as the eye could see. It felt good. Comfortable. A bit more like home. He looked at her from the side and pondered whether it would be considered appropriate to offer her sex as a thank you for her help. * “Who is this Lardov?” Kara slammed a file down in front of him. “Excuse me?” “Don’t play coy. You were trying to access his case.” “So what, he’s a badguy.” “Why do you care about this particular badguy then?” “It’s none of your business.” “Of course it’s my business!” Angrily, Mon-El crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Fine. He was trying to shake down M’gann’s bar. M’gann wouldn’t let me beat him up, she said on this planet the police handle that kind of thing.” “So that’s why you’re here. You know, you could just have filed a report like a normal person.” Mon-El shrugged. “I wanted to help. M’gann said there had been reports, but the guards weren’t doing anything. I wanted to find out why.” “You’re impossible. Maybe everybody on your home planet is corrupt, but not here.” * He wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be serious or a trap of some sort, when Kara invited him to the gym after their shift. He did notice the bellicose glimmer in her eyes and prepared for the worst. “You are alien,” she explained. “You are strong. You need to keep your powers in check. If you are my partner I need to know that you can hold back, that you won’t injure anybody by accident.” “Not even the bad guys?” She rolled her eyes. “Yes, not even the bad guys. Option one: you let me handle it. Option two: you call for back up. Option three: you let it go. This is only for extreme emergencies.” They went over arrest procedures. He found himself on his belly with his hands behind his back more times than he cared to admit, but he would be lying if he claimed it wasn’t fun when we got to do the same thing to her. Afterwards they sparred. It was strange to focus on holding back his powers, not using his speed and he found himself end up as victim to one of her killer throws and sweeps over and over again. “Enough for today, rookie?” Mon-El massaged his aching shoulder. “So you can smile, Danvers, don’t let anybody know that.” “I smile. I smile all the time. Just not for you.” He held her up before they hit the showers. “You’re pretty strong yourself.” Kara’s face turned red. “I learned a lot from my sister. It’s, it’s all about technique, if somebody puts in a lot of power, you can use that power against them and that’s the whole trick to it.” “You should teach me one day.” She mumbled something and darted towards the women’s section. * He felt strangely excited to see her again the next day. “So, when will you teach me some more? We could hit the gym together right after work.” “We shouldn’t do that again,” Kara said, clinging to her folder and not meeting his eyes. “How come?” He was confused. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but it seemed like you were having fun. I was learning a lot about being a good cop.” Kara sucked in her lower lip. “We just can’t.” “Look, I know you don’t like, but I thought this was important. ” Kara looked positively miserable, maybe even a tad bit guilty. “I wasn’t, I wasn’t being a good teacher. And you are strong, stronger than humans, you could… cause damage by accident. ” “Damage, to what? To you? Last time I checked I was getting my ass handed to me, not you. ” “I know. ” “Kara …” “Nothing, nothing is wrong. It just can’t be and that’s the end of it. ” With that she stalked off and left him behind, bewildered. * Mon-El liked the cop bar. He was good with bars. He had experience. He was good with bars and bars were good to him. It didn’t take long for him to narrowly beat out the resident king of darts to the loud hollering of his peers. He laughed, slung his arms around people’s shoulders, got told names, it wasn’t that different from what he knew. Within two hours he had danced with Margaret from IA, received a new nickname (Oklahoma) “A drink for you, Danvers.” “Just club soda,” she sad, nodding to the bartender. Mon-El scrunched his nose. “Then I’ll have that, too.” Kara gave him one of those disapproving Kara looks and pulled him aside. “We have to talk.” “Sure.” Mon-El grabbed both their sodas. “You need to stop that.” “What? I’m fitting in, making friends …” He nipped on his drink. “Bah, why do you drink this, it tastes like nothing.” “Why do you bother, Mon-El, huh? You are not even a real cop. You aren’t going to stick around.” “What’s it to you?” “We are supposed to be partners, that’s what it is to me.” “You could at least wait for me to mess up before you get angry at me.” They squeezed against opposite sides of the hallway as a group from the neighboring district headed for the exit. “You don’t respect me.” “I do respect you. You are a good person. You really care about people.” “And what about you? What do you care about?” He frowned. “I’m not sure yet.” “Well, maybe that’s not good enough.” * Mon-El laid awake that night. Was Kara right? What did he care about? Why was he doing it? Was it the money? M’gann? Proving people wrong? There were easier ways to get by. So why this one? It wasn’t his job to save the reputation of a dead planet. What was it to him what people thought of Daxam. Its legacy was going to be death and tragedy either way. Maybe the old Daxamites would have appreciated going out with a bang rather than slowly being domesticated into a nicer, more well behaved people. Mon-El briefly wondered what his mother would have thought about him loitering around on earth and slumming it with low level guards, chasing after earth girls. Despite everything that had happened, he still felt anger at that prospect. Quickly he buried that thought somewhere deep in his mind. Flipping around on his belly, he buried his face in his pillow and closed his eyes. Good or bad, he had always enjoyed proving people’s expectations wrong. * “What’s up Danvers, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Kara blinked, like she was trying to shake off a bad dream. “It’s, it’s Sawyer. I think she just invited herself to movie night.” “There’s a movie night.” “Why does Sawyer want to come to my movie night? Is she keeping an eye on me?” She turned to him. “You!” “Me?” “Yes, you, you have to come, too.”   “But why?” “Because Winn dragged James to a robot convention and I don’t want to be alone with Maggie Sawyer with only my sister as a buffer.” * They met up in front of Alex’ place. “So, why don’t you want to hang out with Sawyer again?” “She’s basically our superior. And besides, she can be kind of scary.” “Well, that makes three of you,” he muttered under his breath. “What?” “Nothing.” * They both found it hard to stay focused on the movie. Kara’s sister and Sawyer, Maggie, had abandoned them to fetch some drinks from the fridge about 20 minutes in and somehow they were still standing in front of it, making no move to return. “I should go over,” Kara muttered under her breath. “No,” Mon-El grabbed her. “Let them be.” They both kept sneaking looks at the amicably chatting women. Mon-El had to hand it to Sawyers. Kara’s sister was giggling and accidentally bumping into glasses from the sideboard, while Sawyers was playing it cool as a cucumber, looking on the nervous agent with mixture of amusement and affection. “Well, I know somebody who is gonna have a good time tonight,” he whispered. “What? Don’t say that?” “Why not?” “Hey, you two, Maggie and I, we’re off to fetch some more champagne. We’ll be back before you know it.” “What? You’ll miss the movie!” Kara complained. “No, no, it’s okay, you two keep watching.” Kara stared incredulously at the door after the two women had left. Mon-El sighed and paused the movie just as the king was ready to give his big speech. “I don’t get it. Why does it bother you so much that your sister wants to sleep with Sawyer?” “What? I…” Kara sank back against the couch cushions. “I want my sister to be happy, but Maggie… We work together, I just wish it could be anybody else.” “But why?” “It just makes things more complicated. We, at the precinct, we should be a family. We shouldn’t be having other types of relationships with each other. What if they break up? What if she breaks Alex heart? Alex, all of this is still so new to her. Sawyer is her first real crush, since she realized…”Kara sighed. “Would it be okay if I asked you to leave? I need to talk to my sister when she comes back.” * The house calls, or “domestic disturbances” as they were called proper, were always the hardest. Or rather, they were hardest for Kara. It took a while for him to catch on, but it should have been obvious by the tension in her shoulders and by how her words were all clipped when she confirmed for the third time that the woman knew she could press charges, that she knew the number of the shelter. Afterwards, Kara was often silent for hours, clinging to the steering wheel, seething with quiet range. Mon-El was good with those calls, he guessed. He went in there, charming, calm. Chatting with the lady of the house, winking at children that peeked out from behind doors or from up the stairs. One time a boyfriend threw a punch at him and Kara caught the man’s arm and had him in handcuffs and in the car before the children started to cry. That was a good day. He sat with the mother, just chatting. She nodded a lot, but he had a feeling, she would be back with that man in no time. At least the family would get one night of peaceful sleep. Kara picked him up and thanked him. “You know he’ll be out within a day.” “I know,” she said and didn’t look at him. “You tried. And that matters.” She took a deep breath. “Mon-El?” “Yeah?” “There’s, there’s a game night at my place tomorrow. You can join us, if you want.” “Anybody I know?” “No, just some old friends. And my sister.” The next time they drove by, somebody had burned the El symbol into wall of the family’s house. * “So this is where you live?” “Yep, this is me.” Mon-El stepped into Kara’s apartment in wonder. He had seen palaces all over the universe, heck, he had even grown up in one. But something about this home, it just clicked into place. Then he realized. It was her. At work, Kara might seem standoffish and gruff at time, at least to him, but this place, it was spacious, warm and full of light. He felt like he had a chance to peer behind her facade. This was where she lived. This was the real her. “Are those for me?” “What? Of yes.” He thrust the gardenias he was holding into her hand. “I read its customary to bring flowers, but I wasn’t sure, so just in case I also brought cheese.” “You brought cheese.” “Yes, is cheese wrong?” “Nope. Cheese, cheese is great.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him over to two men who were standing and chatting. “So these are my friends, James and Winn. James and Winn, this is Mike, my partner.” Kara turned to Mon-El. “And you know Alex of course, she’ll be here, any minute now.” * While Winn and Kara got busy setting up the game, Mon-El found himself with the tall man called James – did Kara like tall? Was he allowed to come here often? - and, having already shaken hands, in the dire need for a topic of conversation. “So, how do you know Kara?” “We used to work together.” “You a cop, too?” “No, photographer. Kara used to work at a newspaper, as an intern, together with Winn and me.” Mon-El smiled sheepishly. “A newspaper is where all the important events that happened in the world are collected, written down and distributed to the people,” James explained. “And an intern is a person who is training to learn how to do a job and helps out.” Mon-El frowned. “Like a servant?” “No! Maybe a little bit. Mostly no.” They both looked over to Kara who was sharing a joke with her sister, while pouring pretzels into a bowl in preparation of their game. Mon-El felt a twinge in his chest. There was an addictive quality to Kara’s laugh, once you heard it, all you wanted was to hear it over and over and over again. “If she was training as a newswriter, why did she become a cop?” James winced. “Kara, she had a friend, her boss at the newspaper. Her name was Cat Grant. She died, died right in Kara’s arms.” James shrugged. “Stray bullet. Just some kid who was angry at his friends, took his father’s gun to take revenge. Nobody saw it coming. He just started shooting in the street and Cat Grant was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Kara took it to heart, that’s why she became a cop. She wanted to keep the streets clean, so things like that would never happen again.” * The game they played had something to do with priests and warriors and tiny wooden play pieces. He invented voices for all of them while they traded goods and drew cards and Kara laughed so hard she spilled juice all over the playing board. After that their creatures went to war. Mon-El knew they getting strange stares from the other players, but how did that matter when Kara was laughing like that. He didn’t even care that he didn’t understand the rules and finished last. There was something wrong with him, because his heart kept racing and for a change everything felt just a tiny bit too hot. He didn’t understand what any of the cards did and he couldn’t keep his eyes off Kara. Eventually she gave up trying to teach him and called it a night. He stayed behind as everybody said their goodbyes and helped her clean up, after all, it was kind of his fault too. They were talking about everything and nothing and Mon-El realized how much he didn’t want to leave, how much he didn’t want to let go with the light and the warmth of this apartment that was so quintessentially her. It also seemed to have the strange trait of seeming even lighter whenever he could make Kara laugh.   “Wait, there’s one down there,” he said and dove under the table. Before he could react his head banged against Kara’s, who apparently had gotten the same idea. Kara jerked back like she had been burned and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t…” “Kara, calm down. It’s not a problem. See, nothing happened.” He scanned the floor, snagged the missing little wood person and held it up. “I even found the missing piece.” “Yes,” she said slowly, her arms wrapped around herself, like she was forming a protective shield. “Of course, how silly of me. I just forgot.” “Forgot what?” “Nothing. Just forget I said anything.” In the end, he didn’t have any excuses left. “Well, see you tomorrow, partner.” “Thank you for staying to help.” “My pleasure.” Mon-El thrust his hands in his pockets, his feet still firmly rooted in place. “You, you gonna find your way back home?” “What? Yes, of course.” “Of course.” She smiled. “I, I had a really nice time.” “Me, too. I hope that I’ll get to come back.” She bit her lip. “I’d like that.” * It was just one of those nights, spent in M’gann’s apartment, challenging her to a game of Caldonian poker when suddenly there was a knock on the door. Mon-El raised an eyebrow. “Are you expecting company?” He grinned. “I heard somebody mention a Alcorian coming to town to do business. They have giant … telepathic abilities.” M’gann rolled her eyes at him. “You should have noticed by now I’m not exactly the dating kind.” “I never understood that, I mean, you could be anybody, as beautiful as you want to be.” “That might be a strange concept to you, but some people prefer to be left in peace.” M’gann frowned and got up to answer the door. Mon-El started shuffling the deck, listening for the faint voices from the front door. “Is Mi.. Mon-El home?” Kara? What was she doing here? “I got it,” he called out. “Kara, is everything alright? Is Alex okay?” “Yes, everything is fine, it’s not that.” She indicated with a shake of her head that she wanted to talk in private, so he followed her into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him. Kara was nervous, leaning against the wall. Suddenly he wished he would have grabbed a sweater before coming outside. “I just wanted to tell you, they got him. Your guy. Lardov. Illegal weapons, racketeering.“ Kara looked down on her feet. “And you were right too. Somebody was protecting him.” She swallowed hard. “It was Hudson.” Mon-El ran his fingers through his hair. He barely remembered Hudson. He had chatted with her once or twice at the cop bar. She had seemed normal. “How did they find her?” “They got a tip from Supergirl.” * Kara was late the next day. Or rather, she was on time. Anything other than 10 minutes early was late for by Kara Danvers’ standards. She walked in slowly, dragging her feet. When she saw him, she froze and stared at him. “You are here.” “Of course, our shift is starting and in case you hadn’t heard, I have a partner who would talk my ear off if I was late again.” Slowly, a smile spread on her face. “I guess you have.” And then she hugged him in the middle of the precinct and he didn’t know why, but it felt good anyway. * Getting involved with a human… was not a good idea. To spend the night with a mutual exchange of pleasure? Sure. One had to take some precautions, exhibit a bit of care, but it was doable, without a doubt. More on the other hand… From what he had gathered from M’gann, and from what he had seen, humans were fragile, short-lived, prone to injury and sickness. Getting involved with them was a bad idea. And yet, there was something about Kara. She confused him. There was a light about her. What had started as irritation had turned into fondness, and by now, Mon-El burned for her. It was a confusing feeling. There was this swirl of emotion he couldn’t quite make sense of. He should just sleep with her, to get rid of this feeling. But she didn’t want to. And wanting people who didn’t want to was a bad thing. He should be finding somebody else then, to quench the thirst. For some reason Mon-El didn’t understand,,, he didn’t want to. He just burned. Maybe it was an illness, an infection native to earth? He had to ask Kara about it. She would be able to ask her sister. Maybe he could ask Kara for a real relationship, the ways humans had them? Was that even a good idea? Could that ever work, with her human and him being an alien? Still, she wasn’t any human, she was Kara. Why didn’t she have a mate, anyway? Mon-El frowned and tried to picture it, Kara with somebody else. Maybe that tall phonographer from game night. His stomach lurched at the thought. He dipped the yellow sponge he was holding into the bucket next to him and continued to scrub furiously at the maddening gap between the tiles. “You alright, Daxam?” M’gann called from the outside. “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” “I assure you, my washroom is clean enough already.” The Martian woman leaned against the doorframe and looked at him sympathetically. “Girl trouble?” Mon-El bristled at the thought. “Me? Girl trouble. I don’t even know what that is.” “Good. In that case you can stop rage cleaning any time now.” “I’m not rage cleaning.” “Of course not.” * They stood outside one of Lena Luthor’s extravagant parties, freezing and bored. Lights, laughter and the soft tunes of music poured from the windows above. “Will you stop fidgeting? We represent the city!” “It’s cold!” Ignoring Kara’s exasperated looks Mon-El started to hop around between the snowdrifts. “It’s not our fault that your planet has a different climate and you don’t know how to dress yourself.” “It’s not my fault that you are immune to weather.” “I’m – not – immune to weather.” “Sure you aren’t.” Behind them the song changed, swelling into something bigger, more orchestral, that resonated in his bones. “May I,” he said and extended his hand to Kara. “No, no, absolutely no,” she said, crossing her arms. “You can’t be that bad of a dancer. Trust me, I’ll lead.” “We have a job to do,” she protested, but Mon-El could see it in her eyes that she was tempted. Finally, temptation won out. Kara took his hand and he pulled her close, wrapped one arm around her. He didn’t know the song, but the underlying rhythm was simple enough, he was confident he could pull something off. “Just, just don’t step on my feet, Daxamite,” Kara warned. “Come on, Kara, I’m not that bad,” he said and twirled her around. She tilted her head. “Maybe, maaaaaaaaybe not.” And then she laughed despite herself. Mon-El could have sworn it was the prettiest sound he’d ever heard. They turned and turned, it might have been 10 times or 500, all he could see was the carefreeness on her face. They broke apart when the shots rang out. “Mon-El!” “I got it, call for backup.” * “That was very brave of you, to run back in to try and save those people. Mostly stupid, but also brave.” “I feel a lot more stupid than brave right now. I wasn’t really thinking and once I started thinking I was mostly scared.” “If it wasn’t scary, then you wouldn’t need to be brave, would you?” “I’d settle for being less stupid for now.” He looked at the reporters milling around, trying to get quotes for their news shows. “Doesn’t it bother you?” “What?” “Supergirl, that she just sweeps in and does all the work. Takes over your cases.  In a town with Supergirl, why do you need other people playing hero?” “Everybody can do their part,” Kara retorted unexpectedly passionate. “We all have to do our best. Supergirl … not even she can save everybody.” “You mean because she couldn’t save your friend? The one from the newspaper?” Kara stared at him in shock. “I’m sorry, James told me. Was I, was I not supposed to know that.” “No,” Kara said after a pause. “It’s okay. It’s not a secret. And you are right. Supergirl couldn’t save her.” * Kara sent him a text that weekend. She came to pick him up in that rolling piece of code violation and they drove off into the desert. He wasn’t really sure why she wanted to give him another driving lesson, considering she never let him drive anyway. From the determined look on her face and from the way she gripped the steering wheel, he guessed that maybe this was more about her than about him. After an afternoon of screeching tires, driving in circles and the way Kara looked standing there, with her her hair blowing in all in directions against the empty landscape, they huddled down next to the car on a blanket. Kara pulled her knees up to her chest and scooted closer to him, her gaze turned on the horizon where the sun was beginning to set. “I checked her background, you know. Hudson. I hoped I would find something. An explanation.” Tears were welling in Kara’s eyes. “I know it’s stupid, but something. A gambling problem. A child dying of cancer. Maybe that she was in love with Lardov, or that he had saved her life.” Kara turned to him. “There was nothing. Hudson just took the money.” Mon-El shrugged. “Sometimes people just suck.” “Geez, thanks, Mon-El, you’re a real help,” Kara mumbled and leaned her head against his shoulder. “You are quite the pessimist you know.” “And you are quite the idealist.” “I don’t, I can’t live any other way. I know that I’m wrong sometimes, but that doesn’t mean that hope isn’t real. Sometimes people have good in them,” she paused. “Even where you least expect it.” In front of them, the disappearing sun colored the heaven brilliant red. He swallowed hard. “You know, when earth’s sun at just this angle, it’s almost like - “ “- the sun of Daxam.” “Yes.” It was a strange feeling that if he had remained on Daxam, he’d not just have never met her, but she’d also have looked different. The light of Daxam’s sun wouldn’t have reflected in her eyes, wouldn’t have bounced off her hair the same way. And yet, he couldn’t picture her looking any less brilliant than she did here, even if she seemed made for this light, for this planet. Kara snuggled closer to him and pulled the blanket she had brought up to her chin. They stayed like that till the last rays had disappeared and only the stars remained. * “We didn’t really fall in love on Daxam.” Kara’s head whipped around sharply. He could feel her eyes on him, wide with surprise. “How so?” she finally said, softly. “I dunno,” Mon-El leaned his head against the car window. The rain was pelting it with heavy drops.  Busy rivulets obscured all vision to the outside. “It’s just different on Daxam. You have family. Maybe you have friends. Loyal followers. And you want people, and you sleep with them.“ He shrugged, his shoulder brushed against the inside of the car door. “I guess people think it’s distasteful, to be with any person for too long. Other than your latch of course. But your latch is your family and family is about dedication, not passion.” He realized that he was rambling, and probably not making too much sense.  He smiled apologetically. “It’s a bit confusing, the way humans worship love. How they put it above everything else. It’s very different from what I’m used to.” Kara blushed and looked down. “Some people might think that that’s kind of charming.” A smile lit up Mon-El’s face. “I guess you are right.” “You and M'gann, are the two of you … an item?” Mon-El frowned, unsure what she was asking. Then his face lit up. “Wait, you want to know whether M'gann mates with me?” He burst out laughing. “Why? What’s so funny about it.” “You, you wouldn’t understand.” Kara rolled her eyes. “Try me.” “M'gann is a telepath.” “So?” “Well, it might surprise you to hear, but despite my devilish good looks, as a non telepath, I’m about as desirable to her as a box of rocks. I’ve tried to convince her otherwise, but she says once you’ve done what they do, sex is pretty boring.” Kara tilted her head and grinned. “I knew you couldn’t score highly when it came to internal qualities.” She fell silent and ran her fingers up and down the side of the steering wheel, before asking softly. “What was it like then, where you come from?” “It’s just different. People on earth, there always is so much confusion, about what kind of relationship you have. On Daxam you always know that there is no future.” * He didn’t see it coming. They were careless, quarreling about where to eat as the followed up on a call about somebody shooting up on the steps in front of an apartment complex. He pushed the double doors open, his face still turned to Kara. He barely saw a man with dirty red hair and a wild stare and then there was a searing pain in his shoulder, that threw him flat on his ass. “Mon-El!” There was panic in Kara’s voice and he thought it had to be pretty bad if she forgot that she was supposed to call him Mike. He barely had time to blink, she’d already disarmed the shooter and wrestled him him to the floor. Mon-El’s ears were buzzing, he registered her calling for backup, and then scan the area. Suddenly she was back, her arms around him. “Mon-El, Mon-El, stay with me!” “It’s not that bad”, he mumbled. “it’s just my shoulder.” “You should have let me go in first,” Kara said angrily. “You aren’t bulletproof, you know”. “Well, I still heal faster than you.” Mon-El winced. Were there supposed to be red dots dancing in front of his eyes? Kara bit her lip. “I’m gonna call my sister.” “Why?” The red splotches were constantly changing size, pulsating. “Because the doctors can tell you are an alien and if the precinct finds out that you are an illegal alien, it might cost you your job, you dummy.” “Oh right,” Mon-El said and passed out. * When Mon-El came to, he was lying on a hospital bed. By some kind of miracle Kara had gotten him a solo room. His eyes immediately searched for Kara and relief washed over him when he saw that she was standing, arms crossed, next to the window, staring forlornly out into the night. He cleared his throat. “Did I do something wrong?” “No, no, I’m just, I’m angry at myself, that I allowed you to get hurt.” “C’mere,” he said and gestured for her to sit next to his bed. She came over reluctantly, almost stubborn in her step, but she did come and sat down on his bedside. He’d meant to ask her something, but he no longer knew what. All he knew was that he liked her being there. Mon-El was drowsy and in pain, but somehow none of that mattered because she was close and her eyes were shining in the dark. “I’m glad you are here,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Well, I’m glad I’m here too.” Why were her eyes so sad? “You should have been more careful,” she said while running her palm along the covering of the hospital bed.   He smoothed one unruly lock of hair that had escaped her pony tail back behind her ear. “You are so special.” She smiled, the corners of her lips curling upwards, but it didn’t take the sadness out of her eyes. “What does that even mean?” “I don’t know. I just know that you are.” “You’re an idiot,” she whispered back. He leaned in to kiss her and he could have sworn that she didn’t pull away. Before they could reach other, a ball of work friends, led by Russels and Kaine, poured into Mon-El room. They jerked apart. “We heard you got yourself shot, rookie.” Pam from the reception must have told them that he didn’t have any family in town. Russels was the first to his bed. He grabbed Mon-El’s uninjured hand and shook it enthusiastically. “Wow, even got yourself a doctor from the Dee. Eh. Oh.” “They think the weapon might have been alien,“ Kara interjected quickly. “Turns out they were wrong,” Mon-El added. “Well, rookie, get well soon. We’ll buy you a drink when they let you out.” Russels playfully punched him in the his shoulder. Mon-El winced. “It was just a graze,” he lied. Russels winked at him conspiratively and whispered, “Bet she has an amazing bedside manner.” “Out, everybody out,” Kara shooed the group from the room. “You wouldn’t want him to get any crazy ideas, that you’re going soft on him.” She left with them and when she returned, she had two cups of coffee with her. Mon-El took his gladly. “You know, I’ll be healed up in no time.” “Yes, but as far as the NCPD is concerned, you still got injured in the line of duty. They’ll want to know exactly what happened. They’ll make you attend counseling. It…”, she looked down. “It might be a while till we get to work together again. You’ll probably be on desk duty for a while.” “Grife,” Mon-El pulled a face. “Maybe I should go back and have that guy shoot me for good this time.” “That’s not funny,” Kara said sternly. “It’s not that big a deal.” “But it is,” she insisted and inched closer, once more sitting down on the edge of the hospital bed. “You survived an exploding star, a journey across the universe. That should matter.” Mon-El looked away. “That was a freak accident.” “What if it wasn’t? What if it was fate? You said, that prince, he stayed behind so you could live.” Mon-El swallowed hard. “I don’t think you’d have liked him very much.” “Nonetheless, without him, you wouldn’t be here. And maybe, maybe you protected the wrong people where you’re from, but here, you became a cop and you protect the right people. That must count for something.” “Kara, it’s not that deep.” It hurt. It hurt to see the doubt in her eyes. When they had met, she’d accused him of joining the force as a joke or worse, for insidious motives. Now he was the one seemingly confirming, what he had denied back then. “You are trying to turn me into some kind of hero and I’m just not.” “But you could be! You stayed. You tried to save those people. You have your strength all these abilities. Maybe you are wasting your time at the NCPD with me. You could be out there, fighting side by side with Supergirl.” “Kara, that’s just not me, I could never …” “Why not?” “Just because. All I want is to do my job and help people, with you.” They fell silent. “Look, I’m tired. I’ll get M’gann to pick me up. See you soon, partner?” He couldn’t quite help his voice becoming hopeful on the last word. Kara nodded slowly. “Yeah. See you soon.” * “Honey, you’re home!” “Haha, very funny.” Mon-El grinned at Kara and put the book he’d been reading aside. “So, how was your day? What did I miss?” “Not much,” Kara said while balancing on one foot as she kicked off her shoes. “Wait, somebody put a live chicken in Ondantje’s office. We are pretty sure it was Sawyer and McPhee.” Mon-El pouted. “They could have waited till I was back.” “Are you caught up on Alias yet?” “Yup, ready for the last season.” “How’s your shoulder?” “We both no I’m just pretending to be on sick leave so, it won’t look suspicious. In short: I’m fine, thanks for asking. And thanks for letting me hang out.” “Well, after all you got injured under my watch.” Kara plunked down next to him on the couch and tugged at his bandage. She frowned. “Doesn’t look fine to me.” From the location of the gunshot, dark veins, like spider legs, fanned out. Mon-El quickly pulled his sweatshirt back into position. “Your sister says it’s fine, besides they’ve gotten shorter.” “Maybe my sister should take another look.” “I’m fine, I swear. So, ready for season 5?” Kara pondered. “Naw, I’m in the mood for something shorter.” Mon-El reached for the remote. “What about this one?” Kara’s face turned red. “No, we are not watching this one.” “Why not?” He checked display. “It says here you watched it 53 times.” “Yeah, no way, we are – not – watching that.” “Whatever you say.” * It was the last day of his official sick leave, the last day before he would return to M’gann’s and Kara was fussing around nervously. “Okay, we can watch it,” she finally declared. “What do you mean?” Despite her best efforts to stay cool, Kara was blushing. “That movie, that one you were asking about.” “We don’t have to watch it, if it makes you uncomfortable.” “No, not at all. It’s not a big deal. I have no problem watching it. It’s just some silly movie about giant rats.” “Giant rats?” She blushed again. “You’ll see.” “If you say so.” As the title music swelled, he couldn’t help but wonder what it was about this movie that Kara didn’t want him to see. He kept stealing glances at her, looking for clues. Uncharacteristically for their normal routine Kara sat on the edge of the couch, hands folded in her lap, trying very hard to keep her facial expression as uninvolved as possible. The movie ran on. “Oh,” he said after a while and Kara blushed more deeply. There was a blonde girl, maybe even something like a princess and a stable boy she was mean to, but who she actually really loved. Kara snatched the remote and deftly hit the pause button. “That’s not us.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You were going to!” “I wasn’t.” “Well, whatever, I’ll have you know that that so isn’t us.” “Right.” “Right.” Mon-El pursed his lips. “So, you’ve watched this one a lot recently?” She jumped up. “I’m gonna go make some more popcorn, real quick.” * Kara had been right. Desk duty and not being partnered with her was pure hell. It’s not that McPhee wasn’t a nice guy, but Mon-El felt like he was sitting in pins and needles. He started texting Kara dumb jokes and office gossip on his second day till she threatened to block his number. “Going stir crazy over the girl, Oklahoma?” “What, no. I’m just not made for desk duty.” He yawned and stretched in an over-exaggerated way. “Can’t wait to hit the pavement again.” “Sure, rookie. You know, many have tried, boys and girls, didn’t get anywhere, but I have 50 bucks riding on you. So don’t disappoint.” “If I were you, I wouldn’t make any plans for that money. Disappointing people is kind of my thing.” “Well, as long as you disappoint Russels and not me, we are good.” McPhee looked around and rolled his chair closer to Mon-El. “You guys, you guys aren’t already doing it, are you?” Mon-El grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know, old man.” The first day he got her back as his partner he couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot and the moment was only saved by her not not being able to stop smiling either. * “Mon-El?” He didn’t flinch. He loved her apartment, so he had feigned sleep by the end of the movie, because he knew she didn’t have the heart to kick him out and this way he got to stay on her lovely couch. “Are you in love with me?” His eyes popped open. “It’s, it’s okay with you are. A lot of people fall in love with me.” “I’m sure it’s because of your modesty,” he said dryly and sat up. “Why are you here, Mon-El?” “Your couch is really lovely.” She didn’t seem too convinced by his explanation. Mon-El sighed and reached for her in the dark. He pulled her onto his lap and buried his nose in her neck. She smelled of fresh and soap. He braced himself, expecting her to push him away and then he would tickle her and they’d end up play wrestling and he could get to hear that carefree laugh again. Instead, she sat quietly. “I just don’t see how this could ever work out, you and me.” “S'okay,” he mumbled. “I don’t either.” “I… I don’t want to lie. I care about you. You are different from what I thought you would be.” Mon-El felt the tension in her arm, as she clenched her clasped hands. “I’m not really good with relationships. Every time I tried, things got in the way. It didn’t work out. I’ve, I’ve been thinking about you and I don’t want to keep lying to you.” Mon-El froze. Wait. Was she just admitting that wanted him, too? He lifted his hand to touch her cheek. He could not see it in the dark, but it was burning, almost feverish. “Mon-El, I can deal with it, I will deal with it, I…, I just want. Slow.” Bit, by bit, it sank in, that maybe, maybe he had a real chance. He nodded. “Slow is good. I’m good with slow.” “You are?” she asked incredulously. “Yeah.” Mon-El pushed her gently off his lap and stood. “I better get home then.” He cupped her face with his hands and tilted it upwards, towards him and placed a long, gentle kiss on her forehead. ��See you tomorrow partner.” * When he saw her again at work, Kara seemed moody, even sullen. It confused him. After all they had talked and he had done what she asked for. Yet Kara spent the entire briefing gnawing on her lower lip and even, could it be possible, Kara Danvers, tilting back her chair? She just said brief hellos to Sawyer and McPhee and then they walked quietly to their car. Mon-El had never seen her walk like this, depressed lurching alternating with confident strides and back again. She slipped into the drivers seat to take them on their route. By now he knew that there was no point in rushing her and so he started making up stories about the people they drove past. “Mon-ElIchangedmymind,” she interrupted him in the middle of an epic tale about how the lady in the red dress was a disgraced garrata chamption from Tellus who was trying to recruit the man in the hispter hat for a secret heist on Garand IV. Kara was breathing heavily, but she was also smiling at the same time, still clinging to the steering wheel. “I changed my mind,” she repeated. “I don’t want slow. Slow is stupid. Not-slow… Not-slow is fine.“ Her face was tinted pink, but her eyes were shining with hope. “Do you, maybe want to go to the zoo together? Tomorrow?” * He met her by the large metal gates that separated the zoo from the park. Kara looked nervous and she stared when she saw him. “Hi, partner.” She didn’t reply. “What?” He adjusted his earmuffs. “M’gann said those were appropriate clothing for the weather. Wait, she wasn’t lying to me, was she?” “What? No.” Kara coughed and looked down to the ground before stealing another glance at him. “They are fine, I just didn’t expect … Let’s just get our tickets.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him along towards the long and nearly empty queuing lines. Her cheeks reddened again, but it might have been just the cold. The air was crisp and cool and the gravel of the pathways crunched underneath their boots. Mon-El had met squirrels and cats and dogs before, but looking at this installation, there clearly was a lot he was missing about earth’s fauna. “Do they have dragons?” Kara looked at him in surprise. “Nope, no dragons.” Mon-El shrugged, “Guess that explains why there’s never any garrata on the sport channels.” * Kara went to fetch them some candyfloss, leaving him behind. By the time she returned Mon-El had struck up a conversation with a man in green jacket and high boots, who was evidently bored by the parks lack of visitors. His name was Miles and he’d been working here for 15 years. He just laughed and declined when Mon-El offered him some of the sticky pink wool Kara had brought. Instead he invited them along behind the secretive “Employees Only” doors to meet the mysterious patient he’d been telling Mon-El about.   The creature had jetblack eyes, a cute little snout and whiskers. It had a dense fur looked like it should feel oily. It looked around nervously when Kara patted its head. The keeper explained that its name was sea otter and many other things that didn’t mean anything to Mon-El. Mon-El had hoped for a laugh, a joyous glint of her teeth, when the man offered that Kara could hold the little critter. Instead she was all softness, making friends with the creature, before cradling it to her chest underneath her parka, a faint smile on her lips. Mon-El’s heart did that thing where he wasn’t sure whether he was jealous or just happy and it seemed like he no longer remembered how to breathe.   For all his life, he’d felt useless, superfluous to this universe, but in this very moment, he’d never wanted to live more than he did now. If this was the beauty this world had to offer, if there was a chance that maybe he’d be able to give her happiness the way she gave it to him, maybe there was a deeper meaning to it all. “Mo…Mike?” “Hmm?” “Wanna come and pet his head?” * They stood in front of a thigh high concrete wall, looking down into a pool on a company of waddling flightless birds called penguins. Kara had launched into a long explanation, but Mon-El found it hard to concentrate on anything other than on how warm and pink her lips looked compared to the icy winds. “You didn’t hear anything I just said,” she concluded. “Not a thing,” he said and beamed at her. He expected her to be upset, instead Kara touched one index finger to her lips and then started pulled on her gloves. The color of her cheeks darkened once more as the moments passed by without either of them saying a thing. Finally Kara sighed and turned to look back into the animal enclosure. She smiled a soft, secret smile. He could see that her grip on the railing tightened and the way she straightened her back. Whatever was coming was important, but that little smile never left her face. “I think you should come over to my place tonight. I’ll cook you dinner. There’s something I want to talk to you about. And maybe, maybe you should bring some things, just in case.” “What’s wrong with your voice?” “What? Nothing!” “It just went all deep and husky and stuff.” “It absolutely did not!” “It absolutely did.” Kara’s head was turning red in anger and her eyes sparkled. “Do you want to come to my place or not.” Mon-El grinned. “Of course.” “Well, fine.” “Fine.” In front of them a flock of penguins chased after each other. “So what kind of things?” “What things?” “The things I should bring. Just in case.” “What? Nothing! Forget I said anything.“ Two of the penguins had climbed on the artificial reef and were playfully shoving each other towards the water. “A toothbrush. And a change of clothing. Just in case.” He couldn’t stop the wide smile that spread out on his face. He hoped she didn’t see. “Just in case, partner.” “I’m not promising anything.” “Of course not.” “It’s really just in case.” “Just in case.” * The door swung open. “Hi!” “Hi! Brought what you asked for,” Mon-El said and held up the paper bag contained her beloved pot stickers. Kara had called him on the way over, apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for you…, I’m just a really bad cook.” Behind her, the windows stood open as the last plumes of black smoke hovered over the kitchen. “No matter,” he said and fought the urge to reflexively kiss her as a greeting when he handed her the bag.  Kara placed it on the table and then stood next to the table, nervously clenching and unclenching her hands. “What I wanted to talk to you about, I just wanted you to know, this thing, if it’s gonna be a thing, I mean, if you want it to be a thing, it’s gonna be a relationship thing. A human relationship thing.” Mon-El’s heart danced and beat furiously in his chest. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “That’s fine with me.” He was sure that her smile was beautiful enough to blot out the sun itself. “You sure?”she asked. “Yes, I’m sure. I mean, I’m not sure what exactly that is, but I know that I want it, that I want it with you.” “You do?” Kara moved closer, the curl of her lips both elated and coy at the same time. “You seem surprised,” he said. He felt barely in control of his voice as she looked up at him like that, her eyes blue and shining. “I know we are from different worlds, but I think we can work, I want this to work.” She smiled. “Whatever this is.” “Whatever this is.” He took a deep breath and leaned in to kiss her. His heart was thumping furiously against his ribs. Kara moved to meet him, but just as their lips were just a breath away from each other, she stopped him, her hand flat against his chest. Mon-El blinked in confusion. Her arms were still around his midriff, her eyes still brimming with excitement, so it didn’t seem like he did anything wrong. Kara cleared her throat. “This thing, if it’s gonna be a thing, a real thing, a real, real thing, I want us to do this right. I want us to be honest with each other.” Mon-El nodded. That made sense. Her lips were still less than an inch away.   Kara swallowed hard. “It’s not, it’s not always easy for me to be … vulnerable. To let somebody into my world, but I don’t want it to be like that. With us. I want us to be able to tell each other everything. No secrets. Just us.” Her eyes were shining up to him, like a marriage between blue skies and the stars themselves, in this moment Mon-El would have promised her anything she wanted. However, in this case, she was also probably right. Honestly was important, if you wanted it to be real. That’s what all the movies they had watched said. He took a deep breath, just as she did the same. “I’m Supergirl.” - “I’m the prince of Daxam”, they blurted out in unison. “What?” -” What?” They stared at each other incredulously. “You can’t be serious,” Kara exploded, yanking her arms away. “You lied to me!” He couldn’t believe it. “I lied to you? You are the prince!” “You were an alien the entire time and you didn’t tell me!” “Well at least I wasn’t lying about something terrible! And the prince, how does that even work?” "How does that work, what kind of question is that?” “I … Get out! Now!” “Fine!” “Fine!” * He ran out, anger burning in his belly. Screw that girl. Screw those confusing feelings. The cold, wintery air hit him. Mon-El shoved his hands into his pockets. His face burned. He walked faster. He was angry at her in a way he didn’t understand. He walked faster, till the anger in his belly turned into a sinking feeling. He looked up a the stars. For the first time, the reality of his situation sank in. He was alone. When he arrived on earth, he had been scrambling, hiding, surviving. Making connections, finding ways to understand this strange world. He hadn’t really thought of home much. Yes, something bad had happened. He knew that, at the back of his mind, but it seemed so far away from his situation, a distraction. Something he didn’t like to dwell on. M’gann had helped him sneak into the observatory and then he’d waited. By the time he knew there would be no answer, no rescue, there had been Kara. Kara, whose clear gaze always looked ahead, who always seemed to know what to do next. It was so easy to just follow her in amazement. There was always a light about Kara, in her eyes, her hair, her smile, in every little move, that Mon-El couldn’t help but follow. Now all of that was gone. His past had caught up with him. There was no new life. He had lost his friend, his partner, the one thing that had truly made living on earth worth every second. The one thing that had kept him from remembering that there wasn’t anything else out there for him either. He had nothing to go home to. Angrily he wiped away the tear that way running down his cheek. So close. They had been so close. And then he hadn’t even gotten to kiss her. * “What happened? I take it your date didn’t go well.” Mon-El’s head jerked up from the table. “How did you know I was going on a date?” M’gann smiled warmly. “Before you were hyper and excited and now you look like the world just ended. I take it, it didn’t go as planned?” Mon-El laid his head back on his arms. “She’s Supergirl.” “She what?” “Supergirl. The woman I love, she’s Supergirl.” “Kara is Supergirl?” “What? How did you know that it’s Kara?” M’gann rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s Kara. I always knew there was something to her.” “Have you been reading me, Martian?” “I can’t properly read you. I can’t read her either.” “You could have warned me.” M’gann sat down across him and looked at him, all warm and comforting, almost like a sister. Damn, she really was an excellent bartender. “So, she’s Supergirl. Why is that a bad thing, again?” Mon-El winced. “Kryptonians and Daxamites, they don’t really get along that well.” “I didn’t know you had that much of a problem with Kryptonians.” He sighed. “I don’t.” “I thought Kara knew that you’re Daxamite.” “She did, she does, but then we started talking. I told her things, things about Daxam, things she couldn’t live with. Now, I lost my chance.” “I’m sorry, Mon-El. I really am.” Drained, Mon-El ran his hand over his face. “Who knows, if you could read me, if you truly knew me, maybe you wouldn’t like me either, just like Kara.” His hostess looked at him darkly. “Maybe you’d feel the same about me.” * He went back to work the next day, full of trepidation, unsure whether he even had a future there. Would this be the end? He couldn’t even fathom being there without Kara. Kara, his job, in his mind they were linked. This time, she really was late. Her face was so pale, he couldn’t help it, his heart went out to her. They stood helplessly, facing each other, neither of them finding the words, till she lowered her lashes and hurried off. Was this how it was going to be? What could he do to fix this? Would she ever want to talk to him again? Just one day before, the future had seemed to bright and hopeful and now the truth had cost him everything. Mon-El followed Kara into the briefing room and sat down, one empty chair between them, but the distance seemed icy and unbridgeable. After the assignments had been handed out, she stalked off again quickly, ducking into the chief’s office. He was about to follow her, after all, if she was demanding reassignment, didn’t he have a right to be present? - when Russels grabbed his arm. “Hey, Oklahoma, we’re are up?” “What? Kara…” “You’re with me today. Danvers called me last night to switch shifts. She got a last minute opportunity to join some special training. Surely she told ya.” “What?” He stammered. “Yes, yes, of course.” * He couldn’t help it. After his shift, he stayed behind, loitering around at the precinct, joking around, acting like nothing was wrong, but secretly, hoping to come across her again – would she even come by to the precinct? Maybe she would go straight back home? -  and now it was a reality. “We should talk,” she said. He nodded and followed her to the file room. She closed the door behind them and leaned against it. “That story, about how you escaped from Daxam, about the prince who gave his life for you, that was all a lie.” Mon-El froze, then straightened. “Yes,” he said tonelessly without turning to face her. “How did you escape, then?” “My guard pulled me from my bed. He led me to the pod. He killed the owner. I climbed inside and left. He stayed behind and died. It was his duty.” The screams of the injured. Running past the bodies of the dead. The air dense with smoke. The acrid smell of escaped chemicals. All those things he couldn’t put into words.   “Don’t, don’t you feel guilty?” “Of course I do.” “You don’t seem like it.” Mon-El felt all color draining from his face. He turned around. “What would you have me do?” Kara hugged herself and looked away. He cleared his throat. “There is one thing I want to know. Why Supergirl?” “What do you mean?” “Just… everything. Why did you become her? Were you always her? Why the mask?” “My parents sent me to this earth as a protector, but the person I was meant to protect, he was already a hero. I was placed with a family of scientists - “ “- and Alex” “- and Alex. They taught me to hide my powers and my identity to protect the people I love. One day Alex was in danger and I just couldn’t hide anymore. I couldn’t justify not using the powers I’d been granted to help others. To help the planet that took me in.” “How old were you when Krypton…” “Thirteen cycles.” Color rose to Kara’s cheeks as if it was something to be embarrassed about and she blinked rapidly to get rid of the tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, feeling helpless in the face of her pain. “Me, too,” she said with a pained attempt at a smile. Her gaze dropped back to the floor. “Krypton, there were people there who knew, who knew who was coming. Nobody listened to them. They should have warned the people and they didn’t.” She looked up again to meet his gaze. “They should have warned your people, too.” “It’s in the past.” “My parents. They were among the ones who knew. They saved me. Why didn’t they save the others?” “You don’t know if they would have listened.” For starters, he had a hard time believing anybody on Daxam would have listened. He shrugged. “It’s in the past now. You are not to blame for what your parents did.” She stepped closer, once more, close enough he thought he could feel her breath soothing over him. “How?” she whispered. “What how?” “How could you, you know, be the prince? How could I not notice?” “I forgot.” She stared at him. “You forgot.” Mon-El winced. It was hard to explain. “When I arrived, I did what I was taught, in case I got captured, or lost. Don’t tell people what you are, it makes you valuable. After a while, it got easier. My whole life, I was never allowed to choose my own path…” “… but now…” “… things are different for me.” Mon-El looked down on his hands. “I just want you to know that how I feel about you, that was never a lie. At first you drove me crazy and you made me laugh and then I wanted to make you laugh. I wanted to be around you all the time.” “Mon-El, please, stop.” “I know I can’t expect you to believe me and I can’t expect it to make a difference to you, but before coming here, I never had truly felt alive, never like I was where I belonged. Till I met you. You, Kara, you showed me, taught me so much.” Somehow her hands had ended up in his. He squeezed them lightly and didn’t dare to meet her gaze. He wanted to hold on to her just a moment longer, but what right did he have to keep her? What was left for him except to offer her a graceful goodbye? He blinked away the tears that were building up in his eyes. “Kara?” he whispered. “What’s you real name? I mean, what was your name on Krypton?” Kara’s hands trembled in his grasp and her voice was shaky when she replied. “Kara Zor-El. My Name is Kara Zor-El.” “Thank you. For everything. Ehrosh ‘bem, Kara Zor-El,” he whispered and hoped he didn’t mess up the pronunciation too much. He turned and walked towards the door. He could sense Kara following him with her gaze. “You know, I’m glad it didn’t work out,” she blurted out. Mon-El stopped dead in his tracks. “I mean obviously, what a ridiculous idea,” she continued. Kara’s voice sounded jittery and when he turned to look at her, he saw that her hands were trembling. “A Kryptonian and a Daxamite, who would ever want something like that.” “Ridiculous … “ “Yes!” she rushed to affirm and closed the distance between them. Kara stood close, too close. “See,” she whispered. There was panic in her eyes, but also hope? Determination. “I feel nothing,” she said, rose up on her toes and pressed her lips against his. She remained like this for one long moment, her eyes now closed. “Nothing,” she murmured and kissed him again. “I’m not lonely,” she insisted. Kiss. “Not at all.” Another one. “Of course not,” Mon-El agreed. Entranced by the feeling of her lips against his, he pushed her up till she was sitting on filing table, her long legs dangling freely the air. Then he stopped, his arms still around her, waiting for her to make the next move. “You jerk. You jerk-jerk,” she sucked in a deep breath and bumped her nose against his and then once more, like a young animal, testing the strength of its horn. “I hate you. You are the worst,“ she weaved her fingers through his hair and stole another kiss. Only this time, she lingered and then, she opened her lips, soft and wet, tentatively requesting permission for more. He felt her freeze when he opened up to her and deepened their kiss and she tasted him and then slowly melted into it. It made him feel like a boy from those old Daxamite myths who had gotten old of a beautiful, almost intangible nymph and tried to persuade her to stay with just one kiss. And then she bit his lip only to jolt back, surprised by her own tenacity. He caught her lips again immediately and their kiss deepened, grew more hungry. “Jerk,” she repeated, mumbling against his lips. “Jerkjerkjerkjerk.” She covered his face with kisses and suddenly she lunged forward with all her weight and they were tumbling to the floor, twisting and rolling. Kara’s legs wrapped around him and she pulled on his clothes. “I hate you,” she hissed. Mon-El found himself growing pretty pissed as well. He ground his hips down to let her know exactly how crazy she was driving him and pulled her into a long, punishing kiss, angrily plundering her mouth. Two could play this game. Using her superior strength, she still quickly got the upper hand, fixing him to the floor as she straddled him, licking along his jawline, fascinated with his stubble. Up to the point where she realized what she was doing and jolted up, staring at him in realization. “Danvers? Matthews?” They both froze immediately, holding their breath as they saw the shadow of a person walk by through the window in the file cabinet’s door. With a whoosh they both darted behind the desk hoping Russels would just go past and not discover them. “Mon-El,” Kara whispered, her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Hmmm?” “We have to do this now, before, before I lose my courage.” Mon-El nodded all too quickly. “Let’s go to your place.” * They were still out of breath when they arrived at her door. Mon-El grabbed her waist and kissed the nape of her neck, while Kara ineffectively stabbed her keys at the lock. His caresses grew more bold, softly stroking the side of her breasts through her blouse, while he sucked hard on the side of her throat as she fumbled. With a loud clang the keys scattered on the floor. Their hands bumped into each other as they scrambled to find them. Mon-El got his hands on them first. He backed Kara against the door, with a heated kiss, holding her hands above her head with one hand while jamming the key into the keyhole with the other. He desperately tried to remember whether keys were supposed to go clockwise or counter clockwise, all the while getting lost in the feeling Kara’s body against his. “Don’t break them,” Kara chided. Suddenly her arms were around him, there was speed and him losing his footing. He was weightless, kissing Kara, arms tightening around her and gently floating in through her window. “Wow, that was pretty romantic.” he said when she put him back down on solid ground. She blushed and Mon-El took the opportunity to steal another kiss. She let herself be carried away by it for a moment, before she lowered her head and nestled against his chest. So close he thought he could feel her heartbeat against his. She was shaking lightly, her anger and fervor dissipated as she fought to bring up the courage to say what she wanted to say. She closed her eyes and nuzzled closer. “I … I don’t want to lie about, about how I still want you. Despite everything that has happened, I still want you”. He cradled her face in his hand and nudged her to meet his eyes, fighting for the right words to say. “I wish, I wish that this were a cause of happiness for you, Kara Zor-El, and not pain.” “I’m sorry,” she whispered in a breaking voice. “It’s okay.” “I’m sorry that I’m such a mess.” He kissed her more, willing her to feel in their kiss how he felt. In truth, he didn’t give a damn. To him, she was like this dazzling jewel, with an infinite amount of layers, so many of which he didn’t even know yet. There were so many sides to her, her fury, her determination, her sweetness, her pain, and he wanted to meet and make love to every single one of them. She had his heart and he was sick of pretending otherwise. “Trust me,” he pleaded and she nodded wordlessly. In lieu of a reply she slung her arms around him. He walked them back to her bedroom, her legs wrapped around him, her lips never leaving his. They tumbled down together on her sheets. Then they just kissed. Slowly, breathlessly, till Mon-El’s lips started to feel numb and he began to work his way down her body, opening buttons, discarding clothes as he went. He settled between her legs, one hand on her belly, her fingers interwoven with his, trusting him. Part of him still couldn’t believe that this was really happening, that nothing awful would happen to disrupt them again. Relief washed over him when he leaned in and realized that he loved the way she tasted. Not quite Daxamite, not quite like the human women he had been with, just something different and exotic, where he didn’t know if that was Kryptonian or just deeply, fundamentally Kara. All that mattered was that he loved it and it seemed so did she, by the way she grabbed his hand and by the soft sounds falling from her lips. Suddenly, his soul, his entire being filled with hope, hope that this – was – gonna be a real thing. That it would still be a real thing tomorrow. That one day the she would be comfortable enough in their relationship that he’d be able to tease her about being history’s first wanton Kryptonian. * Afterwards, she rested on his chest, her eyes closed. “Want,” she mumbled against his skin. “Want to keep you. Forever.” Mon-El laughed and patted back her hair that was just crazy and wild from their tumble. “Sounds good to me.” “It does?” “One hundred percent.” He couldn’t resist and inched her slightly higher, allowing him to drop kisses on her forehead. “Kara?” “Mmmmm?” He placed another kiss between her brows, right at the place where her adorable lying crinkle usually sat. “That place, where your sister works.” “The DEO?” she yawned and shifted around, trying to find the optimal position. “Yeah.” Mon-El caught Kara’s hand and pressed his lips against her palm. “Will you, will you take me there one day. I…” he stumbled. “I just want to know all the parts of your life.” So soft smile slowly spread on her face. “I’d like that. I’d like that very much.” “You do?” he said, unable to hide his surprise. “Yeah.” “Yeah,” he repeated and grinned before kissing her one more time. Kara sighed and leaned into the kiss in a way that made his stomach flutter. “One more request.” Kara popped open and raised an eyebrow. “Another request. Already?” Mon-El’s arms tightened around her, suddenly afraid that his arms would be empty tomorrow and all of this would have been a dream. “Wake up with me.” Kara looked at him, her eyes opaque and serious, as if she was looking right into his soul. “I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.” Epilogue “You do know,” she said and laughed, “that our shifts start at the same time today.” “Oh, I know,” Mon-El said and rolled on his belly. He hugged her pillow to his chest, satisfied with having found the perfect position to gaze upon his lover as she closed the last buttons on her blouse. “Most people prefer watching people get undressed, not dressed.” A dopey grin spread on his face. “I know.” With a whoosh he was beside her, one arm wrapped around her midriff, hooking into her belt right next to where her handcuffs dangled oh so tantalizingly. His other hand slid up to back of her neck, pulling her in. “You are naked,” she noted. “Mmmm?” he mumbled and began to cover her cheeks and nose and lips with slow, dirty-wet kisses. Kara blushed. “Very naked.” He laughed and kissed her again. The only thing sexier than Kara Danvers, no wait, Zor-El, in her snug rookie blues was the expression in her eyes. Ms. By The Rules Officer Danvers genuinely torn between duty and desire enough to genuinely consider not showing up for work. Mon-El took pity on her. He released her and reached for this clothes. They wouldn’t be too late today. Kara sighed and plopped down on he edge of the bed. It was almost like he could see the tiny cogs and wheels in her brain working, and slowly arriving at the conclusion that it was morally unobjectionable to look at your naked boyfriend get dressed. After which she stared unabashedly. Just the tiniest hint of red tinted her cheeks. A tiny glimmer danced in her eyes. Slipping into the sleeves, Mon-El pulled his undershirt over his head, pulling it down till it covered his abs. A little sound of disappointment escaped Kara’s lips and he smiled to himself. By the time he was on his slacks, she came over. Kara snuggled up against his back. Her arms wrapped around him, as her slender, elegant fingers moved to help him with his belt. “You know,” he said, his voice rough, “My plan was for us not to be too late, but you are turning this into a real challenge.” “Sorry,” she breathed, her mouth hot and wet against his shirt. Mon-El turned. Their hands bumped against each other,  as he shrugged into his shirt and they both moved to close every button. Rao, she was so close. The reality of his situation truly hit him for the first time. “Are you really okay with this?” “Do I seem like I’m not okay with this?” she asked. Kara. His Kara. His Danvers. His partner. His friend. Here with him. A stranger to this world just like him. His guide. His Supergirl. No, the world’s Supergirl. He kissed her because now he could. “Can’t believe we found each other.” A sad little smile danced across Kara’s lips. Her endless blue eyes cloudy for a second with melancholy. Grife. Leave it to him to stick his foot into his mouth and remind her of all the dead people that lay in their wake. He gave her a quick kiss and rubbed his nose against hers. “Race you to work?” She grinned. “Ready when you are.” * The day at work was pure hell. They were late for the chief’s briefing, sneaking in red faced. Trying to ignore Maggie’s raised eyebrow. Mon-El wanted to know everything about her. Kara’s parents, her life on Krypton, but he was afraid to ask. “I want you to know, that, that I don’t care about your past. This is new. A fresh start. You can be different now.” “Yes, yes. That. That’s what I want.” Kara’s head jerked around and she looked at him in surprise. Mon-El shrugged. “My old self, wasn’t really a great person.” He felt himself growing somber. “Can we go to your place? I love your place.” She laughed. “Are you asking to move in with me? Already?” Mon-El gave her his brightest, sunniest smile. “Well, I like M’gann, but I like you more.” Kara grinned. “Are you sure you aren’t just sleeping with me for my apartment?” Mon-El reached over and ran his thumb along her cheek. “Yeah, pretty sure.” A long, breathless moment passed between them and he wanted to kiss her so badly right there, except he was sure it wouldn’t be right for them, in the middle of work, right in their squad car, where everybody could see. They held out till 5 minutes before the shift was over. They were lucky that no serious emergency came their way, their conversation strained and choppy as they waited for the clock to tick down. Just about when they decided to hand the car back over, he couldn’t take it anymore. He backed Kara up against the wall in alley and smothered her with kisses, every cell in his body singing with joy that he was finally allowed to touch her, jubilating when she threw her arms around him, returning his kiss with equal need. “You know,” she panted, as she pulled out of their kiss to rest her cheek against his throat for just a second, rubbing her face against his skin like a cat looking for affection. “Alex says that, that your body temperature is just a little bit higher than those of humans. Always like you are running just a bit of a fever,” she mumbled. “Feels really good.” Mon-El grinned. “So what you’re saying is that you want me to warm you up?” “Maybe. Yes. Oh gods, the answer is yes,” she squeaked as he started to kiss that spot right behind her ear. “My place. Now.” * The moment the apartment door fell shut behind him, Kara was a blur of air and colors and then she stood in front of him. Naked. She threw her arms around his neck, her body pressed up against his, her lips sucking greedily on his neck. She walked backwards, pulling him along. Mon-El followed her, stunned and dazed. Effortlessly he was thrown towards the couch and then she straddled him, gyrating on top of him in all her glorious nakedness. He ran his hands down her sides and cupped her ass. It felt perfect, they way it fit into his grip and he teased her hips to roll with the rhyhm he set. Kara moaned and pulled helplessly at his shirt. “If you rip it, you have to buy me a new one.” Kara groaned in exasperation. “What on earth do you spend your paycheck on, Mr. Intergalactic Prince?” Mon-El smiled sheepishly and nuzzled her neck. They tumbled to the side, with him on top of her. He struggled his his belt, not wanting the buckle to bite into her naked skin. If it were up to him, these pants would be preserved in a glass case and not washed for as long as he lived, he thought. Mon-El pulled his shirt over his head. He steadied himself against he armrest and ground his his hips into hers. Her knees tightened around him and she arched upward upon the intensity of the contact. How was he supposed to contend with such beauty? They kissed breathlessly, their bodies finding their own tune, rushing faster and faster, trying to find completion after having been denied for so long. His name fell from Kara’s lips, over and over and he wanted to catch that sound, keep it forever and listen to it every night before he fell asleep. And then … “Mon-El, Mon-El, wait.” Kara grabbed his arm and pushed him back to a sitting position. “Hmmm?” he mumbled questioningly against her hair. Kara smiled apologetically and snuggled against him. “I might have … bought some condoms,” she confessed. Mon-El raised an eyebrow. “Condoms?” “Well yes, I figured you might have some, but I wanted to be sure and I wasn’t sure which size you were and what type feels good and maybe you are allergic and so I just bought all the sizes!” Kara hung half off the couch and rummaged underneath it. She pulled forth a box. A wide box. A very long and very wide box. Sheepishly she opened it. One thing’s for sure, she hadn’t been lying about all the sizes. And all the colors. And all the textures. “Too much?” she asked in a worried voice. “No,” he said softly and kissed her shoulder. “I’m glad you care. We’ll find a use for all of these.” Her eyes widened. “All of these?” Well, according to the movies some of them would make for some mean water bombs. “Yes,” he confirmed. “All of these.” Their mouths got tangled in a little kiss, while he reached for one of the orange-purple packages. “These will do.” Mon-El turned to Kara. “Do you know how to put them on?” he asked huskily. Kara licked her lips. “I want to learn.” She ripped the carton open and brought a condom wrapper up to her lips. “Wait, don’t, not the teeth!” Mon-El grabbed her hands and smiled apologetically. “Don’t tear it by accident.” “Right.” The first one sailed across the room as Kara tore open to protective foil with a bit too much enthusiasm and both of them burst out laughing. She was more careful with the second one, her hands trembling in anticipation. Mon-El couldn’t take his eyes off her, the way her brow was furrowed in concentration, the way she bit her lip. He slipped two fingers inside of her, making her tremble even more. With shaky hands she managed to extract the condom from its packaging. “You see the tiny exalted tip? Hold I close. Then roll it on slowly.” Kara licked her lips and nodded. His breathing deepened and grew labored as she started her work, but at least the act didn’t leave her indifferent either. Her nipples were hard and she took a break after every little progress, her upper body swaying as her wormed his fingers deeper into her and was rewarded with a gush of liquid running down on his hand and coating the inside of her thighs. “I, I’ve waited for so long,” she whispered. “It’s okay,” he calmed her. “You are so close.” Even through the latex her touch felt heavenly on his cock. After a torturous eternity, she had finally unrolled the entire length. With a moan, Kara sunk back into the cushions of the couch, her knees falling open for him. “Want you,” she mouthed and reached for him. His blood was pounding in his ears and he vowed to himself to make her feel good with his lips afterwards, but right now, he couldn’t wait. Not when she was like this, so soft, so open, so needy for his touch. He was inside of her and she was all around him, they were one. Her eyes were awash with feelings. He saw worry there, and hope, and warmth, and fear. Kara’s hands tightened against his shoulders. Her lips were pressed together as if she was trying so hard to contain her words from spilling out. Something around his heart constricted. “It’s okay,” Mon-El whispered and pressed a kiss against those lips. He didn’t need her to say it. Not when he could feel with how painfully she was wrestling with it. It wasn’t important. The only thing that mattered was that she was here, with him. “I love you,” he stated matter of factly and started to move. Her hands, gripping his shoulders, clenched and unclenched. So hard they would have broken a collar bone or two on anybody else. Her eyes were full of love and sadness. “You sure you know what that means?” Kara’s voice was barely more than a breath, like a tiny bird with a broken wing. “It’s when first your heart burns all the time, then it dances and in the end, it sings, right?” he whispered. Kara’s lips were pressed together in a plane, thin line and her eyes were alight with water, but she nodded furiously. He knew. “I love you, Supergirl.”

***

Hi, I’m so sorry, I’m not sure I did a good job representing your prompt. You didn’t specify whether you wanted only Mon-El to be a cop, but I made Kara one here as well because I once saw a really cute cop AU aesthetic. It also got a lot more angsty than hot, because I wanted them to confess to each other before they start a relationship and even though I personally don’t think virginity matters, I tend to headcanon Kara as fairly inexperienced when she meets Mon-El and having her first time be heated reunion sex didn’t really work for me and it probably ended up a lot more angsty than what you were looking for. :( I hope you still like it a little anyway.

[televinita]

Zoo 3.06

Never have I ever been so disappointed by this show's breakneck plot pacing than when it makes them waste a literal "tied up in the back of a van" kidnapping plot on Clementine with barely two seconds to spare on Mitch freaking out. Being unbearably emotional about his daughter is Mitch's best attribute. Why would u rob me of this just because your plot demands that he magically know everything he needs to know about where she is and how to get her out in two shakes of a hybrid lamb's tail with no apparent assistance from anyone else. (is this explained later? is it Duncan related? this all just seemed very weirdly calm and easily resolved for, again, A LITERAL KIDNAP PLOT WHERE SHE ALMOST GOT TORTURED WITH JUMPER CABLES AND SOLD) I had to go rewatch the entire 2-part Castle episode with this plot and remix it in my head before I could calm down. It's not even that I can't reason to myself that Mitch can't afford to lose focus by being upset when her life is on the line and he just needs to Get Shit Done, I'm just mad the plot pacing required it in the first place. I AM 100% on board with Mitch pouring his Earnest Dad Heart out on the way home ("you and this baby are all that I have" !!! tho...that would been even more poignant before anything had happened with Jamie). Not so on board with Clem spouting off self-righteous BS about being a parent and showing up Mitch in the process. I know he's only been a dad for five minutes of the time she remembers, but that's at least 4.5 minutes longer than she has been a mom. He was yelling at Dariela and it was glorious catharsis; why would you stop that?? What is this weirdo "I would have done the same thing, no biggie" response? I know I am not great at understanding the maternal bond, but I ran it through my "how would you feel if it was your dog” translator, and it still sounds like a horrible thing to admit. Would you also personally murder a baby to save your kid? Let Dariela go feel shame. /Sue Sylvester voice. Now, because it's been 25 minutes and I still can't articulate why this irritates me so much, I'm going to leave it at "Clem is officially demoted to below-Logan status who will require the company of either Mitch, Jamie or Jackson in order to earn screen time with me." ------------------ Other Mitch Stuff 1. I know it's so cheap and easy it's almost too pat to include, but I am still happy Jamie got her "grandpa" crack in ASAP.  (also, awww at her casually being there waiting for him to wake up. I choose to believe she's been there the whole time. Also, has anyone / would anyone like to fill in the canon gap of how Jamie found out Clem was pregnant? I feel like that's worth seeing.) 2. HIS FACE when the picture unscrambles. This would be more poignant if I knew he was going to handle this appropriately; say, with an immediate confession. (all right fine I have resumed my bad habits of pre-screening some of the Mitch/Jamie in the next installment between the time I finish watching an episode and the time I write words about it) Beta Ship Well slap my hand and call me Skippy, if those aren't some ship tinglies I feel just before Tessa strolls out again! Jackson is still doing all the heavy lifting by himself, but I have a mile-long record of dudes convincing me to love the person they love with their Stupid Smitten Face.

Also, yeah, Jackson does seem kinda cursed. And by “kinda” I mean “has he ever perchance gone poking around an ancient Egyptian tomb?”

The Horrible Doctor of Oz Yeah so of all the annoying TV parents I've been forced to continue to suffer despite them being canonically dead, Dr. Oz is the worst. On the other hand, Abigail? Especially Sweet Lil' Science Nerd Abigail? I just keep liking her more. I feel sorry for her. It's not her fault she has a borderline sociopath for a dad, she just wanted to make him proud! No fair that he made her dark and twisty and fratricidal when she clearly could have made an awesome sibling team with Jackson, if Senior hadn't been such a human garbage can. That's it, time to make up a new AU -- or rather, my new hobby, which is writing synopses for realistic contemporary novels based on TV characters that I pretend could exist in a world where the TV show doesn't.

One where Jackson and Jamie are actually half-siblings through his mom, and Dr. Oz was never presumed dead but merely took off, so when he actually dies Abigail resurfaces out of the clear blue with nothing but a claim to half his estate. Despite that potential friction, she and Jackson bond immediately, while little-sibling Jamie is irrationally jealous and feels like she's being replaced (ooh, even better, she's even more irritated when Abigail and Mitch bond over SCIENCE!, and the plot of this novel juuust might be Jamie deciding there is something fishy about this heretofore unknown sibling, and putting her investigative journalism skills to work. As to whether there is anything to find? idk, choose your own adventure).

P.S. I watched the entire season-3 voiceover AND the "previously on" segment, and I still don't understand the current plot or how those flashbacks to season 2 tied into it. I give up on tracking plot forever. I am now here solely to dream of sibling bonds and ship people with nice faces. P.P.S. WAUGHASDKFJASDFJ ABENDEGOS IS EVEN FRICKIN' CREEPIER AS AN INFANT.

[rizuno]

Write me a ficlet about Stiles finding random love poems/notes written on little scraps of paper stuffed in weird places, like between the seats in the Jeep, in the pockets of hoodie he swore he just washed so how could there be intact paper in there, in his shoes, under his pillow. Who is writing all these notes and how do they keep randomly appearing on Stiles person!?!?!

This is unbeta-d, and I am subjecting you dear reader(s?) to poetry written by me masquerading as English!Major Derek Hale. BASICALLY I’m SORRY ABOUT THE CRAP POETRY OK. also im really fuckin pissed off about the spacing of the poems but tumblr is adamant about pretending to not know what the fuck im trying to do when i try and reformat it i need to stop before i just delete this whole post in a fit of RAGE

For RachelBBY

Scraps

The first time it happens, Stiles doesn’t think anything of it. He figures he just wrote it himself in English and then forgot. It’s just a neglected scrap of paper hiding amidst other papers under his desk, sacrificed on the altar of a weekly allowance with everything else he throws out as he cleans his room. He only really glanced at it anyway, he was preoccupied with being pissed off at Derek for being Derek, thinks it said something about heartbeats and irregular spaces. So that was the incident, he supposes.

The second time he’s got his hand stuffed in the crease of Roscoe’s passenger seat in a desperate search for just one fucking quarter, just one, and withdraws a crumpled piece of paper instead. “How long has that been there?” Stiles asks himself as he de-crumples it to read it. He snorts. Obviously quite a while, it’s a poem, and Stiles knows he didn’t write this one, which means it’s circa the Scott/Allison Era.

you laughed

it was Tuesday

you didn’t know I was there

“Not half bad Scotty,” Stiles murmurs, not bothering to finish the rest of it as he tosses it aside and resumes the quest for one measly quarter cause he just wants a burger. Out of life, all he wants is to eat a burger right now. It’s not so much to ask? Right?

He bitches and moans to Scott about his inability to find a quarter and thus eat a burger, but forgets to ask him about the poem thing. The next time he sees Derek, Derek flips him a quarter with a smirk. “Oh, fuck you,” Stiles says, but pockets the quarter and eats him that fucking burger later that night, after they have all managed, miraculously, to not die. “Victory comes in all forms,” Stiles informs Scott sagely in between mouthfuls. So that’s the coincidence, in all its glory.

The third time has Stiles paying the fuck attention, because he’s digging around his back pocket for the quarter Derek gave him, and just as he remembers he spent it already, his fingers close around what must be a receipt. Stiles heaves a grunt of disgust, no curly fries for him then, and glances at the scrap of paper uninterestedly, out of habit, as his arm moves to toss it into the trashcan across the hall. And then he freezes. It’s not some forgotten transaction, it’s a fucking poem. What the fuck. Stiles unfolds the paper and reads the words in their entirety this time, standing in the middle of the hallway as other students stream around him as they head to class. It’s not very long, but it feels like Stiles takes several hours to read it. He reads it like it was meant for him. It must be? Right?

I think

you don’t think of me

all that often

but I think of you

quite often

I’m thinking of you now

I think of you in the morning

I think of you in my bed

at night

I wonder

if you’re thinking of me now

Stiles swallows. His mouth has gone dry. He feels like he just walked in on someone watching some really hot porn. He feels…intimate. He feels…like he’s now late for science. Stiles whirls around in a flail of limbs and pelts to the science lab. But that scrap of paper he doesn’t toss aside. That scrap he keeps. So there’s the pattern.

Stiles was sorta expecting the next one but he wasn’t prepared to find it lying on his keyboard; not there when he went downstairs to grab a soda and now there when he returns.

He tells himself his fingers are shaking with caffeine intake as he reaches out to unfold it, where it lays so innocuously.

He licks his lips, then reads.

I know you’re thinking of me now

will you think of me tonight

in your bed

with your own hands upon yourself

gasping

flushed

and undone

“Ffffuck,” Stiles hisses out between his teeth. There is no way he’s gonna make it to tonight. He’s got a really great jerk off session going, standing there right in front of his desk at 3:30 in the afternoon, pants only pulled down the bare minimum. He’s like feeling it, he is totally ready for this, ‘makes his knees weak’ orgasm he’s coming up on. And then of course, Scotty has to burst in freaking out about supernatural crisis 3B or 6A or whatever number letter combo they’re on now.

“Come on, man!” They both yell at the same time, Scott throwing up his arms and facing the wall as Stiles fumbles to stuff himself back inside his pants. Scott feels the need to ask why. Stiles rants that it’s the privacy of his own fucking room. Scott mutters something about how Derek thinks they need info. “Since when do you listen to what Derek thinks,” Stiles says petulantly as he tosses Scott a bag of Doritos and moves to sit back at his desk. Scott eats the chips on Stiles’ bed as Stiles furiously looks up shit to the best of his ability. The moment is already forgotten. That sort of awkwardness has happened before, and will probably happen again. Which come on Scott, werewolf, use those supernatural senses for once.  After Scott is gone Stiles wonders what four times means. Also he mourns the loss of one of the greatest orgasms he never got to experience.

He finds the next one two nights later, under his pillow as he stretches out on his bed. He’s so relaxed and he’s in bed at a decent hour. Derek did not manage to piss him off when they came across each other briefly earlier in the evening and Stiles is ready for some nappy naps. When his fingers brush the edge of the crinkled bit of paper the first feeling he gets is surprise. It’s quickly followed by a quick dip of excitement in his gut. He doesn’t bother to switch any lights on. Too much effort. He reads it by the light of his phone.

I whisper your name to myself

after you’ve left

it’s fairly pathetic

but then last week

you trapped yourself inside your own hoodie

so at least I’m not alone

And Stiles knows. “Derek,” Stiles whispers furiously. He chucks the paper as hard as he can away from him. Which, it being paper, isn’t that far. It flutters down to rest on the bed beside him. That fucking asshole has been laughing at him this whole fucking time. So that’s what comes after a pattern. Epic fuckery.

Stiles sees Derek first thing the next morning; he’s having like, a pre-game huddle with the Erica-Isaac-Boyd triumvirate in the back parking lot behind the gym. “Stiles,” Derek greets him, the hint of a smile on his lips. “You are pathetic,” Stiles snarls at him. Derek’s jaw clenches and his expression turns cold and distant. Stiles whirls around and marches off in righteous fury. Stiles has enough fucking going on in his life without that kind of shit. Stiles thought, he’d thought…it doesn’t even matter what he thought. He was stupid and a dumbass for thinking it.

So naturally he finds the next poem sandwiched in between the pages of this month’s Great English Novel during 3rd period of that day. Stiles isn’t sure when or even how Derek got it in there, but it certainly wasn’t after this morning. He almost doesn’t read it, doesn’t want to give Derek the satisfaction, but he’s Stiles. He must fucking know. He can’t not.

I dreamed of you

it was warm

and bright

and we were safe

you took my hand

and my heart blazed brighter

when I woke

I pretended that it was the future

and if I am patient

that it will be

any day now

“What,” Stiles whispers. His own heart is sinking fast within his chest. His hand clenches down on the poem. “It was all real,” He realizes out loud.

“What?” Scott whispers from the seat behind him.

Stiles whips around in his seat to face him. “Cover for me,” Stiles begs.

Scott doesn’t know what’s going on, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Go,” he says.

Stiles slips from the room, so preoccupied he doesn’t notice that he doesn’t trip or smack into something once.

Derek won’t be at his apartment. Instinctively, Stiles knows this. He jumps in Roscoe and heads straight for the preserve.

The burned out husk of the Hale house looks as tragic and decimating as ever, but that feeling is especially poignant for Stiles at this moment. He gives Roscoe’s wheel one last squeeze, for luck or bravery or whatever, and steps out of the jeep. He tries to repress a shiver as he looks at the charred and broken edifice before him and fails. This had seemed so much simpler, less complicated back in 3rd period. No, Stiles can do this, he absolutely can. He leaps up what’s left of the front steps and barges through the door. “Derek,” he calls.

A few moments of silence, and then a resigned sigh. “What?” Derek asks, voice flat as he materializes out of wherever he was.

Stiles waves the hand that has not once unclenched on the poem in Derek’s general direction.

“You’re serious?” He accuses.

Derek’s stone face takes on a look of frustration. “Yes, Stiles, I’m serious.”

“I…I mean…why?”

Derek sighs like it’s obvious. “I wrote you poems Stiles.”

Stiles seizes upon a detail he has the mental facilities to deal with at this moment. “Why poems though?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m an English Major, Stiles.” Which rude because, like,

“How was I supposed to know that,” Stiles says defensively.

They stand in silence. Derek doesn’t seem inclined to word anymore today and Stiles is furiously thinking.

“You wanna,” and his left hand, the one not still grasping the poem, makes an abortive movement towards Derek, “hold hands?”

After a moment, Derek uncrosses his arms and says, “Okay.” He reaches out, and then they’re holding hands, bridging a gap between them. It’s kind of…awkward. But it’s only awkward in that Stiles suspects feelings are present kind of way, because Derek’s thumb strokes gently along the back of his hand and Stiles feels kinda like, heart blazing or whatever.

“I think of you pretty often,” Stiles admits. “Like, a lot.”

Derek swallows. “Okay.”

BONUS:

First Poem

your heartbeats are

irregular spaces

I dwell there

and refuse to meet your eyes

when you glance my way

Second Poem

you laughed

it was Tuesday

you didn’t know I was there

I have kept it

for myself; that laugh

longing

for your real

and intransigent

presence