#TEAM RECKONING | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lady-merian · 5 days ago

Text

Seeds of Community

finally finished my 2023 @inklings-challenge story! Once again a huge thank you to @valiantarcher, who has read this almost as many times as I have and caught many errors for me. Posting the whole thing from the beginning rather than reblogging the old post with the new parts added on.

>>——>

The knock at the door gave Rose Bryar a start at first, but halfway to the door she realized it was probably a neighbor who had missed her family at the kirk services yesterday and was coming to check on them.

It was not.

Or not a near neighbor, at any rate, considering the young man on the doorstep only made it to the services once in a while. She knew his name, and that he had no family nearby, and lived some distance away, and very little else.

“Erran,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice her disappointment. If it’d been a concerned neighbor offering help she could’ve used it, if only to set her husband’s mind at ease that the work would get done. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“I thought, actually, that there might be something I could do for you.” Erran held up the bulging bag he carried. “I have so many apples on my trees right now, I’d thought to bring some to you all when I saw you on Sunday, and then I asked when you weren’t there and heard your husband had taken ill. I hope it’s nothing too serious.”

There was some trepidation in his bearing that hadn’t been there a moment before. He shifted awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

Two surprises in one day. Whether because of the distance he lived that kept him from attending kirk services every week, or some other reason, he had not gained many ties to the rest of the community. Though he was a few years older than Alastair, her oldest, he had not seemed to have much in common with him, let alone any of her younger children. That he would take the time to visit when he hardly knew them was one thing, that he had cared enough to save some apples for them rather than sell his surplus was another.

“Ill? Well, yes, in a matter of speaking.” She beckoned him in out of the chill wind. Erran’s tunic was looking a mite threadbare. Her oldest boys were out at their chores, but she’d seen to it they were well bundled before they set out.

“He was mending the thatch and took a hard fall. The broken leg would be hard enough, but he isn’t comfortable getting about on crutches just yet, the bruising was that bad.”

Erran entered. If he had been afraid of the illness spreading it ought not to trouble him any longer, but a glance at him showed the same hesitancy. He had to duck under the herbs that hung from the roof. Perhaps she’d misjudged and he was simply nervous and slow to get acquainted with his neighbors.

But then he smiled and waved to the twins, to Lachlan, to Shona, and to Isie who was minding the youngest while she carded wool for Shona to spin.

“They said at kirk that at least the harvest was well in, but I hear there’s never really a good time for a croft to be short handed. I’ve little experience but if there’s anything I can do…” He trailed off.

She was, absurdly, filled with the urge to ease his mind. She took the offered apples.

“If it’s help you’re offering, I’d be most grateful, but it’s my husband you’ll have to talk to.” She smiled to show her appreciation. “He’s mending, but he’s anxious to be up and about and seeing to things himself. It’s been a hard thing to dissuade him. He knows what needs done and what Alastair and Tann can handle. Shona?”

Ten year old Shona looked up, her spindle still whirling and pulling the cloud of wool she held into thread.

“Will you check and see if your da is up to a visitor?”

Shona gave a nod, and without a break in the rhythm of her spinning she darted into the other room.

Meanwhile the sight of the visitor and his bag had caused some minor disruption among the story Isie was telling Lachlan and the twins as she carded. No longer would two year old Caden be content to sit and hear about the brownie who left because he thought the farmwife had insulted him. (Rose was surprised he had lasted this long.) Now he clamored over asking to see what was in the bag.

“Is it all right if I give them an apple, or will that spoil their appetite?” Erran gave a nod towards the pot she had on the hearth.

“I like apples,” Caden solemnly declared, reaching for the bag. “They won’t spoil anything.”

“How about we start with one to split with your sisters now?” Rose said, right as Shona returned.

“Da’s awake, and says aye, he’d be pleased,” she said.

Rose selected an apple and handed it to Shona to split amongst them. Alastair and Tann could split one later, and she had a plan for the rest that she thought they would all like.

Erran held back a pace from her as she led the way in to where her husband Iwan lay, propped up on every pillow they owned to cushion his bruises and ease his breathing. He’d struck his side against the edge of the roof as he fell, and though nothing was broken there the bruises were an added hardship.

But he had a smile ready for Erran when they entered.

“Hello… Erran, isn’t it? Shona tells me you brought a treat for us,” he said.

Erran ducked his head, though there were no low-hanging herbs above him now. “Only some apples. I also came to see if there was anything I could do to help.”

Rose hovered in the doorway as Iwan gestured to the stool beside the bed. “Have you ever thatched a roof, by chance?”

Erran sat. “I’m afraid not. I do have a decent head for heights and good sense of balance though. I’m willing to learn if there’s someone who can show me.”

Iwan looked up at Rose. “Alastair? Just to show him how?”

Rose relented. Alastair knew what to do, but after what had happened to Iwan she had been wary of letting any of them up there. But it was true, the task needed done, and if Alastair need not be up for long she could rest easier.

“My oldest two are capable lads,” Iwan continued once she agreed, “but altogether ‘tis a lot on their shoulders. There’s also a large portion of the pasture fence needs mending. Normally I’d be seeing to that with them. The lads would be making sure the shed is ready to shelter the sheep and trimming their hoofs, keeping a watch for foot rot after this damp weather turned their pasture muddy.”

Aye, this damp weather, and Erran in need of warmer clothing if he was to be out in it. Rose left them to their discussion on what else Erran might help with. She had the beginnings of a new task nudging her to action.

>>——>

The sun was high overhead, and unfortunately so were Alastair and Erran. Alastair should be climbing down any moment now, but he was inspecting Erran’s progress so far and looked to be enjoying himself.

Twelve year old Tann fidgeted beside Rose as she looked on in concern. She had no head for heights herself, but it mightn’t have been so hard on her if it hadn’t been for the recent accident, and her husband the experienced one among them. Tann seemed envious of his brother, but one son and a kind neighbor was enough to be up so high for now. Alastair had sense enough to be cautious, but so had Iwan. It was a pity the part that needed mending was at the very top. She hated to think what would happen if Erran also slipped, let alone Alastair.

She refrained from calling Alastair to hurry down and instead sized up Erran, comparing his size to her son since she couldn’t very well have asked Iwan to stand up beside him and she needed to know before she could proceed with her plan. Erran was taller, which had been evident from the first, but seeing them together it was also evident that he was broader in the shoulder. She remembered thinking of him as a lanky youth when he’d first made an appearance in town, all arms and legs, but he had grown significantly since then.

Erran noticed her scrutiny and gave a little wave, then said something to Alastair, who came down as carefully as even she could wish.

“He’s doing all right,” Alastair said. His cheeks were reddened from the cold wind up there, but when she remarked on it he said it was warm enough up there in the sun.

She’d been waiting for him to come down before she went indoors to finish getting the noon meal ready with an easy mind, but hesitated when she saw Erran still up near the peak.

“Does he know he’s welcome to come down and eat with us,” she asked. “He didn’t come prepared, and surely he’s getting hungry.”

Alastair looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. “I didn’t think to tell him.”

“Neither did I.” Erran had gone straight from visiting Iwan to the pasture to see Alastair about learning how to mend the thatch. They’d had a busy morning.

“Can I climb up just to tell him,” Tann begged.

Rose ruffled his hair. “You may go halfway up the ladder, I’m sure he will be able to hear you from there without you having to shout.”

He mumbled that it was not the same, he wanted to be at the top, like Alastair, but dutifully went no further than that. Even so the ladder wobbled under his exuberance as he climbed.

Erran noticed its movement with a start and reached out to steady it as Tann called up the invitation. Erran called something back to Tann, who said something back before he bounded back to them.

“He says if it’s no trouble. I told him of course it wouldn’t be.”

>>——>

Alastair and Tann went in to report the day’s progress to Iwan. His mind was already greatly eased with the prospect of help, even if it was inexperienced help, and he would be eager for news of how it was coming.

Erran’s awkwardness returned as he came in the house, and she thought at first that he would just as soon have taken his meal out on the roof, but it wasn’t long before he relaxed again. Bless him, he even wanted to help, and contributed by entertaining Lachlan and the twins and keeping them from running underfoot as Isie set the table and Shona sliced the bread. Erran taught Lachlan a silly rhyme about a bunny, with hand motions so simple that soon even Caden and Lissie could join in. It had them in fits of giggles and kept them for a time from running around in the house like wild things. She’d have to remember it.

It made her wonder about his family. He had to have had one once. What had brought him to their town all alone and so young? At the time he could not have been older than Alastair was now and had seemed even younger. Too young to be without family. Mayhap it wasn’t shyness that had kept him from developing ties in the community, but grief.

This occupied her mind while she portioned mutton and carrots onto everyone’s dishes and cut the youngest ones’ meat into bite sized pieces for them.

“Is Master Bryar going to be able to come in to eat, or does he take his meals in there?”

Erran’s voice behind her startled her. Goodness, his tread was light. He moved as quietly as the cat.

There was a bashful grin on his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She waved him off with a smile. “It’s all right. It is a lot of trouble for him to come to the table, so the older ones have taken turns eating with him, and keeping him company. It’s a hard thing to eat alone when you’re used to being surrounded by family.“

He nodded. Not a flicker of anything showed on his face to confirm or deny her guess, but it seemed he understood.

“I asked because I thought I might bring his in for you and sit with him a while,” he said, “but they should have their time with him. That would be something special, I’m sure.”

It was a treat for them, and she nearly said so aloud, but on the other hand, Iwan would probably enjoy getting to know Erran better as much as she would. And it would be a long recovery. There would be time for many such visits for the children.

“I think he would welcome a visit from you as well,” she said. “Tell you what, it would be Isie’s turn, but I know she won’t mind waiting just a little longer for her turn.,” she lowered her voice so it wouldn’t carry to the table where the little ones were now sitting, “There’ll be a surprise after we eat. Isie can bring that in to him and she might enjoy that more because she helped me make it. Isie?”

Isie readily agreed to the switch, and so while Rose wouldn’t get to engage Erran in conversation and learn more about him during the meal, her husband surely would, and then there would be the apple tart she had made.

>>——>

The only thing that didn’t go according to plan was that the children were so excited about the apple tart she’d made that all the talk around the table centered on apples.

“I swallowed a seed,” Lachlan said. “Will it grow an apple tree inside me? Shona said it might.”

“I never did,” Shona protested. “I said that’s what Alastair told me when I was little, but apple trees need dirt and sun and rain to grow so it couldn’t work.“

Alastair snickered, and Rose shushed him.

“They do, Love, so no, don’t fret, there’ll be no apple tree growing inside you.”

“Caden ate the dirt outside,” Lachlan said. “I saw him. And Isie made him wash his face and drink some water. All he needs is sun. Could he grow a tree inside him if he stood outside in the sun? He ate all his seeds.

“It still wouldn’t work that way,” Rose said.

“Why?”

“You’d have to find a way to eat some sunshine to make it work,” Erran said. “And more dirt. Every day. That’s what my n— that’s what my family told me.”

There would have been the opening she was waiting for, but Lachlan hardly stopped chattering for her to ask.

“I saved most of mine ‘cause I didna want it to grow inside me. I want one outside. Can we grow one? Please?”

“We’ll ask your da,” she said. “I don’t know where we’d plant it, but he might have an idea. It would take a long time before it grows enough to give apples, mind you.”

All too soon, and before she could work the conversation back around to Erran’s family, the tart was gone, and the boys went back out to work. Ah, well. She would ask Iwan what they had talked of.

>>——>

Isie’s pile of carded wool varied, depending on whether Shona was spinning or plying. Lissie was too young yet to be taught how to card or spin, but she could and did chase after stray balls of yarn if they got away from Shona as she plied. She lined them up in neat rows and she and Caden practiced counting with Shona’s help. Caden could also chase after the stray balls but he would throw them wildly as often as return them, so that had to be discouraged—at least until his aim was better.

Both carding combs and spindle were abandoned for a time when, after they ate and the boys went back out to work, Rose let her girls in on this new project. It wouldn’t be finished fast enough if only one worked on it, but if the three of them pitched in it could be done before long. Nothing very fine, just a serviceable tunic out of a sturdier wool. The linen he was wearing now was terribly frayed at the cuffs and had small holes at the elbows that would grow into bigger ones if left unpatched, besides not being warm enough for this weather.

She cut, using one of Iwan’s tunics as a guideline, and the girls began the seaming, taking turns at first the shoulders, then setting in the sleeves. She finished the bottom of the sleeves as they worked on the shoulders, and hemmed the bottom as they set in the sleeves. It left them all room enough to work. For a time, Lachlan, Caden, and Lissie were convinced to sit quietly and listen to more stories from Isie, Shona, or herself while they sewed. Sometimes they sang. The time passed swiftly.

The thatching was not finished that day. It was growing dark before the hems were complete, and Erran took his leave shortly before sunset, promising to return the next day, and the next, if it took that long.

Rose paused her hemming mid stitch as she realized she had not given a thought to an important detail..

“Oh, but where will you stay?” It was sure he couldn’t make it home that day. If there was one thing she did know about him it was that he lived too far from town to make the trip in a day. “If you need—“

“‘I’ve a friend in town who’s asked me to,” he assured her with a wry smile. “He often does, so that I won’t have to leave town before the evening services or travel at night. This morning he asked if I could stay longer and I told him I’d see about it. I can make it back there before dark if I leave now.”

He parted from them with a wave of his hand before she had time to ask after his friend or thank him.

Other neighbors had sent well wishes, and some had likewise visited and even brought gifts of food, but all had their own homes and families and tasks needing done and she’d understood. She had children old enough to take on some extra responsibilities, so there was no question that they could get by. Which might be why Erran’s offer of help felt like such a gift, despite his lack of experience. He could have looked at what they had and assumed that he wouldn’t be needed or wanted. He could have decided that his own responsibilities (whatever they might be, for surely he had to make his living somehow,) were more important, and yet here he was intending to see these tasks through.

Working on the tunic till it was time to start supper brought them a fair ways toward completion. Shona and Isie each finished setting in a sleeve while Rose finished the bottom, then once the sleeves were set in place, the long sleeve seams were begun. They often stopped to compare progress and make sure neither of them strayed off course. If Shona had a slight advantage in age and experience over Isie, it showed more in speed than in neatness, and at the end of the day when Rose compared the sleeves they were both even.

>>——>

The next morning, earlier than before, Erran was back and the work on the thatch resumed. He’d arrived with red cheeks, twinkling eyes, and three more apples for the children to share but his hands had been very cold.

She did raise her brows at the apples though. Where had these come from?

“Wynn Fullrede sends his greetings and says to say thank you for feeding me yesterday,” Erran said, rather sheepishly in response to her look.

Rose smiled. Wynn must be the friend he had stayed with. A good man by all she knew of him, and a good teacher…and one who knew what it took to feed a growing lad. “You can return my thanks to him for these and for lending your help to me when I’m sure he’s missing his student.”

Erran lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, but smiled. It was enough of a confirmation of her guess, though he said only that he would pass along her thanks and no more before heading out to work.

>>——>

The tunic was coming along, but the ordinary interruptions of everyday life delayed them. Toddlers to keep out of mischief, fires to keep going, food to prepare. Those sorts of things. Even so, with at least one pair of hands always working away at them, the side seams were complete before noon.

As it happened, Iwan hadn’t learned much from his conversation with Erran the day before. They’d talked mostly of the work, as she might have known they would. She pondered over what she’d gleaned from Iwan as she prepared food for the day: only a confirmation that Erran was not from the area, and that he had lived in a city before coming to live somewhere away west of town. An odd change to make, especially coming alone as he had. What sort of work had he done? Had he been apprenticed in a trade? Iwan did not seem concerned about his lack of experience. He was willing to learn and the fact that he’d offered his services at all seemed to speak well of him, and that was enough for Iwan.

“The lads know enough to teach him,” Iwan had said. “T’will be good for them as well. Don’t fret.”

It wasn’t that she disagreed, but something more ought to be known about him.

Erran indeed had a good head for heights, and though she could not watch him work for long without a shiver, Alastair assured her that from what he’d seen Erran’s sense of balance was fine and he’d taken to the work quickly.

In fact before the food was ready, Alastair popped in to say Erran was finished with the roof and they were ready to tackle the fence. As Alastair went to tell Iwan, Rose breathed out a sigh of relief and sent up a quick prayer of thanks for the job being finished without further mishap. She had seen Alastair wobble up there on the roof once, and once was enough.

She had hoped to be finished with his tunic before this, but it was better that the roof hadn’t taken as long as she had expected. Now she needn’t worry about another fall.

“Don’t start on the fence straight away,” she told Alastair as he headed back out. “All of you should wash up, lunch is nearly ready.”

>>——>

She learned little more from Erran that day in conversation during their meal. He was good at keeping a conversation going with her children, as well as with her, but so little of it told her anything about himself or his life before coming to the area.

The more she observed him, the more his shyness seemed an unnatural thing to him.

Lachlan had been deemed just old enough to be careful and take his meal in with his Da, though not of course to take in the tray himself. Erran had volunteered for that, and so when they finished at the table and while the dishes were being cleared away, Erran also retrieved the tray and brought it to her.

“Master Bryar says to say it was delicious. Lachlan seconds it.”

“Thank you,” she said. She was surprised he’d thought of retrieving it for her. She’d thought he would be on his way back out with Alastair and Tann…but no, they were helping the girls clean the table.

“Thank you again for the meal,” he returned with a crooked smile. “My cooking doesn’t turn out nearly so well, and,” he lowered his voice just a little, “Wynn’s is better than mine, but he doesn’t have your knack either, so it’s not just a matter of experience.”

“Some of it is, I’m sure,” she laughed. “You do enough of it every day for growing children and it begins to come easier to you. How long have you cooked for yourself?”

He thought for a moment before answering. “It’s been a few years since I was doing all of it. A friend of mine stayed with me for a bit when I first moved near here. He was somewhere between you and Wynn in skill, and took more than his share of the turn cooking. He certainly enjoyed it more than I did.”

He sounded a little wistful as he spoke. If she thought about it she ought to remember anyone else who had shown up at the same times Erran had, but another line of thought seemed more pressing at the moment and she had little time before he would be out again with her sons. What had brought him to Wettham, if not family?

“Erran, before you go back out, may I ask you something?”

She felt a change in his whole bearing as soon as the words left her mouth, though his expression seemed as open as before. “If you like.” He took hold of the cleaning rag she’d set down and scrubbed at a spot on her table.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but until yesterday I would have guessed you preferred to keep to yourself, and yet after yesterday and today I think that’s not true, even if you do live away out there alone.”

She halted before getting to the question. The last thing she wanted to do was make him close himself off. What right had she to push?

“That is not really a question,” he said. There was enough of a smile to his voice to encourage her.

“You’ve not once mentioned a family. Did something happen to them?

He let out a light breath, almost a laugh with that slight twist of his lips, but not quite; the wistful expression was back. “I should have known you’d be wondering about that. Aye, I did lose my father right before coming to Wettham. Wynn was a friend of his, and helped get me back on my feet along with another of his friends. That’s the one who stayed with me.”

“I’m so sorry.” She instinctively put her hand on his arm. “And your poor mother?”

He twisted the rag in his hands. “Fever. Years ago… I was a child.”

To her eyes he was little more than a child now. This grief was older, but it was still a grief. To have lost so much and him scarcely older than Alastair…

Was this why he had come so readily to help when he heard about the accident?

Erran glanced up and his eyes were kind. “You were right about me though, I’ve kept to myself long enough. Far longer than is good for me. I’ve—“

“Erran!” Tann waved from the door. “We’re ready.”

She tried not to be disappointed at the interruption and took the rag from his hands. “Well you’re welcome here anytime, if that helps at all.”

His smile was quick.“It truly does. You have no idea how much.”

>——->

With renewed effort, keeping in mind the chill in the air and wondering how in the world Erran had managed thus far on his own, Rose threw herself into finishing the tunic.

She reinforced the neck opening with extra stitching on the border. Her boys were too often rough on that to leave it a weak point. And it might as well look nice.

Shona and Isie resumed their carding and spinning. They all alternated mediating arguments between the youngest three. It didn’t help that today Caden wanted more than anything to be out of doors with Alastair and Tann, whom he was convinced were having fun without him. Rose had decided they had enough to do out there without minding Caden and ensuring he stayed warm enough. There would be time for that when he didn’t need so much minding to keep out of trouble.

The time flew by, and as the light outside began to dwindle Erran took his leave for the day.

She was prepared for his leaving this time. She handed him a hot pasty. “For the road home. T’will keep your hands warm until the inside is cool enough to eat.”

>>——>

The low-hanging grey clouds the next morning showed their respite from the wet weather was nearing its end and it was nearly time to bring in the sheep to their sheds and the smaller pasture where they could get into shelter themselves whenever they liked.

Between the morning chores and breaking their fast they wasted no time since the weather did not appear willing to tarry long for them.

Whatever sense of urgency was in the air, it had spread to Erran as well, as he arrived shortly after the boys left for the field. Rose wondered at how early he must have started off. Surely before it was light out.

“Are you hungry?” She asked. “There’s plenty here if you like.”

“Thank you, but I had something on the way here.”

She eyed him, but before she could protest that he’d be working hard and that “something” didn’t necessarily mean it would hold him till lunch, he had gone to catch up to Alastair and Tann.

She came to fetch Iwan’s breakfast tray from him and saw a twinkle in his eyes. “Rose, when did we get an eighth child?”

“Oh, about two days ago. Don’t tell me you just now noticed?” She raised her eyebrows and he chuckled. “Not at all, my Rose, nor am I surprised.”

She sat with Iwan for a while as she sewed, sometimes in conversation with him and sometimes in companionable silence until she had to begin preparing the noon meal.

>>——>

While Alastair, Tann, and Erran went back out to the pasture after lunch, Shona bundled up Lachlan and the twins and brought them out with her so they could play while she gathered more willow bark for Iwan’s tea. They came in with rosy-cheeks and high spirits. Rose nearly sent them back out to run around and spend that energy out of doors in case Iwan was ready to sleep again, but Iwan called out to them to come and sit by him and tell all about the games they had played outside.

“Is coooold outside, da.” Lissie could be just heard, plopping down to sit on the bedside rug.

“It isn’t that cold,” Lachlan said, with all the superiority of an older brother; older by three whole years, who could better tolerate the cold. “But it’s getting wet. And windy too.”

Rose looked out in alarm. It was only a little drizzle, not loud enough to be heard in the house, but she thought of the cold and the wet and the wind all combining, and the last thing they needed was for the boys to become ill, and then there was Erran in his thin, worn tunic.

“Tis just beginning,” Shona confirmed for her as she prepared the bark for tea. “I imagine they’ll be in soon. Or would you like me to fetch them in early?”

Rose shook her head. “If it gets worse and they’re still not back, I’ll go. For now I’ll trust their judgment on how close they are.” She didn’t yet know the measure of Erran in this respect, but Alastair had sense enough to know when to push forward and when to stop.

She set a pot of broth to heat, and hurriedly put in the last reinforcement stitches on Erran’s tunic.

She clipped the last thread with relief as well as satisfaction. Though it was too late for it to have given him more comfort in the rain, at least he could warm up afterward.

There was still no sign of them and the weather took a turn for the worse. Just as she decided she should go out to them the boys came in, soaking wet, having made sure the animals were secure in their shelters. They had been close, but not close enough and the fence was not yet finished.

Alastair and Tann she sent to change out of their wet things straightaway, but she held Erran back a moment rather than send him along with the bundle she had already collected. By rights Shona and Isie should be there to see his reaction.

“I couldn’t help the trousers without borrowing from Iwan’s. They’re old and worn, but they’re dry. As for the tunic, well we had that sorted already.

She presented him with the folded tunic. “From all of us, though t’was Shona, Isie and I that did the sewing. I only just finished it.”

Erran held it up, looking intently at it. She could not tell what he thought. She waited with hands folded for him to say something, but though his mouth was open he was speechless.

“Will it fit you, do you think?” She hesitated then added, “I cut it loose for comfort but if it is too large we can fix it, Shona, Isie and I.”

Erran brushed his finger over the stitching. “You three made this for me?” He looked round at their grinning faces, his astonishment plain.

“Aye, we did. Go try it on and tell us if it will do.”

“Oh, but you didn’t have to do— I didn’t—“

“T’was not a question of us needing to,” she said.

“But we didn’t even finish the fence. If I’d known more about carpentry I’d have been more help to you., but—”

“But someone who knows more about carpentry hasn’t come. You have. Go on and ask Iwan. He’ll tell you just how much of a load that has lifted off his mind. Besides, though this may have started out as a token of our thanks, tis now just a gift.”

His gaze was drawn back to the stitching around the neck. “It’s very fine.”

“Thank you. Now go on with you!” She shooed him to follow Alastair and Tann. “Put it on and get out of your wet things.”

He shook his head and laughed softly. “All right, I won’t argue. Thank you.”

Tann emerged first with his wet things to dry by the fire, then Alastair, and very soon after Erran also returned, looking pleased with his new tunic. It was a good fit. Loose, as she’d intended, but not over-large.

She gave them the warm broth to ward off a chill and they held a council.

There was no question of them finishing the fence until it let up, and it showed no sign of letting up before dusk.

Likewise there was no question about sending Erran home in this weather, and even if it let up before dusk he wouldn’t make it back to town that night. No, it was better for all concerned if he stayed here where there would be a roof over his head. Even he had to see that an evening tramping out in that weather was unwise, though she had to dissuade him from camping in the sheep sheds with the flock rather than staying in the house. He had some idea about it being a bother.

“I’ll make you up a comfortable bed by the hearth,” she insisted. “Tis no trouble.”

Erran finally relented to that on the condition that she let him help in some way.

He could keep the little ones from being underfoot, clean up for her after supper, that sort of thing. Or anything else she might think of.

To that she agreed readily. Less because there was anything she could think of that needed done, and more once again to put him at ease. She supposed in his place she would feel awkward about being an unexpected guest. The children had been in and out of the room where Iwan rested, as he’d been sleeping less and needing distractions more. She could tell he was awake now. Alastair had probably told him of the state they’d left the fence in as he passed on his way up to the loft he and Tann shared.

“Why don’t you have a visit with Iwan?”

It would, she thought, do them both some good.

>>——>

For supper they all crowded in. It would end up with more cleaning, this picnic indoors, but it had been too long since they had all eaten together.

And it would have been worth it for the look of utter contentment on Iwan’s face alone, but it was that good for all of them. The meal had a celebratory feeling. True, there was work yet to be done, and the boys were all disappointed that they hadn’t had a little more time to work on the fence, but they were dry now indoors with a freshly mended roof and laughing together.

It was Caden who begged a story. He seemed to have been guessing at the approach of bedtime and was greatly interested in delaying it, and decided a story would be a fine way.

Erran spoke up before Rose could think of one. “What was the one with the brownie that Isie was telling the first day I came? I only heard a little and I don’t remember ever hearing that one.”

“The one with the farmwife who insulted the brownie?” Isie asked.

“Did she? Last I heard, she was pleased with him.”

“She was, ‘twas an accident. Do you know what to leave out for a Brownie?”

“Bannocks,” Caden said before Erran could reply, and at the same time that Lissie added “Cream!”

Erran grinned. “Bannocks and cream.”

“Well there are things you must never leave out for a brownie,” Isie said solemnly. “You must never leave money, as you can’t pay a brownie for their work as if they were a hired servant. They take great offense.”

“Ahh,” Erran said. “So she left money for him instead of bannocks and cream?”

“Oh no. She made him a suit of clothes, but to this brownie at least that was just as bad as money! See, at great houses where they have servants, part of their pay comes as nice clothes to wear because everything must look fine in a great house, including the servants. And the farmwife knew none of that, but this brownie did.”

Erran coughed. He seemed to have gotten something stuck in his throat, so Isie paused until he took a sip from his mug and asked her to continue.

“Well that’s almost all of it. The brownie found the nice little suit and thought not only that the farmwife was putting on airs, but that she was considering him her servant and that he would never abide.

“Do the voice!” Caden said with a giggle. “Do it, Isie!”

Isie obliged with a twinkle in her eye and her high voice that she gave a cantankerous twist.

“Give brownie coat, give brownie shirt, ye’ll get no more o' brownie's work!”

Before the giggles had quite died down she resumed her storytelling voice. “And then he took himself off and ne’er returned again.”

“Never?”

“At least not that I ever heard,” Isie added in a normal tone. “It is a sad ending, don’t you think? But there. Brownies are a strange folk, and easily offended.”

Lachlan cocked his head, a furrow in his brow. “Erran, you’re not a brownie, are you?”

Erran blinked. Rose could almost see him trying to trace Lachlan’s train of thought to see where the idea had come from, though it was obvious to her, and had to suppress a laugh. Of all the stories to have told that night.

“I’m rather tall for one, don’t you think?”

Lachlan shrugged. “I dunno. I never saw one.”

“Of course he isn’t one, silly,” Shona said with a laugh. “A brownie would be smaller than the twins.”

“He came and helped,” Caden put in.

“Brownies have magic, maybe he could make himself big!” Lissie stretched up her hands as high as she could reach.

Erran had to have the input of the twins translated for him, as they’d spoken so quickly and their words ran together and he wasn’t so used to that yet. But he smiled and said “No, I’m no brownie. I’ve never seen one myself either but I do hear they’re very wee creatures indeed, and they don’t change their sizes like others of the fair folk can seem to when they’ve a mind.”

“That’s good. I wouldn’t want you to leave and never come back now that mama’s made you something to wear.”

Erran’s mouth dropped open in a startled Oh before he gave soft laugh and shake of his head. “Don’t worry. I won’t be able to stay long but I’ll visit. You can be sure of that.”

-Epilogue-

Late spring saw Iwan back on his feet with only a slight limp when he wore himself out. Which, knowing him, would continue to be often. One fine Sunday though they walked to the kirk and when Caden got tired Iwan carried him, as had once been their usual arrangement, and he only needed his walking stick towards the end of the journey.

Erran was there by the door, greeting one of their neighbors. His eyes lit on them and he waved. A moment later he turned back and was on his way to greet them. The children met him halfway, even shy little Lissie.

“Erran!”

“You should see our apple tree!”

“It’s thiiiis big now!”

It certainly wasn’t as big as all that, but it had survived the winter and the sprout seemed hardy.

“You should come see it!”

Erran laughed, then crouched down to be on their level.

“I’m glad it’s growing so well. I’d love to come and see it.”

“Da says it’ll take a while to bear fruit,” Tann put in. “And when it does they might taste different from yours even though they came from your seeds. When we get ours you’ll have to come and taste some.”

“Hear, hear.” Iwan called out. He was leaning on his walking stick a little now. Erran stood and offered a hand to help him at the steps.

To Rose it mattered less what came of the tree in the end, whether the apples were good for eating, or for cider, or if it bore nothing at all; she was at this moment giving thanks to the Almighty for one seed that had already borne fruit.

#inklingschallenge #team Tolkien #genre: secondary world #Theme: food #theme: visit the sick #Theme: clothing #story: finished #Inklingtober #Erandir’s Reckoning #Erandir #For those of you who’ve read the chapters I have you may remember that many people only know Erandir as Erran #(Not a very creative alias but it is pronounced differently from Erandir and yet similar to his own name)#Added the tags from the first part here

13 notes · View notes

callmearcturus · 2 days ago

Note

⌚ 🙏🏻🥺

"Hang on," Grace said, "I'm thinking. Hang on. So. You barely even *liked* me, and you saved me from that rat bastard Gabriel, pulled me out of a wrecked car, played human shield to protect me from that lunatic French girl, drove us around while handcuffed, then I almost let a train hit you and you still, you know. Saved me and all that sappy shit, all while you barely even liked me--" "I liked you well enough," Ethan said. "Uh-huh, sure." She points to Benji. "So what would you do for him?"

lmao okay okay this was one punct and i were kicking around that got surprisingly far but now this version needs a full rewrite bc we actually want to make the cast of characters line up with what the Final Reckoning trailer revealed would be Team The Best Team. so this is the old version with luther and grace.

the concept is that Ethan and Benji have a massive expository row because the team just had a chance at Gabriel and Ethan fucked it to go save Benji (even though Grace was Right There and ready to assist, she is badly stung by this) and it spirals into this back and forth with flashbacks and competing interpretation of event between Ethan and Benji while Grace basically is eating popcorn

also we really wanted to harness the simmering, barely suppressed anger that Ethan has through all of Dead Reckoning. rereading it all, it's really good. we're gonna have to figure out a grace-paris-degas redux but @interropunct bro i just reread the document and it's SO fun, ethan and benji are both SO FUCKING MEAN in this fic

anyway, here is a large chunk bc a lot is gonna be rewritten. won't provide any more excerpts of this fic bc this is a chunky chunk:

Sitting on the edge of the table, Grace actually pressed her fingers to her cheeks, reflecting and magnifying Benji. "Oh, that's precious. And so long ago! How long, exactly? Wait, and you've been--" Dropping the cute expression quickly, she made a gesture with her fingers, suggestive, "-- since all the way back in the stone age?"

"You're not that much younger than us," Luther chided her. He was sitting in one of the less rickety chairs, pointedly listening without looking at either Ethan or Benji. That meant he was really thinking about this, taking it in as new information.

Luther did not need even more information about Ethan. If there was an upper threshold for knowing a person, Luther had hit that for Ethan back in the early 2000s.

"You don't know my age, don't pretend like you do," Grace shot back. "I've worked very hard to ensure that." She pointed at Benji. "Go on, about the shagging?"

Benji, unaware of Ethan's new paranoia, seemed happy enough to oblige. "We--ell, no, not precisely? We had a few run-ins around the IMF HQ."

"We have an HQ?" Grace asked, pouting. "I thought it was this big decentralized thing."

"Oh, now it is, yes. Thank god for that, the old headquarters were this nightmare of glass walls everywhere you went. The least clandestine building you could imagine for an intelligence group." He flapped a hand through the air dismissively. "Trying to get a lick of privacy there was impossible, so eventually I started meeting Ethan back at my place... a couple of times?"

Unable to strangle the thing in him that had to be accurate with numbers at all times, Ethan supplied, "It was three times. At least, that year we... it was thrice, before the other times."

Luther barely moved at all, but suddenly his eyes were fixed on Ethan.

Discretion was the better part of valor; Ethan looked away, scuffing the toe of his boots against the dusty floor, examining the shape of his footprints.

"Sure, thrice, sounds about right," Benji agreed. "It was just some fooling around before he met... someone." He moved his shoulders in a carefully smooth, casual shrug. "And that was about as serious as cardiac arrest, so that put an end to it. Amicably, of course, I wasn't under any, you know." Another shrug, this one the exact same movement, a scripted motion Benji forgot to space out. "Misconceptions."

The back of Ethan's teeth twinged. He made himself unclench his jaw, wondering if Benji's bullshit was as obvious to everyone or if Ethan had just become an unwilling scholar in all of the tics and tactics of Benji Dunn.

He didn't get to gauge that because Grace was looking at him now, her brow furrowed like she was mentally recasting him as a younger man. "Hm. Well, fair enough, you may be onto something here. I mean, if it was just a bit of rough fun back twenty-thirty-whatever years ago a handful of times. That shouldn't still be a factor unless one or both of you are super weird about it."

Benji and Ethan looked at each other simultaneously, like the slack in a rope suddenly pulling out and slamming their gazes into each other.

Benji had the decency to look abashed, his teeth pressing down on his lower lip.

When he didn't answer Grace's implicit question, Ethan crossed the room to stand by her, dragging Benji's gaze with him. Popping one hip up, Ethan rested his weight on the table next to her and folded his arms.

Benji pursed his lips. Ethan lifted his eyebrows.

Grace, watching this exchanged, grinned and looked back at Benji.

The color in Benji's face darkened, his neck flushing, his ears going pink. "I-- I didn't say that, I mean, he-- we-- there was the time after he got out of prison."

"Which one?" Ethan asked innocently.

Benji glared back at him. "You know which one."

===

It's pure coincidence that Benji's the one who gets the call. He's rarely been back in the States since passing his field exam, which he's been told is normal for IMF agents. The organization might be technically American, but sometimes that's easy to forget. There's a lot less jingoistic ooh-rah attitude than Benji's experienced when he's been to Quantico and god forbid fucking Langley. It suits him well enough as a former Briton since he's never been able to work up a sense of patriotism for either of his homelands.

Point being: it's luck that he's the one who gets the call. With more than a little banked amusement, Benji steals the first car he sees that looks like it's more than a V6 and races across the desert at speeds that would conservatively get him fined an imperial fuckton of money but more likely would get him arrested.

Benji has known for most of his life that it's only illegal if they can catch you.

An hour and change of fast but uneventful driving later, Benji's phone pings, informing him he's approaching the extraction point. Taking his foot off the gas, the car has plenty of momentum to coast the rest of the way there.

'There' is a spot in the middle of nowhere on US-95 under a spotless blue sky. Pulled off to the side of the road is a rust-red Camaro with the hood propped open. It's late enough in the day that the asphalt ripples like river water, but the sun has at least fallen enough to cast a shadow.

Sitting in the narrow shadow of the car with his arms draped over his knees and his shirt draped over his head and shoulders, is one Ethan Hunt. As Benji closes in, he can see the subtle shift of Ethan's head as he tilts it just enough to look over and examine the approaching vehicle.

Something must give Benji away, because before he's got the car in park, Ethan springs up, shaking his head to knock the shirt off. He strolls out into the road enough for Benji to glide to a stop next to him.

Rolling the window down, Benji is granted a shockingly unguarded look as the blast of air conditioning rushes out the window and ruffles through Ethan's hair. With a sigh of vivid relief, Ethan leans his arms on the car, soaking in the cool artificial breeze.

Leaning into an expensive car window in a singlet and a pair of dark blue jeans, he strikes a very specific image, and Benji can't help himself. "Going my way, doll?"

Ethan smiles, quick and bright, but the second he spots the bottles of water in the cup holders, he reaches out a hand in silent by clear demand. Passing one over, Benji watches Ethan crack the seal on the cap and proceed to knock back two-thirds of the water, his throat working swallow after swallow with mechanical efficiency.

The last third he pours over his own head, dousing his hair and skin with a sigh. "Okay. Thank you."

Putting the car into park, Benji slides out. "What the hell did you do, run out of fuel in the middle of the desert?"

"Mechanical failure," Ethan says, beckoning as he walks over to the popped hood. The back of his hand rubs the rivulets of water from his face, leaving dark smudges behind. The dampness makes the tips of his hair curl, the length notably shorter than when they were in Russia-then-Dubai-then-Mumbai.

The sun is still brutal. Sliding his light jacket off, Benji holds it up, blocking the light a bit and shading Ethan. With his shoulders and neck exposed like that, Ethan's lucky he's not already burnt like a slice of white bread left in the toaster.

Ethan glances over at Benji, eyebrows lifted. "What?" Benji said. "I don't know anything about cars."

"Really?"

"I know how to disable any tracking on a vehicle, how to hotwire the ignition, how to parallel park, and how to crack the remote start encryption. Anything beyond that, forget it."

That earns him a grin, the dark streak curving with Ethan's skin. "Well, one of the coolant hoses cracked. Ergo, engine can't keep cool. And it's a bit hot out here."

"Ah, right, and the CPU just automatically shuts down when you get over 70 degrees."

"Sure," Ethan says with a little laugh.

"Your car?"

"No. Arranged ride courtesy of the IMF. Yours?"

"Probably better than yours. I made sure to lift it out of the parking garage of an upscale office park."

His smile curves into a smirk. "Clearly you do know a bit about cars." Bracing himself on the lip of the lifted hood, Ethan's eyes settle on Benji's and hold.

Abruptly, Benji has a full-body memory hit him. Another year but the same smirk and the same open, honest eyes. And Ethan has not gotten less attractive since their first meeting.

No, if anything, Benji wants him more. It'd be a problem if not for the way Ethan's practically beaming the query into Benji's skull.

It strikes him like a premonition coalescing out of the heat mirage: Benji gets the feeling he's losing his footing here, that he's going to have a hard time saying no to this man.

He clears his throat, dry in the lingering heat of the fading day. "So, you going to let me drive for once?"

Ethan makes a show about thinking about it, his arm dropping back to his side, back into the shelter of Benji's jacket. "I might. You seem to have a handle here, Agent Dunn."

===

"God," Grace said from where she's laid on her back across the table, her jacket folded up under her head, her fingers laced across her belly. "What a line. You put me in 38 degree heat and I couldn't be seductive if my life depended on it." She turned her head to look at Ethan as he continued to sulk against windowsill. The backlit of the city lights were kind enough to obscure his sour expression. "You're a rare operator."

Benji huffed out a laugh as he focused on draining his teabag against his spoon, tossing the sachet into the trash with a nimble flick of his fingers. "The best in the business. I still see that lean and the black smear in my dreams sometimes." With a loud, dramatic sigh, he shook his head. "So we... got on again. Either because I'm weak or Ethan's that good. Half dozen one, six of the other."

The line of Ethan's shoulders drew tight as a bow. "I was on that roadside for three hours and you had the A/C at full blast. I would have done anything to get in that car."

Twisting at the hips, Benji cast a look back at the surly silhouette. "Hm? So if it'd been, say, Brandt who was showing up, you would have still been all slinky with the bedroom eyes?"

Grace only knew William Brandt by reputation, and the way Ethan instantly frowned was another piece of information to add to the collage. "Brandt?"

"In this hypothetical alternate reality," Luther said slowly with a deep hum of amusement, "is Brandt the kind of person who would bother showing up? He'd just delegate that shit out. He'd invent some new requisition form, fill it out in triplicate, and file it with the appropriate authorities before he'd drive out into the desert like that."

"Brandt's a good man," Ethan told Grace seriously. "He just... expresses his concern in very specific ways."

"I would bet every black money paycheck I have ever gotten that he's never gotten off in the backseat of a car," Benji added helpfully.

Getting an elbow under herself, Grace pushed herself up to sitting. "Okay, wait. Shagging in the backseat is already a precarious proposition for anyone over the age of twenty-five in my humble opinion." Benji and Luther both nodded in tacit agreement; Ethan had reverted to his stoic fuming. "But you two did this in the middle of the road in broad daylight after one of you had been in the sun and dirt for hours?" She let out a low, impressed whistle. "That is interesting, now that I think about it."

Ethan's tone of voice had that very particular quality to it that Grace had learned meant he was trying to unclench his jaw and mostly failing. "Interesting how."

She kept her eyes on Benji, who was a much softer target than the alternative. "I am missing an important piece of information that I definitely need to understand the situation." She pressed her palms together. "Was-slash-is the sex good?"

Head snapping up, Ethan was completely back in the conversation. "Grace!"

"It's vital intelligence!" she told him earnestly.

"That isn't relevant!"

"Mhm, dunno, I think it is," Luther offered up with a remarkably straight face. "The parameters change pretty dramatically. If the sex isn't good versus if it is good, that one variable alters the way we interpret the information. The motives at play become significantly different."

Folding his arms tightly over his chest, Ethan narrowed his eyes at Luther. "This isn't an op sec debrief, you don't need to interpret--"

"It was nice," Benji said simply.

Grace lifted her eyebrows at him. "How nice?"

"When you're going to shag in the backseat of a stolen car in the middle of the desert, it's, you know." He shrugged one shoulder. "Good."

===

It's hard to tell in the overbright light of the sun, but the moment Benji gets Ethan into the car, stretched out across the backseat, the shade reveals that Ethan's skin is almost glittering, the sheen of road dust and sweat and bottled water coating him like a coating of sugar or salt.

Salt, Benji discovers with his mouth, and earth. It should not be as hot as it is, but then again, everything is hot by definition right now, it's bloody US-95.

"Close that door," Ethan pants, getting a grip on the seat enough to pull himself further into the car.

"You're not that short," Benji says.

A fast roll of Ethan's eyes escapes him before he reaches up over his head, grabbing the handle of the other door and shoving it open, the beautiful flat line of the desert behind him. "Come on, Benji, logistics."

Well, Benji was good at logistics.

With the door behind them shut, giving them a laughably small amount of protection from the road (and giving any passing drivers a laughably small amount of protection from them), Benji gets his hands on all that skin, running his hands up under Ethan's shirt, his palms pressed firmly. Without further prompt, Ethan tears his shirt up; it escapes his grasp and flutters out the open door. "Shit," Ethan says quietly, almost tilting his head to look.

Gripping Ethan by the belt, Benji drags him down, getting his mouth on the tender skin under the hinge of his jaw, tongue pressing hard enough to feel the pulse there. Shirt forgotten, Ethan cups the back of Benji's head. It'd be tender, but he drags Benji even closer, making a thin noise as Benji's teeth press to his neck.

To hell with logistics, there was nothing thought-out about it, every coherent thought melting out of Benji's skull. There's no way to get more naked without some contortionist-level maneuvering, so Benji doesn't bother, instead just gets things unbuckled, unzipped, opened.

The last time they'd done this, it had been different. Benji hoped Ethan didn't notice, worked to get his hand on Ethan's cock so he wouldn't think about their dalliances back in DC. This wasn't discrete blowjobs and making out in the stairwell with an easy smile and whispered jokes.

Don't think about it, Benji begged silently. If Ethan did and asked Benji why, he did not have an answered prepared. And the truth would probably not go down well.

Fortunately, Ethan just got his foot braced on the frame of the door, legs spread wide as Benji squeeze his dick. "Benji, yesss," he said in a hushed voice, sibilant and needy, "don't stop, don't--" A hand flung out to grip the storage pocket behind the passenger seat, holding on as his head tipped over the edge, dropping back to gasp at the desert beyond.

Anything Benji said would have been much too dangerous, so he focused on tasting the dust and salt, muffling himself as Ethan's body tensed under him, ignoring the heavy thud of want want want filling his thoughts.

===

"Nice?" Grace prompted, hands curled around the edge of her seat, tucked between her thighs, a perfect coquettish image she was aiming at Benji like a laser sight. "Or good? Or..." She trailed off meaningfully.

Not for the first time, Ethan felt a sense of relief that Benji was so consistently unattracted to women, he was immune to Grace's sharply honed maneuvers. Half of her repertoire just didn't play with him, thank god.

Instead of noticing Grace's entreating stare, Benji was examining his fingernails, idly breaking off a chipped bit as he very deliberately didn't look Ethan's way. His awareness was a constant weight, though; as Ethan continued to pace, one of his steps brought him six inches closer to the center of the room, and Benji-- did not look, but reacted, a millisecond of extra time between his breaths before he went on. "I'm not sure what to say. I mean, these things are sort of subjective, I think?"

"Oh, certainly," she agreed. "And what's your subjective opinion?" Her eyes flicked to Ethan, then back to Benji. "Scale of one to ten?"

"Aces high or low?" Luther added.

For a moment, the threat feels real, that he'll have to stand here and listen to a Critical Analysis of Sex with Ethan Hunt. Before he just decides to escape out the damn window, there's a crack in his veneer, Benji's head twisted quickly to Ethan, just enough to flash a grimace that Ethan thoroughly agreed with.

The alternative was almost worse. "The quality of any given sexual encounter isn't the issue here," Benji said, voice flattening. "Hell, the fact that we did have sex isn't even on trial here. The actual issue is that he," and here, he managed to nod his head in Ethan's direction without actually looking at him at all, "has been pulling this shit since London. The sex is-- is incidental!"

"London," Grace echoed.

London. Ethan's fingertips dug into his arms as his pacing slowed and he came to a stop.

The wooden chair creaked as Luther got up, shaking his head as he walked over to the very narrow kitchenette they'd set up. (If a portable induction top on a minifridge counted as a kitchenette.) "London," he said. Pulling the fridge open, he extracted a bottle of water, two beers. "Benji, drink?"

"Just flip the kettle back on," Benji sighed.

Distributing the water to Ethan and one of the beers to Grace, Luther used the edge of the table to pop the top off his own bottle. "Long time ago, a different crazy mass-murdering terrorist abducted Benji to try to force Ethan's hand."

"'Tried' successfully," Ethan pointed out bitterly.

"He fitted me for a lovely new semtex vest," Benji said. "Accessorized with enough shrapnel to kill everyone in the vicinity. All for access to a redbox that Ethan was able to get ahold of."

"Oh," Grace said, her bright amusement from the entire situation dimming. "Well, shit."

"It worked out," Luther said. "Ethan got Benji out of there and we managed to incapacitate Lane, put an end to his organization."

Ethan opened his mouth to correct that rosy version of the downfall of the Syndicate, wanting to mention the months of additional work tracking down the remnants, the splinter cells, the Apostles and Lark and Kashmir.

The hurt radiated from Benji as he went on. "Oh yes, the whole thing went swimmingly. What Luther is kindly leaving out is the bit where the reason the whole mission went to shit was me. But don't worry, Ethan hasn't forgotten."

"What," Ethan said slowly, stalking forward and purposefully putting himself in Benji's line of sight, "are you talking about?"

"After Cobalt, I actually thought you took me seriously. Hell, you barely let me work with other teams--"

"Because we work well together. Wait, are you upset that I..." He'd never considered that Benji was resentful about being Ethan's first-pick for 90 percent of team compositions, Benji had never indicated anything but quiet surprise when it started, and the way that melted into tacit understand, the mutual understanding that Ethan wanting Benji on his team was a foregone conclusion, Ethan thought they both understood.

"--maybe once that was because you," Benji shook his head once, hard. "But after our romantic candlelit bomb-filled evening, something changed. You never trusted me as an agent again, trusted me to understand the parameters of this horrible fucking job. Not with Lane back then, and not now with Gabriel."

"Okay, let's have a breath here," Grace said suddenly, which was good because Ethan was not sure what words were about to come out of his own mouth beyond what are you fucking talking about and her voice was like a pin popping the bubble both of them were alone in. "Benji, that's a lot of, ah."

"Olympic leaps of logic?" Ethan offered.

"Shit you should have hashed out on a therapy couch?" Luther added.

"Lived and frequently replicated life experiences," Benji said, mouth twisted in anger. "Don't act like this didn't start the next day after I was abducted."

#benthan #mission impossible #my fic #punct and i need to remix it with the Final Reckoning team bc i do love it

16 notes · View notes