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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year ago

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Napoleonville [Chapter 3: The House Of Soup, Salad, And Breadsticks]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, Nintendo, smoking, kids, parenthood, all-you-can-eat breadsticks, wedding planning, mentions of birth trauma and abortion, a brief Greek lesson, Audi Quattros have very tiny back seats.

Word Count: 9k (someone take this laptop away from me!! I am out of control!!).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @eltherevirr @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1

Thank you so much for your patience and encouragement, I was really not doing well for a while but all your kind comments meant the world to me!!! I don't know when Chapter 4 will be ready, but hopefully early next week. My posting schedule is super wonky now. We'll get back to regular Sunday updates eventually, besties. 🥰🧁

It’s Thursday, late-morning, sunlight bending in through the open windows and a flock of blue-winged teals toddling through the backyard on their clumsy webbed feet. From the little pink Panasonic boombox pipes Whitesnake’s Here I Go Again. Your steps as you dart around the kitchen are airy and effortless; you’re humming without realizing that you are. You can’t seem to stop watching the clock, the second hand ticking endlessly, revolving like a moon around its planet. Olive Garden tonight! Olive Garden with Aemond!

“Knock knock?” your guest ventures tentatively as the front door creaks. You hear her heels click on the ever-so-slightly inclined floor and the bright jangling of keys and bracelets. Her accent does not surprise you; you were the one who answered the phone when she called in a panic yesterday.

Jade Dragon is a European company. I shouldn’t be shocked that Brits are descending upon Napoleonville.

You greet her from the kitchen, sight unseen: “Hi! Come on in!” Amir rushes over to set the very last cupcake on the glass serving tray, key lime with cream cheese frosting peppered with zest like flecks of emeralds. You have scrubbed the counter meticulously to make a space for your guest to do her cake tasting. There is an open wooden barstool for her, a yellow legal pad for you to jot down her selections. She steps into the kitchen—click click click, jangle jangle—and she is a stranger, surely, and yet something about her face strikes you as familiar.

“I really must thank you again,” the woman says, wringing her pinkish little hands, glittering with rings; she’s flushed all over from the heat, which she isn’t used to. She wears what for many women would be their Sunday Best: a modest organza dress patterned with sunflowers, gold jewelry and heels, and (oddly) a khaki overcoat that runs to her knees. Her hair hangs in thick, glossy, auburn waves. She smells like perfume, amber and roses, a brand you don’t recognize. “I was so distressed when I called, I must have sounded like a madwoman. It’s all just been so fraught. I know this is very last-minute, and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you making time to see me today. I’m sure you’re very busy.”

“We are delighted to help!” Amir croons warmly as he swoops in to take her coat, which she surrenders with some bewilderment, her large dark eyes clever but innately vulnerable, anxious. Again, you cannot shake the sense that you have met her before. Amir’s hands sweep down the overcoat as he peeks at the tag inside, and he mouths to you, grinning, eyebrows raised above the tortoiseshell rims of his glasses: Christian Dior! He’s delighted to help this lady, sure; but he’s far more enthusiastic about the prospect of squirreling away more cash for his imminent exodus to San Francisco. Amir hangs the coat in the tiny living room closet and then goes to the stovetop to check on the Kentucky butter cookies that are cooling there.

“Amir and I love baking for any occasion related to a wedding. Everyone is cheerful and excited…and hungry too, of course!” You give your guest a reassuring smile and wave her over to the counter. She’s still tormenting her own hands, still glancing uncertainly around the kitchen. Amir is using a spatula to transfer the cookies from the baking sheet to a cake plate. “Remind me, ma’am, on the phone you said your name was…Allison?”

“Alicent,” she corrects, taking a seat on the barstool beside you and clutching a camel-colored leather purse. She hesitates before she adds: “Targaryen.”

Targaryen?! Jade Dragon?! You gawk at her. Amir drops a Kentucky butter cookie on the floor. You exchange a glance with him and can practically see the bills flitting through his mind: Washington, Lincoln, Hamilton, Jackson, Franklin.

“Please don’t make any fuss on my account,” Alicent pleads with those sleek, imploring eyes. “I’m just a customer, just an ordinary customer—”

“A VIP customer!” Amir says, beaming. He won’t work on their rigs, but he’ll take their money in a heartbeat. He considers it compensation for the inevitable environmental catastrophe, for the souls of all the places their dynasty bleeds dry.

“Ma’am…Alicent…Mrs. Targaryen…” you sputter. “What on earth brought you here?”

“My son is getting married.” She squeezes her eyes shut, an infinitesimal frustration, a self-reproach. “Our son, I mean. Viserys and I, our son is getting married, and we’re hosting an engagement party for him and his fiancée this Saturday, as I mentioned when I called. We had arranged to have caterers fly in, but now there’s some sort of visa problem and they won’t be able to make it in time. I found a company based out of New Orleans that is very well thought of for hors d’oeuvre and lunch, but the cakes I sampled…well…they left a lot to be desired. I was desperate, I tell you, utterly bereft, you know we have family and friends and all these industry representatives who will be in attendance, photographers, journalists, and I can’t ruin it, I can’t embarrass the happy couple, it’s not as if people get more than one chance at a wedding!”

Amir rolls his eyes at you from across the kitchen. Listen to this idiot, he means.

“But then I asked around town, and I got the same recommendation over and over again,” Alicent tells you, smiling now. “Everyone said that I just had to stop by Hummingbird Bakery.”

And now you know exactly where you recognize her from. She looks so much like the drunk man from the holding cell; his hair was blonde and his eyes were that sad swirling blue, but nonetheless he was a Targaryen the same as Alicent, and they share so much of the same bones, blood, innate defenselessness. That boy is getting married? His poor goddamn bride. “Well I am thrilled that you found your way to us, Mrs. Alicent Targaryen. And I think you’ll taste at least a few cakes that you’d be proud to serve at the engagement party.”

“And you can have them ready by Saturday?” Alicent asks fretfully.

“Absolutely.” You won’t sleep much between now and then, but the business matters more. And if you can recruit the Targaryens and some of their associates as regular customers…well, you might actually be able to start saving up for that new house Aemond asked you about on the night you met. You gesture to the glass tray on the counter. “Amir and I have baked twelve cupcakes for you to sample today. I’ll write up a list of the flavors you like best, and we can make any customizations. You can choose one flavor and have multiple cakes made, or four cakes in four different flavors, or any other arrangement, you just let me know and we’ll see that your wishes are granted.”

“These are all for me?!” Alicent says, surveying the cupcakes.

“Yes ma’am. Vanilla bean, triple chocolate, coconut, red velvet, carrot, white chocolate raspberry, key lime, lemon, peanut brittle, cherry chocolate chip, blueberry jam and cream cheese, and hummingbird. But don’t get overwhelmed, you only have to eat one bite of each.”

“And whatever you don’t finish we’ll let Cadi throw to the gator,” Amir says.

“Gator?” Alicent is alarmed.

“She lives in the tree row,” you explain. “She doesn’t bother anyone.” And you almost add: Except Aemond, of course. He hates her.

“Oh. Fascinating.” Alicent blinks a few times. “And who is Cadi?”

“My daughter. She’s ten, she’s at school. She’s…” You glance at the clock. “Learning about fractions and decimals at the moment.”

“How wonderful! And what does your husband do for work?”

“Terrorism,” Amir says, and Alicent Targaryen’s jaw drops.

“He’s the sheriff of Assumption Parish,” you swiftly amend. “But he’s my ex-husband now.”

Alicent doesn’t know how to reply. She stares at the cupcakes instead of at you. After several long, awkward seconds, she says: “My, do these look delicious! Where should I start?”

“Wherever you’d like.”

“This one is hummingbird cake, you said?” She picks it up. Her hands are fidgety; she doesn’t seem to ever stop moving. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Did you name the bakery after it, or did you name the cake after the bakery?”

“Oh no, the cake existed first. It’s been popular around here since…what, Amir? The 60s? Something like that. My mom taught me how to make it when I was seventeen. Hummingbird cake was my favorite dessert for years.”

“It’s from Jamaica originally,” Amir notes. The Kentucky butter cookies are displayed on the kitchen table, and now he’s beginning to peel vivid green Granny Smith apples for dumplings.

“It has bananas, pineapple, cinnamon, pecans…”

“Mmm!” Alicent sighs as she takes a bite. “Oh, it’s fantastic! The different fruits add such dimension of flavor! And the texture too, so interesting. Very substantial, almost like a fruitcake. Yes, I think that is a strong contender.” She continues on to the next cupcake. As she nibbles on each one, she chats nervously, almost compulsively. “She’s a darling girl. Woman, I mean. My future daughter-in-law.”

You get up to pour Alicent a glass of sweet tea. “What’s her name?” you ask politely. You are actively trying not to let your thoughts drift to Olive Garden: soup, salad, breadsticks, Aemond licking blood-red marinara sauce from his lips as he smirks at you from across the table, acting like he doesn’t want to be there.

“Christabel.” Alicent sets down the carrot cupcake, opens her purse, and digs through her wallet for a photograph. It’s small and rectangular, and the girl trapped inside the frame—a girl, truly, if she’s twenty you’ll eat your white denim shorts—looks like Teri Copley: billowing platinum hair, squarish jaw, pink cheeks and red lips, large dollish blue eyes. She reminds you of Barbie; she reminds you of something that belongs in a box on a shelf somewhere. “Her father is a marquess.”

“She’s gorgeous! And is that…is that a job…?”

“It’s a title,” Alicent Targaryen says with a demure, apologetic smile as she tucks the photo back into her wallet. She has spoken of things she should have known were above you. “Like a duke or a baron. Christabel is from a noble family back in the United Kingdom. Milford Haven, more specifically.”

Amir gasps, elated, waving his paring knife around in the air. “She’s just like Princess Diana!”

“She’s very young,” Alicent says, a bit wearily. She takes a bite of the lemon cupcake. “But then again, I was even younger when I got married, seventeen. That’s just the way it was back then. None of my friends even thought of going off to school for years and years, or playing the field, or getting a serious job. In our eyes, there were no other options. You found a good man from an acceptable family and you settled down and started having babies.” Alicent sips her sweet tea, ice jangling in the frosted glass. “Oh, that’s dreadful! Cold tea!” She shudders. “I suppose that’s how you all keep from getting heatstroke down here. Cold drinks and no clothes.”

“Sorry.” You glance self-consciously down at your shorts.

“No no, it’s quite alright. I’m in your jungle, I can’t expect you to conform to my idiosyncrasies.” This is a word you don’t know, although you try not to show it. Then Alicent winks. “Now, if you ever find yourself across the pond…”

I’ll never visit another country. Nevertheless, you chuckle as Alicent expects you to. “I understand what you mean about not having options. I got married at seventeen too.”

“Did you?” she asks, somber now. Her large umber eyes are uneasy, searching.

“Yeah. I was way too young. And unfortunately, the only way to know you’re too young is to not be young anymore. And by then you’ve already made such a mess of things.”

Amir looks over at you; this is not recruiting-a-customer conversation. Alicent nods, slow and thoughtful, studying you with those vast eyes like a dark mirror image of that Targaryen boy in the holding cell. She nibbles on the peanut brittle cupcake to avoid having to respond.

You pivot. “How many children do you have?”

Now Alicent brightens. “Four.”

“That many! I can’t even imagine. They must bring you so much joy.”

“In between the chaos, yes,” Alicent says, sampling the key lime cupcake. “Daeron is my youngest, he’s so sweet-natured, so encouraging, always offering to help with my projects around the house. He never complains. He hasn’t been gobbled up by the company yet. My only criticism is his obsession with his godawful parrot. I’d have it murdered, but tragically Daeron already knows it’s supposed to live 50 years. Helaena reads a lot—about gardens and insects and other planets, all sorts of things I can’t make heads or tails of—but she’s kind and gentle, and she still lets me fix her hair and take her shopping once in a while.” You think, smiling: If I tried to touch Cadi’s hair, I think she’d claw my face off. “And then my son who’s getting married—”

The front door bangs open and heavy footsteps race across the floor. He appears in the kitchen: greased-back black hair, a single gold earring, tan skin, white suit, a bold Hawaiian shirt—sapphire blue water, green palm trees, hot pink flamingos—underneath. He’s breathing heavily and his forehead gleams with perspiration. Alicent appears stunned to see him.

“Criston? What’s wrong? I said you could wait in the Lexus.”

Amir asks the man: “You’ve been in the car this whole time?”

“Don’t feel too bad for me. The Lexus has air conditioning.” The man, Criston, turns back to Alicent. “There’s a lizard out there!”

Amir sighs impatiently. “It’s a gator. And she’s perfectly harmless.”

“I just watched her maul a duck to death! There’s blood all over the grass!”

Amir is unfazed. “To humans, I mean.” He resumes peeling apples.

You tell Amir glumly: “I might have to get Willis to shoot her.”

“Only if it’s a murder-suicide.”

“Criston, help me choose,” Alicent says. She has a gift for ignoring unpleasantness, you’re beginning to notice. “I suddenly feel so overwhelmed.”

He walks over to the counter and begins taking a hefty bite out of each cupcake, eating after Alicent without any trepidation. They confer in murmurs, nods, shrugs, their own language that is threaded with a distinct and curious familiarity. Alicent catches you observing.

“He’s my bodyguard,” she explains hastily, then titters. “And my personal assistant, and my driver…”

“And your babysitter,” Criston says, grinning, crumbs all over his face.

“Yes, they never seem to outgrow the need for that, do they?” Then Alicent addresses you. “Could you manage to have six cakes ready by Saturday, do you think? They’re all so lovely. I don’t think I can narrow it down to less than that.”

Amir casts you a petrified glance. Notwithstanding that, you reply: “I suppose we can handle six.”

“Brilliant.” And you think: Aemond uses that word a lot too. “Then we’d like one vanilla, one chocolate, one blueberry, one coconut, and one hummingbird. And a key lime. I just adore the color, don’t you? A gorgeous, vivid green. It reminds me of the moors back home.”

“Yes ma’am.” You scribble her order down on your legal pad.

“And how much do your cakes cost?”

“$10 each,” Amir tells her.

“$10!” Alicent exclaims, looking at Criston. “Can you believe that? We’re certainly not in Knightsbridge anymore.” She takes $60 out of her wallet and hands it to you. “And you can deliver it to the house if I leave you an address? Around noon on Saturday?”

“Of course, no problem.”

Alicent gives you an address to add to your notes—you don’t recognize the street name, it must be in a new development—and then checks the clock on the wall. “Oh, is that right?! Christabel will be landing at the airport any minute. I’ve got to rush back to the house to make sure everything is ready for her. I can’t be a subpar host.”

“Where’s your coat, Ali?” Criston asks.

“In that closet over there.”

Criston fetches her coat and drapes it over her shoulders. Amir flashes you a salacious smirk. You wiggle your eyebrows back.

As Alicent and Criston cross the kitchen towards the living room and the front door, they pause by the table where an assortment of baked goods, different every day, is displayed for walk-in customers. Criston points to a cake plate piled high with Rice Krispie Treats. “You know who likes those,” he says softly.

“They’re very popular!” Amir announces, ever the salesman. “And we can make them with any kind of cereal you could imagine. Fruity Pebbles, Frosted Flakes, Cocoa Puffs…”

Alicent says, a bit randomly: “Cap’n Crunch?”

Amir doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely!”

“Alright.” She has a faraway look in those dark oil-drop eyes, always a little shimmery, always a little sad. “I’ll take two dozen of those as well.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” you say.

“Thank you. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” you echo, perplexed.

Criston and Alicent depart. You hear the front door swing open and then close again. Outside, Criston reminds Alicent to leave plenty of space between her and the gator. An engine rumbles and gravel crunches as the Lexus rolls out of the driveway.

“If they’re not fucking, I’m Tom Cruise,” Amir says. “Speaking of fucking, what time is Scarface coming to pick you up?”

“5:15.” You nod to where Alicent was sitting. “She’s not bad for a robber baron.”

“Oh, please. She would grind your bones into flour if that’s what it took to have cakes ready for her child bride engagement party. I hope that Christabel girl knows what she’s getting into.”

What is she, eighteen? Nineteen? “She doesn’t.” The phone rings and you scramble for it. “Hello?!”

It’s not Aemond. “Hey, sugar.”

Ugh. “Hi, Willis.” Across the kitchen, Amir mimes slitting his own wrists with the paring knife.

“Listen,” Willis drawls in his familiar, I’m-about-to-deliver-bad-news tone. You can hear noise wherever he is: sirens, shouting. He must be using his car phone. “I’m all tied up down here on Route 90, we got a hell of a wreck, ten cars and an 18-wheeler. Had to close all the goddamn lanes in both directions. I don’t think I’m gonna get home until late, really late, maybe not ‘til 9 or 10.”

“So you have to switch nights. You can’t pick Cadi up from school.”

“Tell her I’m sorry, will ya? And that I’ll take her fishin’ this weekend to make it up to her. I’ll keep her Saturday and Sunday, if that works for you.”

“She’ll love that,” you say distractedly. No Olive Garden. No Aemond. Not tonight, anyway. “Anything outside and with animals. Anything that lets her get filthy.”

“Thanks for understandin’. I gotta run.”

“Bye.”

“So long, sugar.” Willis hangs up. So do you.

“Oh no!” Amir waves his knife around threateningly. “No, not a chance, that gremlin does not get to ruin the first real date you’ve had in…what…ever?!”

You smile; you can’t help it. “It’s not a date. Aemond is fancy and kinky, I’m a mom covered in frosting, people like us don’t date. Besides, his personal ad was very clear: Single and not looking to change that.”

“He’s not acting very single.” Amir begins chopping the peeled apples.

“It’s fine. It happens. We can go to Olive Garden some other time. I’ll try to call Aemond, and if he doesn’t answer I’ll tell him when he gets here. Maybe we can at least chat on the front porch for a while or something. Watch the lightning bugs come out as it gets dark.”

“I’ll hang out here with Cadi,” Amir offers.

“What? Really?” Olive Garden might be back on the menu! “You will?”

“Yeah, ho. I can’t in good conscience just stand by while you are deprived of traumatized war veteran dick. I need a break from Grandma anyway. She’s gotten really into Unsolved Mysteries and that shit gives me the creeps. I don’t want to hear about missing or murdered people. I’m already scared I might end up like that.”

“I’d find you. I’d rescue you. My and my pet gator.”

Amir laughs, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “Sure you would.”

“I’ll give you $10 out of my share of the bakery profits this week. For watching Cadi, I mean.”

“Deal,” he says. “Now help me with these dumplings so we can get started on those six cakes for the motherfucking Rockefellers.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s 5:13 p.m. when Aemond arrives at what Cadi named the Fall-Down House when she was in kindergarten, toting in her Chewbacca backpack sheets of homework about shapes and seasons, things you could help her with. You wonder what you’ll say when she gets to her senior year of high school and starts asking about calculus, physics, Shakespeare, college applications. It’ll be like she’s trying to talk to you in a foreign language. It’ll be like trying to explain colors to a blind man.

You’re almost done wiping down the stove and counter; Amir and Cadi are singing along and dancing to Kyrie by Mr. Mister: the Moonwalk, the Electric Slide, the Wop, the Sprinkler. Aemond wanders in and hovers on the border between the living room and the kitchen, his neon teal duffle bag hanging from one shoulder, staring with this profound, childlike puzzlement on his face. He looks like he’s never seen people dancing before; it’s some exotic ritual, some rite of a religion he doesn’t practice. He wears dark jeans, a black button-up shirt, black Converses, and his trusty Marlboro jacket. His fists are buried deep in the pockets like he’s holding something precious there, treasure, wisdom, secrets.

“Wassup, Scarface?!” Amir yells over the music, pretending to be reeling Aemond in like a fish. “Show us your best moves! Do the Worm! Do the Robocop!”

Aemond raises an eyebrow, drops his duffle bag, and—after a moment’s hesitation—glides across the tilted wooden floor to you. He takes your hands, spins you around, something like a clumsy, out-of-practice waltz, something real and enchanting beyond measure. And when was the last time you really danced with a man? Willis’ senior prom? Aemond sings as Amir and Cadi do the Running Man:

“Kyrie eleison down the road that I must travel,

Kyrie eleison through the darkness of the night,

Kyrie eleison where I’m going, will you follow?

Kyrie eleison on a highway in the night…”

Aemond releases you, sweeps his blonde hair off his forehead, and guzzles your frosty glass of sweet tea that you left on the counter in an expanding pool of condensation. You are reminded of how Criston devoured the cupcakes with no concern for the fact that Alicent had already tasted them.

“Such a weird song,” Cadi says as it fades out, as the cicadas and nighthawks grow louder through the screens of the open windows. “What the heck is a kyrie eleison?”

“It means Lord have mercy,” Aemond tells her. “It’s Greek.”

“Willis got stuck cleaning up an accident about a half hour south of here,” you explain. “But Amir and Cadi are going to have some nice couch potato time together.”

“Can we watch Unsolved Mysteries?” Cadi asks Amir excitedly, clinging to his arm. Amir groans.

“I might have an alternative,” Aemond says. He returns to his duffle bag, unzips it, and produces—not blue silk scarves, fuzzy handcuffs, a riding crop, or any other tokens of depravity—but a Nintendo game console.

Cadi screams and sprints to Aemond, unable to rip it out of his hands fast enough. “No way! Really?! I can play it?!”

“You can keep it.”

“What?!” She ogles the tannish rectangular box, the two handheld controllers. “This is the most epic day of my life!”

“I’m glad I could deliver it in person. I was just going to leave it with your mum.” Aemond starts taking cartridges out of the duffle bag. “I have Commando, Super Mario Bros., Star Force, the Karate Kid, Kung Fu, Burger Time, Donkey Kong and Donkey Kong 3, Alpha Mission, the Legend of Zelda, and Golf, which I honestly would not recommend. I used to have Top Gun too, but my brother spilled Tang all over it.”

“This is better than Christmas!” Cadi shrieks. “This is better than my birthday!” She dashes to Amir and starts hauling him off towards her room. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

“I’m being kidnapped,” he tells you, feigning distress.

“Cadi, chill. Do you know how to hook that up to your tv?”

She reluctantly surrenders Amir’s hand. “Yeah, Michelle has one.”

“Okay. You can get it ready, I have to talk to Amir for a sec.”

“Fine,” she grumbles, and vanishes into her bedroom with the Nintendo and a precarious armful of game cartridges.

“Thank you,” you tell Amir quietly. “Seriously. I know I owe you.”

He grins. “Anytime. You’re helping to pay my way to San Fransisco, I really can’t complain.”

Aemond perks up. “You’re visiting San Fran?”

“I’m moving there,” Amir says. “And as soon as humanly possible! Sun, sand, and Speedos, here I come! Why? Have you been?”

“I have, actually. It’s a great city.”

You turn to Aemond; this is new information. “Did you go to school there?”

“No, I went to Imperial College in London. But I flew to San Franscisco to interview someone I was writing a term paper about.”

Amir squints at him. “Imperial paid for you to fly across the world for one interview?”

Aemond shrugs, hands back in his jacket pockets. “I got, uh, a research stipend.”

You ask: “Who did you interview?”

“I don’t think you’d recognize the name, but he was a really incredible guy. He was a nurse and the first person to ever come out publicly as having AIDS. Then he spent the rest of his life educating people about the disease. Bobbi—”

“Bobbi Campbell?!” Amir is awed. “Of course I know who he is! You actually met Bobbi Campbell?!”

“Yeah, we had lunch together. Wine and cioppino. His partner was there too.” Aemond is somber, reflective. “It’s probably the most worthwhile thing I’ve ever done.”

“Well you just get better and better, don’t you, big boy?” Amir says. “Have fun at Olive Garden. Don’t hurry home or anything.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You are beaming, serene, warm all over, bewitched by the magic of liminal spaces, doorways between realities that rarely touch. Frank Sinatra—Fly Me To The Moon—floats through the restaurant speakers. The table is cluttered with plates and bowls: breadsticks, salad wet with Italian dressing, zuppa toscana, minestrone, main courses. Families in nearby booths are chattering; wine glasses clink, stories are recalled. You always wonder when you see cheerful married couples surrounded by children: Are they really happy? Is it worth it? Or do they go home after these displays of fairytale adoration and ignore each other, argue, brawl, crack open the Bud Lights, crack knuckles, crack bones like glass? Does true love exist at all? Or is it a lie we’re taught so the species can live on? “I’m in Italy.”

“You’re not in Italy, Cupcake. You’re in Gonzales, Louisiana. I can glance out the window and see a Doller General and a Burger King.”

“I’m basically in Italy.” You gesture to your plate, large and oval-shaped. Your entrée is divided into thirds: chicken parmesan, lasagna, fettuccine alfredo. “I got the Tour of Italy. I’m now an expert in all things Italian.”

Aemond smiles at you, the way he usually does: amused, teasing, craving. “In Italy, the pasta is always al dente. And they use very little sauce, not like here where everything is drowning in it.”

“I personally love my ocean of sauce.”

“And in Italy the bread is served plain. No butter, no olive oil, no…” He scrutinizes a breadstick. “Whatever this is. Assorted soy products, probably.”

“Don’t ruin my dinner or I’ll tie you up next time.”

Aemond laughs: crinkles around his eyes, pure boyish radiance. “Go ahead. I dare you.” He eats a bite of his herb-grilled salmon. “I looked into your Saint Honoratus of Amiens. He’s the patron saint of bakers.”

You roll your eyes like this is obvious. You like knowing something Aemond doesn’t, Aemond with his vocabulary and his high-powered career and his petroleum engineering degree from Imperial College in London, England, a place you have never seen and never will, a city that might as well be located on one of Saturn’s rings. “Yeah, clearly.”

But you never feel like the clever one for long. “And of oil refiners.”

“Is he really?”

Aemond grins. “Yeah. So we’ll have to share him.”

“Did you ever think about doing something besides engineering?” You already know the answer. You saw it in the way he talked about Bobbi Campbell.

“I did,” Aemond admits. “The engineering thing…it was expected of me. It wasn’t really my choice. It’s fine, I’m okay with my job, I’ve come to terms with it. But when I was a kid, I wanted to be a historian.”

“People get paid for that? To study history?”

“Not a lot. But I love the stories. When I was at Imperial, I’d fill every extra space in my schedule with history and anthropology courses. I interviewed Bobbi for my Microhistory class.”

“Micro…history? Tiny history…?”

“You learn everything there is to know about one individual, or one town, or one product, whatever, and through it you can get a better sense of the bigger picture. Like…you could catalogue what specific pieces of furniture were in George Washington’s house to study 18th-century trade routes.”

“Or you could use Ketchikan, Alaska as an example of the dangers of oil rigs and the corrupt, greedy company policies of modern-day robber barons.”

Aemond stares at you. “Yeah. Sure. You get it.” He wastes no time changing the subject. “Where did you go to college?”

“College?” This is preposterous. “Aemond, I never finished high school.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not,” you say. “I dropped out. I don’t have a high school diploma. I definitely didn’t go to college.”

He’s utterly bewildered. “But…you aren’t stupid.”

“Yes, Aemond, a lot of not-stupid people don’t go to college. And I’d imagine the opposite is true as well.”

He sighs, long and deep, rubbing his scarred forehead with his fingertips. “I’m sorry. I could have worded that more sensitively.”

“Willis is a year older than me. I got pregnant the night of his senior prom. I never went back after summer break. I figured…you know…what was the point? I didn’t need Calculus or World History. I needed money. I needed baby clothes and a crib and a car. And my high school wouldn’t have let me in anyway.”

Now Aemond glares, though his wrath isn’t for you. “They kicked out pregnant girls?”

You smile wryly, chomping on a breadstick wet with marinara sauce. “They still do. They have to make cautionary tales out of us. The weak and the lustful.”

“Well then how the fuck is someone like you supposed to provide for yourself?”

“By marrying whoever got us pregnant and never leaving them.”

“Medieval,” he snaps. He stabs at his salmon, loses his appetite, slams the fork down on the plate. The waitress had just been approaching to ask about dessert; she does a 180 and vanishes again.

“Aemond,” you say gently. I don’t want to ruin tonight. “Please don’t be angry.”

“There are specific things that make me angry.” He rests his chin on his knuckles and peers out the window. Seconds tick by; Frank Sinatra sings about New York, another city you’ll never visit. Then Aemond looks at you again. “What is it like to be a parent?” he says, in the same reverent and mystified tone that someone might use to ask what it was like to flatline on an operating table before being brought back to life. Did you get a glimpse of the gates of Heaven? Did you feel the heat of Hell?

“I can only tell you how it feels to me.” You are wistful; you are painfully honest. You’ve never told anyone this before. No one has ever asked. “It’s…wonderful, and terrifying, and exhausting. You love them more than anything, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get tired, irritated, impatient, resentful. One minute you’re laughing hysterically with them, the next you’re begging them to go to sleep so you can have a half hour to yourself, or just ten minutes, or just five. And then as soon as they’re gone you miss them. You’re too strict or too lenient, never just right. You sacrifice—money, time, your body, your soul—but it’s never enough. You accidentally hurt their feelings and then tie yourself in knots to fix it, but you can never show them when you’re sad, or frustrated, or afraid. They can be so sweet and then so inadvertently cruel. They’re too young to understand that they’re being ungrateful. They ask you questions you don’t want to answer. They’re your reason for living, they’re a burden, they’re the best thing that ever happened to you, they’re your closest friend, they’ve trapped you somewhere you don’t want to be. There are all these emotions that come in waves, they go around and around and never stop. It’s like a tire spinning in mud.”

Aemond considers you for a long time before he speaks. “I think you’re doing a good job. Cadi seems happy. She’s…uh…spirited. But happy.”

“She’s a little wild, but that’s my fault. We grew up together. I didn’t draw many lines, and now it’s too late. And she’s getting old enough to notice things she didn’t see before. Most of her friends’ parents are still married. They might not be in love, but she doesn’t understand that part yet. What she understands is that we’re broke and her dad lives in a different house, and I’m the one who made that happen.”

“You’re doing a good job,” Aemond insists. He starts to reach across the table for your hands, then stops, reconsiders, grabs his duffle bag that’s squeezed next to him in the booth instead. He unzips the small pocket on the side and pulls out a toothbrush, a travel-sized tube of Crest, and a miniature bottle of Listermint. “I’m going to go brush my teeth in the bathroom, and then I’m going to fuck you in the back of my car. Okay?”

Your smile has returned. The magic has too. ��Okay. You don’t want dessert?”

“I don’t need tiramisu. I already have a Cupcake. Unless…do you want tiramisu…?”

“No, I don’t like coffee.”

“I think they have other things too, cannoli, cheesecake…”

“Aemond,” you say. “I want to leave now.”

“Got it.” He leaves $30 for the waitress on the table—he always pays with cash, you notice—and bolts for the bathroom. Fortunately, you’d had the same thought; shortly before Aemond arrived at the house two hours ago, you’d packed your pink toothbrush and a tube of Ultra Brite in your Valerie Barad rainbow purse…just in case. By the time you get back to the table, Aemond is waiting and looking uncharacteristically anxious: biting his lower lip, clasping his hands together behind his back. He’s relieved when he spots you. “I thought you might have ditched me.”

“What, and walked 25 miles home?”

“Forget it. Let’s go.” And he shoves his hands into the pockets of his Marlboro jacket before he can reveal any more of himself with them.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re flying down Route 70 with all the windows down, warm twilight wind flooding through the gaps between your fingers, centuries-old southern live oaks and flowering dogwoods passing by in a blur, an Eddie Money tape in the Audi Quattro’s cassette deck. Under the bridges you cross, brackish bayou water ripples lazily, thick with cypress trees, duckweed, spider lilies, salvinia, wading great egrets and lurking alligators. The seats are tan leather and spotless. Aemond rests a palm on your bare thigh, just below the hem of your shorts. His blonde hair whips in the breeze. From the passenger seat, you can only see the right side of his face, the unscarred side. It’s almost like he’s whole again. He puffs on a Marlboro Red, smoke escaping through the open windows, tobacco and tar and nicotine, chemicals and earth.

“We better stop before we get into Assumption Parish,” you tease. “You don’t want one of Willis’ deputies to stumble upon us.”

But Aemond is particular; he wants the perfect spot. Just a mile before Ascension Parish gives way to Assumption, he finds an overgrown dirt pull-off used for fishing. He parks the Quattro just out of sight of the highway, rolls up the automatic windows, blasts the icy air conditioning.

“Get in the back,” he orders, unclicking his seatbelt. The intro of Take Me Home Tonight thunders through the speakers. You obey, climbing into the (very not-spacious) back seat. Just seconds later, Aemond follows.

You giggle when he pulls you into his lap to straddle him. As you toss away his Marlboro jacket and unbutton his shirt, Aemond yanks off your orange tank top, unhooks your bra, accidentally breaks the tab of the zipper off your white denim shorts with his strong, frantic hands. He needs you; he needs you all the time, everywhere, and he’ll never get enough. He’s kissing you deeply, roughly, nipping at your lips and tongue, breathing his smoke into you. His fingers slip into your shorts and under the silk that you bought for him, blue like his eyes, blue like the sky before heavy rain. You’re moaning, grinding, impatient; he’s helping you shimmy out of your shorts, he’s tugging down his jeans. And now you realize that he wants you to stay on top. “Aemond, no, I’m not good at it…”

“Shut up. You’re good at everything.”

That’s a lie, you know it is; still, Aemond makes you believe it. He grabs your hips and shows you exactly how to move them, and soon the rhythm feels effortless, soon you are wet and relaxed enough for him. At the last minute, he gets a condom from the pocket of his jeans, rips it open, and rolls it on. And again, you are struck by a strange but unmistakable disappointment that you cannot have all of him, that you cannot experience what it’s like to be as close to him as humanly possible, this man that you hardly know, this body that unleashes ecstasy in yours.

It’s quick: your arms linked around the back of his neck, Aemond kissing your throat and the slope of your jaw, his hands and murmurs guiding you, delicious fullness and friction. You’re amazed when he comes—I made that happen?? I did that??—and a tidal wave of extraordinary pride, lust, power surges through you. Aemond helps you finish with his fingers, only a few vigorous strokes, and then he drags you down onto the Quattro’s back seat with him.

“Careful,” you say as you lie on top of Aemond’s chest, both of you breathless and slick with sweat, goosebumps springing up in the chill of the air conditioning. You’re all tangled up in each other; there’s no room to get away. “You’re not going to be able to get rid of me.”

“I’ll accept the risk.” The last rays of sunlight fall across his damp skin, turning him to amber, tiger’s eye, gold. “What happened when you had Cadi?”

You turn your face to look at him. “Huh?”

“You said you were unconscious for a few days after she was born.”

“I told you that?”

“Yeah. The first night I came over. And you’ve been on the pill ever since. You never wanted more kids?”

“No,” you say quietly. “No, I didn’t. I still don’t.”

“So something happened.”

“It’s not a cute story. It’s not sexy.”

“I’ve surmised that.” Another word you don’t know.

“I don’t really ever talk about it.”

“Because you don’t want to, or because people don’t ask?”

You’re amazed by how much he sees, like you’re a clean window, like your skin and skull are made of glass. “My water broke and I went into labor, but I wasn’t progressing fast enough,” you tell Aemond. “I mean, the nurses told me I wasn’t progressing. I didn’t really understand what that meant. It felt like something was happening. There was a lot of pain and pressure, and it was intense, definitely, but it was bearable, I still felt like myself. I was actually really proud of how calm I was. But I guess it wasn’t enough. So the doctor started me on something called Pitocin, and then the contractions weren’t bearable anymore. They were…I can’t even describe it. It was like this bone-breaking twisting, but also sharpness, razor sharpness. I imagined knots of barbed wire. It’s the only thing I could compare it to. And I wasn’t in control anymore. I wasn’t myself at all. I was this animal being trapped, being tortured, and there was no break between the contractions, they happened over and over and over again, one right after the other, and it went on for hours. I kept telling everyone that I couldn’t do it. I needed an epidural, laughing gas, pills, anything. I was begging them to knock me out. I was trying to rip the IV with the Pitocin out of my hand. But no one listened. The nurses acted like I was being dramatic. Women have babies every single day all over the world, why couldn’t I just shut up and deal with it? My mom was around, but she had pretty straightforward births, and I don’t think she could comprehend what it was like. Willis told me I was doing a good job. That’s all he could say: Good job, sugar, you’re doin’ just fine, sugar. But I didn’t want mindless encouragement. I wanted somebody to help me. I thought I was dying.”

Aemond’s hand smooths your hair. He’s watching you closely.

“When Cadi…when she was finally born, I wasn’t excited to hold her. I didn’t even care. I was just relieved the pain wasn’t so bad anymore. I told my mom to take her. I could hear the baby crying, and I remember thinking: Who is that? I almost died for that? I felt nothing for her, absolutely nothing. And then I heard…it sounded like someone had turned a sink on, because there was water running. But then the nurses were yelling and the doctor rushed back into the room. I was hemorrhaging, and it wasn’t water that I’d heard, it was blood, my blood, gushing all over the floor. I passed out and I needed transfusions and I woke up three days later. The very first thing a nurse said was that she was so happy to tell me that they’d been able to stop the bleeding without doing a hysterectomy, so I’d be able to have more children. Can you believe that? It was like I didn’t exist. I was just a vessel. As if I wanted to go through that again. No, never, no thank you. I got attached to Cadi, but it took months. Obviously, now I love her. But I was empty for a long time. Just empty, and sad, and in pain, and hopeless.”

“And your useless fucking husband named the baby you almost bled to death having.”

“He didn’t mean for it to be hurtful,” you say. “He thought he was helping. And it’s a hell of a name, I have to admit it. Arcadia Dove, like a Star Wars character or a superhero. It suits her.”

But still: Aemond shakes his head, incredulous, outraged on behalf of your long-gone teenage self. “When you found out you were pregnant, did you ever consider…you know…not having it?”

You give him a small, guilty smirk. What kind of mother could admit this? “Yeah. Yeah, I did. That was my plan, actually. I called a clinic in New Orleans and made an appointment. Cleared out every penny of my savings to pay for it. Cheaper than a life sentence, right? Amir offered to go with me, but neither of us had a car or a license, and I could never let my mom know. So I asked Willis.”

“And he wouldn’t drive you.”

Worse. “He told me that if I went, I’d be a murderer.”

Aemond jolts upright, furious. “He actually said that to you?”

“Aemond—”

“No, hold on, he actually said that?! He said that you could drop out of high school, you could throw all your dreams out the window, you could become a mum at fucking seventeen years old and marry some guy you barely knew, and if you wanted a way out that would make you a murderer?!”

You offer weakly: “Willis is really, really Catholic. A lot of people down here are, and—”

“He’s a coward, that’s what he is. He was willing to sacrifice your future to soothe his conscience. His life didn’t change. Yours did.”

“I love Cadi. I don’t regret her.”

“But you should have had a choice.”

You study Aemond: his glinting right eye, the deep stormy furrows in his brow. “Why are you so angry?”

“Because you deserved better. You could have been something more.”

Something more? Something more? “I’m not horrified by how I’ve turned out, Aemond. I made the best of my circumstances. I have a job I enjoy, I keep a roof over our heads, I have people to live for.”

“You deserved better,” Aemond repeats, soft and low.

“So did you.” You touch your palm to his scarred cheek and ask in a whisper: “What happened? Who hurt you?”

“Stop,” Aemond says, flinching away from your hand. And that’s the safe word; you have to listen.

~~~~~~~~~~

At home, Cadi and Amir are chatting at the kitchen counter with a late-night snack of apple dumplings, warmed in the microwave, and Breyer’s vanilla ice cream. Blue Bell is cheaper, but Breyer’s tastes real; it’s one of the few things you won’t compromise on.

“Mom, guess how many levels I beat in Super Mario Bros.!” Cadi doesn’t notice that your tank top isn’t quite covering the brutalized zipper of your shorts. Amir definitely does notice; he mouths to you: Baby Jesus is so sad.

“Um, I don’t know…how many levels does it have?”

“Thirty-two,” Aemond informs you.

“Seven?” you say.

“Try ten!” Cadi grins triumphantly.

“Radical! Amazing!”

Aemond applauds. “No way! You’re a prodigy!” You don’t have to ask if he wants to stay. He scoops two apple dumplings into the same bowl and then pops open the microwave, like he lives here too. “How long should I heat these up?”

“About 45 seconds,” Amir says. He yawns and puts his dishes in the sink.

“Thanks again for entertaining Cadi.” You give him a tired, repentant smile. “I would tell you to take tomorrow off, but we both know that’s not an option. I’m going to set my alarm for 3:00 a.m.”

“I myself will most certainly not be awake at 3:00 a.m. But I’ll try to get here by 7:00.” Amir gives Cadi a hug that she pretends not to appreciate. “Goodnight, slayer of Bowsers.” Then he waves to Aemond as he breezes out of the kitchen. “Goodnight, destroyer of zippers.”

Aemond covers his mouth to keep from laughing. “Cheers, Amir.” He brings the bowl of apple dumplings from the microwave to the counter, adds several heaping mounds of vanilla ice cream and two spoons, and slides it over so you can share. Outside, you hear Amir’s Ford Escort pull out of the gravel driveway. “You have a lot of baking to do, huh?”

“Oh my God, I completely forgot to tell you. You’ll never believe who showed up—”

“Mom, can we go shopping tomorrow?” Cadi asks, derailing your train of thought.

Cadi? Shopping? This is an unusual request. “Shopping for what?”

“For my riding boots,” Cadi says brightly as she finishes her apple dumpling, and you think, sinking in ways you can’t let her see: Oh fuck. Here’s the conversation I’ve been avoiding for weeks. “Michelle and Erica are both going to that horse camp in July. Breanna and Sam are going too. Kristen might even go, and she’s a total freakazoid! I can go, right? I’ll need boots, and a helmet, and I want to ride an Appaloosa. They have all kinds of horses, but Appaloosas are my favorite, and if they don’t let me ride one I’m going to go nuclear.”

“Honey, I don’t think it’s going to be possible this year.”

“But I have to go. Everyone else is going.”

“I tried, I really did. But I just can’t swing it right now. Next summer I’ll have more money saved up, hopefully, and then you can go to horse camp, and maybe we can even go to Biloxi for a week too—”

“I don’t care about Biloxi.” And now she’s lashing out, because she’s realizing the answer might really be no. Aemond is silently picking at the apple dumplings, looking between the two of you but not knowing what to say. “I care about going to horse camp when literally all of my friends get to—”

“Cadi, I’m so sorry, I really am. But sometimes things just don’t work out, and that’s okay, that’s a part of life. We’ll still have fun this summer.”

“I’m not going to have fun if I’m just stuck here at home all day!”

Stuck here with me, stuck here in the life I built for her. “Cadi, please—”

“I’ll give up my birthday presents,” she pleads, her eyes turning misty. “You can just not buy me anything for my birthday, or Christmas either, and you can use what you would have spent on that for—”

“I’m sorry,” you say gently, a hand on her little shoulder, her tiny breakable bones. “I wish I could give you what you want. I really, really do. I’m trying to make things better for us.”

“Can’t you ask Daddy for more money?”

And you remember what Willis said at the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office: Tell her if she grows her hair back out, maybe she can go next year. “Daddy wants to help too, I’ve already talked to him about it. We just can’t make it happen right now.”

“Daddy always says he’d have more money if he didn’t have to send you so much every month!” Cadi blurts out. Aemond is watching you, but you shake your head. He can’t say anything. It’s not his place. “That’s why I can’t go to horse camp, isn’t it? Because we don’t all live together?”

“No, Cadi, that’s not what this is about—”

“Erica’s parents live together and she gets to go! Michelle’s mom and dad are always taking vacations!”

“Every family is different,” you say, fighting to stay calm while your throat is closing up and the blood in your face is hot enough to scald.

“Sam’s mom just bought her riding boots and gloves!”

“I’m not your friends’ mothers, I’m sorry, I’m just not.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have kids if you can’t afford them!” Cadi screams, tears streaming from her bloodshot eyes, and then she storms off to her bedroom and slams the door.

You and Aemond are left alone in the midst of humming florescent lightbulbs, long-eared owl hoots, the ambient shrieks of cicadas. The apple dumplings and ice cream have dissolved into a soup. Your lips are trembling; a single blistering tear escapes down your cheek. You refuse to break down. You learned years ago that there is nothing to be gained from it. Aemond studies you, seeking and worried. You avoid his gaze. His hand reaches for yours, stops short, retreats to drum his fingers against the counter.

At last, Aemond says: “How much is the horse thing?”

“Too much. Way too much. It’s over $300, I won’t be able to make rent.”

He sighs; not a frustrated sigh, you think, but a sigh of incredulity, maybe even of pity, which is the last thing in the world that you want from him. Aemond takes his wallet from his jeans pocket, leafs through it, and counts out $400 in twenties and tens that he stacks on the countertop.

You are mortified, horrified. “Aemond, no—”

“Look, next time I see you, we need to talk. We need to talk about my situation, and your situation, and what we’re going to do going forward. And it’s…fuck, it’s, it’s complicated. You’ll see. But we have to get it sorted out, because this is…” He gestures to you, to him, to what you’re building between you like a bridge linking islands. “It’s different than what I expected it would be. And that’s a good thing, but…there’s just a lot we have to discuss.”

“Aemond, I can’t accept this much money from you.”

“The money doesn’t matter. $400? That’s nothing. The money’s not real to me. But it is real to you. So please just take it. And next time I see you we’ll…we’ll decide what happens next.”

It’s complicated, Aemond said. You’ll see. See what? How bad could it possibly be? “We can’t talk now?”

“No, I can’t do it now. I just can’t.”

He’s not just uneasy or distracted. He’s fucking scared. “You’re married,” you say.

“No. No wife, no kids. I swear to God.”

“No girlfriend either?”

“No.”

“You’re divorced.”

“No.” He combs his fingers through his short blonde hair, stares blankly at the wall behind you. “You’re free Saturday, right?”

“Yeah. I think Cadi will be with Willis all weekend, actually. He’s taking her fishing on Lake Verret. If Jade Dragon hasn’t blown it up by then. I’ll be busy with work Saturday morning and early afternoon, but after that I’ll be around.”

“I’ll come over around dusk, probably,” Aemond says, hands in his Marlboro jacket pockets, thoughts miles away. “I have something going on Saturday afternoon too.”

And he leaves before you can thank him for the stack of cash on the counter, or for any of the rest of what he’s given you.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #aemond x y/n

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joelalorian · 1 year ago

Text

Tides of Desire - Chapter Six: Edging Forward

Pairing: Yacht Captain!Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Summary: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, adventure, alcohol, injuries, fluff, angst, smut (eventual), slowish burn. Reader is a badass. Smallish age gap (reader is 32 or so, Joel is 40). Additional warnings will be posted with each chapter as needed. No use of y/n.

AN: Thank you so much for the feedback on this fun little story!

Series masterlist

Chapter Six: Edging Forward

I figured we could think about it together.

The statement left you flustered, exhaustion making you wonder if you hallucinated it. The soft bump of his shoulder jostling yours removed the doubt.

“Talk to me.” Joel’s voice was a deep rasp in the dimly lit room, wrapping around you like a thick blanket. It was comforting and inviting, so you did. You talked through everything, what happened with Connor, the confusion and pining you felt for Joel, the emotional roller coaster… everything. He remained quiet, eyes never leaving your face as he listened until your voice tailed off into dead air.

For several, long minutes, the only sound on the bridge was that of your combined breathing. When Joel finally did speak, the deep rumble startled you.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes shot to his, the dark orbs shining in the low light, waiting for him to elaborate.

“For everything – for the emotional roller coaster, for not making sure you understood where I’m coming from, not being clear about what I want. For you having to be the one to save Connor. All of it.” Joel scrubbed his hands against the scruff of his beard with a sigh. “I feel all the things you do; I promise. I just, I won’t do anything about it right now. That doesn’t mean I won’t later. Ya get me?”

Biting your lip, you searched his face. It was all there, in those big, dark chocolate eyes that you could fall so easily into. “So, not never. Just not right now.”

Heads turned toward each other, gazes remaining locked, Joel nodded. “I just want to maintain a more professional relationship while on the yacht, but we can be friendly, keep getting to know each other until the season ends. After that, we can decide, together, if there is anything to pursue further.” After a pause, he added, “How does that sound?”

Mulling it over, you nodded. It was a perfectly reasonable request, leaving you hopeful once again. “I can manage that. Just try to not be so fucking sexy all the time, will you?”

Laughter rumbled from deep within Joel’s chest. “I’ll try if you do. I don’t know if you realize this or not but you’re beautiful and it’s very distracting.”

Your face and neck were still flushed with warmth when your shift on anchor watch ended and, back in your cabin, you drifted off to thoughts of later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Brit! Come meet our new deckhand,” Tommy called as you walked out onto the aft deck hours later, refreshed from a deep nap. He introduced you by your real name first, then added, “But everyone calls her Brit ‘cause she’s British. Brit, this is Jake.”

Reaching out, you shook Jake’s hand with a firm grip. He was tall and broad, like Joel, torso tapering down to slim hips and strong legs. His face was tan, jaw strong, like it was chiseled from stone. His hair was light brown, cut short on the sides with a little wave on top. His eyes were big and ice blue, piercing you with an assessing gaze as you took him in.

“Hello, nice to meet you, Jake,” you greeted, assessment complete. He was hot.

“You too, Brit. Really happy to join this crew.”

You listened as Tommy inquired about Jake’s experience and strengths, trying not to fidget every time those icy blue eyes gazed at you. Someone once told you that boys with dark hair and light eyes were nothing but trouble. You had the sense that was entirely true. Jake was trouble.

A call came over the radio just then, Ellie requested Tommy’s help with something. Before departing, Tommy turned to you. “Can you show Jake to his bunk and help him settle in? Once you’re done, we’ll get the guests in the water with the toys.”

“Sure, come on, Jake. I’ll give you the penny tour on the way.” Leading Jake through the yacht, you pointed out the importance stuff. “Have you met the captain yet?”

Nodding, Jake followed you. “Yeah, met him first thing. I also met his daughter… what’s her name, Sarah?”

“That’s it. They’re a good bunch, those Millers.” On the crew deck, you stopped in front of the boys’ cabin. “You’re in here with Sammy and Tommy. The free bunk is obviously yours.”

A stack of uniforms sat on the top bunk, a pile of luggage and an acoustic Taylor guitar on the floor. “You play?” you asked, intrigued.

“Any chance I get,” Jake replied, picking up the guitar to show off his skills. Long fingers strummed with the effortless talent of years spent playing the instrument. “Do you play?”

A quick shake of your head was your only response, eyes focused on watching his fingers pluck the strings.

“I could teach you. I bet you’re a quick study.” Your eyes shift to meet his, the burning look in them hinting at his desire for more than just teaching you to play guitar.

You hummed with a shake of your head, guiding the conversation back where it needed to go. “I’ll leave you to get settled and changed. Don’t take too long though.” You waited in the crew mess, having a little snack while Jake sorted out his things. Ten minutes later, you swallowed the last of your snack when Jake emerged from his cabin dressed in the daily deckhand uniform.

“How do I look?” he asked, spinning on the spot with a smirk. Such an incorrigible flirt. The shirt clung to his frame, hems stretching around his biceps. He looked good, really good, though you were not about to tell him that. Instead, you shrugged.

“It’ll do. Come on, we need to get out to the swim platform.”

Jake fit right in with the deck crew, taking direction from Tommy and finding ways to connect with everyone during conversations. Ellie was quickly charmed into wanting to learn to play the guitar. He was also a hard worker, enjoying the job just as you did.

“The guests want to head to the Virgin Islands for the next few days,” Tommy explained as the four of you wrapped up the washdown. “We’ll pull anchor in an hour. They want to explore the Buck Island National Wildlife Refuge this afternoon.”

“Wicked!” Jake exclaimed, blue eyes sparkling. “My undergrad was in marine and wildlife conservation. I love that stuff.”

“Perfect. You and Brit will go with the guests then. Ellie and I will stay here and help interior setup for the dinner party.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stocked with snacks and a cooler full of alcohol, you and Jake help the guests onto the tender.

“My, my, my, aren’t you just a pretty boy!” Donna teased, rubbing a hand along Jake’s bicep as he assisted her. “You must be the new guy. You can hold my hand as long as you want, handsome. Don’t mind my husband.”

From his spot on the swim platform, her husband rolled his eyes, a long-suffering smile upon his lips.

“I’m Jake, sweetheart.” Jake grinned at the vivacious woman, already entertained by the group.

“Careful, son. She’ll have her claws in you before long,” Doug teased, subtly pulling his wife away from the attractive, young deckhand. You really loved this group of guests. They were so playful.

“Okay, everyone ready? Let’s go exploring!” Once the lines were released, you steered the tender away from the yacht toward the wildlife refuge. “Our first stop will be the Buck Island Lighthouse.”

Buck Island was a rather bare little island about two miles southwest of St. Thomas, with little more to offer than the old, abandoned lighthouse and rocky shoreline. But for anyone interested in birding, it was a wonderful place to explore and spot various types of shorebirds.

The guests spent a couple hours walking the shoreline, bird watching, exploring the old lighthouse, and taking photos. After joining them for a bit of exploration, you and Jake sat on an outcrop on the northern side of little island, allowing the guests to enjoy their outing without you hovering over them, but ready to assist if needed.

“Where are you from?” you asked Jake. One of your favorite parts about yachting – aside from being on the water – was meeting and working with people from all over the world.

Charming little dimples appeared on his tanned cheeks as Jake grinned. “I’m from down under, mate. Grew up in Sydney surrounded by surf and sun.”

“Oh, I love Australia! My ex was Australian, so I’ve been a few times. The visits never lasted long enough, though. What was it like growing up there?”

“It was a wild mix of beautiful beaches, bustling cities, and the outback. We would go surfing in the morning and be on an adventure in the middle of nowhere by afternoon. Always felt like a bit of a paradox, but that’s what made it special.” Jake’s face was alight with boyish charm as he spoke of his homeland.

“Sounds wonderful. Why ever leave?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

“An inflated sense of adventure, I guess?” Long fingers reached up, running through his wavy hair. Your eyes tracked how it flopped back into place. “When it started to feel like I exhausted all the adventure home had to offer, I got into yachting to explore more of the world. I’ve been lucky to work on boats down under, in the Mediterranean, and now here in the Caribbean.”

You could relate to the sense of adventure and wanting to explore the world on your terms. “Do you ever miss home?”

Jake’s ice blue eyes clouded over for a moment as he leant forward, elbows planted on his knees. “Of course, always. But yachting gives me a taste of home, even when I’m halfway across the world. Home is where my love for the water began, and yachting just lets me share that love all over the world.”

Nodding, you drew your knees up toward your chest, wrapping your arms around your calves in a loose hold. “I feel that in my soul. Although the Caribbean is nothing like England, just being on the water, wind in my hair and sun in my eyes, reminds me of back home and all those summers sailing with my grandfather.”

Conversation continued, weaving from travel, past relationships, hobbies, pets, to family. It was easy and unguarded. Jake reminded you a lot of your ex-boyfriend, handsome, charismatic, and easy to talk to. Even with all of that, your mind wandered back to thoughts of Joel during every lull in conversation.

When the guests returned from their explorations, you let Jake drive the tender back to the yacht, taking a seat next to the primary during the ride.

“Did you all get some good photos?” you asked, brushing errant locks of hair out of your face.

Donna smiled, pulling out her phone to scroll through some of the shots she took. Once done, she tucked her phone away and shifted closer to you. “There are a few hotties on the yacht, huh?” she asked conspiratorially, bumping your shoulder.

Humming in response, heat raced up your neck to your cheeks. “I can’t deny that some of the men are quite attractive.”

“And tell me, as a beautiful young woman surrounded by these handsome men, which one has caught your attention? I know it has to be one of them.” After a beat, Donna added with a wink, “I know who I think it is.”

Flustered, you were at a loss for what to say. Could you… should you… tell her the truth? You held your tongue, avoiding her gaze, which Donna took as a challenge.

“Well, I’ll tell you who I think it is and you just sit there and look pretty if I’m right.” You laughed at that, and, after a beat, Donna said, “It’s the captain. I know it. He’s quite dreamy.”

Your breath caught in your chest, smile falling. What? How? Your eyes searched hers for answers. Donna patted your knee with a well-manicured hand. “Oh dear, it’s obvious if you know what to look for. One glance at the pair of you and it’s clear that something’s there.”

Clearing your throat, you stutter through a response. “W-we’re not… we haven’t… there isn’t anything, yet.”

Giving you a knowing nod, Donna replied, “Yet being the operative word. You will soon enough, believe me. I know these things.”

Jake pulled up to the swim platform before you could say anything else, and you got back to work tying off the boat and helping the guests back onto the yacht.

“Welcome back! How was the outing?” Joel inquired once the guests were back on board, cocktails in hand.

“It was delightful!” Donna exclaimed. “You have a wonderful crew working for you, Captain. I’m particularly fond of Brit, she has been nothing but a joy to talk to.” She patted Joel’s arm with a knowing wink, leaving him pleased but perplexed.

Stepping onto the bridge aft deck, Joel gazed down at the swim platform where you and Jake were cleaning the tender. The pair of you worked well together it seemed, chatting and laughing the whole time. A small pang of jealousy rippled through his chest, but he shoved it down, reminding himself of your recent conversation.

You wouldn’t give up on him that quickly, would you?

No, he didn’t think you would, but the new deckhand was handsome and charming, less burdened…

The sound of your lilting laughter carried up the decks, bringing a hint of a smile to his lips despite the thread of concern weaving through his thudding heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The charter carried on much better than it started. News from Connor indicated that his charter season was over, his broken arm needing a couple months to fully heal. Emmy was heartbroken but stayed focused on work. The weather remained clear, and no further incidents occurred. Jake settled in, fitting in with the crew seamlessly. He and Tommy had a lot in common and often chatted while working.

You noticed Jake’s icy blue eyes lingering on you sometimes but brushed it off, still enamored with Joel. The primary’s words bounced around in your mind as well, leaving little room for thoughts of anyone or anything other than Joel and what may lay ahead for the two of you.

Since the conversation with Joel, you noticed him making a concerted effort to check in with you – meeting you on deck in the morning before your shift technically started, making little conversations throughout the day, and asking about your day before heading off to bed. Every interaction made your heart swell and you found yourself counting down the weeks until the season was over.

However, a few times on the last night and final morning of the charter, you caught him gazing at you with an unreadable expression that left you wondering if you did something wrong. You didn’t realize that Joel was watching from nearby while you and Jake were tidying up on the sundeck, misinterpreting your friendly conversation as something more than it was which fueled his growing frustration since Jake’s arrival.

“I dislocated my jaw while playing ultimate frisbee in college. It never healed right,” you explained, demonstrating how the right side of your jaw popped when you opened wide.

“How the hell did that happen? That’s not exactly a contact sport!” Jake’s eyes were wide as you told him how you collided with a big dude’s should while in mid-air trying to catch the frisbee. You both winced at the retelling.

“Your turn! I can’t wait to hear this!” you said with a laugh. After hearing his silly fact, you were hysterical. He was addicted to General Hospital. “You’re full of surprises, Jake. I never would’ve guessed you were into soap operas!”

He smirked at you, eyes sparkling in the boat lights. “Well, there’s a lot more to discover about me, Brit.”

You had brushed off the comment as Jake’s naturally charming personality, not reading anything more into it, but apparently Joel had.

When the yacht docked at the end of the charter, Donna left you with words of encouragement regarding Joel. “I’ve seen the way he’s been with you the past few days. He obviously cares about you, and you will make the most beautiful couple, in time. Good luck, my dear.”

“Oh hush,” you said with a chuckle. “Take care, Donna. I hope to see you and Doug again sometime.”

Pinching your cheeks like a child, Donna chuckled and arched a brow. “I have no doubts our paths will cross again sometime, dearie.” The woman moved her way down the line, saying goodbye to the rest of the crew. You watched as she stopped in front of Joel, pulling him in for a tight hug and whispering in his ear. Whatever she said made him blush wildly and you grinned.

As the last guest exited the passerelle, Joel turned to everyone. “You know the drill. Get to it.” Cheeks still tinged pink, he winked at you before heading back for the bridge.

The deck crew made swift work of the wash down, jumping in to assist the interior crew with changing out the bins and finishing up the dishes. Before long, it was mid-afternoon and time for the tip meeting. It was no surprise that Donna and Doug left you all a fantastic tip, tied for the best of the season. They had been very pleased with their experience.

Before dismissing the crew, Joel stood up. “I’ve a surprise for y’all. Dinner and rooms tonight and all day tomorrow at the Beach Club.” The words barely left his lips before the room erupted in celebration. When the main salon quieted once again, he added, “It’s on the other side of the island, so vans will be here to pick us up in two hours.”

While most everyone else scrambled to go get ready, you hung back, moving over to Frank while Bill and Joel discussed something. The tall, older man beamed down at you. “Hello love. What are you up to?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you sighed. “Just killing time, I guess. Won’t take me that long to get ready.”

“Well then, join me for a cocktail on the sundeck?” At the bar, Frank whipped up two martinis before motioning for you to lead the way out of the room. He caught Joel’s dark eyes tracking your movements and smiled.

After some initial small talk, Frank dove right into, catching you by surprise. “I’ve noticed something.”

Intrigued, you frown. “Noticed what?”

Leaning closer to you, Frank motions vaguely with his wine glass. “You and Joel, the way you orbit around each other without ever getting too close. I’ve noticed that it bothers you.”

A sigh escaped your lips, once again reminded that nothing went unnoticed in such an environment. When you didn’t say anything, Frank continued. “Joel’s a protector, always has been. He’s got this way of keeping everyone at arm’s length, but when he lets himself care, he cares deeply.”

Unsure where he was going with this, you continued frowning at him. “Okay…”

Frank patted your leg with an indulgent grin. “You’ve got him thinking. Maybe more than he’d like. It’s in the way he watches you, the way he softens at the mere sight of you. He’s protective of you.”

Equal parts confused and thoughtful, you inquired, “How do you mean?”

“The way he checks on you, the subtle glances. Joel’s not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but I’ve known him long enough to recognize when he’s wrestling with something. I think that something is you,” Frank explained. “You’ve gotten under his skin.”

You knew this already and nodded. “I know. He’s made it clear that there’s something here, but he doesn’t want to explore it until after the season’s over.”

A cryptic grin spread across Frank’s handsome face as he stood. “I have a feeling that some recent developments will change that. Have fun tonight.” He walked away before you could fully process what he said.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was a first for Joel, leaving the yacht overnight during season. It was something he never would have done prior to meeting you. You, who caused so many unwitting changes in his usually rigid behaviour. After opening to you about his feelings, then watching someone new try to swoop in to gain your attention, he had to do something.

That something was the overnighter at the Beach Club, where he’d join the rest of the crew, minus Bill and Frank who offered to stay behind to watch the yacht so Joel could spend more time with you. Frank had no qualms in gushing to Joel how good you would be for him, how he should just enjoy the moments as they happen, and, quite simply, just remove the stick from his ass and do something before you gave up and found someone else.

Joel could take a hint when it punched him in the face.

Freshly showered and dressed in a pair of dark, fitted jeans, a short sleeve button down, and flip flops, Joel stepped out onto the main deck, the breeze tousling his still damp curls. The rest of the crew was waiting, stylishly dressed and small overnight bags in hand. His eyes zeroed in on you, long hair flowing over a simple, yet sexy sundress, a backpack slung over one shoulder, your skin dazzling in the evening sunlight. His gut clenched.

“Everyone ready?” Joel asked the group to distract himself from the stunning vision of you. Peering over the railing, he added, “Our rides have arrived.”

The sound of excited chatter filled the air as everyone moved down the passerelle and over to the awaiting mini vans. The group split between the two vehicles and Joel was uncertain whether to feel disappointed or relieved that you were not in the same van as him. All he knew was that he was not pleased that Jake was in the other van with you.

Tommy distracted Joel with conversation during the journey across the island, taking his mind off the near constant thoughts of you. He was becoming obsessed. Perhaps Frank was right – it was time to remove the stick from his ass and make a move, if for no other reason than to see if he could get you out of his system.

Dinner reservations were at six o’clock and Joel booked a total of five rooms, with the intention that the crew would bunk up and he’d have the fifth room to himself. Joel was no fool, though. He knew some of them – mostly Tommy – would try to pick up someone in the bar or hook up with each other and want some privacy, so he had two extra rooms on hold, if needed.

The ride was a little over an hour from the slip in San Juan to the resort in Ponce, and everyone was relieved to arrive in time to freshen up before dinner at La Cava Restaurant.

Once the rooms were sorted out – of course, Tommy quietly requested a room of his own, planning for later – everyone headed for the elevator. The rooms were scattered throughout the resort, by design. Joel wanted to cause the least amount of disruption to the other guests knowing how rowdy the crew might get. As the crowd in the elevator dwindled, Joel turned to you.

His palms were already sweaty with nerves. “Stay with me?”

You blinked up at him. “Do you mean…?”

Joel’s lips quirked up in a nervous half smile as he nodded. “Stay. In my room. With me, tonight.” The words fell from his lips awkwardly, but the gleam in his eyes begged you to understand that he wanted this, needed this. “We don’t have to do anything. Just stay with me.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “But…” You were about to question the sanity of this, but it looked like you thought better of it as a dazzling smile lit up your face. “I would love to, Joel.”

Relief washed over Joel in a wave and without conscious thought, he leant down, his lips catching yours in the briefest, softest kiss.

TBC

#joel miller #joel x reader #joel x female reader #yacht captain!joel miller #tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal #fanfic #fanfiction #joel miller x female reader

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123pixieaod · 2 years ago

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Pilot!Max x backpacker!Daniel 👨‍✈️✈️💼

Part Two!

Part 1 here!

Max laughs, reaching out. Gentle fingers brush his, and then Daniel is gripping his hand, squeezing tightly. His palm is warm against Max's, fingers strong and dextrous. Max feels the hard calluses engraved in Daniel's fingertips like knots worn into wood. A far cry from his own hands, almost amorphous on their soft smoothness.

"A pleasure", Daniel says warmly. He drops Max's hand, and the stuffy bus air suddenly feels wrong against his fingers.

"I'm sure", Max echoes, and then thanks whatever diety is looking out for him that his warming cheeks are hidden in the darkness.

"So did you come here alone or?" Daniel asks, oblivious. Max scrubs a hand over his face. It's just because he's overly tired from this air traffic fuck up.

"No. My two colleagues."

"Are they Dutch too?"

Max snorts. "Regrettably not. One's German and the other is British."

"A German, Brit, and Dutchman get onto a bus", Daniel muses. "Sounds like the beginning of a joke."

"And an Aussie swoops in and steels the punch line?"

"I'm honoured you think me capable of such exploits," Daniel says. He sounds pleased, almost smug. Fuck, is he flirting? Oh double fuck, are they flirting right now???

"They fucked off though," Max blurts out, wires in his usually flawless mind having become disconnected, capable now only of repeating the train of thought of oh my gosh i think Daniel is flirting with me am I flirting back am I bad at this what if he's fifty years old do I really need a sugar daddy??? Does one even flirt on a bus can someone flirt at 2am are we just both sleep deprived maybe the driver did succeed in getting me to hit my head around one of those corners and this is simply a brain damaged fueled fantasy and -

"Where?"

He blinks, trying to focus himself. Once again, he thanks whatever stars that soon he'll be flying under that there's no lights on this bus. His cheeks feel all but glowing.

"Where what?"

"Where are your friends? Did they catch the same bus as you or...?"

"Oh," Max exhales. "No. They of course fucked off and took the only two free seats at the front, so that is why I had to go searching back here."

"Sorry you're stuck with me", Daniel says, in a way that very much does not sound he's particularly apologetic and Max is 90% sure is instead a flirty tone.

He barks a laugh. His face burns hot. Fucked. He's utterly and royally fucked.

Daniel, he learns, talks a lot. Not how Lando talks, this never-ending stream of consciousness where topics and conversations blend seamlessly into the next. Or not like how Sebastian talked, where every sentence is carefully constructed in his mind and spoken with purpose. Daniel speaks like he expects to be listened to, but also with the understand he'll listen back. He chats and then pauses, waiting for Max's input. He asks questions, looks for Max's opinions, and even sometimes disagrees with what Max says.

It's exhilarating. He feels as if he's known Daniel for years, and not just mere hours.

It's also informative. He finds out that Daniel:

- has one (1) older sister

- her name is Michelle (Max heard Danielle at first and Daniel had laughed, as if Max had said something actually funny)

- she is an accountant, working for their father's auto business

- she wildly disapproves of Daniel's backpacking around the world, telling him he's simply running away from responsibilities

- she is wrong

- Daniel isn't running away from anything. He likes to think of it as more running to something, if running has to be involved in the metaphor

- he's been to 33 different countries

- he's been travelling since he was 25 (Max refuses to question how old Daniel must be if he's already been to 33 countries since he was 25)

- he wants to know more about Max

"Well", Max says, taciturn. "I work in stocks." It's the one sure, fire way to stop any potential future questioning on his profession.

"Stocks", Daniel repeats slowly, as if Max has admitted to being a shape-shifting alien. "What type?"

"What type of what?"

Daniel laughs. Max feels the warmth bury in his chest. Fucked. He's fucked.

"What type of stocks do you work with?"

"You know about stocks?" Max asks, deflecting away from the question.

"Utterly against my will, but yes. My sister's an accountant and Emma is in finance, so between the two of them information on boring stuff like stocks and markets and rates were sort of forced into my head. Osmosis style I guess."

"Whose Emma?" Max asks, feeling like a balloon whose been popped.

"A girlfriend," Daniel says with ease. Max swallows, making himself to nod even though Daniel can't see him.

"Right", he says quietly. "Cool."

Of course someone like Daniel would already be taken. Of course he'd be straight. People like Daniel are magnets, and why on earth would Max think he'd be the first one to be drawn to Daniel??? Even if he's the most ugliest man alive, Daniel’s charm and easy chatter alone would secure any number of girls he wanted. Why would he even think about Max in that way? Fuck, his dad is right, he can be so fucking stupid sometimes.

"No need to sound quite so distraught Max," Daniel continues, now almost teasing. Max wants to rip the seatbelt off and leave, lie down on the aisle or the steps or even on Lando's fucking lap and just forget this ever happened.

"Okay", Max says nonsensically, trying to work out the quickest way to end the conversation. His cheeks feel as if they're on fire, and even the tips of his ears are burning now. Fuck. Victoria would laugh so hard at him if she was here.

"An ex," Daniel says. Max nods. Maybe he can say he has a migraine? Or pull the classic sorry my dad is calling me, and then phone and speak Dutch to Martijn until Daniel falls asleep or something. Daniel's saying something else about being in a relationship and Max wants to die, because he's twenty-three and shouldn't be this obvious, shouldn't have to have a stranger try to gently let him down.

"Are you as well?" He asks. Max blinks, looking towards the hazy outline of Daniel.

"Am I what as well?"

"Single?"

"What?" Max's brows pinch together, and Daniel starts to say something but it's interrupted by a static overhead speaker.

"Ladies and gents", the driver says, somehow making the honorifics sound like slurs. "We're approaching Terminal 2. A pleasure to drive ye here."

Then, the lights blink on, flooding the bus with brightness. Max winces, the sudden light after the hours of darkness irritating his eyes. He blinks and then quickly turns to his right. Daniel looks back at him, big, brown eyes wide.

"Oh," Daniel exhales softly, and then laughs. Fuck. Sun-kissed skin and tight curls and perfect teeth. Fuck.

"Hi," Max says stupidly.

Daniel laughs again, and Max feels the sound of it burrow into his chest like sunlight shining through foliage. Double fuck.

"Well, this makes things easier", Daniel says, still smiling. Aquiline nose and eyes of hot chocolate and dimples that carve deep into cheeks. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Does it?" Max asks, tone soft. He can't look away from Daniel. He looks like he belongs on the crest of Australian red-earth mountains, making his way through the thick rainforest of Peru, holding his breath and diving deep into the ocean. Not in a cramped bus, not sitting beside Max, talking to Max, looking at Max.

"Yeah," he says, eyes crinkled and warm. "Because I was going to ask you out for coffee anyway, but if you had been an eighty year old man with dandruff my convictions may have been questioned."

"Well, I'm definitely not an eighty year old," Max says, mind still lagging.

"No? Can't dispute the dandruff claim?"

That teases a laugh out of him. "Well, I of course do not have dandruff either. I keep myself very well groomed."

He says it as a joke, but Daniel just looks at him, eyes intense.

"Yeah", he says after a beat, gaze tracking over his features. "I can see that."

Max's face positively burns.

Around them, the bus has eased to a stop, and the passengers around are beginning to sit up, unclip their seatbelts and stretch.

"So do you want to?" Daniel blurts out, and then blushes. "Sorry. I mean, I was serious. I could take you to a shitty little airport cafe right now, we could have burnt coffee and overpriced toast and it would be hideously romantic." He grins, but there's a nervousness to him now.

"I can't," Max blurts out. He's thinking of all the billion things he needs to do, the flight data he needs to check, the checks and double checks, the changing from these civilian clothes to his sleek pilot uniform, the transforming from a nobody to Max Kumpen, one of the most promising pilots at F1 Wings.

"Oh," Daniel says, smile suddenly dimming. "Yes, of course. I didn't- I mean", he forces a soft laugh, his cheeks heating. "Sorry. It's fine. Who knows, maybe we'll even be seat buddies on the flight too! You'll be stuck with me." He forces another laugh, and then gives Max a warm but distant smile. "Well, I'll-"

"No, I mean," Max babbles, his own cheeks heating. "I wasn't- i have work. It wasn't a lie or. But - you'll have a layover at Qatar, right? We should - I mean, if you'd still like to, it would be, in Qatar Airport, we could maybe -"

"Yes," Daniel says, beaming at Max. "I'd like that."

"Right," Max smiles, trying not to think about the five hour layover he's meant to be using to catch up on sleep before facing the night flight back to Dublin.

People are beginning to file off from the bus, and Max is suddenly filled with a strange sense of panic, as if Daniel can only exist in this liminal space of travel.

"Here," Daniel says, and his tone sounds strangely anxious as if he's feeling the same fear. Max looks over, and then before he can react, Daniel is bridging the distance between them, warm fingers wrapping around his wrist. He watches as Daniel grabs a pen from his pocket, feels the coolness of the ballpoint roll across his skin. He doesn't breathe. Daniel's frowning, expression intense as he scrawls the digits, carving himself into Max. Max suddenly is filled with the urge never to wash his hands again; never wants to be confronted with his pale, soft skin unmarred by Daniel's messy handwriting.

"There," Daniel says, dropping Max's hand. He looks up, blinking those deep, dark eyes. Around them, everyone else is standing, filing out. All Max sees is Daniel. All Daniel sees is Max. He smiles, the sun in winter.

"Don't go losing that," he says, and Max laughs, twisting to unclipped his seatbelt. They're the last ones still seated, and the driver has fixed his beady gaze on them.

"I'll try not to," he says, standing. His muscles ache from the uncomfortable posture, and he tries not to think about how sore they'll be after seven hour flight to Qatar. As Daniel stands, Max glances behind, spotting Lando and Sebastian already outside with their bags, waiting for him.

"I should -" he begins, voice trailing away as he gestures. Daniel glances, giving him a quick grin as he shrugs on his coat.

"Gotta get back to your German and Brit colleagues, right? Let me know how the joke ends."

Max exhales in amusement. "Probably with me covering for the Brit while the German tests our combined knowledge."

"Fun", Daniel says with a wink. A wink. "Maybe I'll see this dynamic at the gate or on the plane."

"Maybe", Max says, knowing that will never happen. "But I'll see you in Qatar anyway."

"Qatar for breakfast", Daniel grins. "It's a date."

Part 3 here!

#pilot au #Maxiel #pilot Max returns!#and boy is he whipped #my fic

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standard-human · 1 year ago

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camp here and there is wild bc between

-a reanimated trans man who traumadumps to a campful of children

-a man who was probably an english teacher that moonlighted as a mad scientist in a past life

-a man who pays to work at a summer camp whos learning "necromancy" (we all know true necromancy is impossible)

-a man who wears dirty scrubs and an elephant mask bc if he doesnt he makes everyone around him enter a religious fervor

-an old woman with a flamethrower

-a man whos scared of the sky bc it tells him the future

-a mysterious chef who speaks in static and cooks the wildest dishes know to the human race

-a man with an actual alpha male complex

-a mysterious man that only appears in dreams in a red suit that will occasionally autocannibalize while giving therapy

the weirdest character is a brit who doesnt know what microphones are. and honestly? thats accurate to how the british are

#standard speaks

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influencermagazineuk · 2 years ago

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The Ultimate Toilet Cleaning Regime

Research from Bloo, the UK’s number one toilet hygiene cleaning brand, reveals that Brits spend over 20 months (625 days) on the loo in their lifetime! Since we spend so much of our time on the toilet, it is important to keep hygiene levels high. While applying some toilet cleaner in and around the bowl every now and then is a good start, the experts at Bloo have shared the ultimate toilet cleaning regime to really make it sparkle and shine. Before we get stuck in, we would always advise people not to use bleach with cleaners as some contain ingredients which can release harmful gases if mixed. For example, descaling products and bleach should not be used together. Finally, remember to put on protective gloves for good measure! Step one: Deep clean the rim and bowl (once or twice week) Start by applying a liquid or gel toilet cleaner inside the full rim of the toilet. Allow this to soak in to really help lift off any dirt. Use a toilet brush to scrub the bowl clean and pay extra attention to the rim, with it being out of sight, it can get very grimy! Step two: Keep the rim Clean & Fresh Now you’ve scrubbed the rim and bowl clean, you’ll want to do the most to make the sparkle and your efforts last longer. You can do this by inserting a rim block such as ‘Bloo Brilliant Gel’ which protects against adhering dirt and offers a fresh scent experience. Remove the foil and place on the rim where the waterflow is strongest and with each flush you’ll keep your rim clean & fresh! Step three: Deep clean the toilet pipes (Once a month) Stains and limescale don’t just build up in visible areas of the loo. You’d be surprised at what lurks beneath the bowl, inside your toilet pipes and where the brush is difficult to reach. So, for deep pipe cleaning without the fuss of scrubbing, use toilet tabs which fights through scale and stains. For stubborn dirt leave overnight and for lighter build up wait for a couple of hours before flushing through. Step four: It’s what’s inside that counts You may rarely think about your toilet cistern but keeping it clean with the right products is a vital part of maintaining a hygienic loo. Did you know there’s one nifty little cube that can keep your loo hygienic and fresh? Place one Bloo Toilet Block cube inside the tank on the opposite side of the water flow. No need to remove the film as this dissolves in the water. The self-foaming technology and active ingredients of the formula cleans from the tank right down into the toilet bowl, preventing limescale build up and leaving a fresh scent after every flush. Step five: Make your throne sparkle – the best seat in the house! Now the inside of your loo has received the royal treatment, take an all-purpose disinfectant spray and spray the outside of the toilet, seat and lid. Using a cloth or sponge, wipe everything clean, making sure to get in between the hinges, base and around the floor. Read the full article

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moooonah · 2 years ago

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so i started writing this moon knight au fic where marc and steven open jake's sarcophagus in episode 4 instead of ignoring it and because i am THE worst person in the world i haven't been able to finish it for ages but i started writing it again recently and god....... i do love writing dialogue for these guys

"Marc..." Steven croaks. "I'm not being funny... but..."

The new arrival turns his head towards them, glaring at them with the lethal intent Steven described just minutes ago.

"That bloke..." Steven scrubs a hand across his eyes, as if it'll stop him from hallucinating. "He looks just like us, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," Marc says faintly. "Yeah, he does."

Same face, same body. There's only one difference between Marc, Steven and this new man, and it's that they're all wearing different clothes.

There are three of them.

"Fuckin' finally!" the new one growls. "You took a hell of a long time gettin' me out of there."

Contrary to his prior Spanish profanities, he sounds like he's from Brooklyn.

Maybe this mental hospital isn't so fake after all... Maybe Marc is here for a good reason.

"Then again, I ain't surprised." The Brooklyn doppelganger rolls his shoulders back, shooting Marc and Steven an unimpressed glower. "You brats have always been slow."

"Marc?" Steven breathes. "Who...?"

Marc has no answers for him. The new man snorts.

"The name's Jake. Jake Lockley." They're all the same height, but he seems to tower over the other two. "And I'd say it's a pleasure, but we all know that's not true."

"Jake," Marc says blankly. "Jake?"

"Jake," Steven parrots, awestruck.

"Got it memorised?" Jake sneers. "So, brats, fill me in. Where in the goddamn hell are we this time?"

Marc can't stop staring at him, but at these words, he snaps back to himself.

"Fill you in?" In a Steven-like fashion, his voice raises several octaves. "Are you being serious right now?"

Jake arches an eyebrow. Despite having been crammed into a sarcophagus a minute ago, he now seems perfectly at ease. "I'm always serious."

"I'm- you-" Marc glances back at Steven, who is similarly lost for words. "Who are you?"

"Take a good long look at me, boy. Who do you think I am?" The silence elicits a scoff from Jake. "Like I said, slow. Even you haven't got it yet, Steven? You're meant to be the know-it-all."

Steven flinches at being addressed directly, but speaks up anyway, staring at the floor all the while. "Marc. In Cairo- there was the stabbing. The one that neither of us did."

Blood on his hands... blood that Marc didn't remember shedding... blood that Steven would never shed... "You're not saying..."

From the look on Steven's face, it's extremely clear what he's saying.

"No." Marc says simply.

"There we go." Jake leans against the sarcophagus, and a wide, mirthless grin stretches across his face. "Now we're gettin' somewhere."

"There's another one," Steven murmurs. "Our body... there's been someone else this whole time. Him."

Jake waves. "¡Hola!"

"That's not possible," Marc says. He edges back towards the wall, looking for something to grasp onto. "That's bullshit. I would know if there was another one."

"Slow," Jake repeats. "Marc, you've woken up with blood on your hands when you hadn't fought. If you didn't do it, who did? This idiot?"

He gestures at Steven, who stiffens.

"I don't believe you," Marc snarls. His hands ball into fists. "I don't."

"Oh, grow up," Jake says, rolling his eyes. "We've already been through this song and dance with the neurotic Brit. Drop the denial, boy. I exist, and I've existed a long time."

"You killed all those people in Cairo," Steven says shakily. "You're a murderer."

Jake laughs, a harsh, cold sound. "And you think Marc isn't? We've both got dirty hands, Steven. Must be tough for you, bein' stuck with us."

Almost unwillingly, Steven glances at Marc. Marc doesn't return his gaze, though his chest rises and falls more quickly.

"I killed the ones Khonshu forced me to," he says. "I don't take lives if I don't have to."

"Always telling yourself things to help you sleep at night," Jake sighs. "For a killer and a mercenary, you're soft, Marc."

"Yeah?" Marc breathes. "What are you, then?"

"I'm a protector," Jake says. "I do what needs to be done. I don't hide away from that, and I don't cry about it."

"A protector?" Steven echoes. "Sounds like Marc's not the only one telling himself things."

Still holding onto the wall, Marc laughs- and sounds unnervingly similar to Jake. Which should make sense, but it doesn't. "A protector. Cut the bullshit. You're- you're scum."

"You've got nerve, boy," Jake laughs. "Callin' me scum. You fuckin' ungrateful brats."

"What is there to be grateful for?" Marc's voice rises to a yell, making Steven jump. "I've had a- you've been- all this time- you-"

His gaze flickers towards Steven, and he channels his inarticulate frustration into his fist, pounding the wall.

"Fuck! Fuck this!"

Steven has seen him lose control before, but not like this. He almost wants to reach out to steady Marc, but the reminder of what Jake said- dirty hands, killer- stops him.

#moon knight #i don't know why i'm posting this #just to confirm that it exists i guess #my headcanon jake is protective and mean and harsh but NOT evil #sorry

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dearrrabbit · 3 years ago

Note

more canon than headcanon that steve is a very affectionate/pda-inclined type of bf soooo how do u think quentin is with that n anything that comes to mind about it

MY FRIEND… i have so many thoughsts and feelings on this. i Hop e it’s up to your liking i tried to balance out some more fluffy silly headcanons with some sadness. flangst at its finest!

The first time Steve does it, he’s returning from a trial. Quentin’s got his knees tucked up on the log he’s perched on, curled into a ball as Nea entertains the few survivors around the campfire with a long-winded tale about some of the Killers.

He’s not paying attention at all, so when he sees Steve, his brain only registers that he’s back. Steve kisses the top of his head as he passes by, tromping off to return his medkit to Claudette.

The conversation stops. It sinks in. Quentin’s face feels hot as he slowly looks up at the others, who gaze back at him in awe.

“Hang on.” Nea puts her hands out, “Hang on.”

Quentin scrubs at his face, groaning.

“We all just saw that, right?” Nea’s grinning, pointing a finger at Quentin, as if she’s scandalized, “Laurie, you saw that?”

“Oh, I saw it.” Laurie nods her affirmative, “David, you saw that?”

“Got a front row seat.” The bruiser calls from where he brings up the tail-end of the returning party.

Quentin’s face is flushed even more now. He waves his hands, beginning to protest, “You’re all like vultures, it is impossible to do anything around here.”

Nea guffaws, “I refuse to speed by that. Steve Harrington, like.. Really?”

“I don’t know, it’s kind of predictable,” David comments again, “Very trope-y.”

“Oh, okay. Okay.” Quentin’s feeling insulted now, he decides, “Now the Brit is going to preach to us about tropes.” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, “And yeah, Steve. Like, there’s only one Steve in the Fog.”

Nea spreads her hands out, placating. “Fuckin’ relax, sometime. I hear it’s good for the soul.”

Quentin rolls his eyes, and Laurie’s quick to shift the topic to something else, perhaps sensing Quentin’s obvious discomfort at being questioned. He wasn’t.. intentionally trying to hide anything. He loved Steve, loved being around him. He just didn’t know that it would be such a big thing.

He notices it a few more times after that. Usually between trials and the campfire, seeing as if they were in their own tent, they were laying intertwined with no question about it. Steve will kiss the top of his head, or his cheek, sometimes his lips if he can. He hangs off of Quentin at every possible interval. Their teammates definitely have fun with that.

Quentin manages to catch Steve by the wrist as he moves to leave after pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Why do you do that?”

“Huh?” Steve tilts his head, “Why do I do what?”

“Just.. always around our teammates, you get really.” Quentin punctuates it with a wave of his hands, words jumbled as they come out of his mouth, “like, affectionate.”

Steve raises both eyebrows at him, and drops them with a little surprised huff of air, “Because we’re dating, Quen, and I love you.”

“I know, but. But?” He can’t seem to say it right, and that makes him feel the edge of anxiety creeping in, “I didn’t think you… were this affectionate.” It falls flat, and Steve’s brows draw in, worried.

Quentin suddenly needs a second. Because he knows that, he knows Steve loves him, and he does love being kissed and being able to hold onto his boyfriend the way he does, he knows their teammates aren’t judging, and just are obsessing over the newest scraps of normalcy that they can get in a place like this. But why does he feel like every time Steve kisses him, he needs to look over his shoulder? Like something’s lurking. Maybe something is, and suddenly, he can’t really think about this anymore.

Steve catches on before Quentin says anything, the change in his face being enough for the other man to notice. He gently takes Quentin’s hands, and leads him off to someplace more sheltered, a little outcropping where the trees bent inwards, like a giant nest.

Quentin’s not okay. He doesn’t feel like his heart is beating correctly, like it’s on an off-rhythm and that the air in his lungs is suddenly, overwhelmingly insufficient. Steve doesn’t do anything but sit them down, gently counting off breaths as he presses Quentin’s hand against his own heart, making him focus to the pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips, steady and still beating. Fuck. Quentin’s eyes squeeze shut and he digs his free hand’s palm into one, scrubbing. Why does he feel like this? Why can’t he just enjoy fucking normal things? This is what he wanted, what he likes and yet, Yet. He can’t fathom why he has to be so neurotic about things that should be good. Should be nice.

They stay like that a while. Steve doesn’t stop counting, but sometimes his voice lapses into more of a hum, like the quiet would do Quentin better. It does, in parts. Crows caw overhead, and faintly, they can hear the dim chatter of the campfire, where someone’s clearly trying to start up a campfire song and failing miserably as little choirs begin and die in laughter. Quentin rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, exhausted, and Steve’s quick to hum in acknowledgment, letting his hand come up and pet through his curls.

“Is that.. Head over Heels?” He croaks, finally when he can speak again, and Steve laughs. “God. Your music taste is so cringe.”

“Yeah?” Steve nudges him, “You listen to MCR.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Quentin finds it very easy to joke with Steve. Even after something like that. It clicks easily, that’s just how Steve is, able to flow into the rhythm of anything with little fuss. “You don’t even know what MCR was, you old dick.”

They lapse into silence again, before Steve speaks, squeezing his shoulder gently. “Hey.. I can. Stop doing that, if you’d like.”

Quentin doesn’t say anything, just turns his head so he can look at Steve, the way his mouth has the beginnings of his concerned frown, and his eyebrows pinch together just so his brows are furrowed. He’s serious. Genuine.

“I mean, I can be a little clingy for sure.” Steve continues, “And I love you, so your comfort level is more important than me fuckin’.. getting to hold hands. So, if you need me too. I can.”

Quentin’s heart squeezes. “I think it was just a lot in front of everyone, everyday. You don’t have to… stop kissing me.”

Steve nods, andstudies his face, one warm hand leaving their intertwined ones to gently cup his cheek. “Can I do that now?”

Quentin rolls his eyes and pushes in to close the distance between them, shaking his head internally because of course, Steve couldn’t kiss him again without some cheesy line about it.

#dbd #harringsmith #got this one in time for pride month fuck yeah #my writing

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spnae · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 27 Changes

It was nearly 3 o’clock in the morning when there was a quiet commotion at the front door as the level two girls returned with Faith. Faith was exhausted and annoyed, “Upstairs. Bed. All of you!” She hissed. Faith sighed and took a few steps towards the living room, “That better be a stuffy Brit in there because if one of the girls left the TV on I might just freaking lose it.”

“Never been called ‘stuffy’ but definitely London born and bred, still got a family crypt with my sodding name on it,” Spike drawled.

“Not the Brit I was expecting but I’ll take it,” she said as she plunked herself down in one of the leather barrel chairs. She nodded her head towards Buffy curled up next to Spike with her head on a pillow in his lap and a blue and green tartan blanket over her slight form. “Is this another ‘mother hen’ thing? If she’s not careful I’m gonna start thinking she’s sweet on me.”

Spike snorted out all small laugh, “Not exactly, we sort of kicked Giles out and took over the vigil. This was a planned kip on the couch. I should probably wake her up. She wanted to know if you heard anything about the girl.”

Faith shook her head, “Don’t bother. All three of the neck traumas turned out to be vamps but none of them were our girl, two guys and a super-buff lady bodybuilder type. There’s definitely been a lot more new vampires this last year. This is getting ridiculous, it's like they’re turning everyone.”

“Hoping the girl’s just exercising her inner rebel and she’s on a bender or something.”

“I hear that. What do you make of all this?”

He shrugged, “Magic always comes with a price. Angel’s people were so busy dealing with the Senior Partners that we barely noticed what else was going on. The minute I got to Paris with Buffy I noticed something was different. Hard to put my finger on it and I was pretty focused on getting to her but it does seem like demon activity is slowly ramping up. Might be a good idea to check out some of the other Hellmouths, see if one of them didn’t open up or something.”

“Just Cleveland right?”

“I’m no expert but I think there’s probably at least a couple more. Haven’t been active in ages, of that I’m sure. Went to Sunnydale in the first place to get Dru strong, there definitely weren’t any other ones active then. Cleveland woke up a few years ago. My guess is that a few more probably opened for business after the big Slayer-boom and we’re just now starting to see the up-tick.”

“Damn I wish that didn’t make sense to my tired brain. Alright man, one thing at a time. Missing girl. I’m hitting the sack. You two coming upstairs?”

Spike eyed Buffy sleeping soundly with one arm wrapped tightly around his lap, “Nah, I think we’re just going to kip here. This room doesn’t get direct sunlight, we should be good.”

“Your call man.”

“Cheers,” he murmured dismissively. He turned his gaze back towards Buffy, she looked almost like a child curled up the way she was. Adorable. He made an effort to make himself more comfortable without moving her too much as he snuggled down with her.

****************

The girls stampeded down the stairs for breakfast, waking Buffy up with a start. She was usually up before them. She gingerly moved Spike’s arm from across her upper body, as she tried to get up. She gave his shoulder a little shove, not realizing the precarious position he was in on the edge of the couch.

“Wh— ah!“ Spike yelped as he fell unceremoniously to the floor with a thud.

“Ohh! God, Spike! I’m sorry!!!” She squealed in response and leaned over the edge of the couch to look at him.

“Oofff,” he lifted his head and clunked it back down on the plush blue rug covering the floor, “Morning to you too, Pet,” he groaned.

“Sorry—“ she grimaced apologetically.

“Can think of a way you can make it up to me,” he said with a smirk.

Buffy rolled her eyes, “You can take it out on my hide later, I’m already running late.”

He scrubbed his fingers through his hair and down the back of his neck “Go on, teach, impart wisdom. I’m going upstairs until it’s time for my afternoon class.”

Buffy groaned as she got up and stretched her arms above her head. Spike sat up on the floor as he watched her with interest, “Wake me if you hear anything about Sheena’s sister, would you?”

“Faith didn’t have anything new I take it?”

“Nah, not a thing.”

She nodded once and got up. Spike followed her up to their room where Buffy quickly got changed and headed back down for coffee and her morning session with the girls.

It was late afternoon when Spike came down to the kitchen after his class. He was working with the Level 4 girls on resourcefulness and creative fighting techniques. Buffy and Faith had of course stressed the point while working with them but they all felt it was such an essential part of Slaying that Spike had agreed to take on the task. After all, Spike was undoubtedly just as creative and resourceful in his fighting as Buffy. Plus he offered a unique insight, that Buffy especially felt was essential for them to really grasp what it meant to be a Slayer.

Giles came into the kitchen just as Spike was making himself comfortable with his feet up on the corner of the table and a mug of blood in his hands. He eyed the vampire as he made himself a cup of tea and carefully managed to bring it to the table without spilling it. He raised a crutch knocking Spike’s booted feet off the table.

“Oh come on, mate, just got comfortable,” he whined petulantly.

“I’m really not in the mood right now, Spike,” he grumbled as he sat down in front of him.

Spike watched him, “Where you been all day anyway?”

“I’ve been making calls. Seems demonic activity, especially vampire activity has been on the rise. I just got a call from my man working with the Slayer in Cleveland, she’s asking if we can send a second Slayer to help with the increase. My contacts in Pittsburgh say things have gotten so bad that they have been quietly trying to encourage people to stay in after dark in some of the rougher neighborhoods. I’ve assured them I have two Slayers set to arrive by next week. I’ve never heard Spencer so relieved. He’s even offered to set up a loft apartment for them, rent free, in a building he owns.”

“This nice guy a Watcher?”

“One of the few left that actually observes my authority, or rather Buffy’s, I suppose would be more accurate. He had been teaching a group of trainees in an off the books location when the council was attacked. He and his students have agreed to work with us. Unfortunately that means that including his students and the surviving members of the council there are only about thirty Watchers willing to work with us here at the school. I had been planning on sending Zari to Vancouver to be closer to her family, however now I think she would be better suited for Cleveland.”

“And Wendy?”

“She’ll be working in Miami. She comes from a very wealthy family. They have a house there and she’ll be able to blend in with the party scene there rather easily. I believe she is rather looking forward to the placement.”

“Thought I smelled socialite when she was around.”

“Ah yes, she did have a particularly difficult time coming to terms with the calling, a bit like Buffy. Well a bit worse if I’m honest.”

“Can’t rightly picture Buffy being anything less than what she is.”

“Naturally. By the time you ehh… met her, Buffy had already largely come to terms with accepting her role.”

“First time I saw her I knew she was something special. Her resourcefulness always impressed me. Never could have imagined falling in love with her the way I did.”

“I don’t think anyone saw that coming.”

“Drusilla did.”

“Really?”

“Didn’t Buffy ever tell you? It’s why Dru left me in the first place. Told me she couldn’t stand to touch me because my head was full of the Slayer. Said a lot of things that turned out to be true, Dru did,” Spike took a deep drink of blood and tipped his head back for a moment. He straightened up looking at Giles, “you ever look into that thing we talked about when Buffy and I first got here?”

“The Hellmouths?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I’ve been doing some research, it’s been a bit slow. However what I’ve found seems to support your theory. That’s actually what prompted my phone calls today, Faith brought it up to me this morning.”

“We might’ve had a little chat last night.”

“Yes well the statistics I’ve been able to compile so far would suggest that smaller towns outside of Pittsburgh, Seattle and Chicago might be prime suspects in America as well as a small area outside of Strasbourg, France and— and possibly Dalkeith—“

“Dalkeith? You’re putting me on. Where Sheena is from?”

“These are only possible sites where Hellmouths could potentially be. This isn’t even considering if they are active or not. There could be any number of such places. However a pattern does seem to be emerging. All of these locations are near but not actually in large cities. Even Cleveland’s Hellmouth isn’t in the heart of the city. It’s located under a retirement village just on the outer edge of the city.”

“Sunnydale being close but not too close to LA.”

“Exactly, which does tend to both narrow and widen the search simultaneously.”

“Couldn’t Willow just do some sort of a locator spell or something? Maybe even tell us if they’ve been activated or not?”

Giles thought about it for a moment, “There is a fairly standard spell I’m sure she could modify,” Giles checked his watch, “Willow is at the library until closing tonight, I’ll have to call her tomorrow.”

“Dunno if it’s pressing or not, just an uneasy feeling. Maybe I’m just being paranoid because of the whole pillar-of-fire thing, don’t think I got another one of those in me.”

“No, I rather think not,” Giles shook his head.

“Any of these calls you been making have anything to do with our missing girl?”

“A few, I have some feelers out.”

Spike nodded. The two men sat in relaxed silence as Spike finished his blood and Giles sipped at his tea. The phone rang and Spike got up languidly to retrieve it. He looked at the number displayed on the handheld phone, it wasn’t Willow or Dawn or even Angel for that matter, so he handed the phone over to Giles.

Spike took his mug to the sink to wash it and set it in the dish drainer. He was just getting ready to leave the kitchen when Giles hung up the phone looking grave.

“What is it?”

Giles shook his head, “I’d rather not have to go over this more than once. Would you please go get Buffy? Faith too if she’s around but I believe she was getting a shower and going over to Mr Ross’s flat. She may have already left.”

“Is this about Ruby?”

Giles nodded and Spike’s stomach clenched.

A few minutes later Spike and Buffy we’re back in the kitchen with Giles, all three of them looking grim. Faith had already left for Callum’s.

“What’s the sitch? Spike said you had something on Ruby.”

Giles cleared his throat, “I just got a call back from a friend who works at one of the morgues. They got a report of a missing body and a dead assistant medical examiner in Dalkeith.”

Spike squeezed Buffy’s shoulder, she turned her face into his hand brushing her cheek against the back of the hand he had rested there. Buffy inhaled shakily, “Did you get a description of the missing body?” she asked. She turned back to look at Giles. She could read the answer on Giles’s face before he even opened his mouth, “It matches the description of Sheena’s missing sister.”

Buffy couldn’t speak. Sheena had just turned fifteen before they had arrived. Spike said there were five years between the girls and she knew they were close. Sheena would often talk about her sister. This was just too much. The whole situation seemed too surreal. A large stone dropped in the pit of Buffy’s stomach. At once her mind shot to an image she had in her head of Dawn while she had been dead. The thought made her want to throw up.

She felt a little surge of energy, mixed with love and steely resolve spread into her. It started at her shoulder under Spike’s hand, and spread through her. Her back muscles tensed almost of their own accord making her sit up more rigidly. She took another deep breath, this one much more steady, “What’s her family’s address? Spike and I will go tonight. We can canvas the area and—”

“I tried to call her mother again just now but there was no answer. I’ll try again before it gets dark.”

Buffy turned towards Spike, his jaw was set, she could tell he was thinking the same thing she was without even tapping into their link.

They had both seen it a number of times, a new vampire would often return home. Sometimes it was out of confusion or ignorance, sometimes it was out of malice. Whatever the reason, it never ended well.

Spike had been there, he’d done it. He’d killed his only living family, his dear mother, mere days after being turned. He caught sight of his own black polished fingernails and remembered Sheena insisting on doing them for him just before he and Buffy left for their weekend getaway. A pang of guilt shot through him.

“I’m grabbing a crossbow and a couple of stakes, you want anything?” He asked, standing up abruptly.

“I think I want my scythe for this one. Feels like official business.”

“What should I tell Sheena?”

Buffy and Spike exchanged a look, “We won’t be leaving right away. If she comes down, let her know her sister is missing and that Spike and I are going to check it out. Let her know there’s a possible vamp angle going on. I don’t want her completely blindsided if we have to dust her sister,” she glanced at Spike again, “Sometimes I really hate this job,” Buffy said a little tiredly. She wasn’t physically tired. It was more of the thought of explaining to Sheena that they had to kill her undead sister that was exhausting.

****************

Sheena’s parents lived in a large cottage just barely outside of town. The light over the front door was on, as was a light in what looked like the kitchen. Buffy knocked on the door and a disheveled looking woman with mousy brown hair came to the door.

She was fully dressed and her walking shoes had fresh mud on them, “You must be Miss Summers and Mr. Spike, we only just got home when Mr. Giles called to say you were coming over,” she choked back a sob and took a deep breath, “It’s so good of you to come out to help look for our girl. We’ve been out looking for hours.”

Buffy let out a little sigh of relief, at least Sheena’s parents were safe and Giles had finally got through to them, “We’re glad to help any way we can, do you mind if we come in, Mrs Anderson?”

“By all means, yes please, come in,” she said.

Buffy and Spike followed her and sat down at the kitchen table where her husband was sitting with a cup of tea in front of him.

“Tea?” she asked.

“Oh no thanks ma’am,” Spike murmured, “We can’t stay long. We just wanted to talk to you first.”

Buffy cleared her throat, “How much has Sheena told you about what we do at the castle and what she’s learning?”

Sheena’s parents glanced at each other and her mother put her fingers up to her lips, “Oh God, is this about vampires?” she asked in a hushed tone.

Spike huffed, “Just about everything is for us it would seem. But ehh— We really hope not. Giles did a little digging and one of the morgues reported an incident involving a missing body matching your daughter’s description,” Spike said as calmly and gently as he possibly could. It wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

Sheena‘s mother let out a stifled wail, “Oh God, not my baby!��

Buffy interjected, “We don’t know anything for sure yet that’s why we’re here. We need to go look for her. Do you have any recent photos we could use for confirmation?”

“Are you trying to tell us that one of those un-holy beasts took our daughter?” Mr. Anderson asked, his voice growing angry.

Spike looked him right in the eye, “We have reason to believe that she may have—“

“S—spike!” Buffy hissed, giving him a warning look.

He turned towards her, “We agreed they should be warned, yeah?”

“Warned about what?”

Buffy hesitated, “That there is a possibility she could have been turned. We’ve seen it before.”

Mrs Anderson fainted. Spike, who had anticipated such a reaction, was already on his feet and caught her before she could hit the floor.

“Maggie!” Mr. Anderson shrieked as he saw his wife collapse.

Spike picked up the woman in a bridal carry, “Got a place I can sit her down?”

Mr. Anderson nodded blankly, “Just through there, in the sitting room.”

Spike gave him a curt nod and carried her into the room, laying her down carefully on the couch. He came back into the kitchen, “She’ll be fine, good strong pulse. Just a bit of a shock, is all.”

Buffy turned towards the poor man at the table. He looked white as a sheet. He nodded glumly, “What does this mean for our girl? Is there some sort of cure or is she just—“

Spike fought the urge to laugh, “A cure for vampirism? No. Unless you call a stake to the heart a cure. Buffy and I have been doing this a long time.”

“We know vampires, trust me there’s no cure.”

“The person has to die first, that’s how vampires are made. They die. When they wake up all their memories, personality, speech patterns, the whole bloody lot, it's all still there but it’s not them. It’s a demon.”

“So if she has been turned, our daughter is dead and— and what? Her soul— what of her soul? Has she gone on? Is she at peace?”

Spike had to ponder that for a moment, he got his soul back, but from where exactly? He really didn’t know. It’s not like he had a separate set of memories that came along with it or anything, “I really can’t say. It’s a good—“

“Yes,” Buffy interrupted, “The soul does move on.”

Spike turned to her with a questioning look, “Buffy?”

She shook her head, she didn’t really know where it had come from, but somehow she knew it was true. At least to some degree. It probably depended on the person they were to begin with but she wasn’t going to say that. She wasn’t exactly a theologian. “I hum— I just realized something. It can wait. We should get moving,” Buffy stood up, “If Ruby shows up, don’t let her in. If she’s been turned she’ll need an invitation into the house. If she gets in you and your wife are dead and Sheena is an orphan at fifteen.”

Mr. Anderson’s gaze shifted towards the sitting room where his wife was laying on the couch. He nodded sadly, “What do we do?”

“Stay in the house, don’t open the door for anyone but us after dark. Don’t even go out in the yard. Unless Ruby shows up in broad sunlight, don't let her in no matter what she says. Call this number, extension 1,” Buffy handed him her card, “Spike— Mr. Spike and I will take care of it. Can we see that picture please?”

Mr. Anderson went over to a little table by the front door where a family photo sat by a bowl the family used for keys. Buffy and Spike followed him, “We have others but this was taken just before Sheena’s birthday.”

“Thank you,” she said, passing the picture over to Spike. He examined the photo, Ruby and Sheena were standing with their arms around the other’s waist and standing between their parents. A happy family. They looked a lot alike, both girls had sweet heart shaped faces and dark wavy hair.

Outside the cottage Spike lit up a cigarette and turned to Buffy, “Care to tell me what that was all about in there?”

Buffy reached into the car to grab her scythe and gestured her free hand indicating she wanted to take a walk around the property before they left. “I don’t know, really. It’s going to sound kinda crazy but I think I just put together some things I hadn’t before. Like super crazy-deep, floaty-warm-cozy-heaven type things.”

“I’m listening.”

“Exactly!”

Spike cocked his head to the side, “What?”

“I think you were there with me in heaven. Or William-you. Your soul I mean.”

“My– what? How do you figure that one? My soul was in— what? You’re not talking’ sense, Pet.”

“It’s crazy, I know. But I think you were there with me. Well the soul part anyway.”

“And you’re just bringing it up now?”

“I didn't put it together until now. I— I think that’s why I felt so comfortable with you when I came back… Maybe I somehow— I don’t know— maybe I recognized a tiny piece of you, your humanity maybe, or something William-y… and you were so easy to talk to. I think maybe that’s why I couldn’t just leave you alone after you came back to Sunnydale with your soul. Everyone, even you, asked me why I didn’t want you gone, I— I think somehow I was, I dunno… attracted to you… but like in a magnet kind of way.”

“Magnetic souls? And here I thought you just loved me for my body.”

Buffy punched him in the upper arm, “No you didn’t.”

He grinned, “No, I didn’t. But I still don’t get how you just put that together now.”

“I just never thought about it before. He asked the question in there and it just came to me. I know it doesn’t make any sense. It destroyed me when you died. I felt like I was walking around like half a person— it was almost like being ripped out of heaven all over again but without the overwhelming sensory issues— but that feeling went away when you came back.”

They both stopped walking and turned towards each other, “So you’re saying that even the soulful-poncey-William bit of me somehow tracked you down in heaven? Heaven?”

“Yeah, I think so. I— I don’t know. It sounds crazy right?”

He looked at her carefully thinking, then after a moment he shook his head, “Suppose not, Pet, not really. I can’t imagine any part of me not loving you completely. Not now, not after everything we’ve been through. I know my first thoughts after getting my soul back, right after ‘God the pain! Kill me now!’, were all about you. You and the things I did. What I tried to do to you. How I deserved you less than ever when I realized the magnitude of what I’d done. I knew I didn’t deserve you but I had to get back to you. Then the closer I got to Sunnydale, the more jumbled up my brain got, started seeing things, people… The First, obviously. It’s still a bit of a jumble in here at times but it’s a hell of a lot better than it was. Taking time in LA really helped sort a lot of it out.”

“I like the idea that you were there with me in some weird way. Even if you don’t have any memory of it. I know I was loved and I was safe, and I’m pretty sure your soul was part of that somehow. I feel like I get a tiny bit of that back when we’re together. It helps explain a few things about us that didn’t make sense to me for a long time.”

He snorted a puff of cigarette smoke, “You had questions about us? Fancy that.”

“Like you never have? There’s a bunch of poems in that journal of yours that say otherwise.”

“I— Course I have in the past; not so much since Paris.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him, “I know you. I know you still have doubts. Mostly about you and your truckload of a century's worth of insecurities. I know they’re not totally about us exactly, but I know you do, sometimes.”

“Bugger, we really are made for each other, you and I.”

“Looks like you were right all along.”

“Bound to be right about at least one thing every century or so.”

Buffy laughed weakly, “Are you picking up on anything out here?”

“Nope.”

“Me either, let’s do a sweep between here and the park and the cemetery, see what turns up.”

Spike nodded once in response, “Lead on Slayer.”

****************

The sweep of the cemetery and the park turned up two vampires but there was no sign of Ruby. They did a second sweep of the Anderson’s property and knocked on the door to check on Sheena’s parents again.

Mr Anderson welcomed them back inside, “Did you find her? Did you find our girl?” he asked as he led them back into the little kitchen.

Mrs Anderson had recovered and was sitting up with a pot of tea. She had a set of rosary beads clutched in her hand as she sipped a cup of tea. Her eyes were red and she looked like a strong breeze might knock her over.

Buffy swallowed painfully at the sight of her, “No, no sign of her yet. I’m sorry. I really wish we had better news for you.”

Mrs Anderson turned watery eyes to her, her voice cracked as she spoke, “W—we u-understand you are doing w-what needs to be done. I just— I can’t get past the idea that something so evil could be walking around in my baby’s b—body,” she choked on the last word and dissolved into fresh sobs.

Her husband went to her wrapping an arm around her, “We know you are doing what must be done but, I— I think perhaps it’s better if you leave. If she turns up we’ll call,” he said quietly looking from his sobbing wife to Buffy and Spike.

“Have you talked to Sheena yet?” Buffy asked.

“She— she called. She insisted we stay inside and— to trust you both. She wants to come home— but— if Ruby really has been turned—“ he shook his head, “Sheena is still so young, she shouldn’t see her sister like— like that.”

Spike dug his hands in his pockets, avoiding their eyes, “Sheena’s a good kid, one of the best. She’s in good hands at the castle.”

“She’s mentioned you Mr Spike, she says you and Miss Summers are exceptionally good at what you do. Killing these beasts.”

“We are, been at it for a good while now.”

He nodded sadly, “I can’t imagine it’s easy work.”

Buffy shrugged, “We do what we have to. But you’re right, some days are a lot harder than others.”

“I can’t imagine the toll it must take on you, or the toll it will eventually take on our Sheena, especially after— after this—-“

“We have a pretty incredible support system, and we’ll help her anyway we can.”

“I’m glad to hear it. God go with you both. If our girl is truly beyond saving; we hope she can at least find eternal rest,” Mr Anderson said softly.

“We’ll see ourselves out,” Spike murmured thickly.

#fanfic #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy fanfic #buffy x spike #spuffy #bound #spike x buffy

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koolkat9 · 3 years ago

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FrUk Week 2021: Day 4

@hetaliashipsweek

Prompt: Winter/Spring

Parings: Fruk

Word Count: 678

All the Ways to Warm Up

“God I’m freezing,” Arthur shrieked as he shuffled into his flat. Francis only chuckled which made Arthur even angrier. “Is my misery funny frog?”

“Always mon cher.”

“Fuck you!” Despite the harsh tone, Francis only laughed more, pulling Arthur closer by the waist.

“I think I may have a way to warm you up,” the Frenchman whispered.

Arthur’s face heated up. “You pervert! It's the middle of the day.”

“I didn’t mean that! Though now that you mention it…”

Arthur gave him a smack on the arm. “No.”

“Okay, Okay,” he said, putting his hands up in defense, “I was just thinking of drawing us a nice warm bath, then maybe some tea or something.”

Arthur pursed his lips, his eyes drifting to the side. A bath did seem nice, but even after all these years of dating and the fact Francis always seemed to know what he needed, Arthur still found himself reluctant to give in to the requests. “I...I...That actually sounds nice. J-Just don’t try anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Francis’ arm wrapped around Arthur’s shoulder and the two-headed towards the bathroom.

---

“Give. Me. The. Washcloth,” Arthur growled as he reached up to grab the object Francis was waving above them.

“I’ll wash you.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Come on,” Francis whined, pulling Arthur closer.

When did he stop being able to tell this man no? With a sigh, Arthur settled against Francis, his back against his lover's chest. The Frenchman quickly got to work, starting with the arms, moving to the torso, then back. He was gentle, slow, it made Arthur shiver and not from the cold. By the time he was finished, Arthur had sunk lower into the water, content and warm. Francis let out a light laugh before grabbing some shampoo and lathering it into Arthur’s hair, earning a hum of approval from the Englishman.

“Okay my turn,” Francis cheered after rinsing Arthur off. He swore he heard the Brit groan, but considering Arthur was in a good mood, he didn’t say anything. Arthur turned himself to face Francis and returned the favour. Francis found himself blushing at how tender Arthur was being as he scrubbed him over.

“What?” Arthur asked as he finished rinsing Francis off.

“Nothing...Just...This is nice.” Francis’ hands found their way into Arthur’s hair and began playing with it, spiking the wet strands up.

“Yeah...I guess it is.” Before Arthur knew it a pair of soft lips were against his as he was pushed to the other end of the tub. Francis’ tongue slipped into Arthur’s mouth and began prodding at the Brit’s own tongue. As much as he was enjoying this, Arthur wasn’t really up for things getting heated especially in the bath, so before things got out of hand he pulled away. “We need to get out,” he said softly. Francis pouted slightly, but agreed as soon as Arthur pressed a kiss to his forehead.

---

Soon enough, the two lovers were settled in the living room, tea in hand and a blanket draped over their laps. “Warm now mon amour?” Francis asked, wrapping his arm around Arthur’s shoulder.

“Mhm. Are you?”

Francis smirked and Arthur immediately regretted asking. “I’m still a little cold, maybe you could warm me up?”

With a groan, Arthur settled himself against the armrest of the couch and opened his arms to Francis. The playful look in Arthur’s eye however made it clear he wasn’t as mad as he was letting on. The Frenchman scurried over, making himself comfortable on Arthur’s chest. The Brit tried to bite back a laugh, but it only turned into a snort as he pulled the blanket over them.

“Better,” Arthur asked, hand running through Francis’ hair.

“Ouais.”

Finally situated, Arthur began flipping through the channels of the T.V. finding nothing on. He eventually landed on a station showing a bunch of old movies and left it at that. It didn’t matter in the end as Arthur found his eyes drooping. When he looked over to Francis, the man wasn't fairing much better, his eyes closed and his breath softening. Arthur smiled at the sight before placing a light kiss on the top of Francis' head and joining his lover in an afternoon nap.

#frukweek2021 #frukweek #hetalia #hws #fruk #ukfr #hws england #hws france #winter #cold #cuddling #bathing together #fluff #i had a little writers block with this one despite having two ideas for the story #but i got through it #fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction

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lisbonsteresa · 4 years ago

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You’re Once (In Any Lifetime)

🥳 🥳 HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAY( @eddiediaz)!!!! 🥳 🥳 (little late is better than never fingers crossed. a little something for my drew crew bestie who i have never yelled at, cajoled into watching a show, or threatened with a knife emoji. hope you like the...kind of au of the au of the - let’s just call it the 7th generation of an au 😘)

___

“She’s lingering again.”

“Call a spade a spade Bess.” George grumbled as she entered the kitchen with an armful of dirty dishes. “At this point she’s loitering.”

Nick glanced up from where he was reviewing that month’s order form at the prep table with a slight grin. “Don’t know if you can go that far. I mean she did pay for her dinner.”

“Oh please,” George shot back with a roll of her eyes. “It’s been 45 minutes since she paid her bill and she’s still nursing that iced tea like it’s a long island.” As if she knew they were talking about her, the redhead in the corner booth looked up from her glass and gave a small, unsure smile across the sparsely-seated dining room in their direction. She did not receive any in response.

“What I don’t understand is why she keeps coming here, of all places. I mean it’s not like our food is good.” An offended grunt came from Bess’s right, and she spun around to see the Claw’s cook pressing a burger to the grill with a wounded expression.

“Oh no, Charlie,” she backtracked frantically, hands held out in a feeble attempt to placate the older man. “I just meant compared to what they must have at the yacht club.”

Charlie gave a noncommittal shrug, apparently forgiving the unintended slight before moving down the line where he hopefully missed Bess’s whispered “Or anywhere else…”

“Guys, come on.” Ace cut in, voice calm and measured even as he scrubbed determinedly at a rusting lobster pot. “It’s not like we don’t have other customers keeping us here. What’s so bad about Nancy lingering a bit?”

“The fact that she’s not just ‘Nancy’, Ace.” George admonished as she tipped her dishes into the full sink in front of him, raising the water level until it sloshed dangerously close to the edge. “She’s Nancy Hudson. You know how the hill-toppers treat us townies -”

“When they’re not wheeling and dealing in back rooms to screw us over while they’re sitting pretty in their ivory towers.” Nick interrupted, his attention still on the sheet in front of him.

“Exactly.” George gave her boyfriend an appreciative look as she leaned up against the prep table next to him. “And now what, I’m supposed to be happy that one of them deigned to grace us with her presence?”

“Yes, and I had to take her hill-topper order.” Bess lamented, pouting near the line window until she noticed Nick looking at her with raised eyebrows. “What?”

“You know you’re a hill-topper, right Bess?”

She turned towards him, her expression scandalized and defensive. “That is completely different, Mr. Multimillionaire.” (Nick held his hands up in amused defeat). “I only just became a Marvin; I wasn’t born and raised a hill-topper, unlike some people.”

“Besides,” she glanced back across the dining room with an insulted wrinkle of her nose, “the Hudsons and Marvins are long-standing enemies; it was humiliating to have to serve one of them.”

“The Hudsons and Marvins, maybe, but not you and Nancy.” Ace countered, leaning the lobster pot against the back of the drying rack before reaching into the increasingly murky water to start on George’s dishes. “You two barely know each other.”

Bess paused, playing with her necklace and staring into space as if considering this fact for the first time. “Well, I guess that’s true…"

“And she’s been spending her gap year here in town volunteering and helping Hannah Gruen set up a scholarship with the Historical Society.” Ace continued with a glance over his shoulder at Nick.

“I mean, that’s great, but -” Nick stopped, eyes narrowing “wait, how do you know that?”

Ace’s hands paused their motions, just for a fraction of a second, before he resumed rinsing a plate and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Must’ve seen it in the paper somewhere.” He muttered offhandedly. “And -”

“And nothing.” George cut him off, crossing her arms across her chest with a scowl. “A few good deeds don’t change the fact that this time next year she’ll be 300 miles away with a full ride to some Ivy League school just because of her last name, and the rest of us will still be stuck here cleaning grease traps in an old clam shack.” Ace’s shoulders tensed more and more with every word that left her mouth. “And since when did you start defending Hudsons anyway?”

“I’m not defending the Hudsons, I’m defending Na-” Ace spun around to face the room and froze, realizing that his raised voice had turned three sets of interested eyes in his direction. (Well, four, if you counted Charlie.) “I’m not defending anybody.” he continued after a beat. “I’m just saying you can’t help who your family is, and at least she’s trying to be better than hers. It wouldn’t kill you guys to try and see that.”

No one said anything - this was the most upset any of them had seen Ace get since the time that nor'easter put a tree branch through Florence’s windshield. “Anyway, dishes are done; I’m gonna take my break.”

He tossed the towel that had been slung over his shoulder down onto the counter and stomped down the steps towards the storeroom. The back door slammed shut a moment later, and the others turned back towards the dining room to see that Nancy had at last abandoned her iced tea and was heading towards the exit with the air of someone in a rush trying very hard to appear relaxed.

“So…” Bess began, her eyes flicking back and forth between Nancy’s booth and the door. “when do we tell him we saw them making out by the loading dock last Thursday?”

“I say we make him sweat for a bit.” George said with a shrug as she straightened and headed out to clear the table. “Serves him right for thinking he could keep something like this from us.” Bess and Nick shared an amused smile behind her, then got back to their own work.

If any of them noticed that Ace arrived back from his break 20 minutes late with his hair in disarray, they kept it to themselves.

_____

“Great. I’m going to be picking seaweed out of my hair for a week. Thanks a lot Bess.”

Bess paused her efforts to wring out her dress to shoot an incredulous look in George’s direction. “I’m sorry, how is this my fault!?”

“It’s my birthday George!” Came the response in a mocking imitation of the Brit’s accent. “Just close for inventory George! It’ll be fun George!”

“Well excuse me for trying to enjoy a nice beach day!” Bess shot back. “How was I supposed to know we’d be attacked by that kelkey-whatever??”

“Kelpie.” Nick corrected, stopping the bickering for a moment while all three turned their attention towards the redhead kneeling in the sand and frantically running her hands over a soaking wet and slightly dazed Ace. “That’s what you called it, right?”

The second Nancy realized she was being addressed, her hands dropped from Ace’s body like they had been burned. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, a kelpie. They’re Scottish horse spirits that drag their victims underwater and devour them. That silver necklace Bess had was its bridle, and -” she paused, looking around to see the others staring blankly at her.

“Sorry.” Her voice sounded almost sheepish. “I volunteer over at the historical society a lot, and there’s some…interesting stuff in their archives.” Another moment passed. No one’s expression changed.

“…Anyway the bridle can be used to control it, so I think it attacked you to try and get it back. And since you didn’t know what it was, it just seemed easier to grab it and toss it then try and explain why it was making the giant horse spirit angry.” She finished with a weak grin, as if she’d been explaining the weather and not the most terrifying thing most of them had ever seen.

No one spoke for a while longer, and then Bess’s quiet “Oh.” broke the silence. “Well…okay. For a second I thought you just really didn’t like my necklace.”

The tension broken, the others looked at her with varying levels of amusement before she let out a gasp and turned to address Nancy directly. “Wait my cousin Cassidy gave me that last night! You don’t think…”

“I don’t think she knew what it was.” Nancy replied with an almost fond smile. “When the historical society got the request to put the necklace in one its deposit boxes, the record just said it was a Marvin family heirloom; brought over aboard the Governance.”

“And the kelpie followed it all the way here?” Nick asked, eying Nancy sideways as he tried to shake water out of his ear.

She shrugged. “There are some records that say kelpies are bound to follow their bridles, wherever they go. They can’t leave the water though, so it could have gotten into the bay and then…gotten lost, I guess.” Bess was already nodding along as if everything Nancy was saying made perfect sense. “We didn’t realize the necklace was anything out of the ordinary until Cassidy came to request it and Hannah thought she recognized it from her research.”

“Well good thing she did, or this might’ve been Bess’s last birthday.” George smirked. “Never thought I’d say this,” she continued, ignoring her friend’s offended huff and turning towards Nancy, “but I’m glad you were around, Hudson.”

“Thanks.” Nancy sounded like she wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered or insulted by the statement. “I was looking for you guys, actually. When we realized what the necklace was, we called Cassidy and she said she’d given it to you for your birthday, and since you were coming to the beach Hannah and I were worried that getting it too close to the water might -”

“Wait, how did you know we’d be at the beach?” Bess interrupted.

Nancy stilled, her eyes darting over to a still-groggy Ace then back to the others so quickly that they might have missed it had they not been watching her so closely. “I must have overheard it the last time I was at the Claw.” Her voice was measured; almost deliberately calm. “When it’s slow there your voices tend to carry.”

Bess and Nick gave each other an uneasy sidelong glance at Nancy’s implication, while George’s expression grew into something approaching begrudging respect. “Anyway,” Nancy stood, brushing sand off her pants and looking anywhere but in Ace’s direction, “I should get back to Hannah and let her know everything’s okay. See you around.”

She turned and started heading towards the parking lot, and Ace watched with worried eyes as his friends had a rapid fire non-verbal conversation. Bess nodded towards Nick, who responded with a shrug. They both looked over at Ace with small smiles, then turned to George; Nick with one eyebrow raised in question and Bess with what could only be described as puppy dog eyes. George glanced at Ace before letting out a labored sigh and rolling her eyes as she called down the beach: “Hey Hudson!”

Nancy turned, hands twisting in the strap of the messenger bag. “You wanna meet us at the Claw after we get cleaned up?” George asked. “We’re closed for inventory - it’d be a good place to talk about all…this.” (Bess cleared her throat pointedly.) “And we have cake for Bess’s birthday.”

The smile that bloomed on Nancy’s face was beaming, even at a distance. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

______

It had been three weeks since the kelpie incident, and for all intents and purposes, Nancy had settled in as the fifth member of their little group. She and Bess had gotten along almost immediately, despite some awkward encounters when they had run into family while together.

Nick had warmed to her considerably once she started helping him with his plans for a youth center in town. (It certainly hadn’t hurt that she’d ‘misplaced’ her grandfather’s application for the building on Spring St. until Nick’s bid had already closed).

And while George and Nancy bickered almost constantly, they (usually) did it with smiles on their faces. If asked, they might not call each other ‘friends’, but they were definitely heading in a good direction.

The first Friday afternoon of July found them sprawled out across the dining table of Nick’s loft, brainstorming ideas for that year’s ‘Still Summer at the Bayside Claw’ event. (Or rather found most of them. Truth be told, Bess’s focus might have been more on her online shopping.) They’d been working for an hour or so when a noise like the rapid honking of a clown nose suddenly interrupted the conversation.

“Shit,” Ace muttered, grabbing his phone and snoozing the alarm, “I’m going to be late for Shabbat.” He gathered his things in a rush, exchanged a quick “Bye” and kiss with Nancy, then froze.

His eyes moved rapidly between the others - Nancy’s wide-eyed panic; George’s look of shock and disgust; Nick’s eyebrows shooting up his forehead; Bess’s almost giddy expression - before seeming to make a decision.

“Uh…Nick,” he croaked out before anyone could react any further, making his way over to where his friend was sitting with an air of forced normalcy and kissing him like it was something he did every day. “thank you for having me.”

“See you tomorrow, Bess.” He continued, leaning over and giving her a peck on the cheek, causing a giggle to escape her barely-maintained composure.

He turned towards the other end of the table, eying George the way an antelope might eye a lion. “George -”

“Don’t even think about it.” She cut him off with a glare.

“Right. ‘Course.” He glanced around the room one last time as he backed towards the door, eyes skipping over Nancy as if he was afraid of what his expression might reveal if he focused at all on her. “Um, have a good night everyone.” And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him as his rapid footsteps echoed down the hallway.

A minute passed in complete silence, then another.

Nick looked absolutely mystified, his fingers stuck halfway to his lips like he couldn’t quite comprehend what had just happened. George’s grimace was slowly turning into an amused smirk, and Bess looked seconds away from breaking into complete hysterics.

Another minute passed before Nancy, staring at the table with a face almost as red as her hair, broke the silence. “So…how long have you guys known?”

“Since before the kelpie incident.” George answered bluntly, while Nick shook off his daze and turned his attention towards Nancy and Bess took a calming breath and tried to bite back her laughter.

“Oh.”

Nancy’s eyes darted between the table and the door as if trying to decide if it would be worse to try and explain herself or just cut her losses and run. “Ok, well, we were going to tell you, we just -”

“You can relax Nancy.” Nick cut in, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch, but finally turned to see an understanding smile on his face. “You wouldn’t be here right now if any of us still had a problem with you.”

Bess nodded rapidly, reaching across the table to cover one of Nancy’s hands with her own. “You make Ace happy, and that’s what really matters to us."

A wobbly smile began to grow on Nancy’s face, before she blinked and turned towards George with apprehension and a bit of challenge in her eyes.

George’s expression stayed firm until Nick cleared his throat and gave her a pointed look. She sighed and rolled her eyes, but the grin she gave Nancy was genuine.“Plus I guess you’re not horrible.”

That pulled a laugh from Nancy, even as she blinked back touched tears she knew George would make fun of. “Thanks guys. I really appreciate that.”

(To say Ace was confused when she walked into the Claw the next morning and kissed him in the middle of the dining room would be an understatement, but he definitely wasn’t complaining.)

#(also please don't judge me i did like .5 seconds of research on kelpies on wikipedia and manipulated that information to suit my needs)#anyway hope you had a wonderful birthday weekend; hope this year will make you happier (and clownier [honk honk]) than any before it #💕💕💕💕💕#nancy drew cw #ndff

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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Riding High

Ch1:Jodhpurs And Jeans

Chapter Summary: After a passing comment from his well-meaning neighbour, land-lady and friend, Frank decides that before he enrols her into school Mary needs to learn some social skills and pick up a hobby to help her interact with kids her own age.

Mary decides she wants to learn how to ride…

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words.

Chapter Pairings: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: So yeah, this one’s been buzzing in my head for AGES now. As you all know, I’m a Brit so I’m REALLY sorry if too much British horsey lingo slips into this…ASK away if you don’t understand. As means of an explanation in the UK we have 3 main types of stables. We have Riding Schools (which focus solely on providing riding lessons), Livery Yards (which are places where owners board their horses) and Equestrian Centres (which do both). After a bit of research it seems that EC also translates across the pond and means the same thing so…just bear with me on this and run with it!

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 High Masterlist // Main Masterlist

August 2017

“I’m holding you solely responsible for this.” Frank shot Roberta a glare as Mary bounced over to the truck, her blonde hair swinging slightly as she skipped.

“All I said was that it might be useful to have her interact with kids her own age before you throw her into a school, which for the record, I still think is a dumbass idea Frank.” “Input noted and duly ignored…” Frank rolled his eyes “She needs to go to school. Have some kind of variant on a normal childhood.”

Roberta took a deep breath and simply shrugged “On your head be it.”

“Come on Frank!” Mary shouted, standing up on the ledge of the truck “we’re gonna be late!”

“It’s 20 minutes tops to Pinellas Park…” Frank looked at her “We got half an hour, chill out Stack”

“My name’s Mary not Short Stack…” she sing songed back.

“Don’t I know it…” Frank said, looking at her before he turned back to Roberta “I’ll see you later.”

“Hmmm” she nodded, and with that he rolled his eyes again and headed to the truck.

“You know you’re not actually gonna get to ride anything today right?” he asked, turning to his niece.

“No, but I’m still gonna see the ponies.” she said, smiling. “Why can’t we bring Fred?”

“Because a horse might step on him.” Frank shrugged, before he paused. “Actually, shall we take him?” Mary narrowed her eyes at him “That’s mean.” He chuckled, ruffled her hair and started up the truck. **** “Ok, now soften your outside hand…” Fliss called out across the paddock, as the woman riding the tall, black warmblood circled her “Yeah, you feel that. He’s taking the contact now, not leaning against your hand. So when you feel that softening, that’s when you need to push with your inside leg…and if is he isn’t listening a soft tap up with the stick…” She watched again from behind her Oakley wraparounds, smiling as the horse extended nicely down the long side of the school.

“Yeah, there you go!” she shouted encouragingly, “Now bring him round again and this time at the corner, pop him into canter…” She took a quick glance at her watch. She was running slightly behind, but what else was new? She would never leave a lesson, regardless, until her client had achieved something, even if it was what they dubbed a small victory. End on a high was her motto, and this was no different. Ever since Lucy had brought Captain out of his stable, Fliss could see the horse was in one of his awkward moods so she’d had to switch out her plan a little. It had worked and he’d settled after about 15 minutes of being an obstinate shit and he was working quite nicely.

“Good!” She shouted, pacing slightly “Now let’s see if we can extend this a little…” Lucy sat up tall, pushed through her legs and the horse bounded down the side. Fliss grinned, less than 6 months ago Lucy hadn’t even been able to keep the horse in a trot, now here she was producing an extended canter. Moments like this made her job so worthwhile…

“Ok, bring him back down…” she said, “And into trot…and walk…”

Fliss headed over to her client and smiled as she walked alongside her “That was really good Luce…you happy?” “I’m over the moon!” The teenager grinned “I can’t believe it…he went so well!”

“Yeah because you rode him well.” Fliss smiled “You know, I seriously think you should consider a Dressage Competition.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do. I know you don’t have a horse of your own but you can borrow Cap if you want…have a think about it.” “I will, thanks Fliss.”

Fliss smiled, gave the horse a pat and headed back to the gate.

“Joanne?” she called, and one of her grooms appeared. “Can you just supervise Lucy cooling him off. I’ve got someone bringing their daughter in at 11 am that should be here any time soon.”

“Sure.” Joanne nodded “Oh, they back barn has been mucked out but I’ve not had chance to scrub the water buckets out.” “It’s ok, you can do it after lunch” Fliss nodded. “the automatics are getting installed in a month or so which should make it a little easier.”

She patted Joanne on the shoulder and made her way into the office. Reaching for a file she dug out a Registration Form and a Liability Waiver and set them on the desk before she took a quick glance in the mirror. Satisfied that her auburn hair was tamed and there was no hay stick in it she nodded to herself and walked back on the yard, just in time to see a tall, well build dark haired man desperately trying to control a blonde haired girl who was looking around in glee and pointing.

“Hi…” she walked over, momentarily stuck by how damned good looking this guy was. He was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt which perfectly accentuated his tone upper body. His chiselled jawline which was covered in a short, stubbled beard, soft spikey dark hair, and he flashed her a smile that made the corners of his aviator covered eyes crinkle. A smile that made her clear her throat. “I’m Fliss, you must be Mr Adler.”

Frank looked at the woman in front of him, glad that his glasses hid the fact he was blatantly eyeing her up and down. Dressed in a pair of long riding boots, tight navy blue jodhpurs with a white belt around the top, and a tight pink polo shirt he could see every curve she possessed. But it was the smile she flashed him that made him feel like some kind of teenage school kid again. “Frank, please.” “Nice to meet you Frank.” Fliss smiled, noting how deep his voice sounded, it was much more gravelly than on the phone and there was a Boston twang to his accent. She shook his hand, his palm and fingertips slightly calloused against her skin, and then turned to Mary “And what can I call you Miss?” “Mary.” the little girl infomed her, looking up “Are all these horses yours?”

Fliss chuckled. “No not all of them. Eight belong to me. Two are my personal ones, then I have 6 that work in the riding school and the other six are boarders.” “Oh.” Mary pondered, looking around. “So which one can I ride?” “Mary…” Frank chastised her softly as he looked down at her, before glancing back at Fliss “Sorry, she’s excited.” Fliss laughed and shook her head “It’s fine, I love to see it.”

She turned to Mary and then in an exaggerated whisper so that Frank could here said “I’ll let you into a secret, I always put the new kids on Monty because he’s awesome and looks after everyone and he especially likes girls. He’s a ladies man. You wanna meet him?” Mary nodded eagerly and Fliss looked up at Frank, seeking his permission. He nodded and gestured with his head and she straightened up before leading Mary across the yard to the barn on the opposite side.

Frank stayed where he was for a moment, watching her ass as she walked before he mentally slapped himself and followed.

Fliss led them both into the airy barn, pushing up her sunglasses and down to 2 of the smaller stables at the far end. She stopped at one that contained a small, grey pony who gave a little nicker and stuck his head over the door.

“Monty, meet Mary.” she said with a smile as Mary gently reached up to stroke the pony’s soft nose.

“He’s really pretty.” Mary nodded, appraisingly.

“Yeah he’s awesome.” Fliss smiled, “And he’s a good boy too.” “Can I go in the stable?” Mary asked.

“Erm… if your dad says it’s ok?” Fliss looked at Frank who was tucking his sunglasses down the front of his shirt.

“I’m not her dad.” Frank shook his head “I’m her uncle.” “Oh, sorry.” Fliss frowned “I just assumed.”

“I get it a lot.” he waved her apology away “But I am her legal guardian so…”

Fliss nodded, studying him for a moment. There was clearly a bit more to that story but it wasn’t her business to pry.

“Can I?” Mary looked at him and he nodded.

“Ok so, Monty is really good and nothing scares him but with all horses you should always be quiet and not jump or shout.” Fliss instructed and Frank had to smile as Mary nodded seriously. He hadn’t seen her this engrossed in anything other than books for a long time. Maybe Roberta had been right.

Fliss unbolted the stable door and walked in, leading Mary in after her. She showed her where he liked to be scratched and Mary giggled as she rubbed at the spot on the pony’s withers and he began to tilt his head to the side, lips moving against Fliss’s arm as he nuzzled into her.

“What’s he doing?” Mary asked.

“It’s called grooming.” Fliss explained “So he is mimicking what you’re doing to him by doing it to me, see? It’s how they show affection in the wild. Sometimes they can get a bit carried away and they nip but they don’t mean to be nasty or bite.”

She looked over to Frank, keeping one eye on the small girl who was engrossed in petting Monty and looked at him “So, are you just after her learning to ride then or…” Frank nodded “It’s a long story but, she needs a hobby and this was the only thing that seemed to get her excited. Of course it would be the one that will milk me dry.” he raised his voice a little.

“Spend less money on beer when you go out tonight” she shot back, and Fliss gave a loud bark of a laugh as Frank, shook his head.

“See what I gotta put up with?” he snorted.

“You should talk to my dad about it.” She grinned. “I bled him dry due to horses as a kid, especially when I was up and down the UK competing!” “I was gonna say your accent isn’t local.” He said, smiling.

“Neither is yours.” she shot back “Boston, am I right?” He cocked his head, momentarily surprised. He didn’t think his accent was that strong considering.

“Yeah.” he nodded, “But I aint lived there in a while.” “I lived in Concorde” she explained, noticing his puzzled glance

“Huh, no kidding.” he smiled “Cambridge.” “Nice city.” Fliss smiled “I loved it.”

“What made you end up here?”

Fliss hesitated for a while. “Erm..” “Sorry, you don’t need to explain, I was just a little curious.” “No, it’s fine, just a long and complicated story.” Fliss scratched her temple “The abridged version is my marriage broke down and my mum and dad retired out here so I joined them.” She was avoiding his eyes slightly. Frank was smart enough to realise there was slightly more to it than that but he was tactful enough not to press. Besides, it was really none of his business.

“How about you? What you running from?” “What makes you think I’m running from anything?” he looked at her.

“Aren’t we all?” she looked at him, her deep brown eyes locked onto his.

He hesitated for a moment and then shrugged “Again, a long and complicated story but I wanted to give Mary a life away from hassle. And there was a lot of that in Boston.” He held her gaze and she simply nodded, before turning back to Mary.

“Ok Mary, how about we head into the office, get some forms signed and we can see about booking you in for your first lesson?” Frank watched as Fliss explained the importance of the kick-bolt on the bottom of the stable and showed her how to lock it before they three of them headed back onto the yard.

“Fliss, sorry to interrupt but do you want Cap and Bolt turned out?” a young girl with blonde hair approached them.

“Yeah, they’re not working today.” Fliss said, “But take them one at a time. Bolt’s taking to being a bit bargey. If he starts wrap the lead-rope round his nose.” “Will do.” “Thanks Jo.” she smiled, and the continued.

“What’s bargey?” Mary asked.

“Pushy.” Frank looked at her “Bossy.” “Like you?” Frank shot her a look and saw Fliss smiling to herself as she overheard.

“Or it could mean pain in the ass like you.” he shrugged. “Rude.” Mary shot back as Fliss opened the door to the office. Frank leaned over to hold it open.

“Thanks.” she looked at him smiling. He stepped in after Mary and they both stood, looking around taking it all in.

There was a large photo on the wall to the left, of someone, he presumed Fliss, on a horse jumping an obscenely high fence. On the wall at the back was a number of shelves, one containing files and the others a few more framed photos, one taken outside the gates to the yard of Fliss and a few others, he assumed her staff, and the other contained a number of trophies and a…

“Woah!” Mary said, scooting over “Is that yours?” “Sure is.” Fliss beamed, reaching up to retrieve the box frame. She led it flat on the desk and Mary scrambled up onto the chair to take a closer look.

The frame was split into two. On the right hand side was a photo of Fliss dressed in competition gear, navy jacket, red piping, white jodhs and a navy hat. She had a smile on her face that was literally ear to ear and round her neck sat the gold medal which was displayed in the left of the frame.

“London 2012…” Mary read the small plaque at the bottom “Frank, look…” “I can see.” he nodded, surprise evident in his tone. He looked at the woman “You were in the Olympics?” “Yeah.” she smiled “Only one though. Trained for years to get there…”

“Why only one?” Mary looked at her.

“Mary.” Frank groaned “Stop being nosey.” “It’s ok.” Fliss chuckled “A few months later at the World Championships later that year I had a nasty accident. I damaged my back and it took me nearly six months to recover. Sadly I lost my place on the team.” “Oh, that’s sad.” Mary looked at her.

“It’s a dog eat dog world kid.” Fliss shrugged “Not all bad though, I got into the training side of things which was great. Just my professional career didn’t work out.” There was a moments pause and Fliss replaced the photo and turned to Frank “Can I get you anything to drink?” “No, I’m good thanks.” he smiled.

“Ok, so…” Fliss said, “Mary I’m gonna need my seat back sweetie.” Mary obligingly jumped back down and Fliss took her vacated place, gesturing to the chair by the desk. Frank sat in it and Mary immediately jumped into his lap, her bare legs brushing slightly as she swung them to and fro.

“I have a few forms that you need to fill in and sign.” she said, apologetically “Legal stuff, contact details, waivers, that kind of thing. Safety is paramount at Sandybrook but, accidents to happen. Horse riding can be a dangerous sport…falls happen… as I know only too well.” Frank smiled and nodded.

“But I can give you those to take home, you can bring them with you when you come back.” Fliss reached into her desk drawer. She pulled out a glossy leaflet and opened it. “Our price list is here. I’m not a huge outfit, I don’t have more than 3 kids on a lesson at a time. Mainly because I don’t have the horses but I prefer to focus on the students, not the profit. I try to keep overheads down as much as I can to keep the costs low…”

She bit her lip, she hated this part of the job, the sales patter as her dad called it. “So it really depends on what you want to do as to how expensive it is. Group lessons are $20 for forty five minutes and individual lessons are $30 for thirty. I do always insist on an individual lesson first, but that’s discounted to $20 for the first one.” Frank nodded, it wasn’t cheap but they’d manage. He’d already explained to Mary that she wouldn’t be able to do it every week, but he could certainly stretch to once a fortnight.

“That’s reasonable.” he said after a pause.

Fliss smiled “I’ve only been open a year or so now, but I’m planning on starting up a few Own a Pony days where the kids can come down and learn how to care for the horses as well as just ride. But that’s all in the planning stages.” “Well you have a good set up.” he said, and she beamed back.

“Thank you, a lot of graft went into setting it up. My mom and dad’s retirement didn’t start out quite as quiet as they had planned!”

“I can imagine.”

“Ok,so…the real expensive outlay is gonna come at the start.” she said, turning to Mary “You’ll need some boots and a hat kiddo.” Mary grinned up at Frank.

“I do have hats I can loan for a few lessons but it is better if they have their own.” she looked at Frank. “It’s the one thing I don’t recommend getting second hand. But boots and jodhpurs etcetera you can pick up on e-bay and the like.” Frank nodded “And the hat?”

“There’s a great store not far from here…hang on…” she dug in her drawer again and produced a flier. “Here… the kid stuff is pretty reasonable to be fair, you’re probably looking at about $30 for a decent hat but they’ll help you out. If you take my brochure in you’ll get a 20% discount too.”

Mary took the flier from her and began examining it.

“That’s really it.” Fliss said, as she completed her mental check list “So all that’s left is to either book you in or you can call me…” “Please Frank!” Mary looked at him “Can we book?” Frank nodded “If you want.” “I do…” “Ok…what availability do you have?” Fliss opened the laptop and entered the diary and looked for a free spot.” “Does Wednesday at one suit?” she offered “I know once school starts you’ll probably want a weekend or evening but. whilst it’s the holidays does that work?”

Frank nodded “Yeah that’s fine. I can jiggle work around” Fliss tapped on the keyboard and smiled “All booked. If you want to leave me your number I send a text update out the night before just as a reminder.” Frank smiled, and gave out her number which she stored in the diary slot and then clicked saved “All done…guess I’ll see you Wednesday.” “Thanks.” he smiled “And thanks for showing us around.” “Not a problem.” she shook her head “Always important the clients get the tour of the place, to make sure they like it.” “Its awesome.” Mary looked up “Can we go here on the way home.” Frank sighed and looked at Fliss raising an eyebrow. She laughed.

“Yeah, get used to it. Once you get that horse smell on your hands it’s kind of an addiction.” “Frank hates animals.” Mary shrugged.

“I don’t hate animals.” Frank shook his head.

“You hate Fred.” “No, I don’t”

“You said before we should bring him so a horse steps on him.” Frank inwardly groaned as Fliss gave a chuckle.

“Fred is my cat.” Mary explained.

“Good name.” Fliss said “I have a few yard cats hanging around, they keep the mice at bay. And that reminds me, I haven’t seen Thor in a while…”

“Thor?” Mary looked at her

“Yeah, my dog…” Fliss stood up and opened the office door, giving a sharp whistle. “He never goes far.” As if on cue a large german shepherd came lolling down the yard to greet them. Frank eyed the dog, it was huge. Mary, right on cue jumped down off his lap.

“Can I stroke him?” “Go right ahead.” Fliss said, she looked at Frank and spotting his face she smiled “He’s a softie, looks the part though.” “Well I wouldn’t mess put it that way.” Frank snorted, standing up.

“Is he named after the Avenger?” Mary looked up “I love those films.”

“Sure is, he used to have a brother called Loki too but, well he died.”

Thor gave Mary a lick causing her to giggle before he flopped onto his side raising his paw.

“He wants a belly rub.” Fliss smiled, and Mary dropped to her knees to give the dog a tickle. His tail began to wag furiously on the floor and Mary laughed.

Frank watched the girl, smiling. He loved seeing her like this. She was so grown up and serious half the time, he yearned to see her acting like a normal seven year old. He was reticent to drag her away for that reason but he had work later that afternoon, a boat that needed finishing by Monday afternoon was taking him slightly longer than he had anticipated.

“Alright short stack, we gotta move…” “Do we hafta?” “Sorry kiddo.” Mary made a face.

“Do you wanna go to the store or not?” “Ok.” she said, jumping up and wiping dusting off her knees.

Fliss walked them to the truck which was parked in the car park and her eyes flew over to her horse wagon, a small 3.5 tonne box. Frank noticed her looking before she turned back to him

“Yours?”

“Yeah, I did have a bigger one but, well I don’t use it often enough now to warrant it. Maybe at some point I’ll get back into competing…never say never hey?” He smiled.

“Ok, so I’ll see you Wednesday.” she said To Frank’s utter surprise, Mary walked over to the woman and wrapped her arms around her, giving her waist as squeeze, her head pressing into Fliss’s stomach. Fliss bent over to give the girl a quick hug and smiled.

“It was nice to meet you both.” Fliss released Mary and gently ruffled her hair “I can’t wait to see you ride.” Mary headed over to the passenger side of the truck and stood on the sill so she could yank open the door. Fliss turned to Frank and looked at him, frowning slightly.

“Sorry, was that too much? I didn’t mean-” “Oh,God,no.” Frank stuttered, hastily shaking his head. “No, it’s just…well she’s never usually that affectionate with strangers. Not that you’re a stranger I suppose, not anymore but…” he shrugged.

“I’m flattered then.” Fliss said, her pretty face cracking into a smile which Frank couldn’t help but return. There was a moment of silence where he simply looked at her before he started suddenly.

“I should…” he gestured to the truck with his keys.

“Yeah, sorry. Have a good day Mr Adler…” “Frank…” “Frank.” she corrected herself with another gorgeous smile “I’ll see you Wednesday.” With a smile of his own and a nod he walked to the truck and Fliss turned and headed back to the yard.

He climbed in and turned to Mary who was looking at him, smirking in a smug way that was well beyond her years.

“What?” he demanded.

“You like her.” Mary snorted.

“She’s a nice girl, I mean woman…lady…”

Mary didn’t say a word, simply sat back as Frank reached around for her belt before doing his own and setting the truck into reverse. Sometimes she was far too observant for her own good. *****

“If she gives you any trouble just tie her up on the porch.” Frank said as Mary settled on the couch in Roberta’s trailer. Roberta snorted and Mary glared at him.

“The only one who gives me trouble around here is you Frank Adler.” Roberta shot back. “Now scoot, Mary’s gotta tell me all about this pretty girl at the stables she says you’re sweet on.” “Jesus…” Frank groaned “I’m not sweet on her, she was just nice.”

“He googled her.” Mary said.

“You googled her” Roberta intoned.

“I was curious ok?” Frank sighed “And you asked me to!” “She’s an Olympic Gold medallist.” Mary chanted, draping herself over the arm of the sofa, head hanging, hair brushing the floor “At London 2012 but then she had an accident in the World Championships later that year and she broke two vertebrae…she didn’t compete again. And she was married to a guy called John Stazaker, he was on the US team but they’re divorced now. He’s in prison…but Frank didn’t tell me why.” “Because it’s none of your business, and you don’t mention it to her.” Frank said sternly, cutting her off.

Roberta looked at him curiously “But you’re not interested in her,at all.” “Like I said, curious.” he shrugged “Especially if she’s gonna be teaching Mary.”

“Mmmhmmm.” Roberta dropped her hands to her hips “Whatever you say honey…” Frank sighed and then looked at Mary. “Be good.” “I will, see you in the morning…”

He nodded and then headed out. It was a pleasant evening, the heat of the day had died down to an acceptable level and the ten minute walk down to the small strip of bars wasn’t as sticky as normal. It passed fairly quickly, he was lost in thought about the woman he had met before. It had made for surprising reading, a child star on the circuit the accident had cruelly robbed her of a future in the sport five years ago, and from the sounds of it her ass-hat ex-husband had stolen three years of her life too. Still, as he had told Mary, it was none of their business.

He yanked the door open to Fergs and headed over to the bar. Ordering his usual he perched on a stool and pulled over one of the papers, flicking it open. Taking a pull of the beer he was handed, he let out a sigh. Friday nights were always his time, his one night of the week where he wasn’t Frank with the Dead Sister and the child genius niece to bring up. He was just plain old Frank Adler, perpetual bachelor that might or might not get lucky, depending on how the night went.

Half an hour or so later he was another beer deep and completely lost in his reading. So much so he was barely aware of the body besides him as it slid into the space next to him at the bar. That was until they spoke.

“So how much did she sting you for at the store?”

Frank grinned at Fliss “Just short of a hundred. New hat, boots and a pair of jodhpurs.” Fliss giggled “Make sure she wears the boots in, they’re a killer for the first few days!” “I’ll bear it in mind.” he smiled “So, you hear alone or…” “Oh, no. It’s my Mum’s birthday so there’s a few of us out.” she said, glancing over her shoulder. Frank followed her eyes and settled on a table full of women who were all laughing. One looked quite similar to Fliss, same face shape and nose, who he assumed to be her mother. “If I’m honest it’s a bit boring considering they’re all over fifty but…” Frank laughed “Well I was gonna offer to buy you a drink but…” She laughed again “Thanks but, there’s a kitty going…” with that she turned to the bar tender. “Hiya, can I get 4 bud lights, a gin and tonic and a vodka soda please?” The bar tender nodded and headed off.

“Mary hasn’t shut up about Monty all afternoon.” Frank said and Fliss smiled.

“Like I said, once they get the bug they’re bitten.” “It’ll be good for her to have a hobby.” Frank repeated his earlier sentiment “She doesn’t get much interaction with kids her age.”

“Oh, what about School?” Fliss asked. Frank hesitated and took a drink from his bottle. Fliss let out a silent groan “Sorry, that’s really none of my business.” “No, it’s fine.” Frank shook his head, swallowing his beer. “She’s err, home schooled at the moment. My neighbour thought a hobby might be a good way for her to kinda do that before she goes to school.”

Fliss smiled “Well she’s not wrong. The kids I teach are great, I don’t stand for any crap, she’ll be welcomed with open arms.”

“Glad to hear it.” Frank smiled “Mary can be a litte…well, I suppose, odd is the right word. She’s old before her age.”

“Oh I know all about that.” Fliss smiled. “I spent most of my childhood training. Didn’t get chance to do much normal kid stuff. I was that focussed on my dream of gold medals…” “And you achieved it.” Frank nodded.

“Yeah, wish it had lasted longer you know, but what can you do.” she shrugged. “Hey, you never know, Mary might find a sudden hidden talent that catapults her into stardom…” Frank stiffened slightly and it didn’t go unnoticed by Fliss. She hesitated for a moment before Frank shook his head and smiled “Maybe, although that would really gonna fuck my bank balance…”

Fliss chuckled, eyeing him slightly. The man was a total mystery. At that the Bar Tender returned with a tray of drinks and she turned to pay him, waving away the change.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you Wednesday.” she smiled “Bye Frank.” “Yeah, have a good evening.” he smiled and she turned and walked away. Frank watched her go, the tight jeans she was wearing accentuated her ass and her legs, helped by the white heels she was wearing. The loose white cami top rode up slightly as she bent over to deposit the tray and when the woman he assumed to be her mother caught his eye and gave a knowing smirk he hastily turned around.

“Another beer please pal.” he said, waving his empty bottle

****

“Who’s that?” Verity leaned over to Fliss as she settled in the seat next to her.

“Oh, that’s the guy I was telling you about.” she shrugged “the one who brought his niece up to the Centre this morning.” “I know you said he was good looking but…”

“Shut up Mum.” Fliss said, flushing slightly

“You’re old enough to be his mother.” Jane, one of the other women said and the table laughed.

“I wasn’t looking for me…” Fliss rolled her eyes “Seriously?” Verity laughed and placed her arm round her daughter, giving her a squeeze. “I’m just teasing Lissy, its just nice to see you talking to someone, that’s all.” Fliss smiled and grabbed her beer, taking a drink.

“Who the fuck was that?” John said, pointing across the packed bar to the man that Fliss had just smiled at.

“No one…” Fliss protested “Just a guy from work, that’s all.” “Right…” John said, the nerve in his jaw twitching. Fliss swallowed nervously and gently touched his arm.

“Honestly, he works at the stables. I was just being polite.”

“He’s eye fucking you.” “No, he’s not…” Fliss rolled her eyes and immediately realised what he had done when John gripped her chin painfully between his thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.” he practically snarled.

“I’m sorry…” Fliss said, the tears springing forth “John you’re hurting me…” He let go and she dropped her head, turning back to the bar. She picked up her drink and took a long pull from the bottle, trying to compose herself. Her hand was shaking, she’d made him angry.

And she knew what that meant…

“Hey…” her mother’s voice shook her out of the memory and she looked up at her. “Oh Liss…”

“I’m ok…” she said, taking a breath.

Her mother looked at her again, and Fliss knew she was busted. “I was just…having a flash back that’s all.”

“He’s not here.” Verity dropped her voice “That fucker is where he belongs, behind bars and he won’t be bothering you again. Me and your dad promised you that…and we meant it.”

“I know, honestly I’m fine…” Fliss assured her mum who leaned over and gave her temple a soft kiss.

Fliss smiled back and shooting one last glance at Frank, who has his back to the table as he continued his reading, she turned to the women and threw herself into the conversation.

**** Chapter 2

#riding high #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #gifted fan fic #gifted

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thirstyandbeautiful · 4 years ago

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LVL Ever After: The Final Part -or- it’s time Hoe Fairy ends this hot mess.

PART SIX: REALITY CHECK

Daniel is over being avoided, and now that it’s affecting work- decides to take matters (Lando) into his own hands, which leads to a motorhome confrontation that changes everything.

part 1 ~ part 2 ~ part 3 ~ part 4 ~ part 5 ~ part 7 ~ part 8 ~ part 9

“I hate doctors.” Lando mutters.

“It’s not a doctor’s office, it’s just a lab.”

“What’s the difference? They’re gonna stick us.”

“You’re such a baby.” Lance teased, “Is that why you wanted us to go together?”

“No.” The Brit’s voice got whiney, giving away how uncomfortable he was and how much he did need someone with him, “Matter of fact, I only came with you cause it beat coming here with her.”

“Oh, poor Lando,” Lance teased, “they might’ve thought you were a steady man here, they might’ve even congratulated the two of you.”

“Shut up.” Lando hissed, “I might be congratulating you by the end of this.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“The awkward and angry pair being forced to not be awkward and angry anymore? I’d pay to see it.”

Lance shot Lando a look before they both broke out into laughter.

Before they could banter any further, Lando was called in by a scrubs clad nurse. He stood quickly, but was slow to walk towards her, and when he looked back at Lance, his new found friend gave him an encouraging nod. A few minutes after Lando was called, Lance was called in too.

By the time they’d gotten out, they were sporting matching bandaids, both having the same blood work done on opposite arms. Lance pulled his cap lower on his head as they left the lab and walked into the parking lot.

“You nervous?” Lando called over the car before ducking into the regular street car he drove them in that day.

“You aren’t?” Lance asked, buckling himself in.

Lando shrugged, “Yes and no, sometimes I freak out about it and then sometimes I’m back in denial.”

“Wow, that’s very self reflective of you.”

“And yet you still ruined it.” Lando bit back, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of his parking spot.

“I’m sorry,” He meant it, “I’m just nervous. I’m so nervous, man. I can’t believe you’re being so cool about it because I feel like I’m gonna die.”

Lando laughed, “Chill out, mate, it’ll be fine.”

“But how do you know?” Lance could feel himself unraveling faster than he could keep it together, “We were such a fucking disaster, you were there, and we can’t bring a kid into all this drama and shit and if we can’t get along now, how are we going to get along later?”

“Look Lance,” Lando raised his voice as he pulled over to the side of the road, putting the car in park before going on, “if anyone had said I’d be getting on with you a year ago, I would’ve laughed, and now you’re here in my car and we are getting on, so anything is possible.”

Lance looked at Lando, scanning the Brit’s surprisingly serious expression. He supposed that Lando was right, they had been at each other’s throats just a year ago. Now, Lance was unloading his personal turmoil on Lando while Lando actually listened and responded and comforted him. It was the best version of comfort Lando had to offer, but it was comforting nonetheless, and Lance appreciated the effort on the Brit’s part. He hadn’t ever expected Lando of all people to be the mature one in this situation.

What was more shocking was that as he was getting more comfortable with Lando, as he got to know him, he began to realize that Lando did give a shit. He could act like it all he wanted, but he was just as consumed by this potential future as Lance was.

He wondered whether Lando was comforting him or himself.

“Well, I appreciate you listening to me.” Lance told him truthfully.

“Ah, shut up, don’t get all mushy and shit with me now. You’re in my car, it’s not like I can ignore you.”

Lance laughed, “No, you can’t. But I can buy you breakfast to make up for it.”

“You really think I’m gonna turn down free food?”

Both men laughed as Lando pulled back on to the road.

You felt like complete and utter shit. It was like your body knew- and a part of you blamed it on the stress of it- that you’d told 2/3 possible baby daddies so your little growing bean inside you had no reason to stay a secret or discrete. You were so sick every morning since telling Lance, and you noticed a slight curve to your lower tummy that hadn’t been your usual shape.

Even on the airplane, which you had been used to for years, had been torturous. Your days of sleeping through flights felt as though they were long gone as your stomach flipped and turned every minute of the hours spent in the air. You’d already spent a majority of your morning in the hotel bathroom, getting sick and when not getting sick, feeling sick. It was horrible.

You weren’t even sure how you got to the paddock, but it didn’t take long after you arrived for you to end up squatted behind a tower of tires, breathing deeply as you tried to relax your body into not embarrassing you. There was no way you anywhere near ready to let the paddock know that you were expecting, and throwing up all over the place would start panic about what bug you caught, and put everyone into a panic about when they would get it. And at that point, you’d have to be truthful, and you were really, really not ready to tell anyone you were expecting.

Luckily, everyone was still wrapped up in their own teams for anyone to spot you. It was quali day and free practice was about to start soon. You’d had to miss being at the paddock for press day the day before cause you’d felt so terrible. But you couldn’t miss any free practices, qualis or races, that would just make you look like a bad team player.

You just needed a few minutes to get your bearings behind this tire stack.

“Hey!” that damned Aussie can find me anywhere, can’t he, “Are you alright?”

You turned and looked at Daniel, trying to make the arm across your mid section and the hand in front of your mouth look casual. “Yeah, hi.” you mumbled.

“You’re sick, aren’t you?”

You looked at Dan for a moment before feeling your eyes water. You nodded at him.

“Come on.” Daniel softly told you, putting his arm around you and gently helping you to your feet, “You should go back to your hotel or at least be with your team, not hiding back here.”

You froze in place once you were on your feet, waiting a moment for the dizziness to pass. Daniel looked you up and down, noticing how your whole body froze.

“How sick are you?” Daniel asked, still using the soft tone with you.

“It’s allergies.” You could’ve screamed from your weak excuse.

Allergies, really?

Daniel tilted his head and looked less than convinced, but didn’t push. The guilt that had settled in you only festered every time you saw him. You needed to tell him, but during a race weekend felt like the least ideal time. You needed to find him alone, maybe after this weekend.

“I’ll be okay.” You interrupted Daniel’s sweet questioning about your health and how you feeling, “It’s probably just nerves for this weekend.”

Not a complete lie.

“Ah, I get those sometimes too.” Dan nodded as you looked at him, “I mean, Michael has helped a lot with the whole mental side of things, but can’t help the butterflies you know?”

He had given you a great segway, “Where is your partner in crime?”

Daniel scoffed, “Partner in crime my ass. He barely lets me eat ice cream.”

You laughed as Daniel pouted at you, “I think a lot of women would vote him into sainthood for all he does for you.”

“You think so?” He smiled at you brightly, “You think they’d vote me in too?”

“Don’t hold your breath.” You laughed before you bit your lip, “I think they prefer you bad.”

“Do they,” Daniel took a step over until your shoulders brushed, “or do you?”

“Can you afford a distraction today?”

“I’m professional, baby, nothing can break this concentration.” Daniel teased back.

“Wanna bet?” You rose right to his bait and bit your lip as he looked at you not so differently than he did that night.

You and Daniel’s steps slowed as you arrived at the Mercedes garage. You faced each other, and you couldn’t help but think you were standing a tad too close to the Aussie. But it didn’t matter really, everyone stood close to drivers, didn’t they?

Did you really care what everyone thought? At that moment, you didn’t.

“You playing with fire again?” He asked, smiling down at you.

“Nah,” you laughed, feeling way the bubble of excitement in you, “fire burns, I didn’t feel burned before.” Your voice lowered to a whisper.

“How did you feel before?” Daniel asked, his hand brushing against yours as he stood close to you.

“I-”

“Aye, you trying to steal her already?” Lewis’ voice called.

You both took a step away from each other and turned towards the Brit approaching you. You looked at Daniel and brushed your hair behind your ear, clearing your throat while Daniel clasped his hands behind his back and turned towards Lewis. From Lewis’ demeanor, you must not have looked too suspicious with the Aussie, or maybe the champ was oblivious to anything outside of his own focus.

“Thought she might wanna be on a team that doesn’t make her sick.” Daniel joked, motioning to you beside him, “Should keep an eye on our girl today.”

“Are you alright?” Lewis’ attention turned toward you, his worry clear on his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” you nodded, even though you knew you looked like shit, “I’m just a little under the weather today. Had a bit of a migraine yesterday, just pulled me down today.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Lewis practically cooed at you, “Daniel,” he motioned to you before giving you a wink, “I think I can take her from here.”

“Alright, mate, be careful.” Daniel teased, “I’ll catch you later.” He told you, squeezing your shoulder before taking off down the paddock.

“Can I get you anywhere or anything?” Lewis asked, gently pulling you along into the garage.

“No, no, no.” you sighed, “Really, I’ll be alright. I missed yesterday, I don’t want to miss today.”

Got nine more months of this.

“Well, why don’t you sit, I’ll tell someone to bring you water-”

“Already got, thanks.” You smiled and held up your water bottle to show him. “Hey, don’t worry about me, just get in that car and put on a good show for us, yeah?”

“Alright, then you just sit and enjoy.”

You giggled as Lewis walked away. With no Daniel or Lewis, you were suddenly aware of how sick you were again. When surrounded by the human sunshine that was Daniel and the walking talking gentleman, sorry, walking talking knighted* gentleman, you had felt like shit but not been awfully aware of it. With no one to distract you or for you to distract yourself with, all the nausea came rolling back.

Settled into your comfy and padded seat, you stayed perfectly still as free practice ramped up, and you watched the cars. If you didn’t move, you didn’t feel like the world was spinning, and the longer you stayed still, the further away the disgusting feeling you’d been feeling all morning got.

By the time free practice was done with, you felt like a better version of yourself. You were exhausted, but you’d take exhaustion over your nausea any day. At least now you could wiggle and fidget in your seat without feeling like you were in danger of passing out. The garage was buzzing and bright, and the sounds and lights didn’t threaten to split your head open. You figured it must be getting later in the day, the pattern lately had meant that your first few waking hours were torturous.

You were happy that you were feeling more chipper, quali was the best part of the weekend, aside from the actual race of course. You loved the drama of it all. The way so many drivers would really save their last laps to pull off their best times, and when they didn’t- the drama was sometimes better than the drama during the race. And the cars were just starting to pull out of their garages and lining up in the pit lane.

You had just opened your water bottle when an engineer tapped on your shoulder.

“Toto would like for you to sit with him.”

You kept your face neutral but nodded and silently followed. Toto only ever sat with other race engineers in the garage. He usually didn’t bother with anyone once you were all in the garage, and with quali about to start, it was hard not to feel like the kid being brought to the principal’s office.

“Hey Toto.” you greeted as you slid into the chair next to the German.

When the engineer walked away, Toto looked at you, dare you think knowingly, and leaned in, his deep voice lowered, “How are you feeling?”

Lewis, what a snitch, you jokingly thought.

“Just a bit tired.” You tried to keep your voice even, oblivious.

“I heard you were a little under the weather lately.”

“Lewis?” You nodded before reassuringly adding, “Yeah, but it’ll pass.”

Toto had a faint smile on his face, “Lemonade in your tea, herbal tea, no caffeine, of course,” your head turned towards Toto so fast it could’ve snapped and you could feel your eyes bulged, “but you know that rule, don’t you.” He finished with a smile.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Toto had pulled your secret out of thin air. It was unbelievable.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Toto teased, “or people will notice and ask, I’ve been through this a few times, you know.”

“I...” you trailed off helplessly.

“Just let me know when you need off, okay? And if mornings are rough right now, please don’t come to anything you can’t stomach, there’s nothing you can’t phone in or save for a later time in the day.” He winked at you, “Like I said, not the first time.”

“Toto, I-”

“Oh, and there goes the McLarens!” The scream of the announcer made your head turn towards the screen.

It’d been a while since Michael had seen Daniel this angry.

“That brat drives into me when I’m supposed to be letting him pass, and he just darts off- no apology or anything?” Daniel huffed as he shoved his hat on his head, “Fuck that.”

“Mate, cmon, you don’t know what’s going on with the kid, let’s focus on ourselves, yeah?”

Michael leaned against the far wall as he watched Daniel be a little tornado around the room, clothes and shoes flying through the air as he quickly changed after his DNF.

It was just as Daniel had said. He had a puncture from some debris knocked off the car from eating the curb, so team orders were for Lando to pass him to get a fast lap in and hopefully a higher starting placement for at least one of their cars. But just as Lando had pulled up alongside Daniel, the two drivers seemed to nod at each other, and Lando just completely lost his front and decimated both his own and Daniel’s cars.

It was a breathtakingly bizarre crash that had silenced the whole garage.

And while Michael would never explain it all this way while Daniel was still so hot, he found it so odd how Lando had basically threw himself out of his car and went running off the track. The kid had no reason to fear Daniel, he had to have known there wouldn’t have been a confrontation. But that had been Lando’s MO lately when it comes to Daniel- avoid and avoid some more.

It was strange and while Michael was curious himself about what had changed, he didn’t want Daniel to end up harping on it, so he discouraged any Lando talk and tried to keep Daniel focused on himself.

“No, fuck this.” Daniel growled, “I ignored it before when it seemed personal, I gave him space, gave him room to talk, tried to force him to talk, but now he’s making it professional and fucking shunted me.”

Michael looked at the furious expression on Daniel’s face and frowned, his fingers flexing at his side. He really didn’t need Daniel punching a wall and potentially injuring himself. Michael braced his center of gravity in case he had to grab his friend from lashing out.

But, as was the theme for today, Daniel took Michael by surprise.

Daniel froze for a second, looking towards the front of his driver’s room. “That little shit is gone, isn’t he?” He pressed his ear against the wall between the rooms, “Yeah, he fucking is.”

Daniel pushed off the wall and pulled his door open, darting out of it. Michael ran after him, desperate to catch up to him as he went after him. The shorter Aussie was lighter than him, and he damned how much quicker he was as he sprinted to keep up as Daniel headed straight for the motorhomes parked behind the paddock.

“Daniel!” Michael yelled at his back once they were out of the paddock.

He really hoped Daniel wasn’t going to the motorhome to punch Lando. That would be super out of character, but everything had been off lately, like the balance had been disturbed, and Michael felt on edge. Everything seemed unpredictable at this point.

“Daniel!” Michael tried to yell again now that they were out of ear shot of the paddock and running through the grass of the motorhome park that had formed, “Daniel, slow down.”

And the Aussie did. He slowed his sprint into a speed walk, and Michael was able to catch up to him. When he did, he didn’t touch his fellow Aussie, just matched his stride alongside him.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“I’m gonna go make Lando talk to me and we’re gonna find out what the fuck is going on around here.”

“Do you really think it has anything to do with you?” Michael asked.

“It has to, mate, it has to. I know you’ve seen it, it can’t be me going nuts, I know it’s something.”

Michael nodded and kept up the brisk pace, “Well, as long as you just talk.”

Daniel gave Michael a sharp look, and Michael instantly felt bad, patting Daniel on the back and giving a quick apology. Daniel wasn’t violent, he wasn’t horribly impulsive, he really wasn’t impulsive period. And the absolute last thing Daniel could stand was conflict. He wanted to solve everything now, now, now. So, of course, he was just going to talk and make Lando face whatever was going on in the Brit’s head.

And then it struck Michael, Daniel was trying to help Lando.

It had been happening ever since they’d ended up in the thicker levels of mental health fitness. Michael had noticed Daniel speaking differently with people around him, offering little bits of advice on how to approach things, how to process things. Daniel wasn’t just learning from Michael, but sharing what he learned cause Daniel was a sweetheart. He wanted everyone to be okay.

Daniel wanted Lando to be okay.

“Here it is.”

Daniel’s words shook Michael out of his head and he watched as Daniel lifted his fist and banged on the door. There was some light footsteps on the other side of the door, and from what Michael could see the windows and their curtains hadn’t moved an inch.

Kid really wouldn’t answer the door blindly, would-

“Daniel!” Lando’s voice squeaked as he did blindly answer the door and came face to face with both Aussies.

“Let me in Lando,” Daniel growled, brushing past the Brit, “we need to talk.”

“Hey buddy,” Michael nodded at Lando and let the Brit move aside and let him in, much more politely than Daniel had, “don’t worry.” He whispered as he passed him.

Lando’s motorhome wasn’t much different from the Aussies’, with a pretty large, open seating area in the front. Michael ducked around Daniel, who was still standing, to sit on one of the cream colored couches.

When Lando finally clicked his door shut and came to stand in front of the Aussies, he looked like neither man had ever seen him.

Lando was playing with his fingers in front of his waist, looking down instead of at either one of them. He was also silent, which wasn’t unusual for Lando, but the nervous, jittery energy he was exuding was. Lando kept to himself sometimes, but he wasn’t usually so timid.

Michael was taken back by the display, but Daniel just got frustrated.

“Do you want to say anything?”

Lando shrugged.

“Are you- Lando.” Daniel said sternly, holding his hand out flat in front of him as he gestured with each work, “You crashed into me, mate. You crashed for no fucking reason during qualifying, fucked both our cars, fucked the team, and that’s after you’ve been avoiding me like I have a disease.”

Lando shrugged again, this time adding in a sigh as he messily pulled on his hair.

“What the fuck is going on?” Daniel raised his voice, “Clearly, some shit has gone on, something is bothering you about me that you’re treating me this way. And I was gonna be quiet, wasn’t gonna care, wasn’t gonna bring it up, nothing, and now this, today. Clearly you need to talk to me about whatever issue we have.”

Lando scoffed, “I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t.” Lando repeated, “I can’t just talk to you about whatever.” He straightened up and gave Daniel a look he never had before.

“What the hell does that even mean, Lando? You’re speaking in riddles like I can understand you, just say what you mean. What is the issue?”

“I’m sorry we crashed.” He said calmly and sincerely, cause it was true: he was sorry they crashed, and if anyone really pushed to know, he had no idea how he even managed to do it.

But clearly Daniel wasn’t looking for just an apology, “Lando, tell me what’s going on.”

Lando made a frustrated sound and pulled on his hair, grumbling under his breath as he weighed his options mentally. He thought of everything: how to get the Aussies out without spilling, how to apologize to Daniel for crashing, how to avoid the real reason he was fucking everything up and avoiding Daniel.

But lying seemed so stupid at this point, and Lando was tired of it.

It couldn’t be helped. Lando had been so stressed by caring and protecting Daniel’s precious feelings, his delicate little angelic-ness, for you. He’d spent the weekend relaxed, cause him and Lance knew, and he didn’t feel sick from secret keeping now that he could share it with someone. But one weekend back at the paddock and the stupid smile on Dan’s face made him nauseous.

The way Daniel looked at him like he cared, like he was there for Lando, like he was just so mature and nice about the way he got to fuck you. It all burned Lando from the inside out.

He saw red.

“You have no idea what I know, what I’ve been forced to know for weeks!” Daniel took a step back as Lando suddenly exploded, “Everything has been, Dan can’t know this and Dan can’t know that and Dan this, that and don’t hurt Dan and it’s so fucking stupid because you’re the oldest out of any of us!”

“Lando, I-”

“It’s so stupid! You should be the one by her side, doing shit for her, figuring this shit out, I have no clue what the fuck I’m doing! I don’t get what makes you so fucking special that you’re spared the stress of this bullshit.”

“Lando-”

Lando sighed, and Michael watched as the Brit collapsed on to the couch next to him. “Why am I stressing over a baby that might not even be mine?”

Lando’s shoulders suddenly dropped, like an invisible weight had fallen off of them. He looked like a boy just saved from drowning as he breathed deeply and evenly like he’d never tasted oxygen before in his life. He rubbed his eyes before looking up at the pair of confused men in front of him, and both Aussies jump as Lando clapped his hands together and laughed at their reaction.

“Lando,” Daniel spoke sternly, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh my god, are you daft? She’s pregnant!” He yelled, annunciating the word ‘pregnant’ as Dan suddenly collapsed into the chair behind him. “Yeah, yeah, that’s exactly how I felt. Yup. Fair now since it might actually be your problem.”

Michael shook his head and held up his hands to pause the conversation, “Wait, who is pregnant?”

Dan and Lando both uttered your name, and Michael’s eyes widened like saucers. “Wait, with your baby?” He points at Lando.

Lando laughed, “Or his.”

Michael watched in shock as Lando pointed at Daniel.

“Daniel.” he spoke calmly, looking at his friend with concern.

Daniel was looking down at the floor, his face blank as he breathed steadily but made no move to talk or acknowledge anyone in the room. He was either completely ignoring Michael, or he just didn’t even hear him, cause his next words were directed at Lando.

“How long?”

“A few weeks.” Lando muttered, “I don’t know exactly, enough for it to be confirmed by a doctor.”

“And I...”

“Yup!” Lando replied, nodding at his older teammate as he leaned back and folded his arms behind his head.

Michael was beyond confused at this point, and didn’t completely understand what or how this had anything to do with Daniel. Even as the obvious dangled in front of him, he couldn’t bring himself to assume it.

Not Daniel.

Not hyper focused, super organized and planned Daniel.

Not a chance.

Except that all signs, every word in this conversation was very obviously pointing towards not only something that had been kept from Daniel, but a whole lot that had been kept from Michael. He didn’t allow himself to feel petty feelings like jealousy or annoyance towards friends, but it did slightly sting to think that Daniel hadn’t bothered to utter a word of you and Daniel to him.

When the fuck had that happened?

Of course, he had seen countless times how you got on, but you were a nice girl, easy to get along with. He, himself had enjoyed spending time with you when you stopped by to chat or joke around with the boys. Memories of you laughing with him, Dan and Blake came to mind.

Why did this have to happen the weekend Blake isn’t here? But as quickly as he thought that, another thought came to the forefront of his mind: Does Blake know?

And since when were you and Lando a thing? Michael was still finding gaps in his own knowledge when Daniel brushed passed him and fled the motor home.

Michael followed Daniel in silence, the Aussies’ strides were fast as they made a beeline for their shared motorhome. Michael had so many thoughts in his head but in the middle of the motorhome lot was not the place to give any of those thoughts airtime.

He stared at Daniel’s back as his thoughts washed over him. He didn’t understand how or why this was happening. Daniel might be a father to a baby that he didn’t know Daniel had even made, and the mother was you. It didn’t make any sense. He didn’t understand how he could’ve missed something so major.

Michael more often than not knew where Daniel was, always. There was never an exception. They shared hotel rooms a majority of the time, they shared motorhomes, they shared car rides. As much as he loathed it from time to time, they were truly attached at the hip. So even thinking of a point where he wasn’t with Daniel, where Daniel could’ve gotten together with you was difficult.

And he’d just broken up with his girlfriend, the lying, cheating mess that she was. Michael had never liked her, and liked her even less for what she’d done to his friend. Daniel had been crushed.

Daniel had been crushed.

Michael could’ve rolled his eyes once all the pieces came crashing together. It would be Daniel to get a rebound fuck pregnant.

He followed Daniel up the steps into their motorhome. Daniel walked in, standing between the rest of the motorhome and the front seating area, giving Michael plenty of room to sit down while Daniel paced. He took a deep breath before he decided to just let it rip.

“You slept with her?” Michael asked, trying to keep his voice as monotone but comforting as possible.

“Yeah,” Daniel nods, rubbing at his face, “yeah, a few weeks ago.”

“After-”

“Yeah, exactly after that. I had just gotten dumped, everything between her and the boys had gone to shit, we were both in the same shitty place.”

Everything between her and the boys- what the fuck. Where have I been?

“Figures the one time you have a one night stand you get her pregnant.” Michael teased before letting the frown pull at his face, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think, like at all,” Daniel sighs, “I wasn’t sure what to do, or how I felt, so I just sat with it.”

“Daniel-”

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t sit with my feelings, and I tried to journal but it just felt like something that was like, not a secret, but it was mine.” Daniel groaned, dropping his hands to his sides as he unraveled in front of his trainer, “Everything is always do this, go here, everyone knowing our business, everything is recorded, there’s no such thing as privacy and I just,” he struggled for a second with his words, “so I have this one night where I really connect with someone, where I’m with her, and it feels like a memory I could have entirely to myself, like something I don’t have to share, something I could have and keep and care about, and then, and then, this happens.”

“You didn’t tell me because it was for you. I get it, I do.” Michael nodded, “But with everything that’s gone on in recent weeks, it would’ve helped me help you.”

“Now no one can help anyone, can they?”

“Don’t go there DR,” Michael warns, “this is a lot and it is a shit mess, but it’s a shit mess that can be cleaned up.”

Daniel chuckled and looked up at the ceiling. “A child isn’t a shit mess. It’s the circumstances.”

Michael’s head tilted, “Well, yeah. You’re right.”

“At least it would be with her.”

What? Michael was getting more and more confused, and more worried with every minute that Daniel processed this. When Daniel looked at him and dryly chuckled, Michael braced himself for whatever was going on in that mind of Daniel’s.

“At least it would be with her,” he repeated with a stronger tone, “she’s a good girl. We get along. She’s gorgeous too so it’s not like it would be hard.”

“What would be hard?”

“Being with her.” Daniel said nonchalantly, “I mean, if we have a kid, we should at least try to make it work. We get along well enough, don’t we? You’ve seen her with me. To be honest, before this whole mess and all the avoiding bullshit, I kinda thought she liked me too.”

Daniel collapsed into the couch across from Michael, leaning over with his elbows on his knees, “We could make this work.”

“Daniel.” Michael’s voice is soft but stern as he slips off his couch and crouches down in front of Daniel. “You have to think this one through.”

“I am!” Daniel finally began to snap, “I am, I am. That’s what I’m saying, mate, like if I do have, with her, then we could try. Things could work. We could work. Don’t you think?”

Michael shook his head at Daniel. This was a dangerous train of thought. Daniel couldn’t make you fit his plans, and Michael had to remind him of that.

“How well do you really know this woman?” Michael tilted his head at Daniel’s incredulous look, “Really, mate, think. You barely know her on a more than superficial level. She was a one night stand, and now she might be having your kid.”

“Exactly! So we can get to know each other, it would be unconventional as fuck, I know. But I know her enough to know that she would want the same as me.”

“You don’t even know if it’s yours, so please, just pause for a minute.”

“I mean, I know it’s all backwards, but me and her could work, we could have this kid, fuck, we could like, even get married if that’s what she wants.”

“Daniel, you can’t marry a woman because she’s having your child.”

Daniel was pulling at his curls, running his hands through his hair repeatedly as he babbled ways to combine the potential future in front of him and the future he had planned. It was all fucked up, and the idea that the future he planned was shot and that a whole new future could unfold at any moment gave Daniel goosebumps. He felt lightheaded.

“Daniel, look at me.” Michael catches Daniel attention, “I know this isn’t a part of your plan, this kinda fucks up your vision for the future, but this is the way things could fall in place. You have to remember ‘could’,” he emphasized the word, “that baby could very well be Lando or Lance’s.”

He ignored the look that flashed across Daniel’s face.

“Don’t do that. You don’t want this right now, no matter how much it’s got you thinking you do right now.”

“I’ve always wanted a kid.” Daniel mumbled.

“Not like this.” Michael replies softly, “If this is the way it was meant to be, it is what it is. But don’t get too far ahead of yourself. We need to figure out if this baby is even yours.”

“We?”

“Yeah, c’mon now, you didn’t think you were getting rid of me now, were you?” Michael finally cracked a smile, “Reckon I’d be a good uncle to a little badger.”

#w #hoe fairy #lvl:ea #dr #mi #ls #ln #DUN DUN DUNNNN #reveal time #BUCKLE UP HOES

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