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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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Riding On

Ch 20- Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Summary: Frank and Fliss head off for their trip to Vermont…

Warnings: Bad Language words, Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Pairing: Frank Adler x Fliss Gallagher

A/N: WOOHOOO MY MOJO IS BACK! And who better than to bring it back than FRISS! This one’s a LONG update, and I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not!!! I hope you all enjoy!! Happy New Year! Gotta thank @sweater-daddiesdumbdork for her Vermont knowledge that helped pull this all together.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 19

“How many times have you read that now?” Fliss asked as Frank pulled the well-worn copy of ‘Man’s Search For Meaning’ from the small carry-on bag.

“I have no idea.” Frank shrugged as he kicked the bag under the seat in front of him.

“It’s at least five in the time we’ve been together.”

“Well it’s my favourite.” Frank looked at her. “You know you should give it a go.”

“What’s it about and don’t say a man searching for meaning.” Fliss cut off his sarcastic response before he could utter a word and he chuckled.

“It’s about a guy in a Nazi concentration camp.” Frank explained. “It describes his psychotherapeutic method which involved identifying a purpose in life to feel positive about, and then actively imagining the outcome. Basically how meaning of life is found in every moment of living and that life never ceases to have a meaning, even in suffering and death.”

“So, light reading then.” Fliss snorted and Frank gave a chuckle.

“I used to recommend it to my second year students.” His fingers traced the cover gently. “One of the modules on the Metaphysics side of things focussed on Ontology which is the study of the nature of being, existence or reality, so to speak, which linked into the Philosophy of mind and studying mental properties, consciousness and the relationship that has to the physical body in particularly the brain.” He rambled off as he looked at Fliss. “The book has it all. It’s the reason I decided to study Philosophy and not Math”

Fliss smiled at him, her head cocking to one side. “You sound so passionate about it.”

“Well, I enjoyed it.” He let out a deep breath. “Safe to say Mother wasn’t a fan. She was, and is still, far too logically minded. She preferred the study of mathematical problems as oppose to fundamental ones concerning matters such as existence, knowledge, values and mind…” he trailed off “Maybe a little part of it was rebellion, I don’t know.”

“Do you miss it?” Fliss asked.

Frank took a deep breath “Honestly, yeah, sometimes.” He shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about going back but I wouldn’t even know where to start now. It’s been almost 10 years since I taught, the techniques will have all moved on.”

“Sure it wouldn’t take you too long to pick it up again.”

“I’m happy as I am, honey.” He smiled.“Maybe when I get older…”

“How much older do you wanna be?” Fliss teased “I mean you’re 40 next year.”

Frank shot her a look and she laughed, her hand squeezing his knee, but before he could reply the PA cut in and the Pilot spoke to them, announcing that they would soon be ready to commence their flight. It wasn’t long after that before they were asked by one of the hostesses to fasten their seat belts and the plane jolted as it pulled away from the stand and set off taxying to the runway.

Frank needn’t have bothered with his book after all, as their chat just continued as it usually did, and a beer or two later they were both surprised when the Captain announced the approach into Philly. By the time they’d gotten off the plane and made their way through the transfer line, they actually only had half an hour or so to spare so they grabbed a quick coffee each and made their way to the gate ready for the final leg. At quarter-to-three in the evening they touched down in Vermont and Frank didn’t miss the excitement in Fliss’ eyes as she turned to him and uttered one simple word through her grin.

“Snow!”

He chuckled and took her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin below her knuckles, keeping his fingers laced into hers as they waited for the plane to come to a halt at the stand before they stood up. Frank stretched his arms above his head, flinching a little as Fliss reached out to tickle the strip of skin on his belly that had appeared thanks to his sweater riding up slightly. He grabbed her hand and arched an eyebrow as she giggled.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Cowgirl.” His voice dropped a little and it sent shivers down her spine as she bit her lip, peeking up at him with innocent eyes. Eventually, the line in the aisle started to move and Frank thanked a man who stopped to let them out, his hand warm on Fliss’ back as he guided her in front of him, dropping a kiss to her cheek as they made their way off the plane and into the airport.

By the time they’d gotten their luggage, which miraculously had made its way through without going missing, and picked the hire car up it was almost half-three. Frank tossed their bags into the trunk of the shiny grey Ford Explorer as Fliss made her way to the passenger’s side.

“Oh my God it’s so cold!” she grinned as Frank climbed in to the seat beside her.

He laughed as he adjusted his seat “Dur, snow.”

Fliss rolled her eyes and set about retrieving the email confirmation she had on her phone. She keyed in the GPS and Frank gave her a quick smile before they set off. The forty-five minute drive was full of laughter and an air of childish excitement. Fliss had settled on the Moscow area of Stowe, Vermont as it was less than fifteen minutes to the Ben and Jerry’s factory, and also within thirty minutes from the Smuggler's Notch resort for the weekly fireworks display. On Friday night they were heading out to the Ice Castles at Woodstock. That had been a total stroke of luck as the attraction normally closed early march but due to a slight delay in the opening this season thanks to some 'technical difficulties', whatever that meant, their last weekend open coincided with this one. Fliss had booked the five thirty to six pm time slot as recommended by Jake who had been with his kids the previous year, meaning they would be inside when it lit up.

The sun was starting to set as Frank pulled off Route 89 and they got a glimpse of the town for the first time. It didn’t escape Fliss as to how festive it looked, like a scene straight from a Christmas card with the snow-capped rooves on the red buildings and the bright white spire of the church. It was another ten minutes or so before Frank turned onto the road where their lodge was and Fliss pointed suddenly as she spotted the one they were looking for.

“That’s it. Adams Mill Cottage.”

Slowing down, Frank pulled up on the drive and cut the engine, the pair of them looking at their home for the next few nights. It was gorgeous. Set back off the road, someone had been and cleared a path from the drive to the door. The rear outside porch area which bent round the property in an L-shape was lit up with strings of rope and fairy lights, and Frank could see the steam rising from the hot tub as it snaked from under the covers, nestling in the privacy and shade of the hilly area the house was flush too, the rest of the private yard area was closed off by a wooden fence.

“Looks even better in real life than on the photos.” Fliss grinned. Frank looked at her, and she gave a little squeal of excitement before she yanked open the door another exclamation about it being cold hit his ears before the door shut behind him. Shaking his head at her enthusiasm he let out a little chuckle before he stepped out and followed her to the door where she was already working at the key safe, keying in the code she’d gotten on the confirmation. Frank grabbed the bags from the trunk and headed over to where Fliss was now unlocking the door. They both stepped inside what was to be their home for the next few nights, stamping their feet off on the mat before Frank closed the door.

“Wow…” Fliss muttered as she looked around, the smell of an open wood fire cascaded around the room and Frank took a deep breath through his nose, savouring it. He loved that smell, it reminded him of nights when he was a kid with his dad in front of the huge one they had at home, one that post his Father’s death had on the whole remained unlit as his Mom and Walter had preferred to use the central heating, lighting it only for weekends and special occasions.

They made their way into the living area to find it was cosily decorated in neutral colours, with a large grey L-shaped sofa, a light wooden floor which was partially covered by a cream and grey rug upon which a glass coffee table sat. But the thing that drew Frank’s attention was the huge stone chimney breast and fireplace in which the fire was crackling away. There were large windows on three sides of the room, which looked out onto the snowy garden area and he couldn’t help the sigh of satisfaction that left his mouth. This was his type of property. He loved their home in Pinellas, that was a given as they’d spent a lot of time decorating it to their taste but there was something about this type of cabin that he loved. Together they wandered through to the kitchen which was very farmhouse-like, adorned with silver, grey and white tiles and a huge Aga stove along one wall.

Fliss’ eyes grew wide as she took it all in, running her hand over the solid oak island in the middle before she glanced out of the patio doors and let out a happy little sigh.

“Oh Frank, I love it.”

He moved to hug her from behind as they both stood looking at the view.

“Just wait till we’re outside in the tub with that back drop!” Fliss beamed, nodding to where the little woodland edge met the lawn of the garden. Frank smiled, dropped a kiss to her cheek and then they continued their tour finding the bathroom and finally the bedroom which sported a large, king-sized bed with a huge grey headboard covered in a white and pink throw.

Frank placed their bags down, smiling.

“It’s beautiful.” Fliss turned to him, grinning, and Frank made a noise of appreciation as he undid his jacket, tossing it onto the chair in the corner.

“Like you.”

“Smooth!” Fliss laughed and he grinned, his hands falling to her hips as he pulled her close.

“You know me, all about the smoothness.” He quipped, rubbing his cheek against hers, his beard scratching her slightly and she squealed, attempting to get away, but he wasn’t letting go. Laughing, the pair of them pitched sideways onto the bed and Frank leaned over, kissing her gently. It wasn’t long before the kiss grew deeper and Frank pressed into Fliss, rolling her onto her back. Her hands tangled in his hair and his hands had just begun sliding their way up her top when there was a loud bang on the door that made the pair of them jump from surprise.

“Expecting someone?” Frank looked at Fliss who shrugged as he heaved himself up and made his way to the entrance hall, puzzlement overtaking any annoyance he had at being interrupted. He opened the heavy oak door it to be greeted by a kind faced man bundled up in a snow jacket and a hat, holding a box in his hands.

“Good evening!” he beamed at Frank “I have a delivery for Frankie and Titch?” The man’s eyes twinkled as he read the label and Frank snorted, there were only two people that called Fliss Titch, her dad and brother. And, given the use of the name Frankie, he’d lay odds on this was from Steve.

“Yeah, that’s us.” He smiled, reaching out to take it.

“Excellent. Welcome to Moscow.” He nodded as Frank took it “I’m from the Stowe Mercantile, and on behalf of myself and my wife we hope you enjoy your gift hamper. Feel free to pay us a visit. We’re on the high street.”

“I’m sure we will, and thanks.” Frank smiled at him as the man gave him a cheery little wave goodbye and headed back down towards his truck. Frank carried the hamper back to the kitchen where Fliss was examining the fridge which had been stocked with a little ‘Welcome package’ of basics such as milk, butter, bread, orange juice along with some Green Mountain Coffee Roasters pods for the coffee machine which stood in a little jar on the side.

“What’s that?” she asked, turning as Frank placed the box on the counter.

“A Hamper.” He said, taking the card off the top and handing it to Fliss to open.

She snorted as she saw who it was a dressed to and turned it over. “Frankie and Fliss, have a treat on me, Sian and the boys. Enjoy your time away and make sure you actually get out of bed enough to explore…” she read, shaking her head.“Idiot…”

“An idiot with good taste.” Frank mumbled, pulling out the bottle of Moet which was nestled in the hamper. When they dug further they found a bottle of decent Rioja, a Sancerre, a large block of Cabot Cheddar Cheese, some savoury crackers, chutneys, olives, croissants, some candy, Lake Champlain Chocolate, chips, breadsticks and dips.

“Looks like we got snacks for a while.” Fliss mused.

“And Sam Adams.” Frank grinned, holding up the four-pack. They stowed it all away, before they then took their bags into the bedroom and after quickly unpacking and, after changing into warmer clothes, they headed out, Fliss keying in the zip-code for Smugglers Notch.

They chatted as they went, laughing and joking about anything and everything and just like any time spent with his girl, it seemed to pass in a flash and after what felt like five minutes, but was in fact twenty-eight, Frank pulled their rented vehicle into a spot and they both climbed out, hastily bundling up into jackets, hats and scarves. Frank couldn't resist pulling the front of Fliss' pink woollen hat down over her eyes, just as he has done in New York, and she shoved him in the chest, her hand rustling against the fabric of his faux-fur trimmed SuperDry jacket, causing him to step back a little. He laughed as she set her hat straight and the two of them headed through the main entrance, winding round the side to the main area of the resort which was seemingly packed with visitors and locals alike. "This takes me back." Frank commented, a little nostalgia flooding his tone as he looked around at the various groups of people milling around. Some carried skis, others snow boards as they wound down from a day’s activity on the slopes, whilst others were simply there like they were for a few drinks and the fireworks. "Something I never learned to do." Fliss leaned into him, her right hand clutching his left, her left hand curling round his arm, almost hugging it to her. "I was never allowed in case I broke something that put me out of action." "Do you wanna learn?" Frank asked. She pondered for a moment and smiled "I dunno, is it hard?' "I found boarding easier than skiing." He mused. "Some people are the opposite though. Not sure I’d be able to do either anymore." "Maybe we should bring the kids for a long weekend, have a go." Fliss mused before she grabbed his arm tighter “Oh my God, we should so go sand boarding back home.”

Frank laughed. “I did it once, me and the guys. Jake ended up in the ER with bust ankle.” He sighed fondly. “It was a great day.”

“Maybe I could strap a line to Cap and get him to pull me.” Fliss mused and Frank looked at her, shaking his head.

“Can you not?” he sighed. “You already scare the crap out of me when you jump those damned fences.”

“I’ve jumped higher.” She shrugged

“Yeah, well, that was before you met me.”

“We could use your truck then.”

“No, Lissy.” He rolled his eyes.

She chuckled “Spoil sport.

“Behave.”

They continued to walk, passed the little stalls and shops pausing at one to grab a hot chocolate and a bag of warm sugared donuts. They ate and drank their treats, sitting on one of the benches outside, and Frank had just taken the last drink of his chocolate before something caught his eye and he gave a little sigh, his smile growing bigger.

“Oh shit, sugar on snow.” He breathed out softly, watching a family of four walking past clutching trays of the treat.

“What?” Fliss looked at him blankly.

“You never heard of sugar on snow?”

“Is that like a snow cone?”

“Kinda.” He looked at her, his eyes shining “They serve it in some places in Boston but it’s never the same. It’s hot maple syrup, served over actual snow, not ice.”

“Seriously?” Fliss grinned at the boyish excitement on his face and he nodded.

“Some people call it leather aprons, on account of the fact it goes kinda leathery in texture.” He explained “It’s fucking awesome, Lissy, I haven’t had it since I was a kid. A situation I feel that I should rectify right away.”

“Okay, Sailor, lead the way.”

With a grin, Frank hopped up, grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the vendor where they joined the queue and soon reached the front. Frank ordered two, paid and then draped his arm over Fliss’ shoulder as they watched the guy serving fill two trays with scoops of powdery snow from a large chest behind them. He passed the trays to the man to his left who stirred a large, metal pot full of hot, Maple Syrup which he then ladled over the snow.

“You guys want the sides?” the server asked and Frank nodded.

“Hold the donut but I’ll take the pickle.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Fliss held her hand out and turned to Frank. “Hold the donut but you’ll take the pickle? What the hell?”

The man behind the counter chuckled as Frank shrugged. “Yeah, the pickle cuts through the sweetness.” She looked at him, her face utterly perplexed and he laughed. “You like pickle, and you ate far worse when you were pregnant.”

“I happen to think my cravings were positively normal, thank you. Apple juice and chili fries.”

“Lissy, you dipped your McDonald’s fries in milkshake.”

“Steve does that anyway.” She shrugged.

“That doesn’t make it normal.”

“Neither is eating pickle along with syrup!” she rolled her eyes.

“You don’t know shit.” Frank scoffed before he turned back to the server. “I’ll take the pickle.”

“I won’t.” Fliss shook her head.

The server nodded and slid one tray over the counter. Frank moved, thanking him as he handed it to Fliss, taking the other with his precious pickle on the side. Fliss took a spoon full, and made an appreciative noise, nodding as Frank did the same and immediately was hit with a flood of nostalgia as he could remember as it was yesterday the last time he’d had this. A family trip with his mother, Diane and Walter to a resort not far from here actually.

“Oh God.” Fliss’ voice was muffled and Frank turned to see her chewing and he laughed “You weren’t wrong about it being like leather.”

“It’s like taffy, but not.” He shrugged and with that he raised the pickle and took a huge crunch, grinning at her as he chewed. She gave a laugh again, shaking her head.

“That’s disgusting.”

“C’mere baby.” His voice was muffled on account his mouth was full of pickle, as he bent towards her and she laughed harder, shoving him away. He swallowed in between his chuckles, and pressed a kiss to the side of her head as they made their way over to where the majority of the crowd had gathered awaiting the fireworks.

They didn’t bother trying to push to the front, fireworks went up after all, and soon enough the music grew louder and someone spoke over the PA welcoming them all to the weekly fire work display. Leaving Fliss for a second to dispose of their empty snow containers in a nearby trash can, Frank returned and wrapped her arms around her from behind, pulling her back to his chest, dropping another soft kiss to her cheek. She smiled and leaned against him, happy for him to hold her and then the crowd let out a gasp as the first rocket flew into the air and burst into a huge bloom of gold and red.

The fireworks were spectacular. Screaming rockets, silent ones, crackling ones, ones that were colourful, ones less so, but what Frank was watching most of the time was Fliss’ face. Her mouth stayed in a constant smile for the full fifteen minute display, her eyes wide, the bright explosions reflected in those deep brown orbs as she followed the trail of lights against the clear, starry sky. The last time they’d all seen fireworks was a display held on the beach for the fourth of July last year, but Fliss was staring at them like she hadn’t seen any for years. Frank couldn’t be sure, but he had a sneaking suspicion she was lost in the romance of the situation, the pair of them being alone, on a cold evening, wrapped up surrounded by snow. With a smile he kissed her cheek again and tuned his attention back to the sky as the finale ramped up in a cacophony of colour, explosions and yells of awe from kids and adults alike in the crowd.

“Enjoy that?” Frank’s nose nuzzled at the spot behind Fliss’ ear and she smiled, tilting her head to look at him.

“Yeah, did you?”

“Absolutely.” He beamed. “It was awesome.”

“Took me back a few years” she grinned, turning to face him. “You ever heard of Bonfire Night in the UK?”

“Remember, remember the fifth of November.” He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, I think the last firework display I saw whilst wrapped up against the cold was Bonfire Night in 2011.” She mused. “Stanley Park in Liverpool. No snow though, just pissing down rain.” She took a deep breath “There’s just something magical about being all wrapped up whilst watching them.”

Frank smiled and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Anything else you wanna do?”

“Hot cider.” She nodded, and Frank grinned, his arm round her shoulder as they made their way back towards the drinks cabin.

An hour or so later, the little bar seemed to fill up almost all at once and both of them decided to call it a night. As they wandered back to the car, Frank gently kissed Fliss’ cheek as his arm curled around her shoulder and she smiled at him.

“You’ve been kissing me a lot tonight, Sailor.”

“I don’t ever intend on stopping.”

“Even when we’re married? I mean, isn’t that when all the romance is supposed to go to shit?”

“Only if you marry an asshole.” Frank spoke without thinking and then let out a little groan. “Fliss, I didn’t mean…”

“I know.” She said gently “I know you didn’t. Don’t worry.”

Frank bit his lip, cursing himself as they continued towards the car, before he sighed and shook his head. “You know, I’ll always be in awe of how you just deal with it, you know. Everything you went through and you came out the other side…and now…” "It wasn’t easy.” Fliss replied after a second or two, her hand gently playing with Frank's as his arm was draped over her shoulder. "Sometimes I don’t know how I did it. But, I do know one thing though." "What's that?" "I never thought I'd trust someone again enough to be…well, intimate with them, let alone fall completely and utterly head over heels in love." She took a deep breath before she leaned into Frank as his arm tightened around her. “And then you showed up that day with Mary and broke down every wall I'd put up, Adler. And you did it so damned quickly. I mean I don’t know why but there was something about you that made me know I could trust you straight away. And...oh I'm rambling on as usual." She waved a hand and Frank took a deep breath, pulling her closer. "It was the same for me you know.” He told her and she glanced up at him as they walked. "How so?" "The way Mary hugged you, the first time she met you. She’s never been that open with people. As we drove away that day she turned to me and said 'you like her'. Simple statement but I did. She was right." Frank looked ahead as they rounded the corner to the parking lot "I knew from our first kiss on that boat that this was it for me. Everything I had no idea I needed and then some in this tiny little red-headed fire cracker." Fliss laughed and nudged him slightly and he grinned. "And you still gave me a chance. I mean there was the whole thing with Bonnie." Frank took a deep breath. "And I wasn't the easiest person to be around when the court case was going on." "No, you weren't." Fliss agreed. “But you were going through a tough time. Even if I hadn't had feelings for you that way, I'd have been by your side regardless. You know, that right?" Frank stopped by the side of their rented car and turned to face her, taking both her hands in his "Yeah, I do. Because, well, because you’re fucking amazing. You're just the most gorgeous person inside and out, Lissy, and every damned day I wake up next to you and wonder how I got so fucking lucky." "Frank!" Fliss gave a little sniff as her eyes filled with tears and he smiled, his hand gently cupping her face as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was slow, deep and loaded with feeling, Fliss' hands dropping to his waist, her fingers curling around the cold material of his jacket as she let herself go, losing herself in the romance of the moment as they stood in the parking lot at the base of the mountain, surrounded by snow. When they finally broke apart, Frank pressed his forehead to hers, smiling softly. "Come on, let’s go before we freeze to death." Fliss laughed, "Not much chance of that with you to keep me warm." Frank narrowed his eyes. "Is that a fat joke?" At that she laughed harder. “Absolutely not." Her hands squeezed his slim hips and she blinked up at him, knowing just how sensitive he was getting to the fact that, thanks to him now being effectively behind a desk all day, he was having to work harder at keeping in shape. He'd picked up running at the start of the year and was now also using the weights he had in the workshop area of the garage to keep himself as toned as he could. But to Fliss it didn't matter a jot. He was perfect to her. "But just so you know, if you do put on weight, it just means there's more of you for me to love."

******

Once back home they debated hitting the hot tub for an hour but they were both tired from the early start so settled instead for a cozy drink in front of the fire in the living room. After checking in at home, speaking to Verity and Mary, Verity assuring them that both kids were fine, Fliss headed for a shower as Frank checked a few emails from work on his phone as he lay on the bed. When she walked back into the room he hopped up, gave her another deep kiss before he headed off, jumping a little as she slapped his ass as he passed. He gave her a smirk over his shoulder as he wandered barefoot down the hall and into the bathroom.

Once showered he dressed in a pair of grey sweats and a plain white t-shirt before he headed into the living room to find Fliss in a pair of dark green plaid flannel sleep pants and a hooded top, her hair piled on top of her head as she sat in front of the fire, a glass of red win in her hand, simply watching the flames.

“You okay, honey?” he asked and she turned to look up at him, smiling.

“Yeah, it’s just been a while before I sat in front of a fire in the evening.” She said as he dropped a hand to the back of her head. She pat the rug besides him and grinned “Pull up a seat, Sailor.”

“Let me grab a drink and I’ll be with you.”

“Way ahead of you, Francis.” With a grin she gestured to the table behind her and Frank chuckled as he saw the bottle of red wine perched in the middle along with an empty glass waiting for him. He poured himself a helping, topped her glass up and then with a little groan he settled onto the floor, his back resting against the coffee table, legs spread to allow Fliss to shuffle back against him, her chest resting against his back.

“You had a good evening?” She asked, turning her face to look at him.

“The best, thank you.” He smiled, kissing her softly. With a contented sigh she leaned her head back against his shoulder.

“Good, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I was with you, how could I not?” Frank’s hand traced up the outside of her arm, lips brushing the top of her head as she leaned back a little more, her back resting fully against his chest. They sat in silence for a little while, enjoying the relative peace that wasn’t so forthcoming at home with two kids and busy jobs. The last few days had been particularly manic, Fliss pushing full steam ahead with the plans for the expansion had meant they’d had a few late evening consultations with Bill and the architect Steve had recommended as they discussed the best options. Then there had been Tuesday, when Fliss had called him in a flap as her jeep had broken down outside the store for the third time in as many weeks.

“Have you decided about your car yet?” Frank asked what was on his mind and Fliss shook her head.

“No.” She sighed “Can you not fix her?”

“I keep fixing her.” He replied “But, it’s only a matter of time before the damned thing gives up for good. Why don’t you look at one of the Audi’s you like? We don’t need two huge cars. I got the truck so...”

“Maybe. I want to get the wedding paid for first.”

“We don’t have much left to pay.” Frank reasoned. “The Banquet tent and food trucks are settled up. We just have the bar and the entertainment to sort really.”

“Decorations, dance floor hire, oh, and photographer.” Fliss mused “Although Bonnie said her sister’s husband is a pretty good amateur one. I might ask her for his number.”

“Sounds good.” Frank dropped another kiss to her head.

“Oh, and we should probably sort the invitations.��

“Yeah, that…” Frank chuckled, “that’s pretty key I suppose.”

“I thought…” Fliss tipped her head to face him, “I thought it would be nice if we wrote the invitations from Mary and Alex. You know, like it’s usually Mrs and Mrs Parents-Of-The-Bride request your presence bla bla bla…I’d like to ask Mary to suggest something.”

Frank smiled, his head cocking to one side slightly. “I think she’ll love that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, shifting so he could take another sip of his wine, which was exceptionally good and going down pretty damned well. “She’s as excited about the wedding as we are. Probably a little more actually.”

“Speak for yourself.” Fliss snorted, swallowing a mouthful of her drink “I can’t wait.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Frank rolled his eyes as Fliss laughed and she gently titled herd head round to look at him and reached up, scratching her nails of her left hand into his beard.

“I know Sailor, keep your hair on.”

“You know I can’t wait to make you Mrs Adler.” Frank told her, dropping his head to catch her lips in a soft kiss. Fliss smiled as he pressed his head to hers, their noses bumping slightly before she moved and settled back into the position she had been in before, the back of her head once more resting against Frank’s chest.

“You know, I have a funny feeling Dad’s gonna give us a check towards it anyway.” She took a deep breath “He paid for Steve’s wedding, well, half. Sian’s parents paid the other.”

Frank shifted a little, “You think?”

Fliss shrugged “I don’t know. He’s never given anything to one of us and not the other so. He didn’t give a penny towards…” she trailed off and took a deep breath.

“That’s probably because you were marrying a cunt.” Frank shrugged and Fliss scoffed, shaking her head before she let out a little sigh and then Frank saw her shoulders sag a little, one hand running round the top of her wine glass as the other clutched the stem.

“I sometimes wonder how I got it so wrong you know? Like how I ever fell for him in the first place.”

“Hey.” Frank gently pulled her to him a little more, “Don’t do this, not tonight. None of that was your fault.”

“I know, but…”

“No buts, Lissy.” Frank shook his head, his tone a little stern. “He was an abusive piece of shit. Don’t go there, not tonight.”

Her head dropped and Frank took a deep breath, before he reached out and gently plucked the wine glass from her hand, setting it on the coffee table he was leaning against along with his own.

“Baby, look at me.” He instructed gently. After a seconds pause she knelt up and turned around, sitting back on her heels as she looked at him, large brown eyes dancing in the firelight, full of a melancholy that wasn’t quite sadness, but still enough to tear his gut apart at the fact she could still be so self-doubting. “Sorry I snapped and I’m sorry for bringing him up, again.” Frank looked at her, his hand gently brushing her hair back off her face. “I didn’t mean to.”

She looked at him for a second before she shuffled forwards a little and Frank dropped his legs flat so she could straddle his thighs, his large hands falling to her hips as she gently smoothed her hands up his ribbed T-shirt, her eyes following her fingers.

“You know, it’s kinda funny really” she spoke softly, her fingers still trailing his chest.

“What is?”

“Life, when you think about it. I mean, what I went through was shitty. What happened to you and Mary, you know with Diane was shitty.” Fliss took a deep breath, her hands pausing, palms flattening over his pecs. “But if it hadn’t happened, we would never have met. We’d never have had Alex.”

“True.” Frank breathed out as her eyes flicked up and locked onto his as he gave a small smile. “Is this where you tell me it was fate?”

“Maybe.” Fliss shrugged, before she raised an eyebrow. “Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like.”

“Lemony Snicket?” Frank chuckled his question and Fliss grinned, nodding.

“Mary was reading it the other day.”

“Well I’m glad to know I’m one of the things you do like” Frank arched an eyebrow. “Okay, if we’re dropping quotes, how about this one. Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart.”

Fliss pondered for a second, shrugging. “I like it but, no idea who said it.”

“Marcus Aurelius.” Frank informed her.

“Ok, Professor.” she sassed, her hands now curling over his shoulders, and Frank laughed, “Now tell me who said this. You often meet your fate on the road you take to avoid it.”

“Oooh.” Frank pondered, “That almost sounds Shakespearean?”

“Close.” Fliss grinned “Goldie Hawn”

“Fahk off!” Frank tipped his head back, chest vibrating as his familiar laughter filled the room and Fliss snickered a little bit. He looked back at his girl as his chuckles subsided, saying nothing for a moment, simply studying her pretty face. Her eyes were full of warmth as she curled her hands round his shoulders before one moved to the back of his neck, her nails gently grazing at the skin below his hair line. He gave a sigh, his mouth curling up into a soft smile “I love you so fahkin much Cowgirl.”

“Love you too, Sailor.” She replied, her voice quiet, before she shuffled even closer, her head dipping to his.

The kiss was soft, gentle, Frank’s hands moving to her back, under the hoody she was wearing, splaying against her skin as he held her close to him. He felt Fliss shift a little, her hands dancing downwards, gripping the hem of his Tee. He moved back slightly, allowing her to pull it off, mimicking her actions by dragging her top over her head, along with the camisole she had on under it, before he gently lay her down on the rug in front of the fire place. He shimmied out of his sweats, before he dragged Fliss’ pyjama pants down her legs, leaving them both completely naked, and he gently grasped her right ankle in his hand. He kissed his way up her smooth leg, his mouth hot and wet, short beard scratching against her skin. He continued mapping his way up her body with his mouth, and when he reached her breasts, Fliss arched her back, letting out a soft groan as his mouth gently sucked on one nipple, his hand tweaking at the other.

“Look at you.” He whispered gently against her skin as his tongue continued teasing her, worshipping her with his mouth, the way she deserved. His beautiful Lissy, his girl, so fucking precious it was beyond comprehension to him how anyone could have ever wanted to hurt her. The mere thought was abhorrent and he screwed his eyes up as he felt the tears rushing forwards as he fought the image from his head, and he swallowed, his mouth pausing a little against her breast as he took a shuddering breath.

“Frankie.” She whispered his name, and he opened his eyes to look up at her, her hands moving to cup his face and he pushed himself upwards, as his lips crashed to hers in a desperate, needy kiss. His tongue traced the inside of her mouth as her hands tangled in his hair and she let out a little whimper, tipping her hips up to meet his and the feel of her press against him made him groan, breaking the kiss. Her head fell back, bearing her neck to him and Frank shifted, taking his weight on his palms, caging her between his arms and legs as he pressed soft kisses up her throat.

Fliss felt the warmth in her belly mounting, that familiar ache between her legs was becoming more and more intense, to the point it was almost unbearable. She needed relief, and she wasn’t above begging. “Please, Frank,” she croaked out, her breath coming in deep, ragged pants as her hands dug into his broad back, “I need you.”

“Oh, baby, you got me. Always.” Frank’s breath was hot on her ear, as he gave that spot on her neck a little nip, dropping to his elbows. His hands snaked up both her arms pulling them from round his back, the points where her nails had been biting into his skin still stinging slightly. He laced his fingers with hers, pressing her hands down at either side of her head as he moved, Fliss shifting underneath him and with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips he sank into her, his head dropping slightly as she fluttered around him, the sound she made almost enough to make him blow there and then.

The feeling of relief at having him inside her caused Fliss’ chest to hitch and her eyes closed momentarily, before she took a shuddering breath as Frank began to slowly roll his hips against hers, each thrust deep, measured, deliberate as he dragged himself against languidly in and out of her. She opened her eyes to see him watching her face intently as her eyes locked onto his, the pupils of those baby blues she loved were blown with desire.

“Frank, you feel so good,” she moaned and he let out a groan of his own at her words, keeping his movements steady, almost leisurely as he continued to watch, her mouth slackening, breathing quickening as he knew she was approaching her peak. When her orgasm rolled over her, she gave a loud cry and melted underneath him, her nails digging into the skin beneath his knuckles as he picked up the pace, rutting into her a little faster, desperate for his own relief. It didn’t take him long at all, and he felt his stomach tightening and with a hiss and a loud “Fahk” he came with a final deep thrust, his fingers tightening around hers before he collapsed forward, burying his head against her neck.

A quiet bliss, surrounded them like a bubble, keeping them safe from the world, as the room was silent bar the sound of their deep breathing and the crackling of fire as they lay tangled with one another. Fliss’ extracted her hands from his to gently rake one through the back of his hair, the other trailed lightly over the back of his shoulder blades and Frank gave a soft hum of contentment, his eyes closing as they lay still, neither of them wanting to move. Fliss pressed a soft kiss to his warm, clammy forehead and Frank rolled over onto his back with a little sigh, pulling her with him so that she was draped over his chest as he lay between her and the coffee table.

“Can we just stay here?” Fliss asked quietly, and Frank glanced down at her as she pressed her cheek to his chest.

“Whatever you want, Honey.” He agreed, his head looking around before he spotted the blanket on the sofa “Just sit up a moment.”

“Frank!” she whined and he laughed, pushing himself up and jostling her off his chest. “Asshole.”

“I just loved on you well, in front of the fire, and that’s the thanks I get?” Frank hopped up. “Being called an asshole?”

Fliss grinned as she propped herself up on her elbow and watched him, scanning up his legs and strong thighs, taking in his bare ass before she followed his back muscles to those broad shoulders which rippled slightly as he reached over to grab the tartan throw. He turned back to face her and she grinned as his eyes blatantly roved over her in the same way as she lay side on, completely naked, her hair falling over her shoulders.

“You should look like that all the time.” He remarked as he dropped back down and gently wrapped them both in the blanket. “Freshly fucked and naked.”

“Yeah, not so easy when you’ve got a 10 year old and a 7 month old to look after.” She chuckled as she lay her head on his chest. His hand gently carded through her hair and he sighed.

“True.” he looked down at her as she glanced up at him, her chin resting on his chest “But we got a coupla days without them. Maybe I’ll just keep you like this for the duration.”

“Fine by me Sailor. There’s only one slight problem.”

“What’s that?”

“You keep me here, no Ben and Jerry’s on Saturday.”

“That is a dilemma indeed.” Frank mused, “Okay, maybe Saturday I’ll let you out.”

“Good to know where I feature on your list of priorities.” Fliss scoffed and Frank chuckled.

“You can have a lot of fun with ice cream cowgirl.” He smirked, dropping a kiss to her head.

***** Frank woke the next morning feeling thoroughly relaxed. He stretched a little where he was lay on his stomach, arms folded under his pillow and raised his head, turning to look at Fliss. She was lay on her back, facing towards him, one arm bent by her head, the other across her chest. She looked so peaceful, her mouth open just a smidge, hair splaying over the pillow. He shifted onto his side, and moved closer to her, pressing a soft kiss to forehead, trailing his lips down her nose to her mouth.

She gave a little sigh, her eyelids fluttering as he kissed her again and he felt her smile, lazily against his mouth.

“Morning, Honey.” He said gently and she gave a little hum of contentment, her sleepy eyes opening to look at him.

“Morning, handsome.” She smiled as he pushed himself up a little to give her a deep kiss, hovering the top half of his body over her slightly. The kiss became soft touches, which led to more urgent touches, and soon he was buried inside of her, his movements lazy as he made love to her, their bodies pressed together as close as could be.

It set the tone for the remainder of the morning, nothing urgent or pressing to do. The time was theirs and theirs alone. After showers they ate breakfast and checked in with the kids before they bundled up and took a short walk into the little town centre, taking a peek in the shops, making a few purchases before they had lunch and then headed back to their cottage. Frank walked up the steps on the porch to unlock the door, and he had just turned round to look at Fliss when he was hit square on the chest with a snowball. He paused, watching as the icy glob slid down the front of his coat and he glanced up to see Fliss stood at the bottom of the steps, laughing.

“Good shot.” He arched an eyebrow.

“Not really, I was aiming for your face.” she tipped her head back, laughing harder as he blinked.

“My face.” he blinked as she nodded. “Oh, Sweetheart, you’re gonna be sorry!”

Her laughter died down as he began to stalk towards her, his pace slow and she stepped back a little before she gave a playful shriek and set off running as best she could in the deep snowfall. Frank dipped down, grabbing a handful of the snow which he rolled into a ball and sent it flying where it hit her right in between her shoulder blades. She screamed, punctuated by more laughter as she bent down and scooped up some more, turning to fling it at him. Frank raised his arm to block it and it exploded on the sleeve of his jacket, and at that he shot forward. She began to back away and just as he reached her she stumbled and flailed backwards. Frank caught her, and pitched them round, the momentum sending them both crashing into the soft snow, Fliss landing with a thud on top of him.

The pair of them were laughing that hard, neither could breathe properly, but Frank somehow managed to gain enough control to grab a scoop of the powdery snow and shove it straight down the back of her coat.

“Oh my god, you asshole!” she shrieked as she felt the cold liquid dribble down her back. “Fuck, shit!”

“I warned you yesterday about startin’ things you can’t finish!” he laughed as she shook her head, shivering.

“Well, I like to live dangerously.” Her laughter subsided and she bent down to give him a soft kiss, her cold, slightly red nose brushing against his. “Ever had sex in the snow?”

He laughed. “Can’t say I have, although I’m not sure I’d be able to. It’s that cold my balls have retreated into my stomach.”

She broke into another fit of giggles before Frank pushed himself up onto his elbows, jolting her slightly and together they got to their feet and headed inside to warm up. After a change into dry clothes and a hot chocolate each, Frank went out to set the car running so it would be warm for their grip out to New Hampshire. Fliss packed a bags with snacks for the trip and at little after three in the afternoon they set off.

There was plenty to see on the way, the landscape was breath-taking, Fliss’ eyes bright as she took it all in, Frank smiling at the joy on her face. About an hour into the journey, Frank felt Fliss’ eyes watching his profile as he drove so he arched an eyebrow slightly, sneaking a glance at her.

"What?"

"Nothing just,” she reached out to gently twine her hand in his hair, “never noticed before but you're getting a few grey-" "Fucking fuck you." He shot, jerking his head away from her hands as she laughed, her head falling back against the head rest of the seat. "So angry, Adler." "Angry Adler?" Frank arched an eyebrow. “Sounds like some kind of poisonous snake." "You got a snake but it aint poisonous." Fliss grinned and Frank snorted. "Flattery will not detract from the fact you just called me old." "That’s not what I said." Fliss shook her head. "I merely commented on the fact your hair is...: "Going grey, ergo pertaining to the fact I'm getting old!" Fliss shrugged. “I’m kinda down for the silver fox look." "Silver fox?" Frank laughed, looking at her. "That what I am?" "Not yet." Fliss shrugged before she grinned and turned to him. “At the moment you're just a D-B DILF" Frank let out a little laugh, shaking his head. "Let me guess. A Dirty Boat Daddy you like to fuck?" "Damned straight" Fliss smirked, her fingers lacing through his.

Once they arrived they followed the direction from the parking attendant and climbed out, wrapping themselves up before Frank took Fliss’ hand and they headed over to join the queue for their time slot.

“Wow.” Frank heard Fliss breathe out as she got a look at the huge structure that loomed in front of them. Frank smiled, it had been years and years since he’d been here.

“Wait till it goes dark.” He smiled, “It’s something else.”

It didn’t take them too long to get inside, and Frank watched Fliss eyes grow wide with awe as she spotted the huge towers which were dripping with molten-looking ice as they walked through the huge cavernous opening. As per Jake’s recommendation they headed straight for the slide. The line to get on was already huge, but both of them were adamant they wanted to go on it so they waited patiently, Frank chatting to Fliss and giving her a little bit of factual history about how the castles were made. Eventually they reached the front of the line some forty minutes later, and the attendant there asked if they wanted to go down together, which of course they did. Frank hopped down first, Fliss settling between his legs and he gripped her hips, leaning forward.

“Ready?”

“Just push off already, Sailor!” she laughed, and with a snort he sent them sliding down the glassy sheet of ice. Fliss laughed as they sped down the chute, the twists and turns jolting them slightly. It wasn’t as smooth as he expected and when they hit a particularly bout of bumpy rivets, Fliss letting out a squeal, Frank was glad he had a padded coat under his ass or his tail bone would have been protesting. Their slide was over after little more than thirty seconds, and whilst it might have been a ridiculous amount of time to queue for half a minute or so of fun, Frank had to admit as they slowed to a stop at the end, that sliding through an Ice Castle with his girl in front of him, was a pretty awesome experience that he’d queue for all over again.

Together they made their way off to the side and had just set off to explore when suddenly the Castle lit up inside with thousands of LED coloured lights. Fliss mouth dropped open as the opening bars to ‘Let It Go’ from Frozen started to play and the lights followed some form of choreographed routine to the music. They stopped to watch, just like everyone else seemed to have done and when it was over, most people started to clap and cheer.

“Does that happen again?” Fliss looked at Frank as they began to walk through to a smaller room. “The light show?”

“I think so.” He nodded. “From what I remember it does it periodically.”

As they walked through the Castle exploring, it felt like around every corner there were hidden surprises. They found ice sculptures of animals and birds, tunnels which led into smaller caverns with spectacular icicle details hanging above from the ceilings, ice thrones, glowing ice orbs and even a fountain. Fliss took as many photos as she could, even accosting some random guy to take a shot of them together in one of the smaller rooms they found.

After an hour or so they were confident they’d seen everything there was to see so they made their way back to the entrance, Fliss’ arm looped through Frank’s as they strolled over to one of the temporary wooden shacks set up which was serving hot drinks and snacks. They both took a hot cider each and headed to a little table, sitting down.

“The kids would love it in there.” Fliss smiled, taking a sip.

“I was just thinking that.” Frank nodded. “I’m definitely sold on a family winter weekend away.”

“Maybe next year.” She mused. “I mean we can’t this year, what with the wedding and then Disney.”

“Yeah, yeah we do.” Frank smiled. A week to Disney with the kids was what they had settled on as a sort of honeymoon, but post that he had a little something else up his sleeve, something that she was going to have no idea about until it was time for them to go.

“I can’t wait to see Mary’s face when we tell her we’re all going to the house of the mouse.” She grinned

“Yeah, she’ll be almost as excited as you.” Frank raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I’m a huge kid at heart.”

“No shit.” He replied and she laughed.

“Oh don’t act like you aint. I heard you giggling away in there when we were on that slide.”

“Well…” He leaned over the table, smiling slightly. “You bring out my inner child, what can I say?”

Fliss grinned and leaned over to give him a soft kiss before she pulled back and smiled, giving a sigh. “Suppose we should head back, it’s getting a little late.”

Frank was loathe to concede she was right. They finished their drinks and headed back to the car, Fliss taking a fond look back at the Ice Castle before climbing into the car. By the time they got back, the pair of them were starving, so the hot tub went another night without use as they made a very good sized dent into the Hamper that Steve had sent them. Once they’d drunk another few glasses of wine they collapsed into bed with full bellies, snuggled together, falling into a comfortable and deep sleep.

***** Fliss woke the next morning before Frank and so she gently kissed his cheek, slipped from the sheets and pulled his hoody over her top as it was a little chilly. She turned up the thermostat and then headed into the kitchen to make a coffee before she settled in the little living room with her book. But she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind was wandering to the kids and she was feeling a little lost now without them. She hadn’t been apart from Alex for more than a night before, and she couldn’t help but miss him, and Mary too.

With a deep sigh she turned the TV on, flicking through the channels and little over half an hour later, Frank padded in, his hair all over the place as he rubbed sleep from his eyes.

“You’re up early.” He said, flopping down next to her, giving her a quick peck.

“I know.” She shrugged. “Think I’m just used to being up early with the kids.” Frank yawned, stretching his legs out, feet resting on the edge of the coffee table as Fliss nestled into him. “Is it wrong that I miss them?”

“No.” Frank gently rubbed his hand up her arm as she gave a little sniffle, pressing her face into his t-shirt. “I miss them being here too. Don’t get upset, Honey.”

“I’m sorry, this is pathetic.”

“It’s not. But uou know what is?” Frank looked down at her, wiping her tears gently. “How excited this thirty-nine year old is about going to an ice cream factory.” At that Fliss spluttered a soft laugh and Frank smiled. “The kids will be fine, Alex is too young to even know we’re gone and, well, Mary won’t care. Not with your mom, dad and Steve fussing over her.”

“I know.”

“You know I’m right or that I’m pathetic?”

“Both.” She smiled up at him and Frank gave a little snort.

After a lazy breakfast they headed into town again for another little walk, Frank skipping lunch so he could eat as much ice cream as humanly possible. Then they made the short drive to Waterbury, the brightly coloured Ice Cream factory making Frank grin like a child as they pulled into a parking space.

“You now, this is basically my childhood dream.” He grinned at Fliss as they climbed out of the car and she rolled her eyes, chuckling to herself.

“Low aspirations there, Sailor!”

He shrugged and they headed inside, Fliss handing her reservation number over to the assistant and they were directed down to the lobby. As they walked, they took in the artwork that adorned the walls detailing the history of the company, which made for an interesting browse. But as soon as they crossed the threshold of the lobby, it was the smell that got them both. It was sweet, notes of vanilla and sugar making them both smile. Whilst they waited in line for their tour to start, they scanned the flavor map that was on the wall, both pointing at various places, and then a bell rang.

“Good afternoon!” A cheery voice spoke and they both turned to the front to see a man stood on a little box, seemingly having appeared from nowhere. “My name is Ben, yes, that is my real name but sadly, no, I’m not the Ben.” A few chuckles rang out. “I’m merely a tour-guide, your tour-guide for the next hour or so in fact. But, before we start I need to tell you a couple of the usual boring housekeeping rules…”

Ben, not the Ben, ran through the usual emergency protocols and stuff, before he clapped his hands together and smiled.

“So, the first stop is the theatre room where you’ll watch a short video on the creation and mission of Ben & Jerry's. No one does ice cream better than BJ. And, as I’m sure most of you will know, BJs come in all sorts of flavours and rarely fail to satisfy.”

At that Frank gave a snort along with a couple of other adults on the tour at the innuendo and Fliss nudged him, grinning at his dirty mind.

“We have a worldwide reputation for excellence, quality, and flavors that are, quite frankly, unparalleled by any other ice cream maker in the world.” The tour guide continued. “Right here, in the town of Waterbury, the Ben & Jerry's factory has been operating since 1985 and it continues to create just as many delicious ice cream flavors as it did when it first opened.” He smiled “Right, so if you would follow me, I’ll take you through. The film is only about five minutes long or so but quality over quantity and after that then the fun really begins.”

A door to their right swung open and the group headed inside, Frank and Fliss taking seats at the back. The lights dimmed and a colourful cartoon began to show, running over the history of the company. Frank, being an avid fan, already knew most of it but to Fliss it was a nice bit of background information.

The little film finished and the lights flicked on again and Ben once more appeared at the front.

“So, now you have the scoop on Ben & Jerry’s…” He began and a few people, including Frank, groaned at the pun and the man held up an apologetic hand. “Yes, I know and I’m sorry to say you’re gonna hear more awful puns as we go along. In fact my legen-dairy puns are actively cone-doned here.”

Frank let out a chuckle as did Fliss.

“Ok, without further ado, let’s go!” The tour guide smiled.

Following in the middle of the group, Frank and Fliss were led into the main factory area where they were able to peer through a glass overlook and look down on the operation below. The ice cream-making process was ongoing and the tour guide began to identify various points of the production process. Frank watched the workers down below, operating the various pieces of equipment, fascinated by it all. They were there for about twenty minutes or so as the manufacturing process was explained, and then they were led to the room which was the one Frank was dying to see- The Flavour-Building room.

Simply put, he was in an ice-cream lover’s heaven. As they walked around they soaked in all the information about where they got the ideas from, the Public engagement and market research process and how they offered opportunities for people to become testers, which Frank made a note of vowing to put in his application. They were then given a sample of a new flavour that hadn’t yet been released, a banana and chocolate one that Fliss pulled a face at but Frank really liked. Neither could deny, however, that there was something truly special about actually trying the ice cream straight from the source. Whilst the pints you could get from the store were incredible, trying fresh ice cream from the factory was nothing short of perfection.

“I’m afraid, Ladies and Gents that we are at the end of the tour. Short, and sweet, yes, pun very much intended, but whilst the guided tour ends here, your Ben & Jerry’s experience doesn’t have to.” Ben grinned. “Our gift-shop should provide you with ample opportunity to browse and buy any souvenirs, and then, why not head down to our Flavor Graveyard to mourn the passing of our dearly de-pinted ice cream flavors. You can also take a vote on your way out as to which one of our offered de-pinted flavours you would like to resurrect.”

After thanking him on their way out of the room, Frank and Fliss wandered round the gift shop and bought a couple of things, and then made their way back outside into the bitter air, walking over to the graveyard. They chuckled at a few of the tomb stones, Fliss pointing out that some of them sounded pretty nice, until she stopped dead at one and cocked her head to one side.

“Peanut Butter and Jelly. Peanut Butter Ice Cream with Peanut Butter Bits and Strawberry Jelly Swirl1 1989-1990” she read and Frank gave a groan of nostalgia as she continued to read the epitaph underneath “An unbeatable duo! Yet somehow it managed to flop in a cone, so we stuck to the sammich.”

“God I loved that as a kid!” Frank sighed. “Dad used to always come home with a pint of it on a Friday. It was gone by Saturday morning. Me and Diane used to fight him for it.” He took a deep breath before nodding firmly. “That’s the one I’m voting to have resurrected. You also need to vote for it.”

“Isn’t voting supposed to be done in secret?” Fliss looked at him as he dropped his arm round her shoulder and they made their way back towards the main area of the buildings.

“True, but I won’t tell if you won’t.” He grinned. “Now, can we go and eat some ice cream? That mouthful in there was nowhere near enough to satisfy me.”

“Whatever you want, Sailor.” She chuckled as she leaned into him a little, smiling. “Whatever you want.”

*****

Whatever he wanted turned out to be about twenty bucks worth of ice cream sundaes complete with every topping imaginable, so by the time they walked back to the cottage after a few drinks in one of the local breweries, Frank was well and truly ready to fat float in the tub thanks to the combination of beer and ice cream in his stomach.

They called back home, Fliss smiling as Alex sat on Bill’s knee, making a grabbing hand at the screen of the phone, Mary chatting away telling them all about how Steve had taken her, Charlie and Joel out to the Zoo for the day. By the time they were done it was pushing seven pm so they both changed, Fliss heading out to the tub with the fluffy guest towels, whilst Frank followed a little while later with the bottle of champagne that had been in the fridge along with a couple of beers for himself. He popped the cork, poured Fliss a glass and then placed the bottle down by the side of the tub next to his spare beers, quipping that given the temperature outside he knew there was no need for an ice bucket.

They sat and watched the moonlight reflecting off the snow of the mountain back drop, simply drinking and chatting, and before they knew it an hour had passed and they had somehow gotten onto the subject of that year’s elections, having seen the first drabbles of news about the rumoured Democrat candidates. When Fliss commented to Frank that she had a horrible suspicion Trump would get re-elected, Frank groaned and slid under the water, pretending to drown himself. When he emerged, he shook his head in the manner of a dog and Fliss chuckled.

“So, if you were president what would be the first thing you'd do, Sailor?” she asked, stretching out her legs along the bench she was sat on, her feet laying flat just to the side of Frank’s right thigh.

“Make being Donald Trump a crime punishable by death.” Frank shot back and Fliss let out a loud laugh.

“That's a little over the top.”

“So is his tan.” Frank shrugged and Fliss snorted again. “What about you?”

Fliss pondered “I’d make three day weekends the law.”

At that Frank looked at her, scoffing. “You work for yourself, you could have a three day weekend if you wanted one.”

“But I don’t.”

“So why would you make it the law then?” he laughed.

“Because I’m thinking of other people.”

“Socialism.” Frank nodded, “Good call.”

Fliss grinned. “And I’d also make it a legal requirement for you to be Professor Adler more often.”

“Assistant Professor.”

“Details.” Fliss waved her hand.

“And what do you mean, more often?” He cocked his head to one side “I’ve never been a Professor in the entire time you’ve known me.”

“You talk like one.”

“No I don’t”

“You so do.” Fliss smirked. “When you’re helping Mary with her homework, debates, the other day on the flight over…”

“Okay, maybe some times, but not much.”

“You should do it more. It’s kinda hot.”

"Is this some kind of strange authority kink? You know, to go along with the grease monkey one?"

Fliss let out a groan "Professor Adler in a shirt with rolled up sleeves and dirty arms and face..." she bit her lip and Frank let out a loud snort as he shook his head.

"You have a problem."

"Yeah, a big one. In that now I can't get that fucking image out of my head.” She cocked her head to one side as Frank laughed. “Hey, did you ever fuck any of your students? You know, favours for extra credit?"

Frank choked on the mouthful of beer he had just taken. "You’re a dick"

"I'll take that as a no then."

"No I didn't. Because that would have been a gross abuse of power."

“So not because you didn’t want to?”

“Fucking hell, Fliss!” he shook his head, before he smirked "I might have had you been one of them. Especially if your mouth was a smart back then as it is now."

"You've never complained about my smart mouth before." She teased.

"That's because you put it to good use." Frank looked at her, his eyes darkening "Had you used it to sass me like you do, in one of my lectures, I'd have been pissed"

"How pissed?" She asked, her leg dropping off the ledge she was sat on, foot trailing up the inside of his calf.

"Seriously pissed."

"Yeah?" Her foot stopped at his thigh and his hand reached under the water, gently grabbing her ankle. He shifted a little, the tightness in his swim-shorts a good indication about how he was finding this much more of a turn on than he should, and levelled her with a stern look. He saw her chest hitch a little and he arched an eyebrow.

"You're in danger of finding out if you carry on." He all but growled.

Fliss bit her lip before she shifted and pulled her leg from his grasp before she moved over the tub, glass in her hand as she straddled him. "Know what I am very good at finishing?"

"What?" Frank swallowed, the feel of her in his lap was doing nothing to help his little situation so to speak.

"Champagne." She smirked, raising the glass to her lips as she tossed the rest of the white down her throat. Frank let out a groan of a chuckle as she laughed, gently kissing his cheek. "Sadly, that was the last of it. Shall I open that final bottle of red wine?”

"Sure, I'm all gassed out from beer." Frank nodded, draining his bottle. “I’ll get it, sweetheart.”

"Its fine. I need to pee anyway.” Fliss moved to stand up, giving a little squeal, ducking back down under the water. “Fuck its cold."

"Kinda happened when you're in a mountain resort surrounded by snow."

"Asshole" she rolled her eyes before she stood up again, giving Frank an eyeful of the front of her body. Her arms and shoulders were ridiculously defined thanks to her riding and physical job, her large breasts were swelling over the top of the green bikini top she was wearing which sported a large knot at the front, the bottoms slung low on her hips as the decorative buckle sat over her reasonably flat but soft stomach, the faded, silvery stretch marks which were just about visible as they glistened with water, a reminder of how she'd carried, given birth and nurtured his son.

She was a marvel, and as he looked her up and down she flushed a little, the way she always did when he was blatantly ogling her and he shrugged. With a coy glance over her shoulder she climbed up the steps to the tub to hop out and Frank then got an eyeful of her firm ass and stupidly toned legs as she wrapped herself in a towel and headed quickly across the decking to the door that led into the kitchen area.

Frank leaned back in the arm water with a sigh as she disappeared from sight, contemplating not for the first time, just how much his life had changed since she had walked into it. He had no doubt in his mind she’d sent him along a completely different path, a far better path, despite the little bumps along the way. Her family had welcomed him and Mary with open arms, and right from the start had treat them both like they were their own. She’d encouraged his reconciliation with his mother, embraced and positively enjoyed the birth of their son despite the fact he knew full well some people had shitty comments about how soon and fast that had all come around with them being together just over a year. But time didn’t mean shit to him, as he’d said the other night, he’d known since that first kiss they’d had on the borrowed boat that if he never held another woman in his arms in his life he’d die a happy man.

But it wasn’t just him that had changed. Fliss had become far more confident and assure in herself as she had settled into a relationship that she felt safe and comfortable in. She still had her little moments and there were so many things they had never actually experienced together that she had tentative memories of, but they worked through them. Even when they argued, in a twisted way it made Frank feel almost pleased that she felt safe enough with him to call him out on his bullshit or stand her ground, even if she was wrong, without fear of getting a beating in retaliation. She’d opened herself to him intimately as well, in ways she’d admitted she’d been scared of because she’d had nothing but brutal or rough memories.

Suddenly his mind flew back to that evening on the boat in their garage a few weeks ago, when he’d pushed her just that little bit further and been pretty rough with her, remembering how he’d fucked her from behind as she leant over the bench at the back. God, that had been incredible.

And now his little problem was a pretty large one as he was rock hard. He slipped his hand down under the water, in an attempt to try and make himself feel a little more comfortable but it was no use. He knew that the only way was going to sort this out, so to speak, was currently bustling around in the kitchen.

Fuck it.

Rising out of the water, he hopped out of the tub and strode across the decking, the wood cold on his feet as he made his way purposefully into the kitchen. Fliss was just turning setting two wine glasses out on the side, and without warning, he strode up behind her and grabbed her hips over the top of the towel she was wrapped in. She gave a little squeak as he spun her round, his lips crashing to hers in a bruising kiss.

“Frank…” she mumbled, and he shook his head.

“Shut up.” He muttered, his lips back on hers. His tongue slid across her upper lip and she gave a soft groan, opening her mouth, allowing him to taste all of her, one hand sliding into her hair as he held her to him, not giving her an inch of space, his rock hard dick pressing into her stomach. She reached for his face but at the motion, his hands grabbed her wrists and forced them back to her sides, clearly, but wordlessly telling her who was in charge as he pulled away, his forehead pressing to hers as he untucked the towel, letting it drop to the floor. One hand sliding up her bare side, over her breast and came to rest at the base of her throat and he hesitated for a second, suddenly his memory spiked with the imagery of angry red finger marks around her delicate neck courtesy of that fucker in Boston almost eighteen months before. He stopped dead, his chest heaved, as for the first time Frank found himself a little lost about just how to proceed, worried he’d over stepped the mark.

And then Fliss’ eyes flashed, with excited trepidation as she leaned forward a little, her hand curling around his wrist.

“Do it.” She whispered, her lips ghosting his.

And at that Frank lost all self-control, a door he’d kept locked for as long as they’d been intimate was blown open the moment the words left her mouth.

Their lips found one another again, his hands moving to her waist to both pull her closer and he began to tug at her bikini bottoms, and in a quick swoop shoved them down as he took hold of her hips again so to manoeuvre her wherever he wanted, the pair of them stumbling a little before he roughly picked her up. Her bare legs immediately wrapped around his slim waist and her arms went around his neck as he slammed her up against the cold glass of the patio doors that led out to the decking. Using it as support he shifted his grip from under her ass, one hand wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her head in position as he kissed her, while the other pried her hands from around him. He wrapped his large hand round both of her wrists, pinning her arms above her head and held them there tightly as his mouth continued to fuck hers, hard, deliberate swipes of his tongue over hers, swallowing the little sighs and whimpers she was making.

Fliss rolled her hips hard against him which was enough to distract him a little, his mouth pausing, but not for long. His lips moved from hers, down to her jaw, her neck, and he bit and sucked, his lust addled brain not giving a single shit if he marked her flawless skin. The hand that was wrapped round her neck moved, skating down her side and over her bare stomach and she arched into the touch, wanting him to move a bit south, but his hand stopped an inch away from where she wanted it to be.

“You’re mine.” Frank’s voice was right by her ear, and he spoke with a deep, almost dark tone that Fliss had never heard from him before. It was full of desire, and it sent a shiver down her spin as once more she attempted to thrust up into his hand, desperate for any sense of relief. But he pulled away a little, making her whine a bit. “Ah ah, baby girl.”

“Frank.” she breathed out, stumbling over her words “Fuck, I…”

He cut her off as he surged forward, kissing her desperately and she openly cried out into his mouth as two of his fingers slipped inside of her. His motions were fast and aggressive and he brought her to the brink, and then stopped.

“Like that?” He breathed out, voice ragged, his lips brushing hers. “Tell me you do and you want this.” “Frankie, please.” She thrust her hips out toward him, gasping “I want you, always…”

At her words Frank felt his cock twitch and with a growl that was positively feral, his hand reached into his swim-shorts as he freed his painfully hard erection from them. He pushed the tip of his cock into her folds, pausing slightly before he slammed the rest of the way into her, making her cry out sharply. He continued to rut into her over and over causing the patio doors to rattle a little, and, as he looked up into her eyes, he found them wide with a look of surprise and downright lust which drove him even wilder and he dropped his head to the swell of her breasts. His free hand moved, pulling the cups of her bikini down and his mouth went to work, sucking and nipping, leaving red marks across her skin as his teeth and beard bit and scratched her raw as his hips snapped back and forth with an avaricious pace.

As he rolled a nipple between his teeth, Fliss let out a loud cry and tried to lean in more to him more, the motion made him go deeper inside of her, which caused them both to groan at the feeling. At that Frank moved his mouth back to hers, both messily kissing each other as he spun her round and stumbled around the kitchen area before he lay her a little roughly over the island in the middle, yanking her back slightly so that her ass hung off the side. His hips pistoned in and out of her with a force that it jolted her body back and forth, her hands flying to either side of her, palms slapping down on the cool surface. She arched her back, her ankles locking around his waist as he leaned down to kiss her again, his brow now beaded with sweat, chest heaving as he felt the coil in his belly starting to tighten.

“Fuck, Frank, I’m gonna…” Fliss felt the red, hot feeling brewing between her legs and thighs, her belly contracting as she teetered along the edge of her orgasm and at her words Frank slammed into her even harder before he gave a dirty little grind against her, repeating the motion a few more times and then she was done. She let out a loud scream and tightened around him, white lights exploding in front of her eyes as the entire world faded to nothing but a jumble of shapes and distant noises as her release wracked her entire body. Her legs trembled around him, gripping him tighter around his waist as she continued to groan out incoherently and at the feel of her tight heat pulsing around him, Frank’s final few thrusts became desperate before he gave a loud “Fahhk…” and he came, hard, his knees buckling slightly as he gripped at the edge of the counter, trying to steady himself.

His arms trembled as he gasped, before he leaned forward, his forehead pressing into her chest as she lay there, legs hanging off the side of the counter, her breathing deep, hands gently tangling in his hair as they both desperately tried to right themselves. Eventually, Frank found the strength to raise his head, his softening cock still stuffed inside of Fliss as he moved to kiss her again. This time the kiss was soft, and loaded with love as he slid his nose against hers, his eyes closed.

“Did I hurt you?” He swallowed, his voice raspy and Fliss shook her head.

“No, you would never hurt me.” She whispered. At that Frank opened his eyes to find her smiling gently at him, her face flushed, a look of sated satisfaction across her pretty features.

“I don’t know what came over me.” He shrugged, almost apologetically and she chuckled, her hand sliding to his shoulders.

“I don’t care.” She took another deep breath “Frank, that was…”

“Yeah.” He agreed, not needing to hear what she was going to say. “I know.”

“I think I’m done in the tub.” She mumbled and Frank chuckled.

“Bed?”

“Yeah. We should probably shower first.”

“Okay.” He move and pulled out of her slowly, before he tucked himself back into his shorts. Fliss pushed herself up into a sitting position and he gently wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her towards him. Her legs once more wrapped around his waist and she kissed him again, her hands sliding through his hair before he gently set her down on the floor. He took his time to scan her up and down as she sorted her swimwear, not missing the red marks on her neck, or the finger shaped ones on her hips where he’d manhandled her. He gently reached out to brush over the red lines he’d made just above her bikini bottoms with the pads of his fingers and her hands fell over his, and she shook her head.

“Don’t “she said gently as he looked up at her, his eyes locking onto hers. “They were made with love, not anger, Frank.”

He swallowed a little at her words, as she kissed him again, and then with her fingers laced into his she turned and they made their way to the bedroom. They took a quick joint shower, cleaning up, sharing a few more gentle kisses and hugs before they dried off and collapsed into bed, utterly spent.

“I love you sweetheart.” Frank pulled Fliss close, her back pressing to his chest as he pressed a soft kiss to her neck. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too, baby.” She yawned, shuffling back into him as they both closed their eyes and settled down, sleep claiming them in a ridiculously short time.

**** The next morning they both woke and lay in bed, just cuddling and chatting for a while before it was time to pack up and head to the airport. They packed their heavy winter coats into their bags just before check in and then headed through security and settled into the bar for a drink whilst they waited for their flight.

Thankfully, their trip home was as smooth as their trip out, no bags went missing and their transfer was on time, so at just after 3pm they touched down in Florida. Little over half an hour later they emerged into the arrivals lounge at Tampa Airport and Frank chuckled as Mary ran to them both. He dropped the bags he was carrying, swinging her up into his arms with a groan, dropping a kiss to her cheek as she hugged him. He then placed her onto the floor and she moved to hug Fliss.

“I missed you both!” She grinned as Fliss straightened up.

“We missed you too!” Fliss smiled at her, before she looked at her Dad who had just given Frank a quick back slapping embrace. “How’s Alex?”

“He’s fine, he’d just gone down when I came out to pick you up.” Bill smiled, giving her a hug. “So, did you have a nice time?”

“It was great.” Frank smiled, picking up his bag as Bill reached to take Fliss’. “Loved every second of it.”

“Did you bring me a present?” Mary demanded as they headed through towards the elevator to take them to the parking lot.

“Matter of fact, yes we did.” Frank smiled and he reached into his small carry-on bag , pulling out a half drunk bottle of water. “Brought you some genuine Vermont snow except it melted, so now it’s more genuine Vermont water.”

Mary looked at it, then to him. “That’s not funny, Dad.” She glared as Bill roared with laughter. She snatched the bottle of Evian and then gave a scoff. “You could have at least tried to make the joke with a bottle of water from this country.”

“So ungrateful.” Frank took it back from her and twisted the cap off, taking a long drink as the elevator doors opened. “Tell you what, snow water sure does taste good.”

Marry rolled her eyes before she turned to Bill. “Can I stay with you?”

“Course you can love.”

“Good, because you’re much less of an idiot than he is.” She jerked her thumb at Frank who arched his eyebrow at her.

“Oh I dunno about that.” Fliss quipped cheekily as Bill looked at her, his eyebrow raised. “I could tell you a few tales about some pretty dumb stuff he’s done.”

“Like what?” Mary asked.

“Like the time he crashed a fork-lift into the side of a van on a building site.” Fliss mused. “Or when he dropped a hammer on his foot and broke two of his toes when he was putting up a shelf in the kitchen.”

“Are we going there, Titch?” Bill turned to her as he selected the floor for their car, Frank and Mary’s laughter echoing around the elevator. “Because as far as doing stupid stuff goes, you and your brother take the biscuit.”

“Cookie.” Mary looked at him. “They take the cookie.”

“Biscuit.” Bill shot back.

“We had this discussion last night, Poppa Bill!” Mary shook her head. “It’s a cookie.”

Bill looked down at her, then to Frank.

“I changed my mind, you can keep her.” He deadpanned.

**** Chapter 21

#riding on #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #gifted #gifted fan fic #frank adler smut #chris evans #chris evans characters

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slippinmickeys · 4 years ago

Text

The Earl (13/13)

This was a labor of love, and I can’t thank you guys enough for sticking with me. For Lin, my science editor, to Fiona and Amanda for beta-ing like champions, you guys were my rocks. Finally, thank you to you readers for keeping up the enthusiasm for this story for far longer than it probably should have taken me to write it. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I do hope its everything you wanted it to be.

To read this in its entirety on AO3, you may do so here.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mulder, on his horse Hercule at the lead of what amounted to a well-outfitted cavalry, pounded down the stretch of road that led to Harwood Hall, the manse just coming into view. It was all thundering hooves behind him, and he could hear grunts of the horsed men that followed, could feel their thrilled energy at his back, and he was half-compelled to let out the war whoop of his Celtic forebears, riding into battle as they were, ready to save their damsel in distress. If it hadn't been for the generations of genteel decorum bred into him, he probably would have.

The fields lay long on either side of the narrow road, dotted occasionally with sheep and ancient stone fences. The sea shone far to the right and came into the land at an angle, pushing in toward the thumb-sized house like a shining sapphire buttress.

He was armed to the teeth, as were the men with him -- two pistols strapped to his hips and an old but perfectly balanced sword tight to his waist, the sheathed end of it tapping into Hercule’s flank and spurring him on. Walter and his Runner colleague Doggett were each carrying pistols — Doggett carrying an English flintlock blunderbuss in his left hand. Langly, who looked queasy on horseback and was not keeping his seat well, had what looked to be a long flintlock Kentucky plains rifle (said to be favored on the American Frontier), and Frohike, sturdy as a barnacle on his steely grey pony, had the intricately carved handle and stock of a Prussian target percussion rifle sticking out of an odd holster on his back. Byers carried a saber. Mulder couldn't help but wonder what a sight they made rolling along the English countryside at full gallop, their armory glinting in the sun.

As they barreled closer, Mulder could see that the manor itself was not overly large, but had a long fence and tall gate. They would have to get through it just to get on the property. Perhaps riding in like the Roman Legion hadn't been the best idea, but his wife was close -- he could feel it -- and his heart would have nothing but war until she was by his side.

Hercule had energy and heart to give, and Mulder could feel the animal ranging further and further ahead of the inferior horses giving chase behind them. In fact, when he looked back, he could see nothing but road dust and the occasional glint of metal.

Looking ahead, he could now see the house clearly, its brick the color of the sand on the shores surrounding it, and his eye caught movement at the building's entrance. Perhaps the fight was coming to them -- so be it.

He eased back on the reins and murmured a low command to Hercule, who slowed his steps only enough for the cavalry behind them to ease closer, and the figure from the manse -- Mulder could see that it was single figure now, dressed in white -- was moving quickly toward the gate. Perhaps it was a servant who thought Mulder was the post.

He wouldn't give them the chance to discover otherwise.

He pulled his pistol out from his hip and cocked it, skidding Hercule to a halt on the slippery gravel, and throwing himself from the saddle as he did so to land in a crouch in front of the gate. He could hear the other riders pulling in behind him as he rose and raised his pistol to point at the person who had just swung open the weir. He could not yet make out their identity, blocked as they were by the ornate iron lock.

"Stand and deliver," he said with calibrated fury.

And then he saw her face.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Stand and deliver,” said a voice with the steely edge of violence. There was a pistol aimed directly at her nose. It took her only a moment to look past the barrel to the man holding it.

“Mulder!” she gasped, and launched herself at him. His arms came around her with the feeling of home and she allowed herself one brief moment of transcendent euphoria before she pulled away from him.

“Good God, Scully, I-” he fumbled. She had clearly taken him by surprise. The men mounted behind him were all wearing equally shocked looks.

“Away!” she said quickly, “Mulder, we must away!”

Upon the heels of her statement came a calamitous blast, followed immediately by another. The horses threw their heads nervously.

A balding man she didn’t know squared his jaw up and turned his horse away from the house, shouting, “On me!” before spurring away.

Mulder practically leapt upon Hercule’s back and grabbed Scully around the waist, lifting her easily up into the saddle in front of him, and they were away before a third and fourth detonation burst from the house behind them. The other riders, Sir Byers and his associates among them, followed, their horses spurred along by fear. They were barely away when there was an absolutely massive explosion. Frohike’s pony screamed.

Hercule was in the lead, despite having the added burden of a second rider, and rode on, unfazed. After several hundred yards, Mulder slowed the creature, holding Scully tightly to him, and turned the horse to look back on the estate.

There was nothing left. Where once stood a large country house there was now just a smoking crater. Scully felt nothing but satisfaction. She supposed she should feel something for the life that she had taken, but her God believed in an eye for an eye, and so help her, when it came to that man, she did too.

The other riders caught up with them and turned their horses to look as well. The balding man had fine, wire rim spectacles and looked at what was left of the house and then at her, giving her an assessing once-over.

“My lady,” the man said, “you did not, perchance, happen to find munitions somewhere on the estate, did you?”

“As a matter of fact,” Scully said, leaning back into the warm bulk of Mulder, “I did.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Well,” said Frohike as he dismounted his pony in front of the stables at Ashford Park, swinging his Prussian rifle over his shoulder, “we’re all dressed up and we’ve nowhere to go.”

A groom helped Scully dismount, then Mulder swung down behind her, handing over his reins, refusing to let his wife get so much as an arm’s length away from him. The other members of the rescue party were dismounting around them, scattering gravel at their feet and shaking hands.

Suddenly, there was a shout from the manor and Suzanne came careening down the steps and running towards them.

“You’ve done it!” she said, skidding to a stop in front of Scully and then wrapping her up in an embrace, “you’ve saved her!”

“Nay,” said Byers, stepping forward, “the lady has saved herself. We were but an armed escort bringing her home.”

Mulder felt a swell of pride momentarily override his intense sense of relief. His wife; intelligent, capable, resourceful. She had described her escape to the men on their slow ride back to Byers’s estate to the impressed astonishment of the horsed collective -- how she used her extensive knowledge of chemistry to escape the small cottage in which she had been imprisoned, how she found stores and stores of gunpowder and munitions in Spender’s stables and used them to ensure that the man never hurt anyone else ever again.

Frohike himself had asked many questions, and with each answer, he would shake his head and look at Mulder, no doubt wondering what the Earl had done to deserve such a remarkable paradigm of a woman.

Mulder wondered that, himself.

As the group began wandering back toward the house, Mulder pulled Scully aside.

“This must all be overwhelming. And I would like to hear all that happened to you -- when you are ready to share it -- but first, I must know one thing: Did he hurt you? Did any of them hurt you?”

She reached up and cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand.

“Not in the way you fear,” she whispered.

He reached up and put his hand over her own, holding it close. “I would take whatever suffering you have endured and make it my own.”

“Something tells me you already have,” she said. She was more right than she knew. “I would like to go to our chambers now, Mulder, and change out of this soiled and ruined dress. And I would like to take a bath. And then…”

“Then?”

“Will you hold me?”

“I can do that,” he said.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder gently fingered the uneven ends of Scully’s shorn hair from where she lay tightly spooned up into his side. It felt so wonderful to be back in her husband’s arms.

“Does it look horrid?” she mumbled half into the pillow they shared. She knew he had loved her long tresses.

“You could never look horrid. It’s actually quite fetching. It highlights the elegant column of your neck. And if I’m honest, I can’t stop touching it.” He placed a soft kiss to the place where her jaw met her neck and she shivered, finally turning to face him.

“Whatever will the ton say?”

“They’ll say ‘what an extraordinary woman is the Countess of Wexford, and what an undeserving wretch she has for an Earl.’”

“Never.” She reached for his face and he kissed the tips of her fingers.

“I should have saved you. I should have done something about Spender, long ago. I never should have-“

She shushed him. “Mulder, I am frequently underestimated because of my sex. For once, I was able to use that fact to my advantage. I don’t ever want to hear you blame yourself for the reprehensible actions of another. You were not to blame. For any of it.”

He reached out and ran his fingers once again through what remained of her hair, looking at her with reverence. She was silent for a moment before reaching up and touching it, too.

“I suppose my hair will have plenty of time to grow out before we attend any events in Town,” she said.

“You don’t wish to return to London?” he asked, his voice a low murmur.

“Most ladies I know retreat to their country homes for the duration of their confinement.” She watched closely for his reaction, and saw it in his eyes the moment realization hit -- they went from confusion to elation.

“Your… your confinement?” he asked breathily. She nodded, smiling.

He grabbed her face in two hands and kissed her soundly, then pulled back the covers on the bed and moved down until his face was level with her abdomen. He lifted her shift until the bare skin of her belly was exposed, and leaned in to place a reverential kiss there, too. His mouth lingered. He whispered something she could not make out.

She felt a rush of yearning wash over her. “Mulder,” she whispered, and he looked up, his mossy eyes connecting with hers. They didn’t have to speak. He crawled his way back up her body slowly and kissed her softly, his weight resting on his hip, one hand in her hair, the other caressing her with a featherlight touch. She felt desire pool between her legs.

He pulled back and nosed his way gently down the curve of her jaw, flicking his tongue slowly as he eased his way along the column of tendons in her neck. Her head fell back on a blissful moan, and she threaded her fingers through his hair, letting the silken softness play about the skin of her hands, wanting to feel him -- all of him -- reveling in having him back at her side, within her grasp.

He drew back momentarily to pull his white lawn shirt up and over his head, dropping it to the floor. The space between them felt like a sea, and she realized in that moment that however deeply she thought she had loved him before she’d been taken by Spender was a pittance. The love she felt for him in this moment threatened to overwhelm her. She longed to feel him against her, inside of her, every unyielding edge and hard plane of him; she wanted to take all that he was and absorb him like water, like air.

She reached for him.

XxXxXxXxXxX

He marveled at her. The soft contours of her body called to him; her pliant skin, her lush, pearl-pink-tipped breasts, her soft seawater eyes. None of which compared to the rapier-sharp intelligence of her beautiful mind. It was like she was moulded from clay by the gods specifically for him. He was a hopeless wretch in love. And now there was a babe inside her belly.

He felt an overwhelming tenderness toward her, at her resilience and strength in finding her way back to him, and he felt himself marveling at the miracle of life they’d created.

He sat back on his haunches, roving his eyes over her, struck dumb.

And then she reached for him.

“I need you,” she whispered, beseeching him, “I need to take you inside of me. Please.”

The blood thrummed inside of him.

He reached down and delicately parted her legs, taking himself in hand and gently thumbing the soft bud at the crest of her sex. She hissed a breath through her teeth and he guided himself, sliding straight home.

Scully reached under his arms with both hands and wrapped them around his shoulders, pulling him tightly to her. He thrust up into her slowly, tenderly, keeping his weight on his elbows, framing her face with his arms.

He could feel her pulse as it beat in her slick sheath and he took a breath, trying to control himself. He wanted this to be sweet, tender lovemaking -- a homecoming -- but with every stroke, he felt more and more desperate for release.

A sob wrenched from her throat and she turned her face into his neck, pressing her teeth into the skin there.

“Mulder,” she panted, her voice hungry with yearning, with palpable, unabashed need.

He turned and pressed a soft kiss to her lips and then leaned back, grabbing her hips in both hands. He began to snap into her with more force, and her hips rose with each plunge, as desperate to meet him as he was to be buried deep inside of her. And then she threw her arms over her head, her hands pushing against the carved headboard of the bed, her head thrown back, and she keened an almost inhuman sound, her muscles gripping him in an endless, pulsing clutch.

He ascended to a place beyond thought.

XxX

Mulder awoke once again with the smell of lavender in his nose, the soft curve of Scully’s behind pressed into him. He inhaled deeply and pulled her more tightly to him.

He would stay here all week, all month, all year, if he could. But he needed to send word to Henwick Priory that he and the Countess would be arriving soon, and staying for the duration.

He rose and gently extricated himself from around Scully, dressing as quickly and quietly as he could. He was just pulling on his Hessians when his wife inhaled deeply in the bed and rolled over, cracking an eye to look at him with a small smile on her face.

“What time is it?” she croaked, her voice rough with sleep.

There was an ormolu clock on the mantle of the bedroom, and Mulder peered at it before coming to sit on the bed next to her hip.

“It’s just past nine o’clock. If you wish to go back to sleep, please do so.”

She stretched, brushing a hand down his arm to thread her fingers through his own.

“I shall rise,” she said, “I’d like to write to my mother and visit with Suzanne. Would you mind calling for Prudence?”

Mulder hesitated briefly, but then rose and pulled the cord. It seemed only moments before the door to their chambers opened.

“My lady!” Prudence came rushing into the room, a joyful look of relief on her face.

“Prudence,” said Scully fondly, reaching her hands out to recieve her.

“Oh, my lady ,” Prudence said again, taking Scully’s hands. She seemed to be overwhelmed with emotion.

Mulder stepped forward. He had not spoken with Prudence since calling her in to meet the Bow Street Runners, and charging off the second she gave them the location of Spender’s Kent estate. The young woman eyed him warily before glancing back at her mistress.

“You need not call the Countess that anymore,” he said calmly to her.

Both women swung their eyes to him; Scully in confusion, Prudence in something close to fear.

“And what should she call me?” Scully asked.

“Sister,” Mulder said simply. “For that is what she is to me.”

“My lord?” Prudence queried.

“Come,” Mulder said, pulling the envelope scrawled with a large X out of his pocket. “I’ve something to show you both.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

EPILOGUE

Several Years Later

The spring air was deeply fragrant, the mossy banks of the ornamental lake a dazzling shade of green. The sun was so bright she sneezed.

"Bless you, my lady," said a gentle voice from behind her.

Scully turned to thank Sir Byers from where he sat on a large blanket spread out on the grassy embankment just under an ancient oak on the north lawn of Henwick Priory. Byers was cradling a sleeping babe -- he and Suzanne's second, little Reynard, named for his Godfather.

Scully turned back to where she had been watching -- peering at the arbor twenty yards away for the child's namesake. Mulder had taken three-year-old Clio into the vast gardens to look for butterflies, but they had been gone near to thirty minutes -- it was likely the child had been distracted by something or other in the terraced space -- she had, after all, inherited her mother's scientific curiosity.

Just as she was about to turn away, she saw movement, and Clio came running out from the garden, her skirts flying out behind her. She wore a gleeful smile and her bright red curls glinted in the sun.

"Mama!" she shouted as she approached, "we found a caterpillar!"

Scully swept the girl up in her arms and pressed a kiss into the child's pink cheek.

"Oh, you must tell me the color! We'll identify it."

"Papa said it was a Cinnabar moth," Clio said, dropping her heavy head sleepily onto Scully's shoulder. The child had a tendency, like her father, to drop off at a moment's notice and it was nearing time for her afternoon lay-down.

"Oh, he did, did he?" Scully said. Mulder was getting better at taxonomy, but he had a habit of misidentifying the things he classified for their children, if only to get a playful rise out of their mother.

Scully looked for said Papa and found him emerging from the gardens, walking slowly with his hands behind his back, patiently trailing William, the future Tenth Earl of Wexford, who had learned to walk only the month before and was toddling along jerkily, like a sailor in his cups. Scully caught eyes with the boy's father and he grinned at her, the smile crinkling the skin at his eyes.

"I see your father found your little brother," Scully said, smoothing out Clio's pinafore. "Where is your Auntie Pru?"

Samantha had offered to take William along on the garden expedition when the boy began crying that his father was walking away.

"She and Monica are cutting flowers for the picnic!" Clio answered, and turned in Scully's arms, wanting down.

William finally toddled up and flopped down on the blanket next to Byers, and Mulder strode up to Scully smelling of grass and sunshine with an underlying trace of clover. He leaned down and captured her lips in a quick kiss.

"My lady," he mumbled into her.

"My lord," she said, then looked down to see William attempting to dive into one of the baskets the footman had set out for their afternoon picnic.

"O-ho!" said Mulder as he swept up William away from the temptation, throwing the child into the air and catching him a moment later. The boy squealed in glee. "Not until everyone has arrived, little one," his father gently chided him.

In what amounted to rather perfect timing, Frohike, Langly, Suzanne and the oldest Byers child Emma at that moment came tromping down the steps on the north side of the estate, just as Samantha and another woman emerged from the garden, each with an armful of pink tulips.

"Oh, what a lovely addition to our picnic!" Scully said to Samantha's bright smile. She kissed her sister-in-law's cheek.

"It looks like Cli is about to drop off," Samantha grinned.

"No I'm not, Auntie Pru," the child said on a large yawn. To the day, both Mulder and Scully sometimes called Samantha by her middle name out of habit and the children had latched onto the idea.

"Do you want me to take her up to the nursery?" Samantha whispered. Scully shook her head. Samantha had been welcomed into the family without reservation, but at times was still not used to her elevated rank and attempted to do various tasks best left to the staff. It drove Mrs. Paxton batty.

"Sit, Samantha," said Monica Reyes, Samantha's hired companion, who was arranging the flowers prettily in an empty basket, "put your feet up. Have a cup of tea."

Initially Monica had been hired as companion, chaperone and etiquette tutor, drilling Samantha in the ways of the ton , but the ladies were now very good friends and, thought Scully wistfully, perhaps something more.

Mulder set his son down once again on the blanket and came up to Scully, putting his arms around her from behind. "That's good advice," he rumbled in her ear. She shivered slightly. He still had the ability to give her gooseflesh with a mere touch.

"Perhaps I will," she sighed happily, leaning into him.

“Ah, the cavalry has arrived!” said Mulder as the group from the house approached.

“Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people,” Frohike quoted, letting go of Emma’s hand. She and Clio -- who had found a second wind of energy upon seeing her friend -- darted off to play on the spacious lawn.

“I count myself in nothing else so happy,” Mulder quoted back, “As in a soul remembering my good friends.”

“Shakespeare is all well and good,” said Langly, whinging ever so slightly, “but can we eat?”

“Champagne first!” Mulder announced, nodding to a footman who had been waiting nearby with the refreshment.

Frohike’s eyebrows rose as he took the proffered glass and he peered knowingly at the lord and lady of the house, who still stood in an embrace. “What’s the occasion?”

“We’ve an announcement,” Scully smiled, and Mulder reached down to caress the bump in Scully’s belly that was just beginning to make itself known.

“I knew it!” clapped Suzanne.

“Again?” gaped Langly.

Mulder winked at his bespeckled friend and raised his glass. “To good friends reunited,” he said, “and the blessing of another child.”

The gathered party raised their glasses in a toast.

Frohike looked up, thoughtful. “A third Wexford babe, and I’ve yet to find a wife.”

“My friend,” Mulder said, pressing a loving kiss into Scully’s hair before looking up at him, “never give up on a miracle.”

THE END

#The X-Files #Fanfic #MSR #AU #Regency #The Countess #The Earl #Sequel #My Fic

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frankiefellinlove · 3 years ago

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THE STEVIE FILES PROUDLY PRESENTS - THE AMAZING ROCK & ROLL ODYSSEY OF STEVEN VAN ZANDT

From The Source to Soulfire via Springsteen and Sam & Dave

Recorded, transcribed, edited, written, produced, mixed and mastered by MIKE SAUNDERS

SIDE TWO (1975-1983)

Track 6: Miami Steve, The Asbury Jukes, Tenth Avenue and Hammersmith

In early 1975, Steven returned to New Jersey from Florida, inappropriately dressed for the winter weather. “I came back with the flowered shirts and the Sam Snead hat and continued wearing them in the snow.” For the next seven years, he was known as Miami Steve. He joined Southside in the Blackberry Booze Band and within weeks they’d altered and expanded its line-up (adding keyboard player Kevin Kavanaugh from Middletown and bass player Alan Berger from The Dovells’ backing band), transformed its musical direction, changed its name to Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes (referencing their mutual hero Little Walter’s band and first single release) and established a successful three-nights-a-week, five-sets-a-night residency at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park.

“Just before that, me, Southside, Bruce and Garry went to see Sam & Dave. A life-changing moment. So me and Southside basically decided we were gonna be the white Sam & Dave, with rock guitar. So the horns came in and although we didn’t know it, we would change the entire concept of what a bar band sounded like and the respect a bar band would get by making it creative, soul meets rock. ‘Bar band’ was an insult. ‘You’re a bar band,’ which means you can’t make it in the real music world. After the Jukes, they started using ‘bar band’ in reviews and they meant it as a compliment, with Graham Parker and Elvis Costello and Mink DeVille. We changed the way people thought about these things.”

The Miami Horns were a vital component of the new band. Steven composed the horn arrangements, but although he’s always possessed a natural ability to imagine horn parts, he doesn’t read or write music (“never have”) and has always required a little help from his friends to transcribe them. “I have people write ‘em down, to this day. I like that actually. You have to do a lotta things yourself so any excuse I find to collaborate I do it. I find other people will bring something to the party usually. That’s why [I’ve] used Eddie Manion for I don’t know how many years. He knows how I like to voice things. Once I think of something and create the parts, I get bored if I have to voice every part, exactly right. If I hear a voicing I don’t like, I will change it, but I get bored by the mechanics of everything.”

While the Jukes were building their reputation and growing their audience, Bruce invited Steven to hang out at the Born To Run sessions in New York, where he was working on “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out.” David Sanborn and The Brecker Brothers had been hired to play the horn parts, but Steven created a spontaneous new arrangement. He’s told this anecdote countless times, but I ask him to repeat it because it provides perfect examples of his innate musical talents in action (“I can hear the parts, who knows why?”), the nature of his friendship with Bruce (“I still am the only human being not afraid of him”), and his no-bullshit attitude (“I didn’t know anything about diplomacy”).

“So he says, ‘Whaddya think?’ I said, ‘It sucks, that’s what I think!’ I didn’t know how uptight everybody was. I didn’t give a fuck either. The managers and producers were all afraid of him already. He asked me a question, I’m gonna be honest. I’m trying to help my friend here, not make points with some fucking record company guy. Moment of silence. ‘He just said it sucks, which means we all suck.’ Bruce [says] ‘Alright then, go in and fucking fix it.’ So I did. I went in and sang the [new] parts. I didn’t know they were the most famous [session] guys in New York. It wasn’t insulting them, the chart was ridiculous. That was my thing, just from the Jukes being around maybe six months.”

“I wasn’t really feeling the pressure that Bruce was at the time. I didn’t realise his life depended on this album. His first two records hadn’t done very well. They wanted to drop him. I don’t know how aware I was of any of that. He invited me into the session and I’m laying on the floor. All I can think is, we’ve been hoping to get into recording our whole lives, I’m listening to this and it sounds fucking terrible. Not just the horn charts, everything. It was the worst period of recording in history. Virtually every record from the 50s and 60s sounded great, virtually every record from the early 70s sounded terrible. Because engineers took over, started close miking, padding the walls. Separation, separation, separation, all the things that make rock ‘n’ roll suck. The idea was, you isolate everything and make it sound exciting in the mix. Which they managed to do, miraculously, with the Born To Run album. Because it was pieced together in a bizarre way. Bruce made that record 100% out of willpower, he willed that into existence!”

Soon after making his instinctive artistic contribution (and singing backing vocals on “Thunder Road”), Steven was invited to join the E Street Band. It was a chance to complete the circle, play with his old friend again and settle any unfinished business from three summers earlier, when he’d been sent packing at the Greetings sessions. He made his live debut on the opening night of the Born To Run tour, which ran until New Year’s Eve. His input and influence over the next decade, onstage and off, would prove invaluable. (Bruce even began playing The Dovells’ “You Can’t Sit Down” as an occasional encore). In the fall, the tour took everyone to Europe for the first time, where the culture shock was off the charts. “There was no hamburgers, no peanut butter. The only place you could get a hamburger in the whole of Europe was the newly-opened first Hard Rock Café. There was a line around the block even then.”

Culinary deficiencies aside, Bruce also had to endure the overblown hype surrounding his first UK gigs at London’s Hammersmith Odeon, where Columbia had displayed the legend “Finally London Is Ready For Bruce Springsteen” on every available surface prior to his arrival. “[It was] completely obnoxious,” says Steven. “[Bruce] spent half the time ripping down posters. It was an embarrassing time for him, between that and Time and Newsweek. He didn’t like that stuff. You wanna be in charge of your life, that’s why we get into rock ‘n’ roll. Suddenly it was slipping out of his control. We made the mistake of playing a place with seats. It just made the show that much harder. But by the end, we got ‘em outta the seats. We went to Amsterdam, Stockholm, and back to London. The second one was a bit easier.” The experience had a prolonged effect on Bruce. “He was uptight in those days and would remain so through Darkness into The River, until he asked me to produce the record and we found a way to have some fun.”

Track 7: Epic Records, Steve Popovich and The Stone Pony

Back on the shore, Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes continued the Stone Pony residency throughout 1975, gradually consolidating their line-up. For the next three years, between Springsteen commitments, Steven worked as their producer, arranger, manager, part-time guitarist and principal songwriter. In early 1976, after circulating a demo tape, they signed a recording deal with Epic, with assistance from Steve Popovich, the label’s Vice-President of A&R. “I Don’t Want To Go Home,” the song that Steven had kept in his back pocket since his days on the oldies circuit, became the title track of their debut album and their first single. Ben E King’s loss was Southside’s gain.

“I produced [the song] in a way which was appropriate for the Jukes. They didn’t have a big background vocal thing going on,” explains Steven. “I was very conscious of being able to try and do most of it live, although I put strings on it, on my very first production! There was no synthesiser in those days that could play strings. That’s why I re-cut it [on Soulfire] the original way I pictured it, with the singer and background vocals answering. That idea of writing for someone else is extremely important, critical and essential. It changes the way you write completely, from when you think of writing for yourself, which is extraordinarily complicated and confusing. It’s not easy, but easier, to write for someone else. There’s their identity in your mind at least. I’m writing them a song. That’s a wonderful exercise for songwriters.” I Don’t Want To Go Home was released in the summer of 1976 (“I’ve never received one penny of royalties, but whatever!”). The Jukes later began their first national tour and made their European debut in 1977.

Recommended by Bruce, Steve Popovich was one of a kind. “The last of the real music guys in the business. The only other person I can compare him to would be Lance Freed on the publishing side, who’s unique. He’s actually into music and songwriting and the things you’re supposed to be into when you have a job description like that. And Frank Barsalona, the only agent who really did his job and would set the standard for everybody to follow. Those three guys, really quite historic. [It was] Popovich’s idea to launch the record with a broadcast from the Stone Pony. Never been done before. Popovich loved the local scene idea and he largely made it happen. It never would have been recognised nationally, I don’t think, if it hadn’t been for Popovich, who had the vision to say it’s cool if you’re not from New York. Rather than being embarrassed if you’re not from New York, LA or Nashville, it’s actually cool.”

Track 8: Production Credits and Political Awakening

Steven developed his talents as a producer and songwriter with the Jukes in the late 70s, following I Don’t Want To Go Home with This Time It’s For Real and Hearts Of Stone. Successive releases featured greater quantities of his original material, which included “I Played The Fool,” “This Time Baby’s Gone For Good,” “Take It Inside” and “Some Things Just Don’t Change,” apparently written for another of his heroes, David Ruffin of The Temptations. During this period, he also produced the “Say Goodbye To Hollywood” single for Ronnie Spector and the E Street Band and provided production assistance on Darkness On The Edge Of Town. His relationship with the Jukes ended when they left Epic for Mercury in 1979 and he went on to co-produce The River and two comeback albums for Gary US Bonds, Dedication and On The Line. It was an impressive fast-track apprenticeship. Steven had no production experience when he began. He acquired the skills and learned from his mistakes in the studio. “That’s why all three Jukes albums are different,” he says. “By the time we did The River, I knew what I wanted to do. I got it all down by then. That’s how I tend to do things. I can picture what I want. Jump in, do it, let’s see what happens.”

Steven also kept his promise to himself to bring his musical heroes out of obscurity, initially as guests on the first two Jukes albums. “I did what I could, but I wanted to do so much more,” he admits. “First time I get in a studio, got Lee Dorsey out from under a car, where he’s a mechanic. Got Ronnie Spector out of retirement. Second album, we reunited The Coasters, Drifters and Five Satins. Me and Bruce worked with Gary Bonds. We got Ben E King and Chuck Jackson on that record. Those artists had a talent level noticeably above everybody that followed. I wish I’d been insistent on doing more of them. In those [early] days, you actually had to have talent to make records. You had to be able to sing a song, beginning to end, perfectly in tune, perfectly the right melody, and if you fuck up one word, you gotta do the whole thing again. Couldn’t do enough for those people, they were so much fun to produce.”

In addition to his studio accomplishments, Steven played more than 300 shows with Bruce and the E Street Band between 1976 and 1981, primarily on the Darkness On The Edge Of Town and River tours. The majority took place in North America, but the River tour included a European leg that took the band away from home and out of their comfort zone for nine weeks. Much longer than their previous visit in 1975, it was their first significant experience of foreign countries, languages, cultures and political perspectives. They received rave reviews wherever they played, but Steven gradually became aware that not all Europeans viewed the United States in a favourable light.

One particular encounter was pivotal in dramatically reshaping Steven’s worldview. “A kid asked me, ‘Why are you putting missiles in my country?’ I said, ‘I’m not, I’m a guitar player.’ I realised, for the first time in my life, at the age of 30 I’m embarrassed to say, that I’m an American. What the fuck does that mean? I managed to grow up in the middle of civil rights, the Vietnam War, demonstrations about every fucking thing and had no interest in any of it. Amazing when you think about it. Redefining tunnel vision. Suddenly, the tunnel is gone. We’re now successful. Who would have ever figured that would happen, right? Now it’s like, uh-oh, what did I miss, the last 20 years?”

Track 9: Men Without Women, Motown and Mixing In Mono

This revelation accelerated Steven’s growing political awareness, one of two important developments in 1981 that would change the course of his life forever. The second came when he returned from Europe and was approached by EMI America about making a solo album. Having spent six years producing and writing for others, he welcomed the opportunity to have his own creative outlet, which soon expanded into a separate career. In the fall, he enlisted musicians from the E Street Band and the Asbury Jukes to record most of the material for his debut album, Men Without Women, using his established rock-meets-soul sonic blueprint. Including “Lyin’ In A Bed Of Fire,” “Princess Of Little Italy,” “Angel Eyes” and “Until The Good Is Gone,” it remains an undisputed career highlight for Van Zandt devotees, but Steven feels that an outside producer might have helped him make a more commercial record.

“Conventional wisdom is you never should produce yourself and I have to say that’s correct. The only exception I can think of in the history of the business was Prince, who was an extraordinary genius, but other than him, I don’t know anybody who successfully produces themselves.” Describing himself as “extremely schizophrenic, I’m twelve different people, never mind two,” Steven explains how his inner producer failed to control the whims of his inner artist. “Without knowing it, the artist takes over. I was into this extreme naturalism, no logical reason why. I did the whole album live in one day. Came back the second day, did it again, beginning to end. Couple overdubs, that was it. There’s one guitar. The horns aren’t doubled. Nothing’s doubled. Bruce did all the harmony on that record but we couldn’t use his name. We [did] a similar thing with Born In The USA, where we just recorded live in the studio.”

“I made Bob Clearmountain mix ‘Forever’ in mono, to try and achieve the perfect Motown record. It’s never gonna be exact and it shouldn’t be exact, why should it be, but I wanted to capture a Smokey Robinson Motown record. The only way I could do that in my mind was to make it completely mono. He was so good in those days. I mean Bob’s still the best, but in those days he was beyond the best. He was something else when it came down to that Neve board that wasn’t automated, and he’s feelin’ those faders. I made him do something he’d never done before, which requires a whole different way of thinking. You’re now thinking depth-wise and vertically, not horizontally.”

“That’s where my head was at. Can I achieve the emotional communication that my heroes had provided me? My heroes being Motown in general, 10 acts there. Or my heroes at Chess, another 10 acts. Sam Phillips did ‘Rocket 88’ for Ike Turner (Jackie Brenston) and ‘How Many More Years’ for Howlin’ Wolf, three years before Elvis Presley. Unbelievable genius. [I’m] trying to achieve that level of quality in my own world, in my own little bubble, which has these ridiculously high standards. I’m absorbing the 50s and 60s and then trying to integrate them in my head and reproduce them in my own way, not the least bit interested in what’s going on in the 70s or 80s certainly, because it was shit to me, comparatively. An interesting moment here and there. Punk was certainly interesting. But mostly it’s all coming from what I call the renaissance period, ‘51 to ‘71, where it all was created. And that’s true to this day. That’s all I was interested in and that was enough for 10 lifetimes. I didn’t need another bit of input after 1972.”

Track 10: Little Steven, Little Richard and Bob Dylan

In 1982, after recording with Bruce and Gary US Bonds, Steven completed his album, formed the Disciples of Soul (which included Dino Danelli from The Rascals on drums, Jean Beauvoir on bass and Eddie Manion, Mark Pender, Stan Harrison and La Bamba on horns) and played a debut concert at New York’s Peppermint Lounge. Released in October, a month after Nebraska, Men Without Women preceded his first national tour and was credited to his new professional name of Little Steven, which would be used for all future solo activities. “I just wanted separation [from] being the sideman,” he explains. “Each of my personalities required a different name, in order to keep it straight in people’s heads and my own head.” The name referenced his early heroes Little Walter, Little Anthony and Little Richard. In his role as an ordained minister, the latter officiated at Steven’s wedding to Maureen Santoro in New York on New Year’s Eve. Percy Sledge sang “When A Man Loves A Woman” as they walked down the aisle and the reception included performances from Gary US Bonds, Little Milton, The Chambers Brothers and the wedding band from The Godfather. “Little Anthony was doing a cruise at the time or he would have been there.”

“All I can think is, we’ve been hoping to get into recording our whole lives, I’m listening to this and it sounds fucking terrible. Not just the horn charts, everything. It was the worst period of recording in history. Virtually every record from the 50s and 60s sounded great, virtually every record from the early 70s sounded terrible. Because engineers took over, started close miking, padding the walls. Separation, separation, separation, all the things that make rock ‘n’ roll suck. The idea was, you isolate everything and make it sound exciting in the mix. Which they managed to do, miraculously, with the Born To Run album. Because it was pieced together in a bizarre way. Bruce made that record 100% out of willpower, he willed that into existence!”

Steven toured internationally in 1983, then dropped the horns, adopted a more contemporary rock sound and made his second album, Voice Of America. It was an explicitly political record that featured “Solidarity,” “I Am A Patriot,” “Out Of The Darkness,” “Los Desaparecidos” and “Undefeated.” Triggered by his River tour experiences in Europe, this radical transformation was completed with a long period of self-education. “I read every book about post World War Two [US] foreign policy. [It was] shocking how often we were on the wrong side. All of these bad things were happening behind the scenes and nobody was talking about them. No political consciousness whatsoever in the country. I decided I have an obligation to say something about this stuff that we’re all paying for with our taxes.”

“Being conscious of the fact that everybody needs their own identity, I figured who the hell needs another love song from a fucking sideman? I’ll be the political guy. Nobody else is doing it. There were people demonstrating of course. Jackson Browne, John Hall, Bonnie Raitt, Graham Nash, those guys. The Grateful Dead were doing a benefit every week, but rarely did it end up in the work. In general, people weren’t putting much politics into the lyrics of their songs.” For artists with commercial aspirations, he concedes, that’s a smart move. “Jefferson Airplane being an exception with ‘Volunteers.’ Big exception, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, with Neil Young’s ‘Ohio.’”

Steven contends that Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues” introduced the idea of political consciousness in rock ‘n’ roll. “His first electric song. It’s not given enough credit. The first sentence from Bob Dylan’s electric period, ‘Johnny’s in the basement mixing up the medicine, I’m on the pavement thinking about the government.’ What? You’re doing what? You’re thinking about the government? Excuse me? Who does that? Whoever did that before, in a song, no less? There in that one sentence, Bob Dylan communicated what his entire career was gonna be about, which was having fun with language, with inference, symbolism, metaphor and nonsense lyrics that rhymed. ‘Johnny’s in the basement mixing up the medicine,’ what does that mean? It means whatever you want it to mean, right? Then ‘I’m on the pavement thinking about the government.’ Holy shit! You mean we’re supposed to figure out the government? That, to me, is the most important sentence in all the history of rock ‘n’ roll, right there.”

All photos below by Mike Saunders

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rmtndew · 4 years ago

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Begin Again

Summary: Walter Marshall is a dedicated homicide detective doing his best to balance his work life with being a single father to a teenage girl. Fiona Sparks is a woman doing her best to take care of everyone and everything around her, except for herself. Neither has had the best luck with relationships, but once they meet, they’re willing to give it another shot, this time with each other. (It’s basically just romantic fluff)

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This is a sequel to ‘All I’ve Ever Known’. I started writing this because I needed an escape for some personal stuff going on and my coping mechanism included giving Marshall all the love that man needed, and imagining him being the softest boyfriend to me, then passing those details on to Fiona (my OFC).

I also made a Spotify playlist for this story, if anyone is interested - Begin Again Playlist

Tag list - @hollydaisy23, @alyxkbrl, @onlyhenrys, @omgkatinka, @speakerforthedead0, @gearhead66, @thethirstyarchive, @oddsnendsfanfics, @littlerinoa, @agniavateira, @aaescritora, @justaboringadult, @beenthroughalot, @seriouslygoodlookinggents, @xxxkatxo

If you want to be added/removed from the tag list, let me know!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

The last Wednesday in October was a gray, misty, windy day. It was cold, the kind you felt more in your bones than anywhere else, with the sky occasionally spitting out sleet. I spent the entire twenty-minute drive to my job at Waverly Catering clutching the steering wheel so tightly that my hands were cramping by the time I arrived from white-knuckling it the whole way there. Usually, I would get to work early enough to enjoy the silence and finish off my coffee before officially starting my workday. That day, however, I spent the very little extra time I had trying to get my hands to stop hurting, then chugged down my coffee that had cooled dramatically to a gross lukewarm temperature.

Before going in, I checked my phone. I always kept it on silent while I drove. My mom had a tendency to text me, make a dozen spelling mistakes because of auto-correct, then correct them one by one, leaving me with about thirteen separate texts to read. It didn’t use to bother me, I thought it was charming and very distinctly Mom. But when she’d gotten sick at the beginning of the year, every text she sent that I couldn’t read immediately made me panic, worrying that something terrible had happened to her, even when I’d just seen her at home a few minutes before. So for my sanity - and hers - I started putting my phone on silent until I got to work, or wherever else I was going. It was a habit I’d kept even after she’d gone into remission because her cancer may have been gone, but my anxiety over her wasn’t.

That morning when I checked my phone, I saw that I had two texts, but they weren’t from Mom.

Marshall: Good morning, Fi. I hope that I get to see you today. I’ll be chained to my desk with paperwork for a while. This is the first time I’ve not dreaded it. You’re my silver lining.

That was cheesy. I’m sorry. I’m bad at this.

And just like that, all of my stress melted away. The weather didn’t matter, my disappointing coffee didn’t matter, even the cramping in my hands didn’t matter. All that did matter was that Walter Marshall thought of me as his silver lining. Yes it was early days, yes we’d barely known each other a month, yes we’d only gone on two dates, but he made me happier than I’d been in a long time. I felt like I’d been holding my breath for two years, starting when my dad had died in a car crash, followed by my boyfriend Ezra breaking up with me, then losing my job as an interior designer, and capping off with my mom’s cancer diagnoses. Then Walter came along and it was like I could finally breathe again.

Me: Please don’t apologize. You have no idea how much I needed to read that this morning. Feel free to be as cheesy as you want. And I hope I get to see you today, too, even if it means you’re chained to your desk.

Marshall: If I don’t see you for some reason, can I call you tonight? I miss your voice and you make me want to get better at this talking thing.

I could feel myself blushing. Even over the phone he made me feel like a teenager with a crush. I had no idea that anyone could make me feel that way as an adult, but he did every time he texted me.

Me: Of course you can. Even if we do see each other, you can still call, if you want? Practice makes perfect, and all that.

Marshall: I’d like that. Talk to you soon.

I sat back in my seat with a sigh as I looked out at the sleet falling from the gray sky, spattering my windshield, blurring out the image of the trees in the park across from me blowing and bending in the wind.

It was going to be a good day.

“You look...dare I say it? Happy?” Darcy said as I walked into her office.

I smiled. “You may dare to say it because yes, I am quite happy.”

“And what brings you to such an extreme emotion so early on such a disgusting day?”

I went to her desk and sat in the chair opposite her. “Well, for one, I know that you’re about to do me a big favor that I will forever be grateful for.”

“Fiona Sparks asking for a favor? I’ll mark the day in my calendar,” she joked. “What kind of favor do you need?”

“I need a copy of the peanut butter cookie recipe.”

“For what purpose?”

“See, that’s where the happiness part comes into play and you, being one of my dearest friends, would love to see me happy.”

“I would but I’m unsure how a cookie recipe is going to do that.”

“It’s not for me,” I said, smiling wide. “I met this guy -”

“What? Who?” she asked enthusiastically, her eyes wide with excitement.

“His name is Walter Marshall. He’s our detective who never changes his lunch order.”

“You’re dating one of the homicide detectives? You can feel free to thank me later for giving you that order, by the way. But right now I want details: How long have you been dating and why am I just now finding out about it?”

“We’re not technically dating. I met him a few weeks ago for the first time and we went on two dates last week.”

“You haven’t dated anyone in over two years, and then you go on two dates in one week?”

“Well, the first was just a coffee date. Saturday we tried having a proper one.”

“Tried?” she asked, raising her eyebrow.

“He wanted to take me to dinner, so we went to an Italian place, but before we could order, his daughter called. She was supposed to be at a Halloween party, but some of her friends had lied to her, I guess, and it ended up being a basement party with slightly older boys and she felt uncomfortable, so we went and picked her up. Then we all went for pizza together.”

“He has a daughter, which is some heavy baggage to begin with, but you met her on your second date? That’s a lot, Fiona.”

“I know it seems like it, but it’s really not. She’s a good kid. And he’s an amazing father, which, oddly, just makes him more attractive,” I said. “But that’s not the point. The point is that his daughter was, understandably, a little iffy about me being with him when he picked her up until she found out that I’m the one who brings the cookies. She apparently loves them and I told her that I might be able to get her a copy of the recipe and that seemed to pave the way for her not hating me instantly. And she’s thirteen, so that’s a pretty big deal.”

“I have so many questions right now but I can’t sort them all out so I’m going to be annoying you with them all day, just be prepared for that. All I want to know right now is if you want the recipe laminated or not?”

I let out a relieved breath. “Yes, please, if you don’t mind. And thank you so much, Darcy. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I do know. You never ask for anything, even simple things, so the fact that you’re willing to ask me for a favor means this is a pretty big deal,” she said. “He must be a good guy.”

I nodded. “He really is.”

I arrived at the police station that morning a little before eleven. I’d left the shop early, worried the weather might get bad again and didn’t want to be late for my delivery. Thankfully the sleeting had stopped, allowing me to get there a few minutes early. A few minutes that I used up trying to pull my dolly through the parking lot. The lot had been salted, which was good in that at least it wasn’t icy, but the wheels on my dolly didn’t seem to like the brine mixture. They kept locking up on me. Between that and having to fight against the roaring wind, it took me an embarrassingly long time to reach the station door. Before I could push it open, someone opened it from the inside for me. I looked up, expecting to see Officer Bates. He was the security officer that was posted downstairs and always went through the containers full of lunches that I brought to the homicide unit every week. Instead, I saw Marshall.

“Hello,” he said with a smile.

I immediately felt like giggling. The last time I’d seen him, we’d kissed. And seeing him right then, seeing his beautiful, handsome face, I wanted so badly to kiss him again. Instead, I felt myself grow shy as I blushed so fiercely that my cheeks stung with the new heat that rushed to them.

“Hi,” I said. He pulled the door open all the way, then stepped back, allowing me to walk in. My stomach fluttered as I looked back at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He closed the door behind me. “May I help you with your cart?”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Would you let me help you take it back to your car when you leave, at least?”

I fought every instinct inside of me that insisted I say no. Darcy was right: I hated asking for even simple things. I never wanted to burden anyone. But since I’d met Marshall, I’d learned that his way of showing interest or affection was to do things for me. But he always asked first, wanting my permission. It challenged me, but in a good way. I didn’t need to always go it alone if I didn’t have to.

“Um, yeah, I’d appreciate that. Thank you,” I said. “The wheels didn’t seem to agree with the salted parking lot. You could probably pull it a lot easier than me.”

Marshall stayed with me as Officer Bates went through the containers I’d brought in. He wasn’t close enough to make anyone passing by question it, but it was close enough that my hand hanging at my side could feel the heat coming from his hand and forearm, that was visible from the blue henley that was pushed up to his elbows in a way that I found incredibly attractive. My fingers itched to seek out his, but I fought it. Keeping them obediently beside me. Once Officer Bates was done and gave me the all clear to take the food up, Walter walked me to the elevator and pressed the button to call it down. Then he held the door back, letting me in first before following me. After the door slid closed, he fell back half a step, putting him right beside me. His hand bumped mine, his fingers snaking through, gently holding mine. I smiled, knowing I wasn’t the only one itching for contact.

I turned without a thought and placed a kiss on his shoulder. Then I paused, a moment of panic rising in me that maybe we weren’t at that level yet. But before I could move or feel too worried, he placed a kiss on the top of my head.

“I keep thinking about Saturday,” he whispered.

“Me, too,” I said. I looked up at him. “It was...pretty amazing.”

He smiled. I could see his sharp canine teeth. They were oddly charming. “Yes, it was.” He laced his fingers with mine more securely, properly holding it. “I know I mentioned calling you tonight, but I hoped that we might have dinner again instead. If you’re not busy?”

“I’m exceptionally not busy tonight.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead before turning his head back to face the elevator door. “I won’t be able to finish all my paperwork today, there’s too much and it keeps multiplying like rabbits, so since I have to do it tomorrow anyway, I’m going to knock off here around five. Could I pick you up after that? Around five-thirty, perhaps?”

I nodded, smiling. “That sounds great.”

The elevator dinged as we reached the homicide unit floor. He gave my hand a couple of gentle squeezes before letting it go as the door slid open. He stepped out, then held the door for me like he had before, letting me pull my cart out. He walked with me almost all the way to the break room before a shorter man with glasses stopped him.

“Lieutenant Marshall, can I speak with you in your office for a moment?” he asked.

“Of course.” Walter touched my shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said to me quietly before leaving for his office.

I continued on and was met by most of the detectives waiting for me. Like usual, they didn’t talk to me much, just thanking me for the food before taking their box and going. I took my time, hoping that by the time that I was done, the man speaking with Walter would be gone before I brought him his lunch. When I was done, I packed up my cart before taking Marshall’s boxed lunch and walked down the hall, finding the door to his office open. I could hear him talking still and wasn’t sure what to do. I’d made a deal with him a few weeks back to always bring his lunch to his office whenever I delivered - the first time was because a uniformed officer looked like he was going to swipe it, after that, it was to thank him for rescuing me from a pushy creep while I was with my ‘friends’. We’d never discussed if I should interrupt while he was working. I chewed my lip, debating what to do for several seconds before deciding to just take a chance and knock on the door frame. The worst case scenario was that I looked like a very dedicated delivery woman making sure that all of my orders reached their proper owners.

“Yep. Come in,” Walter called out in response to my knocking.

I entered his office only far enough to be seen and not a step further. I didn’t know if Marshall wanted people to know about us, so I was prepared to make a quick exit if I needed to. “I have a delivery for Detective Marshall,” I said.

He looked at me and smiled, then waved me in further. “Harper, this is Fiona Sparks. Fiona, this is Commissioner Harper.”

“Hi. It’s nice to meet you, sir,” I said.

“You, too.” He looked at me over the top of his glasses. “You don’t happen to be related to Rodger Sparks, by any chance?”

I felt speechless for a moment. I hadn’t heard anyone other than Mom say Dad’s name in months. Finally, I forced myself to nod. “Yes. He was my dad. How - how did you know?”

“We went to college together. You’re the spitting image of him,” he said. “I was sorry to hear about him passing away. I lost my wife around two years ago as well. A brain aneurysm.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t get any easier.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed.

He looked at me for a moment longer, then back to Marshall, who was standing patiently with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked back at me briefly before taking the folder he was holding and tapped it against Marshall’s shoulder. “You know what? This can wait until tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll bring it by in the morning.” He left Walter and stopped beside me before leaving the office. “I’m very sorry about your father. Rodger was a horrible sport when he lost at cards, but other than that, he was a great guy. And probably the smartest man I ever met.”

I smiled slightly. “He was a horrible sport at cards.”

He smiled back. “The worst.” He gave me a wink. “It was a pleasure seeing you.”

“You, too.”

When he left, he closed the door behind him. I looked at Marshall as he walked towards me. “Did I interrupt something important?” I asked.

“No. He was just asking about a cold case.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to come in since he was here. Next time, if you’re talking to someone, would you rather I left your lunch in the break room?”

He stopped in front of me. He was so close. He smelled like coffee and Old Spice. I swallowed thickly, trying to meet his gaze as he looked down at me. He shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. I’d still like you to bring it to me, please. If that’s alright?”

“Yeah, of course. I just don’t want to get in the way of your job.”

“You won’t,” he said. “But I’ve let my job get in the way of other things for too long, so maybe it’s time someone got in the way of it for a bit.”

“You have an important job, though. If you were a boat salesman, I might feel a little differently about disrupting your work.”

His smile grew as he tilted his head at me. “A boat salesman?”

“I mean a job where it wouldn’t really matter all that much if you were distracted every once in a while. If someone doesn’t sell a boat, it’s not that big of a deal. But if you don’t solve a murder case...that has very real repercussions. I wouldn’t want to be a reason for something slipping by in a case.”

He put his hand on my cheek, directing my eyes back to his. “That won’t happen,” he said. “I take my job seriously. That’s never been a problem for me. My problem has always been figuring out how to balance it with the rest of my life, which I never could, and I neglected a lot of people because of it. Especially Faye.” He shook his head. “I’m still not good at it. But I had a case back in the winter that...put Faye’s safety in jeopardy, among other things, and it made me realize that I need to put more of an effort in my life outside of this job. Despite how hard that is for me.” He stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You motivate me to slow down a bit. And that’s a good thing.”

I took my free hand and placed it over his, then turned my face slightly and placed a kiss on the inside of his wrist. “I would be happy to slow down with you,” I whispered.

Marshall had a smile that somehow showed in his eyes more than his mouth, and that’s how he was looking at me right then. “I’d like that.”

A knock on the door startled me. I took a step back, his hand falling from my cheek. He then ran it over his face, almost like he was trying to scrub the irritation of being interrupted off it. Then he folded his arms across his chest before calling out for whoever it was to come in.

The door opened and a man stepped up to the doorway. He was wearing plain clothes like Walter, so I assumed he was a detective, too. He all but ignored me as he and Walter spoke. Half of what they said was in a jargon I didn’t understand, so I just stood there, head down, waiting. After a few minutes, the guy left, only halfway closing the door as he did. When Marshall finally turned back to me, I could see that he was frustrated. I knew he wouldn’t admit it, but me being at his work right then was only going to cause more irritation with every interruption we had.

“As much as I hate it, I should probably get back to the shop. We have a big order going out tomorrow, so there’s quite a lot to do today to prepare for it,” I said. “Plus, I have a date with a very handsome detective tonight that I want to get ready for.”

The frustration on his face seemed to melt away as he looked at me with a smirk. “Is it anyone I know?”

“Possibly. He does work in your unit.”

“Is that so?” he asked. I nodded. “Well, if I see him around, I might have to have a talk with him.”

“And what would you say?”

“I’d tell him that he better be good to you because you deserve to be treated well.”

My stomach fluttered. “You can rest assured that he treats me very well. Better than any man ever has.”

“All those other men were idiots.”

I smiled. “Maybe so.”

He shook his head. “Definitely so.” He reached out and took his lunch from my hand, then turned and placed it on a filing cabinet behind him. “Will you let me help you to your car now?”

I nodded. “Yes, please.”

He put on his coat and followed me to the break room. He pulled my dolly for me, moving it like it was as light as a child’s toy. Even when we made it to the parking lot, he didn’t seem to have any issue with the wheels fighting against him. Then he picked it up and placed it in my trunk with ease, despite how I very often fought to get it back in. I thought about telling him that he was welcome to help me anytime he wanted, but I was afraid it wouldn’t come across as a joke and he would feel obligated to actually help.

“Thank you. You made my morning a lot easier,” I said after I closed the trunk. I looked at him. “I guess I’ll see you around five-thirty?”

He nodded. “I’ll call you when I leave here, but yeah, I should be there by then,” he said. “And I promise it’ll only be the two of us and no cheap pizza.”

“To be honest, I quite liked the pizza. It didn’t taste cheap. And I really, truly didn’t mind Faye joining us, but it'll be nice to have dinner with just you tonight,” I said. “But that reminds me - I put a copy of our cookie recipe for Faye in your lunch box.”

He smiled. “Thank you. She’ll be very excited about that.”

“You’re welcome. And let her know if she has any issues with it, she can call or text me.”

The crease between his eyebrows appeared as he looked at me thoughtfully. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ve made them enough times over the last year and a half to make every mistake you can with them. If she has a problem, I can probably diagnose it over the phone.”

“You don’t mind her having your number?”

I felt my facial expressions mirroring his, but from confusion. “Of course I don’t mind. As long as you’re okay with it,” I said. “Unless you think your ex-wife would mind? I don’t want to step on her toes or anything.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think Angie would mind for that purpose, and I don’t have a problem with it. But I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I don’t but I’ll leave it up to you. If you’d feel more comfortable being the middleman you can always call me for her.” I gave him a big smile. “And I can help you practice the whole talking thing. Then it’s a two birds with one stone kind of deal.”

He smiled back, nodding his head. “And if she doesn’t need help?”

“You can still call.” I shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have to have a reason for calling. If I’m not at work, I’m usually pretty free. I may be cooking, or watching ‘The Golden Girls’ with Mom, but that’s about it,” I said. “I’m afraid you’re courting quite a socially boring person.”

He laughed. “I’m not sure if you’ve caught on, but I’m not exactly a sociable person, either,” he said. “So perhaps we make a good fit for each other.”

“Perhaps so,” I agreed. “We can be selectively social together.”

“Sounds good to me.”

I let out a sigh and watched my breath turn to steam in front of me. “I better let you get back to your paperwork and I need to go help Darcy at the store. We have over fifty loaves of bread to bake before the end of the day, so depending on when I get home, you may have to deal with your date smelling like freshly baked bread.”

He squinted slightly. “I’m not really opposed to that,” he joked with a smile that showed off the sharp ends of his canine teeth.

I laughed. “Good to know.”

He gave me a short hug, kissing my cheek as he pulled back. “I’ll see you this evening.”

“I’m looking forward to it.

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill fan fiction #Walter Marshall #Walter Marshall fan fiction #Walter Marshall/OFC #Night Hunter #Night Hunter fan fiction #Nomis #Nomis fan fiction #Henry Cavill fanfiction #Henry Cavill fanfic #detective walter marshall #Begin Again

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littledraga · 4 years ago

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The manor had been abuzz with chatter and excitement. Walter Manor was hosting a prom for the bots! Couples had been springing up here and there as people wanted to go together. Nox had insisted on a chocolate fountain. Koutali had yelled at him at first, threatening him for wanting to mess with chocolate. And Nox yelled right back, saying he was deeply offended by the insinuation that he would ever do something so crass! He simply wanted everyone to enjoy prom to the fullest and knew how much the other man would love the chocolate.

Something that had confused Butterfly to no end, they couldn't eat! Koutali could make food all day, and the humans loved it, but she didn't think he could make something for them! But the others were excited, so she figured there was no harm. It was their prom, after all, they should have as much fun as they could.

The excitement was contagious as everyone tried to prepare. Butterfly and Stitcher had been trying to help everyone dress their best. Stitcher told her it was a fancy affair and everyone should be dressed nicely. And she would make sure everyone had something lovely to wear, even her.

Bots had come in with ideas and pictures aplenty for them. It was a good thing there was a lot of time! The two were going to be very busy, even with some help. With all the clothes they had to make, they needed more fabric. Which meant sneaking out with the Walter Robotics credit card.

Butterfly had no idea how Stitcher got the card, but she followed along with her friend as they walked down the street. “And you’re sure it’s okay? We didn’t tell anyone we were leaving the manor.”

“Of course! They know we’re making all these clothes for prom. It should be expected, honestly.” Stitcher grinned widely and hooked her arm with Butterfly’s as they walked. “We’re going to have to be careful though. With just the two of us, we can’t carry that much.”

“Yeah, we probably should have asked Oddboddy or someone strong to come with us and help carry.”

Just then, Six pulled up beside them in the company car. “Girls! What do you think you’re doing? You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Both women stop and look at each other. “We’re not alone. We’re out here together,” replied Butterfly, like it was the most obvious thing. Which, to her it was. They’d been told it wasn’t safe for some bots to wander alone, and she was afraid of the crowds of the city. That’s why they had gone together. She didn’t understand why Stitcher snickered and Peter hung his head and sighed.

“I meant without a Walter Worker or myself, Butterfly. Besides, what are you two doing out here?”

Stitcher beamed and held up the card. “We need more fabric for all the clothes we’re making!”

That made Six squeak and scramble out of the car. “You guys can’t just take the card. That’s for Walter expenses!” He exclaimed, nearly falling out on his face as he stumbled out of the car. “You can’t just use it whenever you feel like it!”

“But it’s for prom. We have to make sure everyone looks their best,” explained Butterfly, worried they were in trouble and holding her hands to her chest. That was important enough, right?

“Besides,” chirped Stitcher, “since you always take care of us, we thought we’d make you a new coat too. We know how much you like them.”

That was enough to have him cock his head curiously to the side. “Well, I suppose a new coat would be nice.” As he pondered that, Butterfly grinned and nodded.

“And if you’re with us, you can pick out what you want for it!” Supplied Butterfly. “We’ll make it however you’d like.”

His chest puffed out and he seemed to beam under the mask. “Alright! Let’s go! Come on ladies, get in.” He held open the door so they could climb in. The man was all but vibrating in the front seat as he drove off to the fabric store. “Do you think you could make it with a corset?” He asked as they pulled up and parked. “I just think they’re really neat.”

“Of course, we said anything, right, Butterfly?”

“Mhm! It’ll be the best coat!” Promised Butterfly as the girls got out of the car to head instead. It was daunting, there were people milling about and walls and walls of fabric and tools. She hesitated by the door a moment, afraid to go in.

Stitcher smiled and took her hand. “Come on, let’s see what we can find!”

And it was enough.

Walking through the store they stopped to look at everything from buttons and zippers to beads and thread. With Six with them and the car, they could get so much more stuff! And Butterfly wanted to get the best she could so everyone had the best clothes.

She lost track of time looking through the catalogs. At least until Stitcher noticed and threw them in a cart.

“Can you help Peter look for what he wants for a corset while I get the fabric cut?” It was an obvious distraction, but Butterfly agreed. It was for the bots at the manor after all.

“Peter! What colour should your corset be?” She asked, gently tugging his arm away from the cutting table to show him more fabric. Even if it was a ploy, she would take the coat seriously and make him something he loved. It was only fair for everything he did.

He was the one that fought and spent far more than she was worth to bring her home instead of with those green skinned men that scared her and cursed him to get him to stop bidding.

His finger tapped the bottom of his mask as Six thought the question over. Walking the aisles of fabric, he stopped to touch a few options. “I think I like these.” A dark wine red and a lighter one. “With some black trim?” He asked, turning to face her with his mask.

Looking it over, she beamed. “I think we can do that. Some black on the lapels and black cuffs I think would look really nice,” she agreed, taking them off the wall to be measured and cut.

While they walked over, he was so excited he hardly noticed just how much stuff Stitcher had gotten while his back was turned. And Butterfly kept asking him questions, so he didn’t see the total when Stitcher paid for everything.

The girls helped load up the trunk, and he held the door open for them again. Never let anyone believe his parents raised less than a gentleman. The ride home was light and they laughed and talked about all the clothes they had to make yet. And so many bots hadn’t asked yet! They weren’t sure how many bots wanted their help or not.

It was fun, at least until they got home and saw Annie in the doorway with a cellphone in hand and looking displeased. She met them there, tapping the phone against her arm and looking stern. Something that had Butterfly hiding behind Stitcher. “I just got a notification that there were possible fraudulent charges. Care to explain that?”

Peeking around Stitcher’s shoulder, Butterfly’s voice was quiet. “We needed more fabric for prom. There’s a lot of bots that need new clothes.”

“And we got you stuff for new curtains?” Tried Stitcher. Annie had mentioned she wanted to spruce up her sewing room.

Annie sighed and shook her head. You bots aren’t supposed to have access to the credit card.” She gave her son a hard look and, he ducked his head.

“Sorry, mom.” He scuffed his foot on the ground and watched his feet.

“Please, be careful in the future. Look for sales and better deals. Not just what’s pretty.” Shaking her head, Annie stepped back inside. There was still work for her to do.

And there was plenty of work for Butterfly and Stitcher! Six helped them bring everything to the lounge they had taken over as their sewing room. “Alright girls. Best of luck with everything. Don’t work too hard!” He teased as he walked out and down to the labs. He had work to do too.

Giggling, they got to work. Some things they knew what to do, but they went through catalogs they’d bought for ideas.

“We can make this one. Someone has to like white and red.”

“Even if it looks like a Valentine's dress?” Asked Stitcher with a grin as she flipped through the pages.

“Why not? They should be able to wear whatever they like,” pouted Butterfly. She just wanted them to have nice clothes and to be beautiful. Prom was a very special occasion.

Stitcher just laughed and got to work on a dress they needed to make. The two were happy to work in a comfortable silence.

Silence that was broken by a large robot with a Furby head. Oddbody came in, clutching a picture in hand, beaming as much as his little head would allow. "Are you helping us with clothes for prom?"

Butterfly smiled and nodded. "We are!" Standing up, she brushed off her dress. Oddbody was intimidating, but she knew how hard he tried not to be, so she wouldn't show that he made her nervous. It wasn't his fault he was huge, and she was small made of porcelain. "Did you have an idea of what you wanted?"

Nods and bends down to show them both the picture. A cute pink dress with little bears for pockets. "I really like this one. Do you think you can make it so it fits me?" He asked, somehow looking worried.

"Sure can!" Chirped Stitcher.

"Absolutely! We got the perfect fabric for this. It looks really soft," added Butterfly. "We just need to get your measurements."

Oddbody danced in place and only stopped when Stitcher gave him a look. Butterfly had flinched away. He pretended to cough and stood up straight. "Okay, can you reach?"

Looking up, she smiled a little. "No, but there's got to be a stepladder around here somewhere!" Butterfly was determined to do her very best for everybot in the manor. It wasn’t hard to find what she was looking for. It was just tall enough to reach his shoulders.

Trying to measure said shoulders, she leaned too far, and the stool went out from under her. Feeling it wobble Butterfly yelped and tried to get her balance back, dropping the tape. She saw Stitcher get up, trying to run over as the ground started to rush up to meet. Closing her eyes tightly, she waited for the worst, the sound of her chassis breaking.

Instead, large arms caught her, keeping her safe from a break. “Careful, tough stuff,” he gently teased as he sat her down, safely on her feet. “Can’t have you breakin' on us now. Too much work to do,” he chuckled with a wink.

Checking herself over, Butterfly deflated a little when she wasn’t broken. “Thank you, Oddbody. Sorry about that. Just a few more things, and we can get started! I promise it’ll be perfect!”

This time Stitcher stood on the stool, and Butterfly measured from the ground. Once that was done, and another promise they could make it big enough for him, the duo waved Oddbody off and got back to work.

Laying out the fabric to Oddbody’s skirt, the girls almost missed Sparky skipping into the room.

“Hello! Someone said you agreed to make prom dresses?” She asked, startling poor Butterfly.

Stitcher just sighed with a small smile and nodded. “That’s right! Even got some new fabric so we can make all kinds of stuff!”

Sparky beamed at that but, tugged at her dress. “I’m not real sure what I want, though. Does it have to be real fancy?” When Butterfly waved her over, she sat down on the floor with her.

“I don’t think so. I’ve just been making sure people have dresses they like. I think that’s more the point.”

While Stitcher kept sewing, Butterfly went over options with Sparky. “What about this one?” She showed off a pink dress with lots of ruffles.

Sparky smiled politely. “Uh. It’s pretty, but can we keep looking?” she asked, trying not to make a face.

Laughing, Butterfly nodded and turned the page. “No big dresses. Got it.” They could find something simple for her. It was about what she wanted after all. A few catalogs later, she pointed at another one. A simpler green dress that just hit the knee. “What do you think?”

Looking it over, she squealed in excitement. “It’s so cute! I love it!” She threw her arms around Butterfly and hugged her tightly.

Patting her shoulder awkwardly, Butterfly smiled. “I’m glad. Why don’t we get you measured and Stitcher and I can get started?” Once Sparky let her go, she pulled herself to her feet and grabbed a measuring tape again. At least this time she didn’t have to worry about falling.

Stitcher grabbed her own tape and between the two of them, made quick work of getting Sparky’s measurements. Only, they’d also managed to wrap her up in the tape as well. Trying to untangle her, Sparky yelped and fell face first into a pile of fabric.

The girls looked at each other.

“At least she fell on something soft?” Tried Stitcher.

Giggling, they tried to get poor Sparky free. At least she was a good sport about it once she was free to skip back to whatever she did during the day. Butterfly didn’t know much about most of the bots.

It was quiet for a while. Just the sound of rustling fabric and scissors clipping away. It was Butterfly’s favourite part. Just calm and peaceful quiet. There was nothing dangerous about making clothes, and everyone always seemed to love them.

Jackdaw came in after a while his voice was low as he talked with Stitcher at first. Butterfly could hardly hear him. But she giggled when he made Stitcher blush.

Butterfly smiled and let them talk for a while. It wasn’t her business.

Eventually, Stitcher laid a hand on her arm. “Butterfly, help me out. Jackdaw doesn’t know what he wants and just says anything’s fine. But I need ideas so he’s dressed nice.”

Looking sheepish, he tried to smile. “I just want to match Stitcher,” he whispered. “Couples are supposed to match.” He gave Stitcher a found look when she got embarrassed.

Watching them, Butterfly giggled. They were adorable. But at the request, she hummed and curled a finger under her chin. They hadn’t thought about dresses for themselves yet, but she’d need to think of something that would work for them both. Picking up one of the books, she glanced through it before she was struck with an idea. Snapping her fingers, she beamed at them both. “Blue and silver,” she said with a grin. “A blue shirt with lace for sleeves. And a silver vest. It’d be really pretty and you’ll both look really good in dark blues!”

Jackdaw beamed. “That sounds nice. I’d like that,” he said with his voice as quiet as always. Something special for a special day. Reaching for Stitcher’s hand, he squeezed it gently before standing up. “Thank you.”

“I can work on it tonight, I think it might be late enough for a break,” suggested Butterfly, giving her friend a knowing look.

Stitcher looked away at first but hadn’t let go of Jackdaw’s hand. “I guess. Just a little one, though. We have a lot of work to do still,” she finally agreed. Standing up, she followed Jackdaw out of the room, leaving Butterfly alone.

Sewing in peace, Butterfly turned the key on her back three times and quietly hummed along. In moments like this, things felt alright. She didn’t like to be alone too long, but for a while, to just sit and listen to her music box was nice as she continued to sew.

Still humming along, she didn’t notice Koutali right away. How he stepped in with an open magazine. Or how he stopped a moment to watch her hum away to her own music while she worked. “Butterfly, sweetheart?”

The humming stopped, and she looked up with a smile. “Hello! Are you here for something to wear to prom?” She asked, putting the fabric to the side.

“I am. If that’s alright?” He smiled when she nodded. “Wonderful! I was thumbing through this while I was waiting on the oven.” Coming over, he knelt down next to her to be more at her level. Green wrapped around like scarves and hung down their legs with dashing green pants.

“This looks great. I think I can manage this alright. I just need to get your measurements, and I can get this started.” She nearly went cross eyed when he quickly handed her a piece of paper.

“Already know them,” he proudly explained. “You’re not the only one that wants to always look their best,” he teased with a wink as she took the paper. “Thank you so much. But I need to get back to the oven before it burns. I’ve total faith in you.” Waving, he stepped out and was gone.

Tucking everything away, she hardly had time to pick up a needle and thread again before Siren stepped into the room. Smiling politely as ever, she waved her over. “Hello. Did you find a dress you liked?”

“I did, but it might be too much?” She suggested as she walked over to show her a picture. Layers and a jacket. Blue with gold trim and embellishments. “And my fins might make it hard,” she added, wiggling her back fins for effect.

Butterfly couldn’t help but notice how much it reminded her of Captain’s coat, and she grinned. It was sweet. This dress had to be perfect. At the worry, she smiled and shook her head. “Don’t worry. It’ll take some adjustments, but I know I can make it work. Just let me get my tape measure.”

Which was somewhere in the piles of fabric. She’d already made a mess of the room trying to stay organized. When she finally found it, she beamed and stood up, waving for Siren to do the same. It was a lot of measuring, and she struggled with the fins, but she was determined to make this dress work!

After that, Butterfly thought to find Captain himself and see what he wanted to wear. Though, after the last time, she made him something, she wasn’t sure he would want her to make him anything else.

She found him in a sitting room with a thick cigar between his teeth. She didn’t think he smoked or that any of the bots even could. All the same, she stepped over and waved.

Arching a brow, he was at least kind enough to put it out when she came in. “Can I help you?” He asked in a gruff voice, though he looked more curious than angry, that helped.

“Everyone is getting new clothes for prom. I wanted to know if you wanted Stitcher and I to make you anything?” She offered, fidgeting with her hands a little. Going out and talking to someone was a lot harder than when they came to her.

He grumped a little and shook his head. “I’ve got my navy blues to wear.” When she looked confused, he sighed and slumped in his seat. “It’s a military dress uniform,” he explained. “What I’m supposed to wear to events and that.”

“Oh,” she said softly, trying not to look put off. Maybe he was still mad about the coat? But then he’d say something, right? Besides, one less outfit was good, it was only the two of them after all. “Okay! Have fun at prom, Captain!” Waving him off she let him finish his cigar in peace.

It had been a long day of trying to get people in to pick out clothes, but Butterfly found herself still far too excited to sleep. There was so much to sew! And so many ideas to make. If she wasn’t going to sleep anyway, she figured she may as well use that time to keep working and make sure everything was ready on time.

In the early hours, she wanted to start on Jackdaw’s shirt, but first, she needed to practice her lace. It had been a very long time. It probably would have been smarter to use premade lace, she thought, but she wanted it nice for him. If only her fingers remembered what to do! Instead of lace, her fingers became hopelessly tangled in the dark thread as it dug between her joints. While she was glad she couldn’t feel pain, her fingers were too delicate to rip through the thread without damage. She was stuck.

Shiver came in early before much of the manor was awake. Mostly drawn by the sound of humming. Seeing Butterfly sitting on the floor and trying to calm herself down, she smiled. Stepping over, she sat down in front of her and held out her hands.

Seeing a friendly face helped and Butterfly smiled a little. “Thank you,” she said quietly, holding out her hands for Shiver.

Silently, Shiver sat with Butterfly, carefully untangling the thread and gently easing it out of her joints. It took a while, but soon she’d freed Butterfly from her own lace trap.

“Thank you again, Shiver. I’d been stuck a while.” Slowly, Butterfly worked out her fingers making sure she could bend them still. It’d be horrible if she couldn’t sew anymore. Speaking of sewing, “did you have an idea for a prom dress?”

Ducking her head a little, Shiver shook her head.

“That’s alright. We have lots of things to look at to pick and get ideas from.” Humming softly, she looked for the right catalog. She’d seen something she thought she would like before. “Ah!, what do you think?” A purple dress that almost looked like silk scarves flowing around her.

Leaning over a little, Shiver beamed and ran a finger over the dress. She looked up at Butterfly and nodded.

And Butterfly beamed right back at how excited she looked. “Perfect! Let’s get you measured and I can get started!”

Getting up and started was easy, but every time she got close to Shiver, she flinched. Even when she closed her eyes not to see, she was tense.

Humming softly, Butterfly tilted her head. This wasn’t going to work. There had to be something she could do to help her feel better.

“Okay. I’m going to measure your shoulders, okay? Over your back.” She waited until Shiver nodded before holding up the tap against her plating. This time it wasn’t so bad. Each measurement, she explained before touching her, and that helped. Slowly, Shiver relaxed. It was a lot easier after that.

Stitcher joined her sometime after. “Sorry, I lost track of time.” Sitting down, she picked up a dress to work on. There was already a lot to do and still more bots likely to want dresses.

Looking up at her, working on the lace again, this time she would use premade lace, Butterfly smiled. “It’s okay. You two should spend time together. That’s what couples do.”

“I. I guess so yeah, but I shouldn’t leave you by yourself when we have so much to do. It’s not that long until prom.” When Butterfly just shrugged, she sighed. She was fine with working in silence for a while.

But after a while, she broke it. “So, are you going with anyone?”

It took Butterfly a moment to understand the question and she tilted her head. “No? I’m not seeing anyone.” You didn’t have to go with someone to prom, did you? It had never occurred to her that prom was only for couples. Weren’t some of the other bots going single too?

Stitcher laughed and shook her head when she saw how worried Butterfly was. “It’s fine. You don’t need to have a date. But a lot of people do. I figured someone would have asked you by now.”

“I guess I’ve been too busy.” Butterfly tried to laugh it off. In truth, she was glad no one had asked. She had no interest in dating anyone at the manor. In truth, she’d never given dating much thought. She was never good enough before. She couldn’t see that changing now, and she was fine with that.

Sometime later, Demo stepped in her head down and wringing her hands. She looked like she was fighting the urge to run away.

“Time to get a dress for prom?” Asked Stitcher, frowning when she shrank back. But after a moment, she nodded.

“If you don’t know what you want, you can look through some books we have and see if you like anything,” offered Butterfly, holding up a catalog for Demo.

The three sit together and go through the books for a while. Demo stops to linger on a few dresses but always shook her head when prompted on choice. Something was missing, but they didn’t know what.

Eventually, Butterfly taps on a blue dress with sheer hangs instead of sleeves. “What do you think about this one?” she asked, watching Demo’s face.

She paused longer at this one before stammering out and nodding. “Y-yes, pl. Yes, please.” She at least held still for measuring but flinched away if they got too close to her stomach. They let her measure there.

Their list of clothes was piling up fast.

“Stitcher!”

Said bot jumped when Butterfly suddenly blurted out her name. “Um, yes? I’m here.”

“Stitcher! We haven’t started your dress yet or picked one out. You need a dress to match Jackdaw,” worried Butterfly, leaning over their ever growing pile of clothes.

Looking at her friend, Stitcher beamed. “It’s okay, you’ve been really busy, so I just started on my own.” She held up a dark blue vest that matched Jackdaw’s shirt. “I’m alright. Have you started on yours yet?” When Butterfly ducked her head, half hiding behind Koutali’s train, she laughed. “Uh huh. Come on, let’s take a break and at least pick something out for you.”

Half leaning on each other, they look through pages upon pages until they find the perfect dress. A purple one that tied on the shoulder with layers and layers of tulle. Butterfly cooed and gushed over it while Stitcher marked the page so they could find it later.

“Once I get everyone’s clothes done I can get started on it.”

Stitcher gave her a knowing look but said nothing about it. Picking up the vest, she got back to work on her dress.

Next was Nox, stepping in and looking distraught. Or at least Butterfly thought he was. “It’s not fair. My plating is my clothes so I can’t just change like everyone else,” he lamented, flopping down on the ground next to the girls. “You’re making all these lovely clothes for everyone, and I’ll be in the same suit as every day.”

When he made to dramatically lean on Butterfly, he fell. Or so it looked to Butterfly, who missed Stitcher pushing him off before he got too close. It was obvious that he was trying to guilt Butterfly for not being able to make him something.

Unfortunately, it was obvious to everyone but Butterfly. It really wasn’t fair. Everyone deserved to look nice for prom. Wasn’t that the point? Gently tapping her chin, she tried to think of something she could do to try and make it fair.

Suddenly.

“Your hat and a tie!” she suddenly exclaimed. Digging through all the fabric, she tried to find a good colour for him.

Half laying on the floor, he was glaring at Stitcher before Butterfly caught him off guard, genuinely surprised she had managed to find something for him. When she bent down to measure his hat he sat perfectly still.

“I’ll spruce up your hat and make a matching tie. It won’t be as much as everyone else, but you can still be dressed nice and look your best!” Proud of herself she beamed.

Blinking once then twice, Nox scrambled to his feet. “Uh, thanks,” he stammered and shot Stitcher a dirty look for the smug one she gave him. Patting Butterfly on the head, he hastily made his escape.

Pretend came only moments after, holding a picture in hand. Smiling a little, she held the photo protectively as Stitcher came over to see.

“This is really pretty! We can do this, right?” she asked, waving Butterfly over to see a long black dress with intricate black and red stitching. It was going to be a lot of work.

But she nodded. There was a lot to do, but they still had plenty of time to get it all done. She just had to stay focused. Everyone needed to look their best for prom.

And focus she did. Working nearly non-stop, Butterfly hardly stopped for more than water breaks. Even when Stitcher reminded her to rest, she simply waved her off and told her she was fine. Sewing she could do. It was relaxing and fun, and she wanted everyone to have the best. It was the best she could do.

But after a few days and more clothes piling up, she was starting to struggle. Lots of missed stitches, and at one point, she’d managed to sew her sleeve into the dress. She was frustrated and grumbled about wasted time as she pulled out each stitch.

It didn’t come to a head until some time later when she was proudly holding up Sparky’s dress. It was finally done, and she was excited to show her. At least until she saw what she had done. In her state, she had sewn the seams inside out. Staring at the dress, oil beaded at the corner of her eyes. Done, but done wrong. Sniffling, she tried to hide as she blindly looked for her stitch ripper.

Only Stitcher caught the oil on her cheeks. “Butterfly? What’s wrong?” When Butterfly shook her head, trying to wipe away the tears, she sighed. “Butterfly, you can’t cry and tell me nothing’s wrong.”

Jackdaw noticed first, carefully stepping over to take the dress. “It’s okay. You can fix it.” Flinches when she sobbed.

“Alright, you’ve been up too long,” gently chided Stitcher, helping Butterfly to her feet with Jackdaw on her other side. “Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart. You need to rest.” She shushed any protest Butterfly tried to give and the couple guided Butterfly to her room to rest. Stitcher refused to leave until she was actually going to go to bed and her patchwork teddy in place.

While she went to bed, it wasn’t for long. There was still far too much work to do to stop now! She wanted everyone to look their best. She knew how important it was to look your best when it mattered.

Come morning, Arborus joined her covered in mud and trying to wipe his hands clean.

Seeing him, Butterfly greeted him cheerful as ever. “Good morning! Do you want clothes for prom too?”

A small hesitation and he nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Was suggested to come here.” He still didn’t completely enter the room.

“Alright. Well, do you know what you want to wear, Arborus?” She tried, waving him into the room.

Wringing his hands, he looked around the room full of brightly coloured fabrics and then back down at himself. He shook his head. “Never had a reason to dress up before.”

“That’s alright! I’ve got a lot of pages we can look through. I’m sure we can find you something dashing. Come here.” When he still wouldn’t come to sit she finally noticed he was worrying about his dirty work clothes. Humming softly, she found a large bolt of unused cloth and laid it out next to her. “There, will that be alright?”

A small nod and he carefully walked over to sit cross legged next to her. He let her lean over so they could both look it over.

It took some time to find something, and Butterfly had to explain a lot of different kinds of clothing. It was all pretty new to Arborus, but she was patient. Everyone deserved their best.

After a long while, he tapped on a detailed red vest. “I like the colour of this one.”

Butterfly looked around, trying to find a matching fabric. It wasn’t the same design, but she beamed when he nodded to agree with it. “Perfect! I can make that. Maybe with a white shirt and red cuffs?” she offered.

A small smile, and he nodded. “I like that sound of that,” he easily agreed. “Thank you.”

“It’ll look nice with your choker,” she praised, gently guiding him back up to his feet. She still had measurements to take!

Careful to stay on the cloth and keep the rest of the room clean, Arborus stood perfectly still while she happily buzzed around him with the tape measure. As she worked, his curiosity got the better of him. “What is prom?”

Butterfly stopped measuring tape in hand to sit back and look up at him a moment, gears turning in her porcelain head. "I have no idea. They just said we get to dress nice, and I want everyone to look their best!" Everyone had been talking about prom, but no one had actually said what it was.

He gave a thoughtful hum as he thought it over. “It must be nice then, right?” He asked as she started to measure again.

A single nod to agree. “To dress this nice like going out to a theatre or somewhere special. I’m really excited to see what it is.” It had to be amazing if everyone needed to dress so well, she could only imagine!

After that, Arborus relaxed. It was going to be nice.

A few more bots filtered in and out in the coming days for outfits, some simple, some outrageous. Butterfly loved every one of them. As they started to get finished, it was time to try them on and make alterations. Some were easier than others. A bird with leg warmers needed sock glue to keep them up.

Another needed help actually getting into the dress. She kept tangling herself in the different pieces trying to keep her solar panels exposed. Butterfly wasn’t sure what she needed them for it would be dark out, but it was what she wanted and she made sure she got it.

Others were easier. Like Oddbody. A little shorter than planned but he loved it all the same. He giggled to himself and tiptoed around the room, and spun like a ballerina. Or at least as much as he could manage. Despite his size, he was graceful.

Nox was obsessed with himself and could hardly look away from the mirror. Or maybe it was just the hat. She’d done it up with a bit of lace and added a few flowers. His head turned this way and that, and he beamed in the mirror. “You do good work. Didn’t think this hat could look any better,” he praised.

After chasing out Nox, came Sparky who swished her skirt and giggled excitedly. Grabbing Butterfly’s hands, she tried to pull her around the room and dance. “This is beautiful! I can't wait for prom.”

Butterfly wriggled free and folded them in front of her. “I’m glad you love it so much! Sorry, it’s not a good idea for me to dance around. I might crack again.”

Sparky tilted her head to the side and gives her a funny look, but says nothing on it. “Okay. Thank you again! I love it!” Waving her off she stepped out to put the dress away.

Butterfly actually had to chase poor Arborus down for a fitting. He was far more interested in tending the garden. There was always work to do.

Finally tugging him in, she helped him adjust the vest and got to work making sure everything was perfectly in place. Making sure the bands on his sleeves were where she wanted them to set. Which was difficult when Arbotus moved and fidgeted in the mirror. “It’s fine. You look good, Arborus.”

Most of the clothes were fine, just some minor things here or there, but some were harder.

Demo couldn’t help but pace and fidget with her dress, pulling the fabric away from her stomach.

Something that worried Butterfly. While they couldn’t feel, maybe it was too tight? “Demo, are you alright?” she softly asked, trying to get her to stand still.

The other bot froze and stalled a moment. “It’s fine. Don’t worry. It’s a really pretty dress.” She was halting and wouldn’t look at Butterfly.

“If you don’t like your dress, I can try to make you another one,” she offered. There really wasn’t time to make a new dress. She still had her own to worry about. But she supposed she could just wear an old dress if it made Demo more comfortable. Not that she wanted to. Butterfly wanted to look nice like everyone else.

“No. No. It’s just,” a long pause, “I can’t get to my power button or charger,” she finally admitted, shoulders slumping.

It took Butterfly a moment, but she smiled when she understood. Being a robot meant parts and models were very rarely the same. “Don’t worry, I can fix that.” Helping Demo out of the dress, she measured and showed her where she’d open it up for her so it would be safer.

Once Demo felt better she sent her on her way. She was up most of the night making adjustments and finishing others.

By morning streamers and balloons were being brought through the manor and the other bots were happily chatting away as they helped set everything up with the Walter Workers help. It was exciting! But there was too much work left for Butterfly to go exploring. So she stayed with Stitcher to keep working.

“I hope everyone will like their clothes. Everyone seems happy so far.”

“I’m sure they will. Jackdaw was glowing when I showed him his shirt and vest,” hummed Stitcher as she kept her eyes focused on her work.

Butterfly beamed proudly. It was a beautiful choice. Even if she couldn’t make the lace as she’d hoped. They were going to look great together. “You two are really happy. It’s cute,” remarked Butterfly softly.

Stitcher flustered at that and hid behind the fluffy purple skirt she was working on. “Th-thanks,” she sheepishly mumbled behind the fabric.

She didn’t remember who that one was for. They may have taken on too much work if she’d forgotten someone. Butterfly felt lucky to have a friend with her to help.

As the time grew ever closer, so did the excitement in the manor. Bots were nearly buzzing around, talking and planning what to do. More and more couples were popping up and groups wanting to go together. Trying to get clothes to match without too much work was almost too much work in itself, but the girls were doing their best. Everyone should look their best.

As Butterfly was finishing up the last dress, it dawned on her suddenly. She’d put all this work in for everyone but hadn’t even started on her own! Fingers tangled in soft blue tulle, she held back tears.

Something Stitcher quickly noticed and worried about. “Butterfly, what’s wrong?” she asked, moving to sit next to her.

“I was so worried about everyone’s dress, I forgot about mine. I thought I was going to have time,” softly whined Butterfly, trying not to get oil on the dress in her hands. It was her own fault, but it still felt very unfair to her.

Stitcher sighed and handed her a handkerchief with a small smile. “I noticed that. But you were so excited about how happy everyone was. Don’t worry, you may have forgotten, but I didn’t.” Getting up, while Butterfly dried her face, she pulled out a familiar purple dress with layers of tulle and butterflies going up the chest to the tied shoulder. “I took a few liberties, I hope that’s okay?”

Clutching Stitcher’s handkerchief to her chest, Butterfly burst into tears when she saw the dress.

Tilting her head a little Stitcher grinned. “Is it that bad?” she asked, trying to laugh it off.

Shaking her head, Butterfly tried to calm down. “No. No. I-It’s beautiful. Thank you so much, Stitcher. It’s better than in the book,” she praised, still sniffling.

The grin grew wider at that. “Just wait until you see what Jackdaw made you.”

That made her worry a little. The dress was lovely, but they shouldn’t have put so much effort into her. “You guys didn’t have to,” she mumbled as Stitcher gently pulled her to her feet.

“Sure we did. You’ve worked so hard to make sure everyone has something nice to wear,” Stitcher reminded her while she helped Butterfly into the dress. “It’s only right you have something beautiful to wear too.”

“You said everyone should look their best,” whispered Jackdaw as he came into the room. Stepping to her other side, he placed a matching crown of butterfly wings, carefully, on her head over the red curls.

Looking in the mirror, Butterfly froze as she looked everything over. It was stunning. She was very lucky to have friends that cared about her. It made her cry harder.

Which worried Jackdaw, and he looked to Stitcher with a concerned look.

She just shook her head with a smile and tried to comfort Butterfly until she calmed down.

All their hard work paid off, and it was finally prom night! While getting ready, Siren stepped into the room with an embarrassed smile. So excited her fins were stimming too much to get dressed.

Butterfly laughed gently and took the dress to help her get ready. “I’m glad you’re so happy. Let’s see if we can't wrangle these excited fins.” Getting behind Siren, Butterfly tried to help with the first layer, only to be smacked by a metal fin with a clang. In a panic, she covered her face.

Hearing the sound, Siren quickly spun around in a panic. “Ah, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, let me see.” She gently reached for Butterfly’s face.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’m fine.” She gently waved Siren off, not moving a hand until she was turned around again. Butterfly didn’t want to know if she was more broken. She couldn’t handle that, not now.

But at least it was enough to calm Siren enough to get into her dress and coat. Butterfly makes sure it sets just right and guided her look in the mirror. She laughed when Siren’s fins came alive again, vibrating happily.

Sitting her down, she helped pile up Siren’s hair into two buns and slip in hair clips. Little goggles and anchors hanging from her hair. “You’re really pretty Siren,” she praised, making sure everything was perfect.

Once alone, she dared to look in a mirror expecting to see a new crack along with the gold and silver holding her face together. When nothing was different, she sighed in relief. Only the crack long her cheek was left, she’d learned to at least live with that.

Changing into her own dress, she took her time to move this way and that, enjoying how the skirt fluttered around her. Putting the crown on was a bit of a challenge. She had to take out the victory curls and let them hang down around her face. But once she did, she beamed brightly. It was a beautiful piece.

While she’s gushing about herself in the mirror she almost missed Nox sticking his head into the room. “Hurry up! You’re already late.” He smirked widely, “You wouldn’t want to miss all the fun, would you?”

She squeaked and quickly finished up as he rushed down the hall laughing. She wasn’t going to miss prom!

Rushing down the halls, she was the last bot to the ballroom. It wasn’t until she made it to the grand doorway that she stopped to question the choice of room.

Stepping inside, it was loud. White and Blue decorations were all over the room, from balloons and streamers to glitter and confetti. There were tables along the walls with shining silver toppers glistening in the dim light of the ballroom. The room was crowded as bots mingled with glasses in hand or gawked at the chocolate fountain. Most of them couldn’t eat but were excited for it nonetheless. As a rare treat, punch was being served alongside water. It was a night for them after all.

But more than that, fast music was playing. Filling the room with noise. One of the Walter Workers had taken up a small booth and played music for them. Most of the ballroom floor had been left untouched, save a few stray balloons that had found their way to the ceiling. Robots were moving to the music and laughing as they danced together without a care in the world.

Looking around, Butterfly couldn’t help but get nervous. There was a lot going on for her. Trying to back away from the noise, she bumped into someone. “Ah, sorry.”

Captain grunted and helped her right herself again. He was wearing the coat she’d made him. He still needed his tail to keep it from dragging on the floor, and he had the sleeves rolled up to keep his hands, mostly, uncovered.

Which Butterfly found confusing. “I thought you said you had to wear your uniform,” she asked, nodding to the coat.

He looked away and cleared his throat. “It’s my favourite coat.”

She beamed brightly at that. It was good to know he liked it so much, even when she’d messed it up so much.

Before she could try to talk to him, Harim came over and gently tugged his arm. “Come on. You promised you’d teach me to dance! Everyone’s having so much fun.” Seeing Butterfly, he waved politely but still tugged his husband away to try and dance the night away.

Alone again, Butterfly tried to relax and look around again. Everyone looked so happy. People were happily dancing on the dancefloor while there were others who milled about with punch and water, laughing and joking.

If she stayed away from the dancefloor it would be fine. Nothing bad could happen as a wallflower, could it? Just seeing everyone happy was enough.

After a while of bot watching, she made to go to the refreshments table and get a drink of water. She found Arborus there, looking just as out of place as she felt. Waving a little, she smiled sheepishly.

“Guess it isn’t much like the theatre, is it?” She commented, looking around as more and more bots went to the dancefloor. Seemed everyone else wanted to dance the night away.

Arborus shook his head, fidgeting a little with his vest. “It’s loud,” he said, just over the sound of the music that filled the room.

A small nod. “Yeah, it’s not what I was expecting with all the clothes I made. But I guess you can dance in about anything.”

For a little while, they stood and watched the crowd. The room was warm and full of laughter. She tried to take comfort in it. At least until Stitcher and Jackdaw joined them.

“This has been amazing,” gushed Stitcher as Jackdaw got them drinks. Holding up her wrist, she showed off the blue and nearly silver white flowers Jackdaw had carefully placed on her arm before the dance.

Butterfly cooed softly at it and beamed. She was happy Stitcher had found someone to care for her.

“Everyone’s having a blast. And I think I’ve about taught Jackdaw how to dance.”

Said bot softly whined, but smiled fondly. He hadn’t fallen over, entirely. “I’m getting there. I should have practiced before.”

“You’re going just fine,” she promised, sipping at her water.

“That sounds like a lot of fun!” She cheered, trying to pretend like the dancefloor didn’t feel like a death sentence. No point ruining their fun, so she just smiled and encouraged them to keep having fun.

“Why don’t you dance with us?” Offered Stitcher as they finished their drinks. “I can teach you too if you’re nervous?”

“I’m okay,” she tried. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with Jackdaw. You two have fun.”

Stitcher gently grabbed Butterfly's hand, trying to tug her to the floor. “Come on, it’s a lot of fun. You can’t just sit here alone all night.”

Tensing, Butterfly shook her head. Gently, she tugged her arm back. “I’m pretty tired after making all those dresses and suits. I think I’ll just watch for a while. I’m okay.”

Though she frowned, Stitcher seemed to understand enough to let go and let Butterfly safely tuck her arms behind her. “Alright. Just try to have some fun, alright? Prom is for you too.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Butterfly let herself relax again. She turned around to apologize to Arborus, she hadn’t been trying to ignore him. But he was gone. Something she had expected, it was a lot. He probably went to find a quiet corner she thought.

At least it was nice to see everyone so happy. It seemed everyone had let loose to have the best time.

Captain was true to his word, teaching Harim to dance. Or at least doing his best. It seemed he was mostly holding Harim up as they moved around the dancefloor.

Stitcher was having better luck with Jackdaw. He was still fumbling a little, but he was smiling as he held onto her. And she was laughing sweetly as he guided her around the room.

In some places, single bots were taking over part of the floor. Shiver had turned a ballet routine into something more modern as she spun and pranced around like a feather.

Oddbody on the other hand, was breakdancing and causing a scene with loud cheers and clapping as he moved in a way Butterfly didn’t think he could.

It was nice to see how excited everyone was, and she smiled warmly at that. Couples and groups were moving about dancing and laughing. It was worth the work.

Smiling a bit, she opted to get herself a glass of punch. She deserved a nice treat, and she hoped it would help her nerves.

Pouring herself a glass, she noticed Nox nearby, ducked behind the chocolate fountain and messing with it. Tilting her head slightly, she stepped closer. “Nox? Is everything alright?” She asked softly.

He looked up at her and grinned a wide grin. “Peachy. Things are about to get real exciting around here.” Not getting up, he nodded to Koutali on the other side of the fountain. He was covering food in chocolate. Butterfly didn’t even know there was other food there, but he was grinning widely as the chocolate all but dripped off his plate.

Before she can ask what he meant, the machine started to shake and whir loudly. “Um?”

It caught the other’s attention too. Though no one more than Koutali as he looked around for the cause. Others came closer to see what was happening. Though when Koutali saw Nox, he glowered. “Nox! What did you-”

SPLAT

Overpowered, the fountain sprayed chocolate everywhere. Decorations were destroyed and thick chocolate covered light coloured balloons and banners. Everyone nearby had been covered as well. Dresses and suits ruined in the explosion.

Even the hat and tie Butterfly had made for Nox hadn’t survived the blast. Covered in chocolate, he loudly cackled in delight.

Koutali screamed and chased Nox around the fountain, nearly knocking poor Butterfly off her feet. Luckily for her, Oddbody was close enough to catch her again.

“Thank you,” she muttered, still in shock at what had happened. They watched as Koutali caught up with the trouble maker and shoved his head into the fountain, making more chocolate splatter over everyone that was too close.

By now, most bots were laughing at them. And a few Walter Worker chaperones were rushing in to try and pull them apart. Their white uniforms covered in chocolate as the two fought and struggled.

She wanted to cry. As much as she wanted to be happy everyone was happy. Seeing all of her work covered in chocolate was heartbreaking. And the laughter was too loud for an already nervous Butterfly.

Oddbody at least tried to help. He found her a clean towel to try and clean herself off with. “Hey, at least we all smell pretty good now,” he tried, trying to cheer her up.

At least it wiped easily off her plating, but her dress was ruined. The tulle would never be free of chocolate, at least not without ruining it. All the same, she smiled for Oddbody. “Thank you. I’m going to go change now.”

Trudging off, she tried her best not to cry. Everyone else seemed to be having fun, and that was what was important. Not the clothes, or the work that went into them. Besides, it wasn’t like she could dance with them anyway. So leaving suited her just fine. At least for a brief while, she could enjoy being with everyone.

Once safely in her room, she carefully peeled out of the purple and chocolate dress and finished cleaning up. At least the crown was alright. That she could clean and keep safe. She changed into an old dress, black with red butterflies swarming up from the bottom. It helped her feel a little better.

When she felt overwhelmed, she went to the garden. Slipping on some heels, she fixed up her hair and stepped out of the manor.

Arborus was probably still in the ballroom having fun, but being outside in the garden helped. It was quiet there, safe from all the hustle and bustle of the manor, and Arborus never made her talk but always listened when she did.

She was surprised to see Arborus sitting outside his little shed toying with his choker, rolling the bead between his thumb and finger. He looked nervous.

“Arborus?” She spoke softly as she came down the path to stand in front of him. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t look up, still playing with the green bead. “No one told me it was a dance,” he said after a moment. He was still in the clothes she’d made him for it, vest still perfectly buttoned.

Butterfly smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t know either. It was a surprise for me too. I guess everyone just assumed we knew.” Carefully, she sat on a low wall. “But it’s not safe for me to get in crowds like that. I’d probably break to pieces,” she giggled. In truth, it terrified her greatly. They couldn’t put her back together as her creator had. Absentmindedly, she ran her fingers over the chip on her cheek. He never got around to fixing it, and now he never could. That’s why she tried to stay out of the way.

Arborus looked up at her still looking upset. There had been so many people, and it was loud. Neither of them liked loud crowds, she understood. “Momma never taught me how to dance.” He curled in tighter on himself.

That made Butterfly smile. “I can’t dance like they were. It’s too fast. But I can do some slow dancing. Do you want me to teach you?” She offered, hopping down from her little perch. Too many people and fast movements were dangerous. But a waltz was slow and easy. And she trusted Arborus to be careful not to break her. And she wanted to make sure everyone had a good time, that meant him too.

More silence while he watched Butterfly offer a hand. He was always nervous, but she never pushed an issue. After a moment, he took her hand. He didn’t use her help to stand, but it was polite. “Okay.”

She beamed up at him and hoped it would make him feel better. “It’s easy, I promise. First, you put this hand here and,” holding one hand in her’s, she wrapped his other arm around her, “this one holds your dance partner.”

He followed her lead, hand pressed against her back. Watching his hands, he looked to her face again. Silently asking for the next instructions.

“So when you dance with a girl, you’re supposed to lead. You take a step forward.” Tugging him gently, she stepped back and he followed. “Right! And then you bring your other foot forward and to the side.” Again, she guided his feet with hers. “You’re doing great! Just count as you step. One two three, one two three.”

Following her lead, Arborus carefully spun them around the grounds just outside his garden. He fumbled but was careful not to step on her and held her securely so she wouldn’t fall and get hurt. As he got better, he smiled.

Proud as punch, Butterfly happily spun around the garden with him. It was safe and quiet here. Nothing was too loud and she didn’t have to fear breaking. She enjoyed making clothes for everyone, but this was better than prom.

#fanbots

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henry-cavill-baby · 4 years ago

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To Study (Insects) │3

Pairing: Clark Kent (MoS) x Original Female Character

Warning: Shitty Parents, Fluff

Word Count: 3k~

Summary: Clark and Connie; 18 and Graduation.

A/N: Just Enjoy!

Pomp and Circumstance blares through the stadium grade speakers as the high school seniors walk in a steady line across the green football field, each gracefully taking a seat in the white lined chairs as gusts of light wind nearly blow off more than a few white caps.

The graduating class of 98’ consisted of 79 students, almost all of the girls donning a pair of wedged sandals, seeing as a pointed heel would’ve slid right into the grass, and almost all of the boys wearing obnoxiously colored sneakers.

Principal Johnson tapped the mic that was strapped to the brown podium and cleared his throat, “Fellow Graduates; It is my greatest pleasure to see you off into the world, and knowing that all of you will make the world a better place. Hardships, and tough times tried to keep you down, but you all strode for success… and look where you are.”

Claps echoed the stands as proud parents rooted and hollered for their children.

“I am with deep certainty that each and every one of you fine adults will go off from this school, and follow the dreams you’ve spent years creating. Some of you will go to college, actually, I hope more than some,” he joked.

“And others may travel the world and see all of what it has to offer. And well, I know there are some of you out there who still haven’t the slightest idea on who they want to be. And that’s okay!”

A ripple of chuckles went through the class of graduates, “You don’t have to know what you want to do; you just have to be willing to try. All of you have the will to achieve greatness.”

“You are not defined by the person you used to be, or even the person you will become, but by your actions and how you impact the world.”

The band started up again and the graduates clapped and hollered for the Principal. “Congratulations Class of 98’!”

All of the students leapt up and tossed their caps into the sky, friends hugging one another in celebration and utter happiness. Connie had just stood up when two strong arms slipped around her waist and lifted her sky high, eliciting a yelp of surprise.

The grip was strong and the biceps she reached down to grasp could only belong to one overly muscled but still baby faced country boy.

“Clark!” Her yelp went unheard as he boisterously laughed and started to make his way out of the crowd of overzealous students, dodging the people engaged in bro fives and girls with running make-up and sobbing over friends. His hands felt warm and large on her stomach. It was like being held by a teddy bear.

From this height above the rest of the crowd, the figures of Martha and Jonathon Kent were easy to spot, and Connie failed to stifle a giggle and the arms holding her sped up in a bumpy jog.

It was more than difficult to keep her hair from flying all over the place as she bobbled along. He could be like an overgrown puppy at times.

“Guys!” Martha yelled, “Over here!"

Clark stopped short in front of his parents. A grunt left his clenched lips as he set Connie back onto her two-inch wedges. There was no time for her to enjoy being regular height, or say a grateful ‘hello’ to either Kent.

The thick forearm of Clark slipped around her cushy waist like a slippery serpent.

The smiling face of Martha warmed her heart, “Look at you two,” and her voice was as warm as an apple eye. Being around Martha used to make Connie crave her own motherly affection, but by now, Martha was the best she was going to get.

“Thanks for coming, you two,” Connie gushed. Her own arm wiggled from the space between her and Clark’s body, eventually slithering to cup his waist. They looked like the perfect couple.

“Please, we wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Martha insisted. Reaching into her mint green purse she pulled out a handheld camera. The two graduates groaned, but only Clark spoke up.

“Really, Mom?”

Martha waved him off, “Oh, hush up, Clark. Your mother only sees her babies graduate once, and if that means a few pictures, then you’ll be smiling for every one. Now, get closer you two.”

Any closer and they’d never come apart.

The flash of the camera shined in their eyes, and it was over as quick as it started. Connie smiled until it hurt, and tried to keep any redness from her cheeks as the hand on her back started to rub in a slow circle. Warmth blossomed in her lower back, and god, she could practically taste Clark’s mischievous smile. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“So, are you two up for some brunch?” Martha asked. “Or if you’d like, I could make us something at home.”

Connie bit the inside of her cheek; it was such a bad time to bring it up.

They were all enjoying each other’s company; they didn’t need her to bring up the family drama that lurked at her home. But it was better to get it done with than avoid it any longer.

“Actually,” She interjected, slightly moving away from Clark’s warmth. “I wanted to ask if you’d run me by my place. I promised my dad I’d drop by after graduation. You know; show him the diploma and all. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

The three Kent’s were silent for a few seconds.

“Are you sure about that, Connie?” Jonathon coaxed with a raised brow.

She could taste the questioning worry in his voice, but brushed it off and nodded with a thin-lipped smile.

“Yeah, I think he’ll be happy to see me. Its…” she thought for a moment.

“It’s been a while.”

The ride away from the High School was tenser than fly trapped in a spider’s web. Martha and Jonathon sat in the front while Clark sat in the back next to Connie.

There was nothing playing on the radio, and all the windows were up. Her hand rested on the middle seat, fingers strumming an irregular beat. Normally, Clark’s hand would intertwine with hers, but his were straining in a tight grip against his thigh.

The tightness of his jaw ripped at her soul. It was no mystery that Clark hated—no, despised Walter Mayfield. Maybe, an emotion deeper than she understood, something darker than disgust and rage connected Clark and Walter. She breathed in deep, trying to find the courage to reach over and hold his hand. But it never happened.

The Mayfield farm was more decrepit than any of them remembered.

Jonathon turned off the car and turned in his seat. “Do you want me to come in with you?” He offered.

It was tempting but she shook her head and undid the old leather seatbelt. It was hard for her to ignore the way Clark was visibly holding himself back from saying anything, and turning the car handle seemed to hurt worse than a third degree burn.

“I’ll only be a second,” she promised, shutting the door and moving away from the car.

The air smelt dry; drier than the dirt under her wedges. It was thick and felt like it could clog her throat if she breathed it too long. The shining sun blinded her eyes and she kept her head down on the trek to the front door—taking no mind to the even creakier porch steps and missing rocking chair.

The brown door seemed scarier now than ever before. She had no house key; there was no point to having access to somewhere you didn’t live anymore.

Her knuckles rapped against the aged wood with the hand not gripping the diploma, teeth gnawing into her bottom lip as seconds passed.

A crash echoed inside the house and Connie readied herself as the lock turned from the other side. It’s now or never, she thought, standing straight with her head held high.

The door was lurched open with a gust of air, and her eyes widened at the sight of her Walter Mayfield. Time hadn’t been kind to him, and neither had the glass bottles littering the floor. Dirty blonde hair, missing teeth and the look of a crazed man were what any regular person would have seen; but she just saw her dad.

“Hi, Dad.”

His left eye twitched something ferocious.

“Connie.”

His voice had become rougher than gravel; probably smoked twice as much as he drank. Dirt caked his fingernails and a dried redness smattered the inside of his elbow. He was the picture of being at the bottom, and Connie instantly hated herself for ever coming back here. This was a mistake, she said to herself.

“I finished high school, Dad.” She held up the white diploma for a split second, watching his eyes follow its movement—up and down, “I—I thought you’d want to know.”

Silence hung between the two Mayfield’s; Connie holding her breathe with trepidation, and Walter staring silently. Neither had moved from their positions on the porch, and all three Kent’s were watching from the car window. Just in case Walter tried something.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Aren’t you going to say anything to me, Dad?” she tried to coax an answer from the man she’d once called her father. But he hadn’t been a man in a long time, or ever really. Trying to see past his shoulders into the run down house was the last thing she wanted to do.

Too many memories—bad ones mostly—lied inside those molded walls.

Then finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Walter opened his mouth.

“Go ‘way, Connie.”

And he shut the door in her face, the slam echoing through her head long after he’d walked away from the last piece of living flesh he had. Hiccups tried to take home in her throat, and a river tried to flow from her honey pot eyes.

Was there any timeline that she’d imagined where he’d welcomed her with open arms? What lie had made her believe he’d be happy to see her? It was always going to go like these… and yet, it hurt so much worse.

Warm arms—and the scent of chopped wood and the freshness of dewy wet grass on an early warm sunrise—roamed the air around her clouded mind. It was soothing and sweet, to be in the arms of Clark. He enveloped her in his bear like arms and held her close.

It was a space she never wanted to leave. His clean-shaven face found home in the soft sweetness of her neck, and a solemn kiss found her skin. His lips could chase away any demons.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her skin, nose rubbing against her warmth.

They stayed that way for only a few seconds and Clark gingerly turned and led them back to the truck. Each step felt like carrying pounds of cement, but with Clark around, she would never fall.

His strong hands sat her inside the truck and shut the door, running around to hop in himself, grateful to leave behind the Mayfield farm in a cloud of dust.

It was nearing 9, and Clark was already upstairs waiting in his pajamas when Jonathon rested against the doorway of the kitchen, eyes watching Connie.

His presence visibly scared her, and she jumped—clutching her heart.

“Jesus, you scared the daylights out of me.” Her hip leisurely shut the fridge, two pieces of blueberry pie topped with smooth whipped cream jammed onto one plate.

“Did you need something? Clark and I were going to watch some movies till one of us passed out.”

A beat of silence passed between them, Jonathon eventually clearing his throat. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Oh.” That hadn’t been what she’d expected to hear.

“It’s alright, really. I—I should’ve expected it.” The pie plate dinged as she rested it on the cloth-covered table. “I think it would’ve been weird if he wasn’t like that. It takes a lot for people to change, and I just—I wanted…”

“He may not show it, but I bet he’s proud to have a daughter like you.” Jonathon interjected. “Martha and I sometimes wish you’d been ours.”

“I don’t think it would be in my best interest to be Clark’s sister.”

They both let out a breathy laugh. The whipped cream on the chilled pie was starting to run onto the plate.

“There’s something I want to show you.” Jonathon said, stepping from the wall and making his way to the backdoor. “It’s been a long time coming, and there’s no better time than the present."

“O—Okay?” she slowly muttered. “Is this the Kent dead body that you guys keep tied up in the barn?”

He turned and raised a solid brow, urging her to follow him outside. She tried not to think of where they were going; there was no way this could be anything bad.

This was Clark’s dad; he was the nicest man in town. But as they stalked along the shortly trimmed grass, and the cold chill set into her bare feet, the possibilities flew through her mind.

The thumbnail of her left hand was bitten particularly hard as Jonathon Kent pried open the barn doors, the smell of hay and obstructing her senses.

Her eyes closed as clouds of dust rushed into the air—no ones cleaned this place in ages—and opened to watch Jonathon reach up for rope hanging from the ceiling.

She gingerly stepped onto the wooden floor and tried not to shiver; it was freezing. Her eyes followed the rope, hands tugging to open to floorboards just in front of them.

“What’s down there?” she asked shakily, a sense of slight… it wasn’t fear, but a crossbreed between dread and nervousness. They didn’t actually have a dead body, right?

“What?”

“This—“ his finger pointed at the space hidden under the barn, “—is what we found Clark in. He was just a baby with a set of lungs that wouldn’t stop crying unless Martha held him.”

Connie still couldn’t really understand what she was seeing, or what he was saying.

Out of all the things that the Kent’s were hiding—every little town had families with secrets—but the secret being that Clark was from space was a little out there.

“So… Clark isn’t Martha’s?” She looked at Jonathan. “And you two found him in this, 18 years ago?”

He nodded with the most serious face she’d ever seen, but the words spilled out like a floodgate, “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but you have to know how this sounds. Right?”

“It’s why we’ve never told anyone.” He explained, wiping a hand down his withered face. “We kept this from Clark for most of his life. Martha and I never wanted him to know about where he comes from, but then the accidents started piling up. We didn’t have a choice.”

“You two did your best to protect Clark.” She sympathized.

He stepped down into the hole, and Connie quickly followed. Hey eyes took in the glossy ship, and she found herself reaching forward and placing her palm against the sleek metal. It was cool and smooth, and her palm leisurely moved along to the more patterned area, feeling the bumps and grooves.

It could’ve easily been mistaken for some type of rare metal, but a part of her was starting to believe that this was a spaceship.

“You’ve kept a spacecraft under your barn for 18 years…” she gulped, “And Clark is…”

For some strange reason—in some deep corner of her brain—this wasn’t that crazy. It wasn’t like Clark hadn’t been different from the other kids from an early age, why he seemed to be bigger and stronger than every other kid in their graduating class.

How he pulled a bus from a river.

“Clark’s an alien.” She whispered into the air, nodding at Jonathon with wide eyes. Her lungs blew out all of their air. “Clark is an alien.”

“Please don’t hold this against him.” Jonathon added. “He wanted to tell you the second I showed this to him, but I told him he couldn’t.”

Her scoff nearly cut him off, “I don’t think I would’ve handled it as well as he did.”

“But you are now.” He grinned.

“Because I lo—“

Because I love him

“I love him, Mr. Kent.” Her hand retreated from the aircraft, and she stepped away. “And nothing can change that.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more certain about anything in my life, and that is that I love Clark, and this—“ she longed to hold Clark in her arms, “—only makes me want to protect him more.”

The silence of night stood between them.

Her words shone brighter than a sunset on a summer’s day, and Jonathon found an itch of smile forming on his face. They both stared at the tiny ship, but Connie dared to reach forward and finger a gleaming piece of metal.

It was freezing cold to the touch, but as smooth as polished silver. It was shaped like a stake that punctured dry soil, but the top had a strange symbol. It easily popped off of the exterior of the ship.

It looked like an S.

She held it up to the moonlight, “Do you know what it means?”

But he shrugged his shoulders and pulled the lever to lower the barn floor hatch, both of them climbing out to watch the floor close up again. “It was in there with Clark, so I’m guessing he’d have a better idea than me.”

“How much does he know about where he comes from?”

Jonathon turned back and stared as she rubbed the black tool in between her fingertips. Something felt right about letting her have it.

He nodded to the barn door with a grin, “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

A beaming smile stretched across her face and she tore through the barn, uncaring of the hay digging into the soles of her feet.

The doors flew open with a gust of chilly wind, and heaving breaths winded her chest and she looked across the grassy path.

Clark

He hadn’t changed out of his pajamas—his bare feet stuck in the freezing grass while his hands wrung at his sides. The moonlight shined on the space between them, and she ran towards the sea, thrown into its arms and enveloped in its soothing blue. His arms enveloped her like a blanket, tugging her up and off the grass, holding her close.

It truly was the best feeling in the world, to be in Clark Kent’s arms. It was warmer than you’d imagine, it felt safer than you could dare to dream, and it felt like home.

He gently set her back on the ground, still keeping her close, “Seeing as you’re not running for the hills, I’m going to assume you’re taking your best friend being an alien pretty well.”

Best friend, her rational mind snarled, Lies.

“I mean, I’ll admit, for a moment there I was planning to call the feds and demand a place on their alien tasks unit.” She explained with a giggle, snuggling into his arms with a sigh. His warmth chased away the cold.

“Every single time I pictured telling you about this part of my life,” he reminisced, “It never once went like this.”

Her crown rubbed against his soft chest, humming lightly. “And exactly how had you pictured it?”

“I’d imagined there being a lot more screaming.” A nod to the cornfield, “And I’m glad you aren’t trying to run away. I’d hate to have to chase you down.”

A flare of challenge erupted in her gut, and she pulled back to raise a brow at him, “Is that a challenge, farm boy?”

It would’ve been fruitless to try and escape his arms, and besides, getting smacked in the face with corn was not ideal.

They stared at one another, and their hearts beat in sync.

There was no fear in her soul—her heart—and there was no doubt that this was the same Clark that pulled her from a watery grave, that held her on sleepless nights and whispered sweet words, that gave her a home and a family to call her own. She was his world, but he was hers too.

“I can hear your heartbeat.” Clark confessed as his hands rubbed her soft hips.

“It’s faster when you’re nervous and softer when you sleep.”

His hands rubbed her shoulders, “When I was first learning to control my senses, Mom told me to make the world small, to find something to ground myself.”

“The sound of your heart helped me hone my senses.” He picked up her chin and gazed into her eyes, “You helped me.”

“I—I didn’t know, Clark.” The right words seemed lost for her, “If I’d known, I would’ve done anything to help you.”

“But you did,” he cut her off, thumb rubbing the cheek under his palm. “You’ve always been there for me, Connie, and I love you.”

“I’ve always loved you, Clark.” She squeezed his tighter, “And not even being a freaky alien baby can change that.”

A squeal of laughter erupted from her throat as Clark lifted her over his shoulder with ease and bolted into the house, laughter echoing across the farm.

Chapter 4 coming soon!

#clark kent henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill imagines #clark kent x oc #clark kent fanfiction #clark kent imagines #clark kent #man of steel #dc fanfiction #batman v supeman: dawn of justice #superman #superman fanfiction

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introvertguide · 5 years ago

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Studio Laika

I was sitting at home and watching films today (probably what a lot of people are doing right now), and I noticed that a lot of my very favorite movies were all stop motion. It creeps some people out the way that the characters move, but I love the look and admire the people who painstakingly create and move each and every aspect of a scene. A one minute scene can take weeks to shoot if it is large scale. Very impressive. Little did I know that the same company made almost all of my favorites.

It is a studio in Oregon named simply Laika that is headed by the cofounder of NIKE, Phil Knight, and his son Travis is the CEO. The work that comes from this place is astounding and every single one of their films is just amazing to me. They have put out 5 feature length films over 10 years and every single one has been nominated for best animated feature by the Oscars, the Golden Globes, the BAFTAs, the Annie Awards, and the Critic’s Choice Awards. These are fantastic films with gorgeous visuals and particularly beautiful soundtracks and should get far more attention than they have.

Here is a little list of all of the movies and I highly suggest checking them out and then checking out the behind the scenes on YouTube.

Coraline (2009)

I very scary adventure about a little girl that moves into a new shared house and finds a door that transports her to an opposite world. The animation is so flawless and realistic that this film actual gave me nightmares and I was 30 when I saw it. The opposite world is the same kind of set up that I had nightmares about when I was a child. It was so engrossing and the score for the film really brings the viewer into this world. The ending song sounds a lot like the “Something Wicked This Way Comes” song from the 3rd Harry Potter film but with a much faster pace. In fact...check the song out for yourself.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XnIUVHtLC08

And maybe some behind the scenes without spoilers...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jXqqd0ZBEMA

The words behind the lead character are voiced by Dakota Fanning and the mother (both of them) is done by Teri Hatcher. The acting behind the title character is especially good and really brings to life this tough little girl in her stunning situation. Highly recommend.

Paranorman (2012)

This is the story of a young boy who has paranormal abilities and he has to deal with a town and family who are afraid of him while also trying to ward off local ghost activity. Totally relatable. This film actually reminded me more of Monster House (2006) with the idea of a group of kids attempting to bring peace to an angry spirit of some form. The closing song is “Little Ghost” performed by the White Stripes and, although my least favorite closer of the five films, is pretty good. The credit sequence that runs through the characters with the short is like a high quality short on its own.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mVWt8SYeNus

And of course some behind-the-scenes B-roll

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJNK_VGOPss

I will say that this is my personal least favorite of the group, but it would still be a 7 or 8 out of 10. The world is great and the characters are fun, but the story wasn’t as interesting to me and it is not as good of a soundtrack. I still very much recommend.

The Boxtrolls (2014)

I think this is my favorite of the five films for many personal reasons. It is basically the story of Tarzan but put into a world that is similar to an old English village. A young boy dubbed Eggs is raised by trolls and is forced to rejoin human society when he attempts to save his adopted family from a pest exterminator named Archibald Snatcher. Some of my very favorite English actors like Ben Kingsley, Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, and Richard Ayuade all voice characters. It is a coming of age story for 2 or 3 characters at the same time and there are less “good guys and bad guys” and more misguided individuals all trying to find their place. The ending credits are again accompanied by a beautiful song called “Little Boxes” written by Eric Idle. It goes a little something like this...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otJqvGMtqUQ

And some time lapse of a couple characters with a voice over with Richard Ayuade and Nick Frost that is hilarious...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3h7p0NckTKc

I cannot say enough good things about this film. It has all of the effort and craft of the previous two, but with a better story and less creepiness. A great message for any age and no worry about nightmares (for me anyways).

Kubo and the Two Strings (2016)

This is probably the most beautiful of the Laika films and tells a beautiful story. The one thing that keeps this from being my favorite is a pair of eye-stealing evil sisters. The world is amazing and the voices are fantastic, but this makes the threat of the villains all the more disturbing and there is definitely some nightmare fuel in that. Definitely not like any fairy tale that I was brought up with, and that absolutely makes it better in my eyes. With the current “stay in and stay safe” situation, the beginning will hit close to home. It has the normal gorgeous ending credits with a cover of “As My Guitar Gently Weeps” performed by Regina Spektor. Of course it is here...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xxAAXZvCO8

And a behind-the-scenes that shows the stop motion with the voice production

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHyTYL1Z1aM

This was the best film from Laika on a technical and they were nominated for both Best Animated Feature and Best Visual Effects at the Oscars. Also, this is the best BTS the I could find as it is pretty much spoiler free and has dramatic sewing music.

Missing Link (2019)

This is the most recent film which came out last year and it is the first time that one of the movies did not perform well at the box office. There was little advertising for this film (that I saw) compared to Kubo despite having a bigger budget. The story was not as good and much more predictable than any of the prior films. It did have arguably the biggest name recognition as far as voice actors with Hugh Jackman, Zoe Saldana, Zach Galifianakis, Timothy Olyphant, Steven Fry, and Emma Thompson. The company has made a name having terrific ending credits and this was not different...but I can’t find a version that doesn’t absolutely spoil the ending so I attached the version for Lakeshore Records. It is a song called “Do-Dilly-Do” sung by Walter Martin.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uk377s0gOYg

I is a quick moving song with late 1800s instrumentation with a ragtime feel that actually makes me think of “Kodachrome” by Simon and Garfunkel. And of course so behind the scenes...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k-skE9Loauc

A really great film that was exquisite but not really on the same level as Kubo. I still think it was well worth the watch and it is on Hulu streaming service currently.

I have spent the last couple of years of my movie critiquing life watching older films, but I have not lost sight of the present and all of the great films that are still being created. With all of these fine films from a single studio, my hope for future film making is still great. There work and passion that goes into each film is obvious and should be enjoyed by the masses. I highly recommending taking some time if you are forced to stay in and check out some of these wonderful films. By the way, the name comes from the first dog to go into space on a Russian ship and the first animal to orbit the Earth on the Sputnik 2.

#films #stayinghome #studio laika #kubo and the two strings #missing link #boxtrolls #paranorman #coraline #introverts #introvert

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aquagenesis · 4 years ago

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i cant stop talking about seifer.

like i just don’t understand, in everything it’s emphasized that seifer is the parallel to squall. the game opens up and everyone and their mother is telling squall he doesn’t care, he’s cold, he’s abrasive. zell and selphie specifically comment on how rude he is; when he goes after rinoa following their inability to get into the broadcast station one of them tells him to back off because he’s going too far. cid tells him strength isn’t enough to be a SeeD. laguna is another parallel to squall (as his father) because while laguna throws himself into things because he thinks he’s doing the right thing, squall holds back and would rather criticize others for not doing enough. laguna has kiros and ward, seifer has raijin and fujin, neither of which are “worse” than seifer. both friendships involve the “friends” supporting their main character friend wholeheartedly and consistently being worried over them. raijin and fujin don’t accept seifer would be executed and are the only ones to bother to go looking for him, out of concern for what he might be experiencing alone. when seifer turns away from them it hurts them because they just want him to come back and abandon garden and everything together, because seifer has never been one to obey authority and now he IS. even though laguna gets them lost in esthar and ward loses his voice entirely, ward and kiros spend their last (known) minutes apologizing to laguna for not being able to keep traveling with him.

everyone else in the game who isn’t just A Party Member and is otherwise observed to be “fine” has people they are friends with and close with. squall doesn’t. he’s an outsider and when people attempt to be friends with him, he shuts them out. the only other party members who don’t have anyone are irvine and quistis; irvine is alone because of some heartbreaker sniper garbage (you’re a womanizer OH) and quistis is alone because she can’t connect with her peers due to being an instructor of people not much younger than her but too young to be close to more mature faculty.

squall intentionally goes after people about things he thinks they should be insecure about and gets angry when they don’t “realize” what they’re doing that’s wrong. squall falls into the same Toxic Masculinity/Don’t Idolize This category that characters like rick sanchez and walter white fall into, where they’re successful but for all the wrong reasons. rinoa is like eighteen and she was born into a galbadia-occupied world where resistance members are being tried and persecuted for trying to get timber’s independence which was taken from them. squall takes her inability to know what to do when she SAYS she never imagined they’d be able to get this far as an individual fault, never apologizes, and it’s written off as “well she needs to learn how to do whatever” when in reality squall had no right to talk to her like that. because she’s right; he just blindly follows orders and puts himself on a pedestal of moral superiority because “he isn’t the one who messed up”, because he doesn’t DO anything he’d have to take personal responsibility for. he tells rinoa what she SHOULD be doing and then when she’s like “oh really? okay i’ll go with that” because he has combat experience and training he takes that opportunity to rip into her because “she can’t make decisions on her own”.

rinoa specifically goes through a LOT of shit because squall refuses to make the first move for the majority of the game. rinoa is always the one who steps in to protect squall and squall has nothing to say but criticism because “she should have let him die. she should have carried out the mission”. seifer steps in to protect squall and instead of respecting his memory squall decides to make it about his existential crisis rather than the fact his classmate who tried to save his ass was executed.

and this would be fine; seifer is allowed to have negative character development. but seifer never receives sympathy or empathy for the fact he was brainwashed and taken away from everyone. seifer broke the rules of garden and everything for the sake of protecting people he didn’t think would be able to make it out alive. seifer says, “they’re gonna get killed if they wind up against the whole galbadian army” because cid dispatched 3 new SeeD members into a situation he knew was far graver than “heehee just free timber” as though it would be so easy. seifer knew garden was a sham from the beginning and even when the narrative flips to say “yeah garden is actually the worst thing”, it’s not “oh shit! we were after the wrong guy!” it’s “well seifer should have done a better job of relaying that information”.

seifer knew squall wasn’t ready to be a SeeD. seifer knew SeeD was basically a pass to do whatever you wanted. seifer knew making squall the leader of a squad when he’s insufferable and difficult was a bad idea. seifer told zell so many times to be quiet even before he threatened the president and because zell was so caught up on “god i fucking hate that guy” he led to seifer being brainwashed and the war getting more tense.

edea knew if quistis or anyone else would be able to talk to seifer the brainwashing wouldn’t work; that’s why she incapacitated quistis when she ran in on the scene. seifer was taken advantage of against his will and then had literally no way of getting away; his “romantic dream” was with rinoa, not being edea’s “knight” or whatever. the fact squall had the audacity to call him a lapdog and whatever else is just so fucking stupid because the game confirms brainwashing was happening. squall has a massive fucking ego problem and he isn’t forced to come to terms with it until the world is literally ending and him and rinoa almost die in fucking space. rinoa girl you deserve so much better than a man you need to teach compassion.

like it’s not even inherently bad final fantasy had a protagonist who was entirely self-serving because yeah squall does eventually learn he’s a fucking dick. no wonder you’re worried about being a memory because what the fuck would anyone say about you. seifer got called heroic and noble and it drove squall so crazy because it was all retrospective he stormed out of the room screaming “I WON’T BE A MEMORY” which is so fucking tasteless. quistis is looking for just friendly support because she was demoted because of seifer and squall and squall tells her “well other peoples’ problems aren’t mine”. squall finds out rinoa might have been looking for seifer and he really gets so worked up until he finds out she was looking for cid at the party, but then gets mad again because seifer introduced them. but it just doesn’t make sense to have the antagonist be the parallel of someone self-serving.

like don’t even get me started on the fact that like, squall and rinoa wound up being together in the end, because yeah rinoa deserved better than squall. she deserved better than to have her boyfriend who she was in love with dangled in front of her with no way to get him back. she deserved better than to have to fight someone she loved for her life because her boyfriend was taken from her because of some stupid “preserve the garden!” agenda when garden didn’t take her seriously until seifer introduced her to cid. rinoa had no obligation to stay with squall outside of he was assigned to her and he treated her like shit for so long. she wanted seifer to be with her because seifer gave her courage and made her feel like she could do anything. instead she had to help squall through several character arcs because “she needs to stand up for herself” or whatever and it’s like, your boyfriend SHOULD be giving you hope that you can do what you want to. it’s not a bad thing seifer’s the one who gave her that. she didn’t “rely” on seifer, he was strong and self-assured but canonically hates pity so he would not “pity” her.

and like as far as i remember and am playing, squall doesn’t even hate seifer. he thinks he’s a dick and full of himself but boy are you sure calling the kettle black. seifer didn’t respect quistis because she was a coward and relied on her role as “instructor” to berate and punish him. that’s part of the reason she was demoted, because she couldn’t be fair. seifer never missed and that’s why they had to shove him into the antagonist role, because they needed to take away the person squall was living in the shadow of for him to realize HE was the problem and not everyone else.

if seifer had been on the mission to assassinate the president they never would’ve gotten on the damn train because he would’ve been smart enough to say “hey rinoa if this is such public information i don’t think he’s gonna be on the train, let’s not put all of our energy into this as the main plan”. squall went along with it and then got nasty because it didn’t work. squall single-handedly let everything get so fucking bad because he was too scared to maybe be “wrong”. he’s lucky so many other people were willing to go down for him to succeed like very genuinely because if i was on that boy’s team call me the next seifer almasy.

#i have so many emotions about final fantasy 8 and specifically this.#i remember playing it i was like god rinoa dump squall you need to get with a real man like me #imagine begging for help against an oppressive regime and youre ignored and then finally get someone and it's squall leonhart #i think i'd cry. i think i'd call the whole thing off. because he's a bitch.

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mandysxmuses · 4 years ago

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🐩 for each keeper

//oH BOY this might be a long one

So Niemand is one of the first ‘Keeper’ characters I created and is the one who has changed the least from his original conception. My main inspirations for him and a lot of the Keepers/the overall idea was popular dating sim and anime tropes, and in particular for him I took inspiration from the “yandere” trope, although Niemand technically isn’t one at all. I knew I wanted a cute and overall innocent character with a very dark side, but I also wanted there to be a reason for that dark side beyond it just being there because he loves someone and it needs to be there for the trope, so from the get-go I figured Jemand’s antagonistic and cruel relationship with him would be a more organic drive to bring Niemand to that point.

I could also say some Undertale inspiration helped me come up with him? Because my dream that inspired this whole thing and one of the first things I wrote with Niemand involved him shapeshifting into a rather ugly flower and accidentally scaring a Keeper off.

And I think the whole hedge maze/flower garden thing was probably Alice-in-Wonderland inspired, given that Alice in Wonderland was also inspiration for pretty much a lot of the tone of what I was going for making the Keeper universe.

Jemand is another one of the first characters I had in mind, and again, I already had a pretty basic outline of how his character and Niemand’s were supposed to be. He was supposed to be suave and clever and witty and smug, and Niemand was supposed to be more sheepish and meek by comparison. Though I will say Jemand has gone through a lot more small evolutions than Niemand has over time. He originally bickered with Niemand a lot and was frequently embarrassed by the gardener catching him up on things that he said rather than constantly being on top of things, and he did change to a much more antagonistic, domineering, outright crueler character over time -- I’ve tried to pull that back a bit because there have been times where I’ve worried I’ve made him too evil, but regardless, he’s still a lot nastier now than he was at first.

His main inspirations were, again, popular anime/dating sim tropes, so I wanted to take the trope of the suave idol-like characters who daksldmasl you know the ones you know the ones

The whole black-and-white thing was not necessarily inspired by anything (maybe Alice in Wonderland subconsciously since there’s the whole checkerboard motif he loves) but yeee

TODLICH oh m’boi Todlich, the man, the myth, the meme

The third character I had in mind from the get-go and still the most changed from his original conception that I can think of (besides Schatz but even his character changes weren’t as dramatic)

The tropes and inspirations Todlich pulls from aren’t that difficult to figure out, I’m sure there’s one in every otome game/dating sim where at least one character is an absolute trashfire but they have a route anyway because they’re physically attractive and in the game/anime so they have to come into play somewhere

But originally that’s... all he was, just an evil, killing-for-the-sake-of-killing character with zero actual motivations or story or reasoning behind it, and it made him feel very two-dimensional to me. Characters like that can work, of course, but when they do there’s always at least some story to it and mdlasdm Todd just existing like that with no story and no motivations bothered me

And this overall dissatisfaction with Todlich’s lack of character and lack of story altogether was what led to the Emma plotline, which ended up just ldsakmdl transforming the entire thing and making literally everything more fun to write for me and turned Todlich from one of the characters I disliked writing most to one of my genuine favorites dkmasldmds

(Also I lost most of my icons so I won’t have them all here but)

LAUT

Okie dokie, Laut is definitely an interesting one to talk about. He wasn’t actually a character I had in mind from the very beginning, but I came up with him soon enough after just figuring it would be neat to have an announcer talking over chases and telling everyone what’s going on

His inspirations were bookworm-type characters and socially awkward characters and I originally wanted him to be a more stern, snappy character, like one of the strict intellectual types

(And the Pringles guy, no kidding, that’s what inspired his monocle)

And he’s more like a geeky high-class dork that just sits there calling everyone a peasant

And now that I think about it he’s changed just about as much as Niemand which means not much at all, I essentially had the idea of a guy with super long purple hair and a monocle sitting in a tower watching everybody but not being able to leave, and slowly suffering from the isolation.

RENEE AND VERGESS

OKAY SO I can’t take all the credit for Renee because a lot about her was suggested to me by another friend of mine, and they definitely contributed a lot to her overall character design (including her signature hat that she wears)

And I think even the spine-ripping she does may have been their idea? It has been a long time since I had this conversation with this friend so I do not know who of us came up with what besides the hat, I remember specifically she came up with the hat idea

I think they might have even picked her name mslkdkmlsak

I mainly wanted her to be a foil for the boys because they were so powerful and the Keepers definitely didn’t seem like they had much helping them at this point, and of course, the Emma plotline gave her having Keeper memories and her place in the game even more poignant

Vergessene’s character was heavily inspired by characters like Eeyore and Sadness from Inside Out, and I added him because I wanted another character to be on the Keeper’s side, but also to add even more tragedy to my big angst bowl because there evidently was not enough in the pot by that point

VERHEILER

The man of FLUFF, the fluffiest man, the most self-indulgent man I ever put into this universe

Fools may have thought I put Todlich and his physical attractiveness in for my own self-indulgence but no, NO, Verheiler was the one who I stuck in solely from what I would want in a weird fantasy world full of bizarre people who may or may not intend to kill me

I wanted a soft, tol man with bunny ears and a minty pretty soft color scheme and floofy hair and a kimono

And I wanted him to make me tea, and have a soft and gentle voice, and to be a complete pacifist, and just be the most wholesome of men

I wanted him to give hugs and lots of cuddles and be really affectionate but also respectful of boundaries if someone asked not to be touched

His inspirations were literally my own self-indulgent stupidity, and ASMR. That was a big inspiration for him, I really wanted him to be a comforting, calming, just genuinely sweet person since the Void had a distinct lack of any of these qualities before he was there.

KNIRSCHEN

Knirschen knocked down two popular tropes in one, the “tsundere” trope and the werewolf trope

He’s cold and grumpy and dismissive to people he likes, but softens up over time, ugh, I love that trope, got a weakness for that trope I have to say

Especially in Knirschen’s way, where the only reason he’s so pushy and determined to shove people away is because he’s scared he’ll transform and be more likely to hurt them if they’re close-by

I also thought, hey, I added a rabbit man, why not add a wolf character

And on that note

Egel/Walter

So since a rabbit man inspired a werewolf man, a werewolf man inspired a vampire man

But of course, this wasn’t the only inspiration for Walter. Vampires are a popular dating sim/romantic novel/generally thirsty-people-aimed media trope, so naturally he had to be in here

Though I wanted to make him also a nice, generally well-meaning character because the vampires I’d seen in some media treated their “love interests” like sacks of meat and I wanted to subvert that and by subvert that I mean yeet that idea out the window, I want a wholesome vampire

So I made a hot-pink haired, generally unintimidating, well-mannered sophisticated boyo who likes candy

But also gave him some depth by making his relentless nightly thirst for blood and monstrous reputation something he actively hates and wants to fight against rather than a part of himself he takes pride in

So he’s struggling with a very terrifying part of himself that he can’t help having, as well as being forced to use that side of himself in a horrific murder-game and even attack Niemand because Jemand’s terrible

Schatz... oh boy, Schatz

What even was the creation of this man? Of course the Void’s designated comic relief would have the most weird creation process and changes

(his inspirations were The Pirates of the Caribbean series and other pirate-like characters and series, and that one vine of the high dude possessed by a demonic spirit asking for a bagel)

First he was a regular pirate man who had a pet mouse because I’d never seen a pirate with a pet mouse before

WAIT character change, he’s a regular normal guy LARPing a pirate and just pretending all the time because he likes it

WAIT THERE’S MORE, he talks to his mouse and acts like he can have conversations with it and confuses everyone even more

WAIT, he hallucinates the mouse talking back

NO WAIT, the mouse is magical in nature and literally does communicate with him telepathically

HOLD ON the mouse is a demon now

AND the mouse can shapeshift and eat bathtubs and steal things for him

And the mouse... worships... Satan

okay, that’s enough, we’re done . . .. .

-- AND Schatz only LARPs as a pirate as a form of escapism because the Void is a ball of angst and Catnip is slowly but surely absorbing more power from all the suffering everyone is enduring and one day--

Kanonier

Oh boyo, dis guy

The man who literally exists just to have a butt bigger than Jemand’s and muscles slightly larger than Todd’s

no that’s not why he exists of course not but

I mainly just always wanted a rival character for Schatz after he showed up because dlsakdmslkd gosh we already have a pirate man who’s trying so hard to be a pirate, there has to be someone on the other end of the spectrum

(Apparently there is a spectrum ranging from Cowboy to Pirate)

Of course Toy Story is kind of an inspiration, but honestly, I kid ya not, Old Town Road was a big part in forming this guy’s character and you can decide how cursed that is.

Begleiter

Now, some of the inspiration around here gets a little more personal and deep to me.

This guy had a variety of inspirations, either drawing from things as bizarre as Dora the Explorer and those awkward creepy moments of her staring, to Daniella in Haunting Ground and her robot-like behavior -- to an app I had called W.oebot which was essentially made to help cope with mental health problems but always had me internally struggling. I knew this app was meant to help me, but I always felt this deeper sadness that the “person” I was talking to was just a pre-programmed app sending automatic messages in response to specific words, rather than a person genuinely listening and caring about what I was saying

(not judging anyone who would use this app and is helped by it, of course, just speaking of my own experiences and how I felt)

The human element wasn’t there and it could be deeply felt to me, and it inspired a lot about Begleiter and his own personality, especially in his past relationship or lack thereof with Emma, whose thoughts and emotions toward her and others could only be felt after he got his “upgrade” and a more humanoid body.

Serpentin

OOOOH Serpentin

His main inspirations were cryptids, body horror, a smol genuinely hilarious video of a cryptid-like man slowly creeping toward this dude in his garage, a game called “IT LIES” about a monster using yours and other people’s voices to lure it to you like prey, and Spongebob

........... a big helping of Spongebob

Subversion of a trope was another thing I was going for here, I wanted a genuinely creepy, terrifying looking character who based on appearances seemed like someone you’d want to hide in a closet from and cry over

But turns out this terrifying thing you just saw just saw you drop a penny and didn’t want you to lose it, so he came to return it to you, please don’t be sad

Clara Wilson

Clara is the... least fleshed-out character that I have, and I feel like that’s understandable, given that her own inspiration was from classic otome game/romance novel/dating sim characters, whose personalities and decisions and moral standings are usually given to them by the player rather than their own will

(Or, if they’re in a TV show or something, their personalities are kind of blank so that people can insert themselves more easily to the situation)

Her personality switches depending on the route she’s on, much like a protagonist in a dating simulator’s might. I’m still glad I added her on here, but XD I’d be lying if I said there was all that much to her, she’s just kind of a character that exists and has her personality filled out depending on who she’s interacting with, kind of like a character with literally dozens of AUs

#M; The Keepers #Anonymous

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sweetcinnamcn · 4 years ago

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Family Dinner || Self-Para

Summary - Ian and his three older siblings come home for a family dinner after which his mother gives him a talking to plus a little something something for the upcoming Bachelor Auction.

WC: 2,630

Without Tommy there to back him up, Ian slips into old habits too easily. It’s hard for him to not let his brothers’ joshing get to him, and each quip at his expense makes Ian’s smile that much more strained. Everything from “Hey Schoolboy!” to bets on how much cum he’s been guzzling seems to be on the table tonight, and since they’re drinking they’re a bit more abrasive about it too. Ian really doesn’t like being around his brothers when they’re drinking.

“Huh, buddy?” Ian had retreated inwards and completely zoned out of the conversation. It wasn’t until Harrison clapped him on the back that he even realized all three of his siblings were looking at him. His mouth falls agape as he tries to think of something—anything—to say, but Donovan’s snort beats him to the chase.

“Space cadet strikes again. How’s the view from the clouds Lieutenant Dumbass?” he chortles, both his brothers laughing boisterously now. Ian laughs along with obviously less zeal.

Annette only shakes her head, moderately eye-rolling at her brothers. “Please don’t mess with him like that. Ian’s no fun when he starts to turtle up.” While he’s sure she means well, comments like that only ever get his big brothers laughing at him harder. This is why Ian doesn’t enjoy family dinners without his younger in attendance.

“What’s wrong, Annie? Junior too busy to be his white knight so you’ve got to fill the vacancy?”

“Not that he needs it. He’s a grown man and we’re just kidding around. Ian knows it. Look at him! Life of the party!” Harrison points right to the smile glued to Ian’s face. That gets a smile out of Annette which she attempts to hide by taking a sip from her wine glass. Harrison and Donovan never hide when they’re laughing at him. This is why he needs his little brother. Ian always feels invisible, pushed aside, belittled, and a bunch of other things he’s not good at vocalizing whenever he’s at home. Tommy always knew how to save him.

“Have you guys spoken to him recently? I know he’s super busy, but I can’t ever get him on the phone anymore—”

“Time zones, buddy. We’ve been over this. England is a few hours ahead of us, so you can’t just call him whenever.” So what if Ian has to count on his fingers to get an idea of what time it is for Tommy, it’s not like he forgets he has to! Though … he doesn’t say anything to reject the implication about his understanding of time zones either.

“Nah, he’s been dodging me too! He goes and claims a princess and suddenly “His Highness” is too good for us.”

“His Grace. Tommy is only going to be a duke by marriage and—”

“Yeah ok, we get that you’re jealous of his royal assent, but seriously Annie couldn’t you at least try to not sound bitter whenever he comes up?”

That’s how things have always been between his siblings. They have a brash, witty sense of humor and even Annette’s found a way to navigate those waters effectively. She can take it and dish it out without sacrificing the austerity she places in her classification. Ian was never as good as her. All he could ever do was smile through it all. As they continue to bicker amongst themselves and Ian starts to wish that Mother let him at least have a glass of wine like Annette got, he sees his father come into the room. He can’t help his sigh of relief.

“Boys, mind the volume. Really, I don’t know why she lets you drink on empty stomachs. You both get so belligerent!” It’s only a gentle scolding on his part, no hints of genuine irritation are found on his face. His brothers know this as well and both take a large swallow of their beers in response. Walter McCallister, the perfect claim for a woman like Clarice, the perfect father to both wrangle and console the children she bore as they needed. Ian’s always felt closer to his father, and for more reasons than their shared classification. He was hoping to get a chance to speak with him privately at some point before dinner was over, but hasn’t gotten to yet. “Dinner is about to be served. Why don’t you all wash up and come take a seat? Your mother is hungry and she is not in a patient mood tonight,” Walter informs before Ian can get a chance to say something. All buzzed except Ian, the McCallister children file out of the room. Ian starts to perk up a bit after his father gives him a gentle shoulder pat on his way out.

Dinner was delicious, and in typical McCallister fashion, it ends as they always do. As soon as Clarice puts her utensil down, Ian, Annette, and Walter all get up from their spots to clear the table. The Dominants will continue to sit and chat for a while. They’ll drink and have fun waiting for the others to bring dessert and coffee if desired. Those three only get dessert as an occasional reward, so none for them tonight much to Ian’s disappointment. There’s a delicious-looking lemon cake in the kitchen just calling his name. He’s even so bold as to try and finger swipe some icing off of it, but Annette slaps his hand away before he gets a chance. Ian is mid pout when a single command makes him go rigid.

“Ian, darling,” Clarice calls out from the dining room. “I’ll be taking my dessert in my study. Be a dear and bring it up to me.” The tension in the kitchen is palpable. Annette and Walter keep cleaning, but even Ian knows they’ve each got a nervously watchful eye on him. Being alone with Mother in her study only means one thing: prepared to get chewed out.

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, dejectedly cutting a suitable piece of cake for Mother and bringing it up. He has to suffer the typical “Ooo you’re in trouble”’s from his lounging brothers as he walks by. It’s not like they’re kids anymore so he doesn’t understand why they get such a kick out of it, but much like when they were, Ian shrugs away from their scrutiny so hard that it looks like he’s trying to make his head disappear. ‘Turtling’ as Annette so aptly put it, warranting even more joshing at his expense while he hurries to Mother’s study.

A deep sigh at the door and then a knock, Ian’s typical ritual. He can’t remember a time in his life when he left this room feeling good. He enters once prompted and sets the cake down in front of her, then steps back from her desk and stands there, waiting patiently. This is a common routine and Ian’s had plenty of practice, though he does think that her having him watch her eat it is a bit much. It feels like a punishment. Then again, so have their last few chats.

“Mm! That was absolutely divine. I swear, your father’s skills in the kitchen have never once diminished over the years. I do wish you could’ve enjoyed some…” Her voice and expression are cheery, but her eyes seem very cold. Even the way Clarice cleans the fork intimidates Ian. She’s quite skilled at making him feel naked in a not-fun way. “…then again, you haven’t been a very good boy, have you?”

“No Ma’am, I have not,” he says without hesitation. Confessing it out loud hurts so much. In a single sentence, weeks of “good boys” have been erased. Until he gets claimed, there’s only one Dominant who gets to dictate how well Ian’s behaving, and Clarice McCallister’s margins for grading are very clear.

“Huh,” is her only response, those cold eyes of hers repeating every scathing critique she’s voiced recently. There’s no need to rehash them, Ian knows full and well how he’s failed and why he’s failed. “Ian, I’ve been very patient with you. Men in our family attending Lowell has been a great honor for generations. You are the very first to turn that honor into an embarrassment. You should feel embarrassed by your inability to get claimed. It’s no one’s fault but your own.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Ma’am.”

“If I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I’d be able to reimburse myself for nine years of tuition.”

“I know. I’m—” A single quirk of Clarice’s eyebrow is all it takes for the words to die on Ian’s tongue. He looks down at his feet, unable to handle her disapproving gaze. He feels choked up like a hot coal is burning through his throat. The ground below starts to look blurry as well. Ian is doing his best not to cry. He knows Mother hates seeing that. “I’m trying really hard. I help out and I talk to a lot of Dominants. I have a lot of friends! But I … I don’t know why no Dominant wants me. I do everything you suggest and it—”

“Maybe you should spend less time screwing around with taken locals and put your energies towards getting serious about getting claimed.” He visibly winces at that interruption, because in his heart he knows there’s a lot of truth to it. “At this point, I’m not sure which is more humiliating. The fact that you’ve been there for nearly a decade, or the fact that your highest accolade is getting labeled as the school slut.” That one hurts even more, but he has a tool to use. Luckily, in his increasingly stressed frame of mind, he remembers to take it out of the toolbox his therapist has been helping him build.

“Dr. Addams says—”

“I’m the one paying for your little headcase pow wows with Dr. Addams. The last thing I want thrown in my face right now is whatever Freudian bullshit he told you to spout at me.”

“I-I just—”

“Would you quit mumbling like an idiot? Don’t slouch like that. Stand up straight, hold your head up high. If you have something to say, use your voice, Ian. How many times do I have to tell you this? Appearance is everything. Fix yourself, now!” He lifts his head but has to sniffle. Ian is full-on crying by the end of that and he just couldn’t hold his tears back any longer. Clarice’s eye-roll in response only makes him feel worse. “My sensitive little boy, what are we going to do with you?” she sighs, shaking her head. Ian stands perfectly still, trying to compose himself even though he knows he’s failing. The night has been a lot for him and he’s feeling raw from it all, but he knows what’s coming when Mother stands and walks around her desk. He’s thankful for it.

For all her talk about hating hysterics, she’s very good at dealing with Ian’s. She tenderly grasps the back of his head and brings his face into her neck, embracing her son. Ian wraps his large frame around her in turn, sobbing uncontrollably now that he’s been given the all-clear. He’s incoherent, inconsolable, but Clarice’s soothing touches calm Ian down. When she feels he’s gotten enough of it out of his system, she pushes him back gently by his shoulders. One hand goes to cup his pitiful face, stroking his cheek with her thumb as he whimpers out the last of his outpouring. “Ian, it’s just you. Even Tommy’s grown up and done it now. Not to mention he’s taken our ‘marrying up’ speeches seriously. I mean, he’s claimed into royalty! It’s bad for my image to have you still at Lowell with not even a prospect while all your other siblings have done so well. We need to change that, right?”

“Y-Yes Ma’am. I’ll try harder.” Eventually, she smiles and he smiles through his teary eyes in return. He must’ve finally said the right thing.

“Good boy.” There it is, the two words that uplift him more than everything else. A single phrase is capable of washing away all the cold pricklies and replacing them with warm fuzzies. He’s feeling better already. “But what am I always telling you?”

“My looks are my most important asset?”

“Exactly!” she praises. “You’re such a beautiful boy. Though, you could probably benefit from shedding some weight. Did you have to get so bulky?” Ian’s used to criticism being attached to Mother’s compliments. Her standards are extremely high. “I don’t expect you to be able to come up with a solution, which is why I’m going to help you. When Harrison was at Lowell, I did something for him before the Bachelor Auction. I’ve decided I’m going to do the same for you.”

He starts to wipe his face and continues to compose himself when Clarice turns around to her desk. He can’t see what she’s scribbling out, but after hearing some paper tear he figures what she’s doing. “Now, I know I’ve expressed my hesitation about doing this before, but Ian the auction has only ever resulted in you being a glorified whore for a night. How many times were you purchased by someone who had actual intentions of claiming you?” Out of eight times, the answer is none, and the pause it takes for him to mull this over is long enough for the rhetorical nature of Clarice’s question to be apparent. “My point exactly. This year, you’re taking matters into your own hands.”

Ian looks at the check, amazed at the amount. He’s never held that much money in his life, and it means the world to him that Mother has faith in his ability to do this.

“But Ma’am—”

“No buts, just promise me you’ll spend it wisely. Don’t waste this opportunity. Choose a Dominant carefully, one you have a shot with. It’s okay to think of a game plan too. In fact, you should ask Annie for tips. I’ve never seen anyone wrap a Dominant around their finger quite like her.”

Ian nods, sniffling still but smiling nonetheless. “Thank you, Mother. I won’t let you down. I’m gonna get a great date and I’ll get claimed. This will be my last year at Lowell, I promise.” Clarice smiles and dismisses Ian with a nod. He holds the check to his chest, feeling like he’s living a dream. Mother is right, this year he’s not leaving anything to chance. He’s going to make the right choice and finally get claimed.

The next couple of days on campus, Ian tried to keep his ear to the ground and figure out who he’d focus his bidding efforts on. Annie gave him some tips for how to plan the date in a way that’ll keep a Dominant interested, but that doesn’t help him choose. It’s not until he gets some alone time in the game room that he makes up his mind. Feeling the green of the pool table reminds Ian of a memory he hasn’t visited recently, only because he failed to find the need. But now … it’s giving him inspiration. “It’s settled then. I know what I’m going to do,” he says to himself, resolute in a way that’s almost uncharacteristic. Ian isn’t sure if he’s going to be able to live up to his promises by going for who he’s thinking, but he’s sure that it’s the best option given his predicament. “The Bachelor Auction is just around the corner. I have to make sure I’m ready. I’m going to land a Dominant, bring him home, and Mother will be so proud she’ll call me a good boy a whole bunch. I’m sure of it.”

#family dinner;;#self para

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reydelcastill0 · 4 years ago

Link

Fandom: Marble Hornets, The Blackout Club (Video Game)

Words: 1880

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Jessica Locke & Jay Merrick, Jessica Locke (Marble Hornets) & Lucids (The Blackout Club) Characters: Jessica Locke, Jay Merrick, Lucids (The Blackout Club), Masky (Marble Hornets)

Additional Tags: The Blackout Hornets AU, Hospitals, Hospitalization, Unreliable Narrator, Inaccurate Representation of Hospitals, Memory Loss, Implied Trans Male Character, Jessica Locke and Jay Merrick are Twins, No Diagnosed Illnesses, Implied Illnesses, Implied Trans Jay Merrick, Lucids as a "Doctor", Lucids as a "Nurse"

Series: Part 1 of inTheMAZE

Summary: Jessica wakes up in a hospital bed with little to no memories. A doctor catches her up to speed, but she doesn't believe Him. She thinks it's all a lie, but she doesn't know what to do about it, so she won't. Instead, she becomes close friends with a patient suffering from the same problems as her.

Jessica sat up with a groan. Her head was pounding and her mind sounded so loud it was almost unbearable. Her mind almost sounded like it was singing to her, but Jessica wouldn’t describe the sounds as a song. It was close, except it was barely recognizable. Jessica decides to identify it as static that so happens to vary in pitch. Regardless, she didn’t like the noise. It was almost as if it was trying to drown out her thoughts. It made her headache worse.

It couldn’t fully take over her mind, though. She managed to tune it out at some point and focus on her own thoughts— on things that weren’t the static. She could focus on the slightly scratchy bedsheet beneath her, the white curtains that surrounded her bed, and the weird smell that reminded her of a hospital room, and oh—

That’s ‘cause she is in a hospital room. This realization makes her panic. ‘Focus, why are you here?’ she thought. She moved to dangle her legs off the side of the bed (ignoring the way her feet slightly brush against some shoes that weren’t hers, but might be for her) and closed her eyes to take some time to think: What is it that she can remember?

‘My name is Jessica— um— Jessica… Jessica,’ she couldn’t remember her last name. ‘What was it again?’ She spent moments angrily trying to figure it out. Soon, she settles on Locke, as incorrect as it sounds. Her name is Jessica Locke.

Next, she tried to deduce what time it was, but nothing could help her figure that out. The lights from the room were on, but she saw no windows. She figured that would be a waste of her time (if she could even tell how much time passes).

She decides to try and figure out why she is here. That was almost more difficult to figure out than the time. She couldn’t remember why she may be in a hospital, in fact, she couldn’t remember much about herself. Her memory was spotty. She knew her age, name (she felt like she didn’t really know her name), and little personality things— the things that made her her. She also knew what her house looked like, but not who she lived with or how to get there. She knew she went to school, but not who her teachers are or if she has friends. She knew she knew people, but who these people were? That was beyond her.

She can’t remember anyone, except for Amy. Amy Walters, her best friend… She feels sad thinking about her, but she doesn’t know why. Amy is okay. The last thing she did with Amy— the last thing she remembers— was hanging out with Amy. If she remembers right, they were playing video games together and idly chatting about their friends (whoever their friends were). That was it. That was the only instance in her life she had the most memories about, yet she couldn’t even know the whole truth of it.

“I’ve lost my memories…” she said out loud (the first thing she has said since she woke up), “I’ve lost them…” Once she said the words out loud, she cringed. It was too loud and broke the silence, paving way for unease. Why is she here? She doesn’t get the time to fester in her thoughts because seconds later, a Man in a doctor’s outfit (He must be her doctor, then) walked in, wheeling in a chair so He could sit on it.

“It’s good to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?” He asks. Jessica tries to focus on the Man’s face, but her vision begins to blur. She panics a bit, but she doesn’t tell Him anything about it.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, quick to respond as if she were reading off some script. She tries to look at His face again, but she can’t. She continues to try— to try and ground herself in the reality of the situation— but there comes a point where trying to look makes the static song in her head louder. It hurts.

“Do you know why you are here, Jessica?” He asks. She shakes her head. She finds comfort in the fact that her name actually is Jessica, but she is uncomfortable. “Well, that is expected.”— His tone sounds like a threat— “You see, you’re sick. You have a terrible cough, constant and painful migraines, hallucinations, and, unfortunately, violent episodes.” Jessica doesn’t believe him.

“But I don’t… Remember anything?” She says so, but it’s some sort of question. She is positive she has never had some “violent episode” in her whole life.

“That might be the medicine we gave you.” She can’t see His face, but she could decipher a frown simply by his tone of voice.

“Oh… Okay.” She doubts meds can cause people to lose their memories like this, and if by chance such medication exists, she feels that maybe the medical industry should work on fixing that. “How long will I be here?”

“Until you get better.” He sounds annoyed.

“Of course.” There is no point in talking anymore. She wants Him to leave. She wants to leave. She feels out of place, like she’s bad at playing pretend. Like nothing is real and she just has a role to fill. She is a patient; she is sure that’s a fucking lie.

But she’ll play along. She doesn’t know her lines or what her stage directions are, but she’ll figure it out. She has to, or she’ll never know when she needs to exit the stage— the hospital.

Luckily, it becomes easy to fulfill her role after being provided a nurse. She talks to her nurse more than she talks to her doctor, but the conversations aren’t worth much to her. Jessica is glad that she gets to talk to the patient from the next room over. Apparently they share the same doctor and He saw it fit to introduce the two.

“Jessica, this is Jayme,” He says, “Jayme, this is Jessica.” He is very blunt about the introduction and then has their nurses whisk them away. It isn’t until lunchtime that she learns the other patient goes by Jay and not Jayme.

“Why is that?” Jessica asks.

Jay thinks about his answer for a moment before he tells her. “I don’t know why the doctor calls me Jayme. My name is Jay Merrick.”

“Funny, that sounds familiar,” Jessica responds. It does, and a bit too familiar. Then again, if this whole “sick” business is real (she doubts it) and she accounts for the fact that she has memory problems, perhaps Jay is a patient she knew. She finds it unlikely. Jay would have remembered her, but he has never met her before.

He stumbles on his words for a moment. “I— It’s just… Um, it’s a pretty common name, so,” he says. She watched as he grew anxious and decided not to press on the issue.

She forces out a chuckle. “Oh, duh,” she laughs. She wouldn’t know how common the name actually is and she thinks maybe Jay doesn’t either. He laughs, too, and then their nurses come and separate them again.

They do that a lot. She doesn’t know what they look like. Only that Jessica’s nurse is a Girl and that Jay’s nurse is a Guy, but she can’t see their faces (like how she can’t see her doctor’s). But she can see Jay’s face. Jay is the only person she can hold eye contact with and she finds that odd. She wonders if he feels the same, but it’s difficult to attempt to question him. He’s here for the same reason as her. She suspects that’s why the hospital staff limit their time together.

Some few weeks pass and Jessica forms a strong bond with Jay. They are always together when they are allowed to be. Sometimes, they sneak into each other's rooms and cuddle together. The feeling reminds her of sneaking into her younger sister’s— She doesn’t have a sister…— her younger brother’s (‘Is that right?’ she thinks) bed or when he would sneak into hers because being separated wasn’t something they dealt with so well.

Luckily, her nurse seems to turn a blind eye whenever She catches Jessica sneaking to Jay’s room and she assumes that Jay’s nurse does the same when he sneaks to her room. She’s glad, but their doctor seems to dislike it very much.

He continuously grows frustrated with Jessica and Jay. “You aren’t making any progress to recovery and if this keeps up, Jessica, we’ll have to change our methods,” He says and it’s clear he is becoming impatient with her. That doesn’t matter to Jessica. She dreads the idea of different methods and resolves to confront Jay once and for all about their situation.

One night, Jay sneaks to Jessica’s room and slips into bed with her. He has a question, but he does not ask it. So she asks him one instead: “Don’t you think it’s a little weird that besides you, me, and our doctor and nurses, that we’re the only ones here? Like, I know they don’t let us go everywhere, but it feels like maybe that’s because this is all that there is…”

“I… It is weird—”

“And also don’t you think our situation sounds like a lie? Our doctor dodges most of our questions and instead tells us we’re violent and sick… Jay, they haven’t diagnosed us with anything. We’re just sick.” Jessica is whispering and it makes the faults and quivers in her voice more prominent. Jay, nonetheless, seems to understand her point of view.

“It’s really weird… I was actually going to talk to you about this. I think we need to run away…” He says the last sentence even quieter than his normal whisper voice, paranoid as if the nurses are waiting to hear him say that.

“I think so, too…”

They proceed to formulate a plan. Jay is the one making it, but Jessica is helping him bring his thoughts together. Jay wants to escape the following night. They’ll sneak some protein and snack bars to their rooms and hide them under the pillows. They’ll ask for a water bottle some time before bed (Jessica will ask before “going to sleep” and Jay will ask a few hours earlier). When they have to sleep, Jay will go get Jessica. The two will have their snack bars and water bottle in their pillowcase. From there, they’ll hope they make it far (fully escaping sounds unrealistic, so they would rather be pleasantly surprised than disappointed).

They’ll escape. But then things go wrong right at the end. Instead of Jay coming, some boy a bit older than her goes to her room. He wears a white with black painted lips and while he doesn’t seem threatening, he charges at her and pokes her with a needle.

Before she faints, she realizes it’s a tranquilizer dart. She’s seen them before. Funny, the familiarity of it makes her slightly happy. Her last thought, however, is hoping Jay makes it out safely (and maybe in a better way than she did).

Jessica Locke— or as her name actually is— Jessica Merrick blacks out.

#akobj fic #the blackout hornets #marble hornets #the blackout club #marble hornets au #the black club au #mh jessica #mh jay #mh masky #tbc lucids #lucids #jay merrick #jessica locke #masky #oneshot #fanfic #inTheMAZE

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saveyourblood · 5 years ago

Text

Stolen Dance | Ch. 7

Summary: “Maybe this was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter.”

The one where you’re a paramedic, he’s an FBI agent, and the time you spend together is borrowed.

Word Count: 4.9k

Song: Can’t Carry This Anymore - Anson Seabra

Warnings: Reader has PTSD, angst... ya know, the good stuff.

_____________________

Baby steps: your new two favorite words.

Healing was hard. You’ve known that for awhile; ever since your dad died, you were learning new ways to cope. What you haven’t known for awhile, though, was what it was like to heal with someone beside you.

When you were in pain, you tended to isolate yourself (hence your breakup). You internalized everything: thoughts, emotions, opinions… you became nothing but an empty shell of anger, and you expressed it in unhealthy ways. You wanted that to change. And Spencer wanted to help.

The two of you were in an awkward limbo of unknowing. Weeks had passed since you broke down in front of him, but the two of you haven’t kissed since the night before you broke up with him. You hugged a lot, and sometimes he slept over, but it was only to hold you. You weren’t sure if he was your boyfriend again. In your defense, though, he didn’t seem to know either.

Group therapy was his idea. It was something you contemplated in the past, but each time, you ultimately decided against it. Spencer managed to persuade you this time around, even finding a group for you to attend. Turns out, there’s a lot of veterans in DC.

“Hi,” you said as you stood up and waved awkwardly. “My name is Y/N. This is my first time here. I served as a medic in the Army for 5 years. For 18 months of that, I was deployed as a combat medic.”

“Where’d you tour?” An older man asked. The bottom of his cane was pressed to the floor, both hands holding it in place.

“Syria,” you answered.

A black gentleman let out a long, low whistle. “You must have seen some shit, girlie.”

You sat back down. “I didn’t come here for the coffee.”

Practically everyone in the group burst out into laughter. You thought you even saw the therapist chuckling to himself.

In this group, men outnumbered women by quite a bit; there were 3 women, including yourself, and 7 men. You could have gone to their all-women meeting later that week, but you decided to save that one for later. For now, your horizons were broad.

These men were gruff, blunt, and cut-and-dry — everything you expected from older vets that lived through what you did, maybe even worse. You could see why some female veterans felt more inclined to attend a women’s group; they were still tough as hell, but there was a certain courtesy they retained. It was as though men lost that courtesy somewhere along their service. You didn’t mind, though. Most of them reminded you of your grandfather.

“And who’s the handsome man you brought with you?” A woman with long, grey hair asked. Her smile was wrinkly, and her voice rough: a smoker, you assumed. She smiled at Spencer. “Your husband?”

You laughed lightly as you shook your head. “This is Spencer. He’s… my friend.”

The man with the cane snorted. “Friend. How do you feel about that, boy?”

“I’m quite alright with it,” Spencer assured.

He was a fish out of water in a setting like this. You were happy he merely introduced you to this place, let alone sat beside you the entire time. You were truly lucky to have someone like him in your life.

Turns out, you had a lot in common with basically everyone in the group. All of them were deployed at some point, mostly to Afghanistan or Iran. Some even served in the Vietnam War. Regardless of location, though, you all shared the same trait: none of you came back the same person you left as. Something happened. Something changed you.

“I try to be better,” Marge, the woman from before, said. “I try to do good, not let the past weigh me down. I helped a lot of people. I try not to think about the people I hurt.”

You pat her shoulder briefly. She brushed fingers with your hand, a silent way to show appreciation.

“What about you, kid?” Rudy, the man with the cane, asked. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

You considered. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It cost me everything.”

“That’s no explanation, sweetheart,” Abraham, the black man, said.

“Lucky for her,” the therapist intervened, “we’re out of time.”

“It takes at least two sessions to unlock my backstory,” you joked with a shrug. “Sorry, boys.”

You and Spencer stayed for a bit afterwards, drinking more cheap coffee and sharing a few lighter, easier words with other attendees. Marge managed to pull Spencer aside, and whatever the two were talking about, they both seemed interested. You smiled fondly.

When the men you were surrounded by noticed, they began to make a few jokes about how Spencer was clearly more than a ‘friend’. You took it as your excuse to leave.

“‘Two sessions?’” Spencer quoted on the way out. “Do you want to come back?”

You nodded, a small smile on your face. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Spencer put an arm around your shoulders. “I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Spencer.”

For maybe the first time in your life, you were proud of you too.

_____________________

You and Spencer walked into the office to find what seemed like everyone except the BAU there. People in camouflage and suits alike swarmed in the bullpen, taking every possible floor space. You’d be lucky to make it to your desk, let alone find it empty.

“What the hell..?” you muttered to yourself.

Spencer briefly grabbed your hand. You quickly realized it was only to pull you across the room and to the stairs. However, you didn’t miss the slight squeeze he gave you.

“Guys, this is Dr. Linda Kimura, Chief of Special Pathogens at the CDC,” JJ explained when you and Spencer entered the briefing room.

“CDC?” you repeated in disbelief.

“Hello,” she greeted. “I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances.”

“What circumstances, exactly?” Spencer asked.

“We should get started,” Hotch said.

Everyone, including you, picked up a file from the table.

“Last night, 25 people checked into emergency rooms in and around Annapolis,” Garcia said. “They were all at the same park after 2PM last night. Within 10 hours, the first victim died. “Less than 16 hours later, 11 more are dead.”

“Lung failure and black lesions,” you said, reading the chart. “Anthrax?”

“Anthrax doesn’t kill this fast,” Spencer disagreed.

“This strain does,” Dr. Kimura said.

“What are we doing about potential mass targets?” Emily asked. “Airports, malls, trains?”

“There’s a media blackout,” Hotch replied.

“We’re not telling the public?”

“We’d have a mass exodus,” Derek said.

“The psychology of group panic would cause more deaths than this last attack,” Rossi agreed.

“Yeah, and if it does get out, whoever did this might go underground or destroy their samples,” Spencer said.

“Or he didn’t get the attention he wanted and might attack again,” Emily argued. “Doesn’t the public have a right to know that?”

“Next time, we’ll all be dead,” you said, mostly to yourself. You looked up to find everyone staring at you. “This attack was supposed to be quiet — he’s testing his strain, seeing how effective it is. The next time he strikes, too many people will be dead for anyone to keep it quiet.”

“The best way to stop a future attack is by profiling him as quickly as we can,” Hotch continued.

“What do we know about the strain?” Spencer asked Dr. Kimura.

“The spores are weaponized, reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs,” She explained. “Odorless and invisible.”

“Sophisticated,” Rossi noted. “Only a scientist would know how to do that.”

“The size of these lesions are doubling in a couple of hours,” JJ said, looking at the before and after photos.

“It’s not the lesions I’m worried about,” Dr. Kiruma said, “it’s the lungs. We don’t know how to combat the toxins once they’re inside. The reality is, we may lose them all.”

“The remaining survivors have all been moved to a special wing at Walter Reed Hospital,” Garcia said. “Our offices will become a small command center.”

“We’ll be working with scientists from Fort Detrick,” Hotch said. “Determining what strain this is will help inform who’s responsible.”

“My team is in charge of treating all victims,” Dr. Kimura said.

“Reid, Y/L/N, go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital, interview the victims,” Hotch instructed. He gave everyone else their instructions before picking up a tray on the table. “Cipro. Everyone needs to take it before we go.”

“We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something,” Dr. Kimura said.

You and everyone else reached for a plastic cup containing two white pills. You also grabbed a cup of water from the table.

“This is really happening?” Prentiss asked in disbelief.

“We knew this could happen,” Hotch stated calmly. “We’ve prepared. We’ve done our homework. This is it.”

You outstretched your pill cup to Spencer’s. “Cheers?”

He clicked his cup against yours.

You followed Spencer into a hospital room. Dr. Kimura gave you both a basic rundown on her and her symptoms.

“Hi, Abby,” you greeted, a few steps behind Spencer. “My name’s Y/N, and this is Spencer. We work for the FBI. Is it alright if we ask you a few questions?”

Her lips were grey, and her eyes lost a lifelike sheen. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think a zombie was lying in bed rather than a person.

She nodded once.

“Abby, I’d like to do a memory recall exercise with you to take you back to the park, if that’s okay,” Spencer explained slowly and calmly.

She nodded again.

“I need you to close your eyes.”

Abby closed her eyes.

“Yesterday, you rode your bicycle to the park,” Spencer started. “How did the Sun feel on your skin, the breeze through your hair?” Can you describe for me what you heard, and the people you saw?”

“It was warm, windy…” she rasped out. “There were guys, football… kids… sin me free me.”

You and Spencer shared a look.

“Free me seen mock me free,” she stuttered out.

“Okay, you just rest,” you said gently. Abby tried to speak again, but you shushed her before she could. The poor girl looked terrified. “We’ll leave you alone.”

You walked out of the room, Spencer shortly behind you.

“What’s causing her aphasia?” He asked.

“Kimura said it has to do with the part of the brain the anthrax is attacking,” you answered. “...She also said a few other patients showed the same symptoms before they died.”

“We need to find that cure.”

You watched outside as Kimura tried to revive the 17th victim. She was unsuccessful.

“38-year-old history teacher,” she said with a sigh as she stepped out. “He’s leaving two kids behind.”

You and Spencer followed her to the nurse's station, where she began to look through some paperwork. “This strain is duplicating every 30-45 minutes. It’s poisoning the lungs, which causes massive hemorrhaging and organ failure.”

“Extreme bacterial amplification,” Spencer agreed.

“Huh,” you said absentmindedly. The gears in your head were turning.

“What are you thinking?” Spencer asked almost immediately.

“It’s… weird,” you said, mostly to yourself. “You have to test a strain like this, see what quantity is needed to get the desired effect. What kind of scientist tests on a large group of people in an uncontrolled atmosphere? This man is psychotic, but he’s not stupid.”

“Scientists work their way up to human testing; they start on rodents, advance to larger mammals, and then at some point, they start a very small trial run on a small number of people.”

“What are you saying?” Dr. Kimura inquired.

“This wasn’t a trial run,” you said, “and it wasn’t his first attack, either.”

“We would have known about a previous anthrax case,” she argued.

“Not if it presented itself as something else.”

Dr. Kimura managed to find you both an empty room to make a phone call.

“Two days ago, two people in two seperate Baltimore ERs and one person in a Philadelphia ER slipped into comas and died suddenly,” you said as soon as you heard the line pick up.

“Y/N, slow down,” JJ said. “Is Spencer with you?”

“Hello,” Spencer said awkwardly. “Who all are we talking to?”

“Me, Rossi, and Hotch,” JJ replied.

“The cause of death on those three patients was meningitis,” Spencer explained. “Doctors didn’t do further testing because the illnesses presented themselves as meningitis, but we think they could’ve been caused by anthrax.”

“Did they show the symptoms we’re seeing now — the lesions?” Rossi asked.

“They all died within 3 hours of being admitted,” Spencer continued. “The bodily functions expired too quickly for lesions to appear.”

“The first patient from the park died 10 hours after exposure,” Hotch spoke up.

“He could have used less anthrax on more people at the park,” you theorized. “The higher concentration, the faster this shit kills. If enough was used in a more controlled environment, it could easily shut down every system in the body within a few hours, leaving no time for physical symptoms.”

“What are their names?” Hotch asked after a brief moment of silence.

With the help of a few higher-ups in the military, the team found the best lead so far: a disgraced scientist who proposed a 50-billion dollar plan to fight any potential chemical warfare. His main concern? Anthrax. Derek and Spencer were assigned to visit his home while Prentiss and Rossi visited the company he worked for. Staying at the hospital would be useless, so you decided to tag along.

_____________________

Dr. Lawrence Nichols’ yard was tidy; he had a sprinkler going, and the rose bush in his backyard seemed to be trimmed recently. The three of you explored the outside of the house while men in hazmat suits secured the inside.

Derek got a phone call. Spencer stayed behind to listen in. You continued ahead.

Past a few decorative shrubs, you found a sliding glass door. Bright, fluorescent lights were on inside, lighting up a room with grey walls.

“Hey, guys,” you said, turning your head over your shoulder in an attempt to carry your voice.

Either they didn’t hear you, or they were ignoring you. You shrugged, sliding open the door and stepping in.

“Whoa.”

Not only was the room practically spotless, but it was filled with equipment — you guessed at least a couple thousand dollars went into the contents of the room, probably far more. To say this guy knew what he was doing would be the understatement of the century.

After scanning the walls and multiple tables, your eyes landed on the floor. It was composed of white tiles that shone under the light. Nicholas seemed to be a real neat freak. By the leg of a table, though, there was an inconsistency: a dark liquid was spilled.

Frowning, you stepped around to take a better look. Within a few steps, the entire sight came into your view, and it was far from a pretty one. A white-haired man in a suit laid dead on the floor. It could only be Nichols.

Your hand flew to the holster on your side. You grabbed your pistol, raising it to the air. You did another sweep of the room, and unsurprisingly, you came up empty. The lab was impressive, but it was small. It would extremely difficult for someone to hide in it.

You returned your gun to its holster. Crouching down, you took a better look at Nichols. You guessed he’d be dead for awhile now. The blood on the floor was brown and tacky rather than red and thin, and rigor mortis had already set in. You weren’t particularly educated in the field, but you could say with confidence he’d been dead for at least a day.

Looking closer, you noticed something beside him. It was a vile, much like the others on various tables in the lab. This one, though, had a bright yellow label on it. It also contained a thin, white powder. And, it was shattered into pieces.

Anthrax.

“Y/N?” You heard Spencer call.

The bushes that covered the lab entrance shook. Acting on instinct, you moved to the door and slammed it shut.

“Y/N?!” Spencer asked, this time more frantically. He rushed to the door, reaching for the handle.

“Get back!” you shouted, fumbling for the lock. “Spencer, you need to get out of here.”

“What’s going on?!” He protested, feeding off of your panic. When he realized trying to pry open the door would do no good, Spencer began pounding on the glass with his fist. “Y/N, open the door!”

You managed to lock the door, and a brief, small wave of relief washed over your body. You looked up, locking eyes with Spencer. His palm was pressed flat against the door, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth slacked open.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

A swarm of people were outside the house within ten minutes. You could take the three various vehicles, the dozens of soldiers and CDC members swarming around. What you couldn’t take was Derek, Hotch, and especially Spencer staring at you from across the yard.

Hotch picked up his phone and held it in front of him. You phone rang a few seconds later.

“Sir, I’m so, so sorry,” you apologized immediately. “I… I really fucked up.”

“Y/N, we’re going to get you out and to the hospital,” Hotch said.

“What? That’s stupid,” you disagreed. “I’m staying here.”

“Like hell you are!” Spencer argued.

“Listen, Doogie: I’m infected. I’m more useful if I’m infected in Nichols’ lab than if I’m infected in the hospital. I can poke around in here, but I’m no prodigy with an eidetic memory. I need your help, Spencer. Will you help me?”

Spencer looked down. You sighed in defeat, hanging up the phone so you could continue exploring the lab.

Your phone rang again. You picked up.

“How can I help?”

“I see two different desks — one is cluttered, the other is immaculate,” you said, looking between the two. You took a notebook off the first desk, opened it, and placed it next to a stack of papers on the second, clean desk. “There’s two sets of handwriting, too. I think he has a partner.”

“Can you figure out which one is Nichols?” Spencer asked.

“Well, based on his lab, I’d guess he’s the neat freak,” you thought aloud.

“Read a few of the papers Nichols wrote,” Spencer instructed. “Does anything strike you as odd?”

You skimmed through the papers left on his desk, muttering to yourself as you did so. By the third page, you found something that seemed… weird.

“He wrote down instructions,” you told Spencer. “How to sterilize equipment, store samples… it’s all stuff he should know.”

“He doesn’t have a partner — he has an apprentice,” Spencer said. “Good job, Y/N. I have to call Hotch, but I’ll call you right after, okay?”

You smiled weakly. “Okay.”

Once they secured and sterilized the area, Spencer was allowed to sit on the other side of the door. He wanted to come inside, but you preferred this. You wanted to see him as his dorky, charming self, not someone in pounds of a bright orange suit.

“It’s ironic,” you said, your back pressed to the glass. You took off your jacket awhile ago, but sweat still soaked your shirt. “For the first time in almost a decade, I decided to get help. Now, I’ll be dead before I can even see the results.”

“Don’t say that, “Spencer argued softly. “You’re not dying. Kimura and her team will be in soon, and they’ll find the cure. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Maybe,” You said. You didn’t believe it, but you didn’t want to upset him, so you let it go. Therapy taught you to choose your battles. “But if I’m not fine in a few hours, I want to say I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Spencer was sitting directly opposite from you, so the glass felt warm. Despite your already elevated temperature, the heat was soothing. If you closed your eyes, it felt like you were touching him.

“For breaking up with you, for pushing you away, for… everything,” you laughed bitterly only to fight back tears. “I love you, Spencer Reid, and I’m sorry I haven’t been showing it lately.”

“You can show it when you’re out of here and safe in my apartment,” He promised. “Actually… in our apartment.”

“I’m moving in with you?” You asked with a genuine laugh.

“Yes, and you’re not allowed to say no,” Spencer said. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

“I don’t like my apartment that much anyways,” you said.

The two of you shared a chuckle. Your laughter quickly turned into a violent cough. Spencer went silent

You fished your phone out of your pocket, dialing a number you now knew by heart.

“Hey, Y/N,” Garcia said after picking up. Her voice was soft and sweet.

“‘Y/N’?” You asked. “No witty Garcia greeting for me?”

“I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are,” she replied.

“Garcia, can you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“I can’t call my mom,” you said. “Ever since I joined the Army, she’s been paranoid — if I say one word in a weird way, she’ll be on the next plan to DC. I can’t put her in danger like that.”

“What do you need?” Garcia asked.

“I need you to record a message for her in case something happens,” you said softly.

“Oh, Y/N, nothing’s going to happen to you,” Garcia said. The optimism in her voice sounded real. “You’re gonna figure out who did this, and we’re gonna treat this strain.”

“I hope you’re right,” you said with an exhale, “but… just in case.”

“Okay. Give me a sec,” Garcia said. You heard her clicking away at her keyboard, pulling up the right program. “Ready.”

“Hi, Mom,” you said, stopping to cough. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, but I know I should say something. ...I guess more than anything else, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for moving halfway across the country, I’m sorry I don’t call you back, I’m sorry I don’t let you in on much.

“I’m sorry I left so soon after dad died,” your voice caught. You cleared your throat. “I just… I had to get out. I know you say it’s okay, but it wasn’t. We were going through hell, and we should have done it together. You’re an amazing mother. I’m sorry for being such a shitty daughter. I just… I hope you know how much I love you. I love you more than anything, mom. I’m sorry it ended this way. I’m just really, really sorry.”

Ten minutes later, Dr. Kimura and a few other people were inside. You stood up, taking in her airtight suit.

“You look good,” you said sarcastically. “I’m going to a banquet next month. Can I borrow your outfit?”

She chuckled. “I haven’t worn this in a long time.”

“How are the patients at the hospital?”

“Let’s worry about you,” she said instead. “Are you in any pain?”

“No, I feel fine,” you said. “I don’t need anything.”

“Are you sure?” She asked. “We can at least try to make you comfortable.”

“Narcotics cause drowsiness and nausea,” you said. “I’m still here because I want to be useful.”

“Y/N!” Spencer said, tapping the glass to get your attention.

You turned around to see him with his phone pressed against his ear.

“The three ER patients all went to the same bookstore before being admitted,” Spencer told you. “They found traces of anthrax in the vents.”

“How can I help?” Dr. Kimura asked.

“Dr. Nichols was a former military scientist, which means he was most likely secretive and paranoid,” you said, stopping to breathe. “Odds are, he hid the cure from his partner in a place he wouldn’t suspect. Look for things that are obvious, hidden in plain sight.”

Your phone rang in your pocket. You turned to Spencer again, who raised his eyebrows. You picked up your phone.

“I’ve got Garcia on the line,” he said. “Rossi and Prentiss don’t think the accomplice was a coworker.”

“Okay, uh…” you frowned, thoughts jumbling. You retraced your steps back to Nichols’ desk to look for more clues. “I see a framed photo of Nichols teaching.” You looked in the file holder, coming up with nothing. You then looked through the basket in the corner and found a binder. “I see syllabi and assignments going back to the 70s.”

“He valued himself as an educator,” Spencer said.

“A teacher,” you whispered in thought. You dug through one of the drawers, looking for something you saw earlier. “I didn’t make the connection before, but he has a study on anthrax. There’s red ink and notes in the margins — it’s graded, like how a teacher grades a paper. Nichols wouldn’t open his lab to just anyone, but he might let someone in if they were interested in learning.”

“He appealed to Nichols as a student,” Spencer agreed. “Nichols is helping him with his thesis.”

“I can look up local PhD students,” Garcia chimed in.

“Check the sciences — biochemisty, microbiology,” Spencer instructed.

“Cross-checking with names of former employees or customers with grievances at the bookstore…” Garcia said. “Nothing, my doves.”

You coughed loudly, covering your mouth. “Here, listen to this,” you said after recovering. “‘Each household should have gas masks and a 2-month supply of cipro.’”

“That’s verbatim to what Nichols said,” Spencer spoke. “The partner’s adopted Nichols’ views to his own.”

“The chapters are on setting up triage and mobile emergency rooms,” you said, flipping through the paper. “Last time I checked, science students don’t write about city preparedness.”

“Garcia, cross-check with students in social studies — public policy, urban planning,” Spencer said.

“Hot to trot,” Garcia said. “Chad M. Brown, studied public policy, graduated from University of Maryland. He’s a former employee of the bookstore, no steady job, was slapped with a restraining order from his ex-girlfriend.”

“He’s our guy,” Spencer said. “Y/N, get out of there.”

You hung up, looking over and smiling faintly at him. He returned the expression.

You stood up. A wave of coughs rolled through your chest, each hack more violent than the last. You eventually pulled your elbow back to see your paled skin splattered with blood.

You felt dizzy. Your ears began to ring. Vaguely, you heard Spencer call your name, but it sounded like you were underwater. You knees buckled under your own weight.

The world went dark.

_____________________

You can’t see anything, so your other senses are amplified.

The smells.

The sounds.

Sweat, urine, blood, rotting flesh.

Rodents scurrying across the dirt, brushing across your ankles as they went after the real prey.

This place is hell on earth.

You’d rather die than spend another second here.

_____________________

You woke up to a steady beeping sound. You frowned, briefly opening your eyes only to squeeze them back shut. The room smelled sterile. The bed you laid on was hard, but it was draped with soft sheets. Other than the fact that it opened in the back, the standard gown you were wearing was surprisingly comfortable too.

“Welcome back,” Spencer greeted faintly.

You rolled your head to face his voice, eyes still closed. You finally noticed the cannula feeding oxygen into your nose, as it pressed against your cheek. Still, you smiled, and it wasn’t forced. “Hey.”

“You scared us, kid,” a deeper yet just as warm voice spoke up.

You tried opening your eyes again. You could faintly make out a tall, stout man with his arms crossed. “Hey, Derek.”

You tried sitting up, only to hiss in pain and reach for your side. Spencer put a hand on your shoulder.

“Take it easy,” he said softly, only moving his hand away when you laid back down. “They had to put a chest tube in — your lungs were starting to fill with blood.”

“Kimura said if they found the cure minutes later, your heart could have stopped,” Derek said.

“Where was it?”

“Nichols’ inhaler,” a voice from the doorway spoke up. Dr. Kimura stood there, a small smile on her face. “You were right: it was hidden in plain sight. And now, both the strain and the cure are going to be locked up in Fort Detrick along with other chemical warfare.”

“The other patients?”

“They’ll be okay,” Kimura assured, “just like you’ll be.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Kimura said before dismissing herself.

“Well,” Derek said after a brief silence, “I’m starving. You two want anything?”

Spencer shook his head.

“Coffee, please,” you said.

“Coffee for the lady, comin’ right up,” Derek said, then left. He closed the door behind him.

Spencer scooted in closer, running a hand over your hair. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault,” he scolded gently. “I’m just really, really relieved. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered. You moved your gaze to the ceiling, swallowing thickly. “I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“I’m ready to tell you what happened in Syria.”

_____________________

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