#ah man for whatever reason I just always feel so strange getting direct attention especially

[kikilefangirl]

New Beginnings For Late Bloomers

Bucky Barnes x Reader

(Word Count: 2.4k)

You answered the Wakandan prince and princess’ call almost immediately. You quietly and swiftly made your way from your room, taking the familiar route south to the lab.

King T’Chaka’s death was so recent that his presence was still very much felt around the palace. Everyone, of all ranks, collectively mourning the loss. As you passed through the halls, you thought of his children—you couldn’t imagine losing your father, especially in such a jarring way. You bristled before turning the corner, bracing yourself for whatever was on the other side.

A pale skinned, dark haired man appeared to be sleeping in a large tube. Beside it, Prince T’Challa and Princess Shuri were in deep conversation with another white man, this one blonde. He stood opposite them and face to face with you.

You weren’t one for rudeness, but you had never seen a white man in person before, and it was strange. You found yourself switching back and forth between the and his sleeping friend. The first and second white men you had seen up close. They both had white skin tinged with pink, and their hair really was bone straight. The blonde gave you a warm smile, maintaining a slight recline and dropped shoulders.

You weren’t very good at interrupting or with strangers; your shyness was a terrible hindrance, and it was a wonder you even had friends in the royal family. The stranger’s reaction saved you the trouble, causing both siblings to do the same. Immediately, your eyes drifted the man in the tube, lightly pressing your fingers on the glass.

T’Challa cleared his throat and gestured at the blonde, “Y/N, this is Captain Rogers.”

You nodded at him and followed his downward gaze––to the other white man. Because you were closer, you could see his breath fog up the glass in front of his nose.

“We need you to watch over Sergeant Barnes while he is within our borders,” Shuri said. Though he looked relatively peaceful, what this Sergeant Barnes was like when he was awake must be hard.

“Your daily tasks will be to tend to him.” T'Challa explained.

Your gaze softened when you glanced at Captain Rogers. His concern was plain to see, enough to make you muster up whatever courage you had to speak.

“I will do as I am asked. Sergeant Barnes will be well cared for during his time here.” You replied. You gave him a small smile.

The man nodded at your reassurance, and you excused yourself. You had a lot of work ahead of you.

…

The sound of giggling and shuffling feet took you out of your reverie.

You were greeted to the sight of children laughing and chasing each other on the river bank. You smiled at their antics, but had to shoo them away. They were playing outside of Sergeant Barnes’—erm, Bucky’s hut while he was sleeping. You noticed how little the man allowed his body to rest, and you did your best to prolong it.

You knew the kids had broken his sleep, so you entered his hut, anyway. As you expected, the man was on his back looking at you with heavy lidded eyes.

“Please, try and go back to sleep,” you whispered, averting your gaze.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his head back on his bed. You took the opportunity to light an incense on the outer edge of the hut while you went about your daily tasks. It was the one that usually lulled him back to sleep, but Bucky was wide awake.

You occupied yourself with menial work in an effort to ignore his eyes on you. You were taking out an old blanket but when you touched the other side, you felt a thick, runny liquid. The harsh smell of iron hit your nostrils almost immediately.

Blood.

“I had another one after you left.” A raspy voice called from behind you.

You quickly wrapped the blanket in your arms, doing your best to hide the sight. Bucky was sitting up; he may have been looking at you, but his eyes were much farther away. The color wasn’t familiar to you, but the distant sadness in them was. You could see fresh scratches poking out from his tunic and the slight grimace on his face.

Gently, you set the blanket back down and grabbed the tin of shea butter from your supply bag. You unscrewed the cap and scooped the product out. You made your way to his bed, sitting on your knees beside him.

You pulled the cloth down to reveal the familiar nub where his arm used to be.

“Your head therapy with Dr. Amari has been switched to Tuesdays and Thursdays, for now. Shuri needs time to grieve the king and the mind must come before the body, in your case. ” You said softly, applying the shea butter evenly and without fanfare.

Bucky was leaning away from you, but he nodded nonetheless. You never had to yell or shout to get his attention––he always heard you, no matter how quiet you were.

When you were done, Bucky offered you a tired smile, but you couldn’t return it. You felt your face get hot and averted your gaze. It was different when you had nothing more to do, and he was just staring at you.

“I will get you new bedding and clothing when I return.”

You darted out of the hut as fast as you could, only stopping to let out the breath you had been holding.

…

“I don’t know if your treatment is working, Shuri.”

The princess was busy working on a new project. With heavy protective goggles on, and a wicked grin, there was no telling what she was up to. Carefully, Shuri shut the lid on it, and spun towards you.

You held up the bloody fabric, and Shuri frowned.

“Ah, Y/N, Sergeant Barnes’ brain will take more work than his body.” She said, scanning the blanket.

“He claws at himself while he sleeps.” You replied. The memories of his episodes were so clear in your mind. For a man who was fairly quiet and calm, in those moments he was mechanical and unflinchingly cruel. It was the first time a cold feeling settled in the pit of your stomach and it was truly awful.

Shuri was periodically glancing up at you as she read Bucky’s file. The farther she read, the more the princess looked puzzled. She clicked her tongue, then suddenly clapped loudly. The sound made you jump.

“Shuri!” You hissed. The girl was bouncing on the balls of her feet, animatedly. An especially devious smirk made its way onto her face.

“He is from New York City, ah! The city where dreams are made of!” She sang. Her off key version made you cringe at first, but a smile soon replaced it.

The Wakandan princess’s bubbly mood was the thing you enjoyed most about her. She was always so excited to explore and plot anything she wanted; it was refreshing to see.

“Take Sergeant Barnes to the market! It is a city environment to remind him of home.” Shuri exclaimed wildly.

Your eyes widened in horror at her suggestion. Shuri lit up, her ideas kept coming.

“He needs you to go with him. It can be a date!” You nearly choked.

“Princess Shuri!” You cried out. It was actually more of a high pitched squeak.

You gazed down at the blanket. It’s rich brown color was tinged with a darker one. The sickly smell of blood—Bucky’s blood—still invaded your senses. Your job was to care for him while he was in your country’s custody.

You sighed and agreed.

…

Bucky knew something was wrong the second you found the blanket.

The slight downturn of your chin as the realization dawned on you—he should’ve buried it when he had the chance.

The scratches were deep this time, but Bucky healed fast. It had been just over eleven hours since they happened. He had since changed into new clothes, so as to spare you from seeing the gashes, but he didn’t have the tools to get rid of the blood on hand.

Bucky heard your approaching steps, and went out to greet you. It was the height of the late afternoon heat; the dark haired man could see you approach through the vapors.

He knew it had been a long time since he’d been around a woman as Bucky, not the Winter Soldier. That was the exact reason why he wasn’t used to how you looked then. Your deep brown skin glowed as you came closer. A gold armband sat on your upper left arm, shining in the sunlight. You had on a green two-piece, decorated in bright Wakandan prints.

Bucky missed his phantom limb during times like this. It meant he was still capable of being the smooth, confident guy from Brooklyn and not the mess he truly was. He shifted his weight, bracing himself for your arrival.

…

“Would you like to come with me to the market?” You asked.

You wouldn’t look up at him for more than a second, but you did sit near him during the escort over. On his left side, too.

Once you two made it to the market entrance, it was in full swing. Hundreds of people were mingling through the stalls. A woman was haggling a tailor for a shoddy job he’d done. The smell of spices and roots hung in the air.

You snuck a glance at Bucky, giggling at the curious stares he received. And what a strange sight he was—a very white man in Wakanda. It was unheard of.

“I was told you were from New York City. Manhattan?” You said.

Bucky turned to you, mildly offended.

“Brooklyn, doll. Real different.” He said. You watched him inhale, taking in the bustling vendors and patrons.

You put a slight pressure on his shoulder, leading him to a street show. The performance was fun and free as the drummers played their sing song rhythms. Even you felt the urge to sway your hips to the beat.

A crowd had gathered, stomping and clapping as they went along, growing more boisterous as the dancers went on. Lost in the moment, you failed to notice Bucky’s balled fists and his blank stare. The only reason you did, was because in the middle of your small dance, you bumped into a hard body. The way you bounced off of him jostled you back to reality.

You got him some water, pouring it on your hand and then on his forehead. The cold shock worked, but with it came those scared, disoriented eyes. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t try and steer the big man any direction. You never could, Bucky was just kind enough to oblige most times. This time, he seemed so splintered, he followed without protest.

You led Bucky into an empty alleyway.

“I’m sorry. Please, let me take you back.” You said, apologetically.

You thought it would help him, not this. You leaned back on the wall opposite to him, waiting for Bucky to decide what to do. Slowly, heavy breathing subsided and he lifted his head from the ground.

“I don’t want you to think I didn’t like it. I did. But the people and the sounds and the—I know I was raised in a big city, but it’s been a long time since then.” Bucky said, finally.

He met your concerned gaze and almost looked relieved. The man stood up to his full height in one swift motion.

“I don’t think I like them anymore.” He admitted in a low, gravelly voice.

Your heart sank at his omission. Bucky had no idea who he was anymore, or what made him happy. He needed some peace that didn’t come from his place at the river, that was too familiar.

“I know a place you might enjoy, but it will take time to get there.”

Bucky had complete faith in you, and nodded imperceptibly.

…

It was a quiet ride up the mound.

By now, it was nearing dusk. The sky was a vibrant mix of purples and oranges and reds. Bucky hadn’t spoken again, and you hadn’t pressed him.

“It’s an undeveloped hot spring, Prince T’Challa and I found it together as children. No one will bother us here.”

You stalked through the heavy foliage with a clear head, muscle memory guiding the way to the cave. You were very aware of Bucky’s silent presence behind you. He navigated the vegetation with ease, carrying the food and water in a basket.

You huffed just taking the towels and blanket, and he looked unfazed. The both of you finally reached the mouth of the cave as soon as the last rays of sunlight faded. You watched as Bucky’s face darkened in the dim light.

“There are lights on the far end, vibranium powered so they will last.” You said. Bucky had far better sight than you, and he successfully found and turned them on.

He pointed the bright light toward the cave ceiling, setting off a series of shadows and patterns above you. You smiled softly, satisfied with your work. Bucky was still shook up from the market, but once he stepped into the hot spring he physically seemed more comfortable.

“Don’t stay in too long, it could be dangerous,” you warned him. A blast of warm air hit you, and you laid down on the blanket.

“Got it.” Bucky replied.

Occasionally, you heard the sound of water sloshing around, but you were too lazy to turn your head. There was no one around for miles to interrupt the calm, so you finally closed your eyes.

You heard water streaming to the cave floor as Bucky drew nearer. You thought nothing of it, until you felt warm, sopping wet hands wrap around you. You gasped the intrusion—if you hadn’t known who it was you would’ve screamed.

Bucky pulled you into him. Your face rested on his bare chest, catching the heat emanating from his warm skin. You didn’t have time to freak out.

What he did next wasn’t quite like a cry. The noise was so soft you thought you misheard it at first. It was a strangled, ghost of a sob.

“I-I can’t stop saying I don’t know.”

Bucky clung to you, letting all of his frustration and pain roll off him in waves. You took your cheek off his chest, the warm water leaving your face hotter than normal.

You stopped Bucky before he could recoil—gripping his shoulder.

“Horrific things happened to you Bucky, and I am sorry for that,” you started, staring off at the hot spring behind him. Steam rolled off its surface and wafted upwards and into nothing.

“You are rebuilding yourself and that is alright.”

Bucky peered down at you with a hardened kind of fascination. His eyes raked over you and he broke out in a grateful smile. A true smile.

“Thank you.”

He paused as he regarded you, dropping his shoulders.

“Doll? Can I kiss you?” The request sent you toppling over on the inside. You swallowed hard.

“Why?” Your voice was small. It was the cost to stare Bucky in the eyes while you asked. He needed to see how dead serious you were. You could be fragile, too. You blinked rapidly in anticipation, trying to concentrate over the roar of blood rushing through your veins.

“You never asked me to be someone, now I can be someone else.”

Your jaw dropped. You mustered all the courage you had and met his lips. The kiss was hesitant and soft. There were no expectations, just a sweet moment for two people that needed more of them.

[ttuesday]

Time

Summary: After spending the night on guard duty, you make a bet with Micah to find out who can stay awake the longest.

Word Count: 2,772 

~unfortunately there’s no smut in this, it’s mainly fluff and maybe a bit of angst ? idk lmao~

8am You spent the entire night on guard duty. Bill was supposed to take over a couple of hours ago but he never did. It didn’t take long for you to realize he was after sleeping in, preferring to stay wrapped up in his warm bedroll instead of coming out to relieve you from duty. 

Finally about two goddamn hours after sunrise, John came out and offered to go on guard, mentioning to you that Bill had woken up about twenty minutes ago but decided that avoiding you was better than owning up to his mistake. 

You walked into camp and scanned the area, trying to find Bill so you could confront him. Dutch sat outside his tent, reading a book. A frustrated Arthur was playing dominoes with Tilly. And Micah sat at one of the tables, cleaning his revolvers. It seemed as though everyone was around except for Bill.

“Mic, have you seen Bill this morning?” you asked as you walked up to Micah. The man scoffed “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”. “But it’s your name” you replied. “That ain’t my name” he snapped back, glaring at you. “But your name’s Mic-ah” you sounded it out as if you were teaching Jack a new word.

Micah rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath but he stopped when he noticed you yawn. “Awh, you all tired out from being out on watch?” he mocked. “I’m not tired” you answered bluntly.

“Sure you ain’t” Micah replied sarcastically.

The truth was you did feel a bit drained. You had just spent the whole night on guard duty, of course you were kinda tired but you weren’t going to admit that to him.

You and Micah always had a strange friendship. Half the time you were both arguing with one another, hurling insults at each other and bickering over anything and everything. But then a few hours later you would both be sitting at one of the tables, laughing together as if you were the best of friends. It was strange but it worked.

“Seriously, I’m not tired” you reinforced, knowing he didn't believe you the first time you said it “you’d be surprised how long I can stay awake”. “Is that so?” he questioned, focusing his attention on cleaning his revolvers again. A small smirk tugged at your lips “Yeah, I mean I could definitely stay awake longer than you. That wouldn’t even be a challenge”.

Why were you saying this? Well, you had only one reason. You wanted to annoy him.

Micah chuckled “Now you’re just lying to yourself”. “Or you’re underestimating me” you corrected him. You knew there was no way Micah could go longer without sleep than you. Sure, you spent the night awake but from the dark circles under Micah’s eyes, it was obvious he had a couple of restless nights recently. 

“I’d even make a bet that I could stay awake longer than you” you smirked. Micah let out a loud, arrogant laugh as he looked at you again “That’s real funny”. 

“What? You scared I’ll win?” you continued to annoy him. 

“There ain’t no way in hell you’d win” he furrowed his brow.

“You wanna bet on that?” you asked. Micah considered it for a couple of seconds, his gaze momentarily flicking down to his guns before looking at you “Fine, but don’t expect me to let you win”.

Out the corner of your eye, you saw Bill cautiously step into camp. “There he is” you muttered to yourself. Bill hesitantly glanced around, presumably trying to see where you were so he could avoid you. “Williamson!” you called, getting his attention. Bill looked at you with wide eyes before turning on his heels and walking in the opposite direction.

You started to walk after him, not about to let him get away that easily. “Hey, get back here!” you yelled. Micah chuckled as you jogged after Bill. He was confident that you would fall asleep first, especially since you just got off guard duty. There was no way you’d win this bet, Micah was sure of it.

12:30pm You sat under a tree, listening to the gentle midday breeze make its way through the branches overhead. You had been reading a book Mary-Beth recommended to you but put it down on your lap, the warm summer’s day starting to make you feel drowsy. 

“You asleep yet?” Micah suddenly appeared. You quickly opened your eyes and blinked a few times to try and quickly wake yourself up. “You know I’m not sleeping until you do” you reminded him. “You weren’t being serious about that, were you?” he questioned.

“Of course I was”.

“Huh, well you’re gonna be waiting a while,” he replied, only now starting to realize you were being deadly serious about this bet “I don’t plan on losing an easy bet”.

He leaned against the tree, taking out a pack of cigarettes and putting one between his lips. “How was your talk with Williamson?” he asked, putting the packet back into his pocket and taking out a match. “It was fine, he said he’ll do my next shift on guard duty to make it up to me. Actually, when was the last time you went on duty?” you gazed up at him.

You couldn’t remember the last time you saw Micah out there on guard. In fact, you couldn’t remember a time he was ever on guard duty.

“Why would I waste my time doing that?” Micah sneered, lifting his boot and striking the match off of it. You sighed, picking up your book again and flicking through to the page you stopped at “You can be so grumpy when you’re tired”.

“I ain’t tired” he grunted. You laughed softly, making Micah huff. “Sleep’s overrated” he said with a new found determination “and I will win this bet, make no mistake about that”. Micah stormed off, mumbling what you presumed where insults under his breath.

You admired how seriously he was starting to take the bet but you knew he wouldn’t last. Sure, you had been awake for many, many hours at this point and you were tired but Micah could’ve been awake for days by now. He never was keen on sleep and that’s what made you think this was going to be an easy bet to win. Even if you didn’t win, maybe this would encourage Micah to sleep and as much as you didn’t want to admit it, that would be a good thing too.

4pm You were helping Pearson with dinner. Normally you didn’t but he had a fight with Sadie earlier in the day so you decided to step in and give her a break. You chopped the vegetables, humming a tune to yourself.

“Well, well, well, what’re you doing?” a voice asked from behind you. You didn’t bother turning around. Micah always had a distinct voice you could recognize immediately. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you replied with a hint of sarcasm in your voice.

You expected him to move around the table and into your line of sight but instead Micah peered over your shoulder, slyly placing his hand on your hip as he did. “Hmmm” was all he said as he looked down at the vegetables. You expected him to move but he stayed where he was, his chest pressing against your back and his hand subconsciously kneading your hip.

A strong scent suddenly hit your nostrils and you couldn’t help but scrunch up your nose. “Have you been drinking?” you turned your head towards him. Micah also turned his head to look at you properly, his lips curving upwards and into a smirk. “Maybe” he grinned.

You could smell the whiskey every time his hot breath hit your face. You hadn’t realized how close his face was to yours until his eyes momentarily flicked down to your lips.

It caught you by surprise, your nose nearly bumping against his. Micah didn't expect your faces to be so close either, his mouth staying slightly open though he stayed quiet. You’ve heard the phrase ‘getting lost in someone’s eyes’ but you didn’t think it was actually real. Yet there you were, unable to stop gazing into his blue eyes, as if there was a magnetic pull to him.

You had to remind yourself that you were in the middle of camp with other people nearby. You cleared your throat, tearing your eyes away from his. Micah snapped back to reality too, taking his hand off your hip and stepping away from you. 

He moved over to the other side of the table, resting his weight against it. “You, uh... you wanna have a drink with me?” he asked, glancing around to see if anyone else was nearby. You focused your attention on chopping the vegetables “I can’t, Pearson has about ten other things he needs me to do”.

Micah rolled his eyes “You know, if you keep helping ‘em all the damn time then they’ll start treating you like a workhorse”.

You laughed “As if you know anything about working and pulling your weight around camp”.

“Just tryna look out for ya,” he mumbled “you’ll thank me one day”.

“I’m sure I will,” you replied, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in your voice ”now shoo, you’re distracting me”. You scooped up the vegetables in your hands and turned your back to Micah, walking over to dump them into the pot of stew.

Micah let out a forced chuckle before he picked up a bottle of beer and made his way over to the campfire. A smirk spread across your face as you watched Micah gulp down his beer. Maybe this would be a good thing. If Micah was drinking alcohol then surely it'd make him tired fast. In a way, he was unknowingly sabotaging his chances of winning. You nodded to yourself as you got back to work, confident that you’d win.

10:35pm Your mind was in a cycle. Within an hour you’d go from feeling completely fine to absolutely exhausted. You had spent the last ten minutes in a daze, staring at the campfire with drooped eyelids. Out of all the days to make a bet with Micah to see who could stay awake longer, why did it have to be the day after your night shift? Micah sat at one of the tables, sipping on yet another beer. He looked normal… well, whatever normal is for Micah. Basically, he didn’t look tired.

“And that’s why you should never trust people that swim in the same water they fish in” announced Sean. You snapped out of your daze, raising your eyebrows as you looked at him. “What?” you asked, completely baffled by his statement. 

Sean tilted his head “Wha- have you been listening to me? I’m trying to teach you some very valuable life lessons here”.

“Yes, yes, thank you” you nodded your head, still confused but deciding to act as though you knew what the hell he was on about “that was, uh… quite something”. 

A proud smile spread across Sean’s face as he stood “See, I knew you’d find that helpful”. He lifted his arms up as he stretched. “That’s me done for the night,” he let out a big yawn “I’m robbing a stage tomorrow so I need my wits about me”. You tried not to yawn too, clenching your jaw. “Good luck with that” you replied, a small yawn managing to escape. 

With Sean heading off to bed, you realized that there weren’t a lot of people still awake. Micah got up and walked over to the beer crate, picking up another full bottle. You got up and followed him over.

“I told you, this is bet is going to go on for a while” he said, knowing it was you who was approaching. “I know,” you replied “but I don’t plan on giving up anytime soon”.

“You want a beer now?” he offered, lifting up another bottle. You thought about it for a few seconds “Nah, it’ll only make me sleepy”. “You sure?” he waved the bottle slightly “just one drink?”.

You knew Micah was already after having a plentiful amount of drink so no matter how sleepy the alcohol made you feel, it would have the same effects on him but sooner. “Ok,” you took the beer “but just one”.

2:23am You told yourself you were only going to have one beer and you meant that, you really did. But you were having a good time, so one beer turned to two beers, and then three, and then four. 

You weren’t sure what number you were on now but the good news is that you weren’t feeling tired. You were definitely drunk but not tired.

At some point, you both decided to go for a walk along the outskirts of camp. You knew Micah must’ve felt sleepy since he was the one who suggested it, presumably to try and keep himself awake. The two of you strolled through the woods, chatting and laughing until eventually you decided to sit down by a tree. Micah sat down next to you, putting his arm around your shoulders without a second thought to the action.

He was warm and surprisingly comfortable as you shuffled closer to him. You could stay there forever. You’re breathing started to slow as each blink seemed to last longer. 

“So what do you want if you win this bet?” Micah asked, a relaxed smile on his face. You blinked again, this time keeping your eyes closed “Haven’t decided yet. Why, how much do you want if you win?”. You presumed Micah wanted cash if he won.

“I, um… I wasn’t going to ask for money” he revealed, his breathing getting heavier.

“What were you going to ask for?" you asked.

He hesitated, debating whether to say it or not. “I dunno…” he stalled “maybe, uh…”.

You waited patiently, too relaxed to care about how long it would take him to say it. “Maybe something like a… a kiss” he said shyly before he immediately began to backtrack “but money sound’s good".

“You… you wanted a kiss?” you opened your eyes and sat up straight to look at him. For once, Micah actually looked nervous. The flirtatious, confident front he usually portrays had completely vanished. He wasn’t sure what to say. Slowly, a smile spread across your face. “Yeah, that could be arranged” you giggled.

Micah nodded, a goofy smile on his face. You settled against Micah again, resting your head by his chest. You could hear his heart rapidly beating. “but you gotta win to get your reward” you reminded him. He chuckled, holding you close to him “And I intend to”.

“I have to admit, I thought I would’ve won this by now” you sighed, closing your eyes again. “That's not gonna happen” Micah muttered, resting his head on top of yours.

You hated how your mind wandered into thinking that this is what life would be like if you were dating Micah. You liked being this close to him, feeling his warmth and finding his breathing relaxing. Micah was an awful man yet for some reason, you found comfort in him.

You could feel yourself drifting off to sleep, finding it harder and harder to open your eyes. Just as you were about to give in to the exhaustion, you heard a noise.

It sounded like a snort and it came from the man next to you.

You opened your eyes and blinked a few times, trying to get your brain to work. Trying your best not to disturb Micah, you moved your head up to look at him. A massive smile spread across your face as you realized Micah had drifted off to sleep.

You couldn’t believe it, he was actually sleeping. He let out another snort as he nuzzled his head closer to yours. You wanted to get up and celebrate but you also didn’t want to wake him up.

You knew in the morning he was going to argue that he didn’t fall asleep. There was no way he was going to admit that you won the bet. You wondered what you’d get for winning. A part of you wanted to ask him to buy you a drink at the saloon in town, or pay for dinner for the both of you. Either way, you had won and there was no way you were going to let him forget about this for a long, long time.

[apiratewhopines]

Thanks to @teamhook for the updated artwork. She’s the only person I know who will provide a gift for her own gift 💝

Thanks to @motherkatereloyshipper for helping me pick Killian’s hometown in this story and for being an all around lovely person

Midnight

Chapter 2 — The Stroke

Summary: In which our heroine does what she does best

Chapter 2 of 7 on AO3

“And my imagination will feed my hungry heart,

Leave me one thing before we part”

-A Kiss to Build a Dream On, Louis Armstrong

The spot he was referring to was an out-of-the-way pub serving the greasiest onion rings in existence and a lively clientele that didn’t notice it was one o’clock in the morning and all decent people were in bed. After days of getting by on breakfast bars and the memory of what a full meal tasted like, Emma thought she had died and gone to heaven.

Melancholy tunes droned softly in the background as she demolished enough food to feed an army. The pretty waitress earned her respect when the woman didn’t even blink at her handsome companion, and she liked to think she earned it back when she ordered three of their daily specials without a trace of shame.

Ignoring the way Killian watched with an expression close to awe as she stuffed her face, she happily gulped down a cup of coffee and observed, “Nice place. Come here often?”

“Not as much as I used to,” he murmured, taking a sip of his drink. “Tell me about this man you’re hunting. Is it personal?”

“Please, don’t make me lose my appetite. Surely we can come up with something else to talk about,” she groaned around a mouthful of beef and melted cheese. He had removed his leather jacket when they entered the pub, and his black short sleeve t-shirt stretched across his biceps in a manner entirely too distracting for comfort. Their high-backed booth made it feel as though they were on an island all by themselves, the dark wood and Tiffany lamps creating a cozy cocoon while still allowing a view of the nearly deserted dance floor.

“Ah, definitely personal then. Did he insult your honor? Break your heart? Have you ever even been in love?”

It stung how quickly he was able to see through her. Did she wear her heartache like a stamp on her forehead announcing to everyone she was an idiot? Ignoring the last question, she replied, “He hurt the only person who ever cared about me out of petty revenge. Neal Cassidy broke me. Now I’m going to return the favor.”

“Chills, darling.” His tone was teasing, but she thought she saw him shudder at her words. “I guess you don’t abide the notion of turning the other cheek.”

“Not when the first hit cost me my home, my possessions, and my peace of mind.”

“So he’s the reason you haven’t eaten in days and don’t have any luggage? Sounds like a lovely chap.”

“I don’t need your commentary or your sympathy, Captain. While I appreciate your help tonight, and I definitely owe you one for the meal, I think my past is closed for further discussion. Let’s talk about you instead. What’s your story?”

“I don’t have one, love. What you see is what you get.”

“What I see is someone dodging my question. Guess I’ll have to fill in the details myself then. Let’s see…thirty-something-year-old man who lives a life of boredom and pines for more while feeling stuck in his white picket fence world. You have a decent career in a field that pays well but decided to start a side hustle to meet new people and have something to do after eight in the evening.” Gesturing with her chin toward his forearm, she continued, “Currently nursing his own broken heart over the woman who loved and left him. The only thing I can’t figure out is what part of England you’re from.”

“Well, aren’t you the perceptive one,” he answered with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Although, I would argue it’s cheating since I have my emotional baggage inked on my skin for everyone to see while you carry yours around like an invisible tumor on your soul. As far as where I’m from, a man likes to maintain a little mystery.”

“Come on! You really aren’t going to tell me anything about yourself? After I guessed all that about you?”

With an unfathomable look, he smiled softly and said, “Fine, I’m from Cambridge. Now you know all my secrets. And allow me to call your attention to how well my devious plan worked. My first evening with my side hustle, as you call it, and I’m already having a late night rendezvous with a beautiful woman. One full of food and dancing.”

“There will be no dancing, Captain. But I wouldn’t be opposed to more food.”

“Not sure where you’ll put it, love, there’s no more room on the table. But I’m game if you are. Come on, one dance, and I’ll buy you a whole pie.”

She wanted pie but not as much as she wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted it so badly her mind raced with images of skin on skin and restless hands exploring. Then her stomach twisted at the knowledge they would say goodbye soon. They probably should have already said it, truth be told. As she debated what harm could come from giving in just this once, he extended his hand and pulled her gently from the seat. Slowly, she felt a small section of her walls crumble and gave him a reluctant smile. “One dance.”

The soft music wasn’t loud enough to allow for an appropriate selection of dance style, but she didn’t mind when he gathered her close and swayed gently in time with his soft humming. She felt his breath stir the hair around her face and realized this was a mistake. Now that she knew how it felt, it would be harder to deny herself an encore. Especially knowing tonight was a one-time thing.

“Tell me something, Swan. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“No, I don’t believe in love at all,” she answered. Her words conveyed her deeply held conviction that poets and Hollywood movie producers invented love to make people so miserable with the lack of it, they had to seek out fictionalized versions to find some measure of happiness. Her tone, however, sounded as though she was open to being convinced otherwise.

“That’s a shame. I think you’ll miss out on a lot of what life has to offer by being so close-minded and scared.”

“If I were scared, which I’m not, I have every reason to be. One of my foster moms told me a long time ago that love wouldn’t buy me a diamond ring, and it was as easy to be in a relationship with a rich man as a poor one. Easier really. I used to think she was a witch, but now I think she had a point.”

“Bloody hell, what exactly did that man do to you?”

She felt his direct gaze like a physical thing caressing her even as his eyes flickered with disappointment. “I told you. He broke me. And my bank account.”

“Money isn’t everything, love.”

“Excuse me if I ignore advice telling me to count my non-monetary blessings from the man who picked me up in his Beamer. It may not be everything but not having it leaves you with nothing.”

“A person who needs forty dollars a day and makes forty is richer than someone who has everything and needs more.”

“Now you’re just being silly,” she said as she slipped from his arms. “And when a rainy day comes? What then?”

“I recently took up being an Uber driver in my spare time, love. I imagine I’ll make more on rainy days.”

Laughing as she looked at his endearing face under the dim light, she shook her head. “About my pie…”

—

She knew what she was doing. She lingered over the large platter containing a sampling of every type of pie the surprisingly eclectic menu had to offer. She watched him with affection as he critiqued each in turn, always saving the bites with whipped cream for her. The best parts, in other words.

She was stalling.

The night hadn’t turned out as she expected. While her main goal was unfulfilled, she couldn’t make herself think of it as a loss when her sides hurt from laughing, and her troubled heart felt at peace. It was a pity it had to end. And not because she had nowhere to go, although that was certainly the case.

Slowly they made their way back to his car, neither one speaking as the noises of the summer night buzzed in the background. She’d said a lot of goodbyes in her lifetime, eagerly in most cases, but was strangely reluctant to add this one to the list. “Well, Captain, it’s been an expensive night for you. I think you better drop me off at the nearest bus station before I cost you any more.”

“You’re always trying to bring the conversation back around to money. Get in,” he ordered as he handed her into the car.

The air in the cabin of his luxury sedan felt heavy with expectation. Neither of them spoke nor hardly moved a muscle. She considered asking him to turn on the radio but didn’t want to miss out on the last few moments of hearing his even breathing next to her. Minutes passed, and it took her a while to notice they had left Storybrooke and were heading back toward Misthaven. “How much further to the bus station?”

“We passed it several miles back. You’re going to stay at my place.”

Under normal circumstances, this would be where she prepared to kick someone’s ass, but she knew deep down, as surprising as his announcement was, she had nothing to fear from him. Well, nothing except a repeat of the broken heart fiasco that was getting harder to remember with every second spent in his company. “Oh no, I’m not. What happened to no strings and no funny business?”

“Calm down, Swan. Our deal stands. I’m working the rest of the night so you’ll have the place to yourself. Trust me, the bed in my guest room is much more comfortable than a seat at the bus station.” Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached into one of the compartments in the console and pulled out a key. “There are some shirts in the dryer if you need something to wear. Help yourself to whatever you want. If you hang around until nine, I’ll even make breakfast. If you don’t, leave the key under the Welcome mat.”

“I think you better keep your key, Captain. There are two ways this could end, and neither one is pretty.” She gave him a sidelong glance and was mildly irked to see him grinning at her.

“Only two? Please enlighten me with your power of premonition.”

Heaving a sigh of frustration, she wished he would be logical about this whole thing. Sure they had attraction in spades; the very air around them seemed to crackle with electricity whenever their eyes met. But she knew it would fade, and the only thing left then would be goodbye. Better to skip the messy part and go straight to the end. “The first is I stay and have breakfast, and it turns into the day and then another night….”

“That doesn’t sound so bad, love. And the second?”

“I leave the key under the mat, and we never see each other again.”

“Hmm, option two is decidedly less appealing. I’ll take what’s behind Door Number One, please,” he joked.

“You think so until reality sets in and you realize you’ve taken in a stray with a score to settle and not a cent to her name. It won’t be long before the sight of me in your shirts makes you cringe, and you resent having to share the couch with a woman who has nothing to give.” She would know having been in a relationship with a person who was only capable of taking, and she vowed never to do that to someone else.

“I have half a mind to hunt down this Cassidy fellow myself after seeing the hit job he did on you. Listen, Swan, the key has no strings. Breakfast is just food. Whatever happens, happens. But if you think I’m going to drop you off at a deserted bus station with only the clothes on your back, fetching as they are, you’ve got the wrong idea about me in more ways than one.”

“I’m not yours to rescue, Captain.”

“You could be,” he whispered in a voice that made her skin tingle. He tossed her a half-hearted smile, eyes stormy with the knowledge she was going to turn him down. Again.

“The fact we both want me to be is warning enough it’s a bad idea. Come on, Killian, let’s call it a night now so we can remember it fondly in the years to come.”

His jaw clenched, and she was worried he was going to fight with her sensible argument. People didn’t meet people in the middle of the road and form attachments in one night. This wasn’t a fairy tale, and she was as far from a princess as a person could get.

Although she had to admit he made a rather fine prince.

Pulling off into a nearby gas station, he turned to her and said almost threateningly, “We’re not through discussing this.”

Then he stepped out and slammed the door as the sky opened up.

—

It was a dirty trick. She knew even as she did it, but it was for his own good. For whatever reason, he felt like he needed to protect her, and she needed to save him from himself. So she waited until he walked into the convenience store and made a run for it.

That’s not to say she didn’t have a brief moment of whimsy. She couldn’t stop herself from placing a kiss on the key he had casually tossed to her as if inviting her into his home and his life wasn’t a big deal. Then she carefully placed it on the dash, grabbing the newspaper from his backseat as an afterthought, and scurried away before she was caught.

Like a rat.

Maybe Neal was exactly the kind of man she deserved.

The rain beat down in a punishing way, her makeshift umbrella getting soggy and soft under the onslaught. She was so busy looking over her shoulder, convinced he was going to search for her and half hoping he was successful, that the sudden absence of the storm took her by surprise.

“Here, miss, it’s raining cats and dogs tonight,” the sturdy doorman of the fancy establishment she was passing said as he reached out to place his umbrella over her. The burgundy awning extended to cover most of the sidewalk and, despite the late hour, classical music was drifting from the open door. Limousines lined the street, spilling well-dressed patrons as they approached the swanky club.

Before she could maneuver out of the way, she was swept into a tide of rich fish, all glammed out and ready for the party to start or continue as the case may be. She overheard one woman, whose hat was so large she had to tilt her head to make it through the door, complain, “Regina’s parties are always so dull even nature weeps.”

Deciding a boring party indoors was better than a lonely night in the rain, Emma changed her stance and walked over the threshold with her head held high like she belonged there. She noticed the plaque on the wall as she entered read The Rabbit Hole and couldn’t help but think it was aptly named. With its marble floors and curving staircase, it was no wonder this wasn’t one of the stops on the Captain’s tour of town. This place was as high-end as they came.

There was a man collecting tickets at a small side table and, with only a minute to improvise, she was glad to see the stubs were roughly the size of the photo she was toting around, one of the few remaining possessions to her name. Without a moment of regret, she turned the photo face down, relieved the love note Neal had written on the back was faded and worn, so only his faint signature was legible. Luckily, the sheer volume of people entering the place meant the employee merely took it from her without looking to confirm it was what it appeared to be.

Following the crowd into a large ballroom off to the side, she saw a black grand piano played with a precise kind of violence by a wild-haired man in a tuxedo. The room was packed to the gills, the group she straggled in with taking the last seats on the far side of the room. The audience was appreciative but far from silent, conversations carrying on as if private concerts of this caliber were a normal everyday occurrence for them. Every time Emma thought she found a place to rest her sore feet and sorer heart, someone took it before she could get there and, in one near miss, she almost flattened a lap dog that warranted his own seat for the show.

Finally, after pushing her way through a narrow row, she found a place and asked the man in the next chair with a hint of desperation, “Is this seat taken?”

Shrugging a silent negative with brooding eyes that lit up when she neared, she tried to ignore the searching glance he gave her as she dropped into the chair and surreptitiously removed her shoes. She could tell by the hint of a smirk he noticed the movement, but at least he had the good grace not to comment on it.

He was handsome in a careworn kind of way. His tousled dark hair and thick stubble were eerily similar to the Captain’s look, and it made her shuffle in her seat with guilt. The man kept staring, his light-colored eyes settling somewhere between gray and green, keenly taking in her appearance and finding it amusing if the continued presence of his smirk was any indication.

As the final notes of the concerto echoed through the room, a burst of applause started. Now that she was fed and able to sit for a few moments, Emma realized she was exhausted. It was a bone-deep weariness far beyond fatigue, and she was fairly confident it could be traced back to a man with blue eyes and more charm than any one person should be allowed to have.

She wondered where Killian was now. If he had already given up or if he was wasting more time and losing out on more money combing the streets looking for his erstwhile damsel in distress. Emma knew what she did was for the best as surely as she knew she would be haunted by the feeling of his arms wrapped around her for a long time.

After a brief break, the musician approached the piano again. Before he could start hammering out another song with the intensity of a madman, a raven-haired woman stepped in front of the instrument. She called out in a commanding voice, “Pardon the interruption but does anyone recognize this man? It would seem there was a mix-up at the ticket counter and someone accidentally handed in a photograph instead of their invitation to this private event.”

Resisting the urge to sink deeper into her chair, she furtively looked around as the audience murmured amongst themselves regarding the unusual disruption. She could tell by the sardonic tone of the woman’s voice and the way she emphasized the word private she wasn’t convinced it was an innocent mistake. A scene would be made if the guilty party were found and couldn’t provide the appropriate documentation.

“Really? No one is going to come forward?” With an annoyed look at the assembly, she sulked, “Fine, I won’t waste any more of your time.”

She saw the woman hurry to the corner and carry on a quick conversation with a few men before the group disbursed and fanned out to cover the room. Feeling her luck was running out, she slipped her feet back into her shoes with barely a wince and slowly stood under the watchful gaze of her neighbor.

She needed to escape for the second time that night, but now she had hundreds of witnesses. Nonchalantly, she surveyed the room, trying to determine the best way. During this perusal, a man caught her eye, and she froze as he began to cut across the room to her side. So much for a stealthy getaway.

Her pursuer had an air of refined boredom with an edge of mischief. His graying hair was an attractive finish to a lean, well-dressed form. Cocking an eyebrow in disdain or maybe curiosity, he spoke quietly to not draw the notice of the surrounding crowd. “A word, madam.”

“With me?”

“Indeed.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Squaring her shoulders, she ignored the way her neighbor watched with rapt attention as she resolutely marched toward her fate.

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[sweetestlamb]

Yoga

Summary: Vincenzo hides his jealousy as well as he hides being part of the mafia.

Author's note: it was supposed to be a cute jealous yoga story I don't know why this ended in angst 😂😂😂 I really need to get my life together. Also Vincenzo rubbed me the wrong way today and some people are trying to convince me that I'm interpreting the show incorrectly and explaining to me why it didn't offend them and why everything was fine and I just need you to know, my opinion isn't changing but listen if you had a great time today watching the episode please don't let me stop you. I don't need anyone to be outraged with me. I'll be mad all by myself I promise! But just to be clear my problem was the creation of yet another gay character who an awful person in a kdrama. I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen gay characters not be predators or abusive.

Anywho I give you jealous aerial yoga fun that ends in man pain!

He probably believes that he's being inconspicuous again, hiding this side of him as well as he'd thought he was hiding being a member of the mafia. But he's just as obvious as he always is in her eyes, much like her he's too theatrical to ever really conceal how he's feeling. He talks too much and reveals his cards too easily- especially to her.

He's attracted to her that much is painfully evident, if her father's nosy assistant hadn't interrupted they would have kissed. She would have been laid across the table and taken apart, his eyes promised a great time as he devoured her. She was just as attracted to him, she wouldn't have stopped him from doing whatever he wanted.

It is getting more difficult to ignore the quiet moments though, when she can feel his eyes on her and it's not sexual at all. He's just looking at her and she feels bare, naked.

Those moments scare her in a way she hasn't felt before. Ergo she presses them deep, deep into the dark corners of her brain behind all the different ways that she has concocted to throw off others, she's used to being strange and having men overlook her for it.

She's never been what others would consider "sexy". But then he appears and suddenly men seem to see her in a new light. Or maybe he brings her attention to it.

It all begins at the coffee shop, they've made a habit of starting their mornings together by getting coffee. She doesn't analyze what exactly they're doing but some may consider it a date, she hasn't giving the outings a title there's no need to.

She feels comfortable with him and he hasn't been resistant to her pushing her way into his life. She has always been like this, too much and overbearing. Usually it drives people away and she pretends that it doesn't hurt that she's something that people need in doses, she's heard that so often that it's etched in her brain.

Friends in college, boyfriends and her colleagues to name a few.

But for some reason he keeps coming back for more doses, regularly smiling at her shenanigans even egging on her antics with full body laughs.

So he'd taken her to get coffee grinning once again as she dragged her caffeine deprived body dramatically like a puppet with its strings cut to the counter, plopping herself on the surface before crying out, "If I don't get a large sewage water in five minutes my death will be on your hands!" The barista behind the counter grinned over at her, used to her dramatics. He was young, barely nineteen and he'd tried his hand at flirting with her a few times. She had promptly laughed in his face the first time, spewing coffee everywhere before strutting out of the shop.

Laughing and punching a stranger in the arm, ignoring the loud "Hey! What are you doing," before she danced down the sidewalk, hand on her hip as she flipped her hair before shouting to the sky, "I've still got it, baby!"

That day he had glanced at Vincenzo before walking over to her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I didn't realize I had so much power over you. What if I say I won't give it to you unless you let me take you on a date?" She remembered her eyes widening in shock and then disbelief and finally landing on bemusement, he was persistent she would give him that much but she was no cougar so his flirting was futile.

She opened her mouth to let him down easy- laugh in his face again and remind him that he had to be this old to ride her ride but suddenly her Italian was leaning across the counter, all cool lines with a deadly smile on his face.

With a his deep voice he chillingly said, "If you don't give it to her your death will be on my hands."

There was heavy silence.

He continued, "I know how to kill a man with only a coffee cup and a string."

The barista, Heon, stared at Vincenzo with all of the blood draining from his youthful face. She didn't blame him the man did sound unnervingly serious and the look in his eyes was a little too real to be purely acting. Plus there was conveniently a coffee cup and a string right there on the table, it was an oddly specific thing to say.

Then after a pregnant pause, he started laughing loudly filling the entire shop like a mad man and she looked over at him as if he had lost his damn mind but this was her favorite coffee shop, she couldn't be banned so she started laughing with him, guffawing and pushing the idiot on the shoulders.

"He's just joking! HahaHAHAHA, laugh it was a joke! LAUGH!!" She leaned across the counter to pat the scared boy on the back but then Vincenzo leaned into her, draping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her back until she was no longer touching him. His laughter static and too robotic to be anything other than a hoax.

She'd never seen anyone brew coffee that fast before. It was impressive what a person could do when they felt as if their life was in danger she'd thought, she gave him a generous tip before leaving.

Heon mysteriously stopped working when they would normally come to the coffee, another barista informed her that he had switched his hours. A certain Italian was really cheerful upon hearing the news, whistling an unknown tune as he sipped his tiny cup of espresso- double shot, traipsing away with a pep in his step and the wind beneath his suit coat.

His random violent outbursts continued.

Bartenders. Businessmen. Traffic officers. Other lawyers. A librarian who had flirtatiously whispered that she wouldn't need to be quiet when they were alone. Suddenly there were men everywhere and she was the hottest thing on the menu, her lower back probably had an imprint of his hand by now from all the times he would steer her away from her suitors.

Every time his excuses were the same, "I'm just protecting you. Guys like that are scum, you deserve better."

Well the one she wanted had no intention of staying so why was he blocking anyone else from trying?

Thinking about it makes her chest feel tight and she welcomes the weekend, she has booked an aerial yoga class to release some of the stress and tension just being around the Italian causes.

It's a warm day so she dons a small set, a light blue sports bra with matching shorts throwing a light jacket over in case the temperature drops at the end of the day. Looking in the mirror she scoops her hair into a low ponytail, pushing back baby hairs that frame her face.

She swipes a thin layer of chapstick across her dry lips before grabbing her phone, keys, gym membership card and her gym bag with a change of clothes.

The drive to the studio is short, she listens to BlackPink on the radio happily screaming about her dududududu complete with car choreo that consists of arm shakes and a lot of hair whipping. It's another miraculous day where she does not cause a car accident, she gives herself a high five for the small victory.

She parks her car haphazardly driving onto the sidewalk several times before getting it right. With a satisfied sigh she hops out of her car, opening the back door and bending over to grab her gym bag.

"Cha-young ah?"

A familiar voice surprises her and she jumps bumping her head into the roof of her car with a cry, she drops the gym bag and leans out of the car rubbing her throbbing head with a pained grimace.

Vincenzo is standing in front of her, in what is the most casual outfit she has ever seen him wear. A pair of navy blue sweatpants, a plain white t-shirt and expensive looking black sneakers, leave it to him to wear Balenciagas when trying to look casual.

Her mouth becomes very dry as she takes in the unexpected but very much welcome sight.

Shaking herself out of her stupor she raises an eyebrow at him, "What are you doing here?" She asks once again leaning into her car to retrieve her gym bag. When she turns around slamming the door shut she watches Vincenzo peel his eyes away, quickly looking away from her direction.

Had he been checking her out?

She smirks at the thought before openly checking him out. Eyes perusing his body up and down in a slow and thorough examination.

"Are you checking me out?" He asks amused as he folds his arms across his chest, making his already impressive biceps look even bigger and more enticing. She knows exactly what he's doing, he's about as subtle as a bulldozer.

"Yes, I am. Do you need me to turn around again so you can check me out?" She laughs easily as he sputters and tries to deny her claims, once he realizes that she doesn't believe a word he's saying he finally stops, admitting defeat.

"Those are...great shorts." He drawls, gone is the embarrassed act. Now he's freely eying her shorts clad body, eyes hot as they trail up and down her legs.

Shaking her head she smiles at him, "You never answered my question. What are you doing here?" He struts over to her prying her gym bag from her hand and throwing it over his free shoulder. She tries not to get too affected by his sudden closeness, his cologne filling her nostrils with the fresh earthy musk.

"My gym is here. I came to work out. You look like you had the same idea, you should have called me." There he goes again, making space for himself in her life although he has no intention of staying with her. It was cruel and she knows she should cut him off before it's too late.

"I don't think you'll be interested in what I'm doing." She answers walking ahead, holding the gym door open for him. They both show their card to the attendant at the front and the young worker smiles at her before saying, "Your aerial yoga class will be starting in five minutes. It's best to go early and secure a good spot."

She can see Vincenzo's questioning face in her peripheral but she ignores him to nod at the younger woman, tugging her bag off his shoulder and nodding at him in dismissal.

"Enjoy your work out." She climbs the stairs leading to the huge studio where the aerial classes are held. His eyes are like lasers on her back and she already knows that he's going to follow her, he's too intrigued to stay away. That's what she was banking on.

She would get him back for all his jealous tantrums this past week. There were so many places they were probably going to be banned from and all because he didn't know how to play well with others. She's wasn't some toy he could claim. Especially when she couldn't claim him back.

Finding a spot in the corner she puts her bag down on one of the mats that are provided, taking a few moments to do some light stretches. She bends over touching her toes before dipping her head and elongating her neck, then she does a few squats and jumping jacks just to get her blood pumping and her heart racing.

She can feel the exact moment that he comes, it also helps that all the women gasp and she can hear coy giggles about their new guest. She pretends not to notice him, stretching backwards into a perfect handstand holding it for a few minutes before tilting back and planting her feet until she's upright again. She almost loses her composure when she catches his expression in the large windows.

He looks shocked and aroused, neck redder than normal.

All the women settle down when the instructor comes to the front of the room, they have reached the point where he no longer shows them what to do instead he walks around the room correcting their form and giving tips or words of encouragement.

He's a beautiful man, with mocha colored skin and a lean muscled build and the most gorgeous head of coily hair. She has been coming here for months and they've become quite closer as they have a lot in common, most importantly they both love men. When they had run into each other and realized they were staring at the same guy's ass, it was love at first ogle.

When he comes over to greet her she immediately steps into his space with a mischievous grin. Sean grins back looking exasperated already but he still says, "What are you up to? I know that smile Ms. Cha-young." She leans closer certain that Vincenzo is avidly watching her every move. Trailing a finger up his thick bicep she whispers, "Nine o clock, don't look but I need your help to teach him a lesson. Are you up to it?"

Sean starts to turn his head before processing her order and stopping, he stares at her before a devilish look gleams in his bright eyes too.

"You know I'm always up." He replies voice full of innuendos and she fake swoons, bringing her hand to her forehead. "Don't tease me."

He chuckles at her before walking back to the front of the room, none of the other women react to their flirtations used to their antics and everyone already knows that Sean is as gay as the pride flag. Everyone except one fuming Italian.

She can feel his waves of anger crashing across the room and she tugs at the cloth in front of her testing the weight before easily hoisting herself up, letting it cup her bottom as her feet dangle.

She's ready to put on a show.

He hadn't stalked her per se, he'd merely overheard one of the tenants say that they'd seen Cha-young in a nearby studio on weekends so he'd went to see if she really did go there. And then there she was bent over in her car, pert little bottom sticking out the car and he wanted nothing more than to smack the flesh and watch it bounce and jiggle under his hand.

This was why he was so protective, not jealous. Protective. She was too careless with her body and there were salacious men out there ready to take advantage of that, she needed someone like him who had a pure heart to look out for her.

He was allowed to fantasize about spanking her while having a pure heart, it was called having duality.

So he'd followed her into the gym, a little peeved when she abandoned him without a word to attend something called "aerial yoga", he knew regular yoga and if it was anything like that he was very much interested.

In watching her do it.

Turning to the young worker who had been staring a hole in his face, he sent her a charismatic smile before leaning nonchalantly on the counter, he could tell that he had her full attention by the way her mouth fell open.

He almost felt bad, she seemed a bit wet behind the ears. But he wasn't really trying to seduce her so it was fine, he wasn't some old creepy predator.

"Hey, that aerial yoga class am I allowed to watch it? I want to see if it's something I might be interested in." He lies to the younger woman, watching her process his words before answering.

"Well technically that class is restricted for those who signed up..." She trails off looking at him and he smiles brightly, pushing his curly hair off his forehead he had forgo his products today and the way her eyes follow his fingers make him thankful that he did so. "But you won't do any harm by watching, I'm sure it'll be fine. Go on up." She finishes and he throws a mental fist pump, he still had it.

Outwardly he smiles serenely, thanking her before walking up the stairs that Cha-young just disappeared up. It leads to a spacious studio with a wall of gleaming mirrors and huge bay windows overlooking the city. He looks around before his eyes land on her, the reason why he's here.

He swallows a groan as he watches her stretch that slim gently curvy body, she's all smooth lines and feminine appeal. When she starts squatting he can't help but watch those firm cheeks tensing and tightening, he lazily leans back hungrily watching her.

Then he almost swallows his tongue when she bends backwards into a perfect bridge before lifting herself into a handstand, damn she was strong and deliciously flexible. Looking her in the eye was going to be even more difficult now.

His heckles raise when he sees another man approaching her suddenly, a Black man who seems way too familiar with his Cha-young based on the way they both grin and invade the others space. He sneers as he watches them whisper and grin at each other, who was this guy and why were they so close? He releases a sigh of relief when the man finally backs up, going to the front of the room before pressing a button and light soothing music begins to play.

He must be the instructor then. Wonderful. He prays that was the end of the unnecessary touching and standing too close to his lawyer. He doesn't want to have to make a scene.

It isn't the end. Not by a long shot.

The instructor who had introduced himself as Sean easily walked around, stopping every once in a while to correct someone or praise them for having good form. The ladies would preen and thank him and that was it, he would nod before moving on.

Cha-young was the only exception to this rule.

He watches mesmerized as the limber lawyer bends herself into a graceful pose that resembles a swan and he can't fight the images that start flashing in his mind of them in bed, her twisting around him with pieces of cloth. Tying him up and showing him just how flexible she is all night long until they both sore and sated.

When she suddenly releases the cloth and starts tumbling to the ground he finds himself jumping into action shoving the fantasy to the crevice of his mind, legs already moving to catch her before she saves herself with her ankles, her body swinging freely with her face only inches from the floor. His heart skips a beat before it starts chugging along again.

Why was she always worrying him?

"That was perfect Cha-young! You've finally let go of your fear of falling!" Sean praises her walking over and patting her legs, but he doesn't let go after the quick touch. He keeps those grabby hands on her thigh and helps her back up onto the cloth, he thinks that will be the end of it. He's wrong.

He moves her body into a new pose with the cloth wrapped around her shoulder and he glares when a hand runs down her back precariously close to her bottom before rolling back up. He pushes her gently on the cloth harness and she laughs gleefully before she whispers something to the instructor, it's hard to read her lips from this distance but he can make out, "with me."

He understands what she asked for when Sean nods and moves into position.

Sean wraps his arms around the same cloth and suddenly lifts himself off the ground, his face level with her groin and he wants to go over and rip the cloth from the ceiling and strangle the man with it. Then Sean pulls himself up and Cha-young slides out of her seated position, grabbing the cloth too until they're face to face and spinning in lazy hypnotic circles. They both have huge grins on their faces as they move together in perfect harmony, the last straw comes when she wraps her legs around his waist and their bodies are pressed together- he sees blazing red and disconcerting white and then finally pitch black.

He's fleeing before he's even aware of it. Bounding down the stairs, two steps at a time then shoving the entrance door open and letting the surge of cool air ease his anger. If he stayed another second the instructor would be dangling out the window much like that thug before except he wasn't sure if he would be able to pull him back up.

Why was he so anger? She'd looked fine, happy even. She clearly wasn't being taken advantage of. But his rage is bursting at the seams and he jolts when a hand suddenly grips his wrist. Instinctively he turns grabbing the person and slamming them into the nearby wall.

Cha-young looks up at him, face flushed and sweaty.

That will also be burned into his retina.

"You should know better than to sneak up on me." He warns taking deep breaths to suppress some of the frustration he feels looking at her, the memory still fresh in his mind.

"What's wrong with you?" She counters bringing her hands to his shoulders rubbing in a calming motion, "You look pissed. Did something happen?"

He watches her for a second, taking her in seemingly harmless question and recalls her legs wrapped around another man who wasn't him and he wants to punch that fucking handsy instructor right in his smug fac--

Wait.

She was smiling. No, smirking. Right up at him like she knew everything that was racing through his head.

He'd been played.

"Did you have fun?" He asks voice laced with snarkiness and he shoves her harder into the wall, red hot fury brewing in the pit of his stomach. She knew that he was part of the mafia but still acted like this. Did she not have any sense of self preservation?

"Were you jealous?" She asks in a ostentatiously cutesy voice like this is all a hilarious joke and he wants to kiss that damn smug look right off her face. No one has ever dared to treat him like this, acted like he was a joke.

She's playing with fire and he's not opposed to burning her up.

"Do you still think you have the upper hand right now?" He looms over her pushing his pelvis into her and she squeaks at the hardness that pokes into her. To his surprise she eagerly presses back, pulling him in by his waist until they are flushed chest to chest. He doesn't know if an upper hand exists anymore.

"Yes. I do, getting to see you jealous was the highlight of my day. Cute little jealous mafia lawyer."

He snarls at her feeling stupid because of how easily she can play him, and without thinking he wraps his arms around her.

"You looked really cozy with him."

She sniffs before pouting at him, "Yeah and you didn't fight for me at all. Where were the death threats and cold glares? Sean would have pissed his pants." Her giggles only make him angrier because she's seen through him all along.

He stares at her blankly before throwing caution to the wind and leaning down to capture her tempting lips, he runs a hand through her ponytail tugging her head closer to him and she moves easily with him standing on her tiptoes. He closes his eyes ready to put himself out of his misery when he feels a finger in his lips, he blinks his eyes open staring at her perplexed and a bit offended.

"What?"

"Are you staying in Korea?" She talks over him, her finger firm on his mouth.

They both stare at each other and her question spins in his busy mind, thoughts too full of her seductive moves earlier and how badly he wanted to destroy anyone who dared to look at her. He doesn't know why that question is coming up now, at this particular moment when he just wants to kiss her breathless. They can leave the rational thoughts for later, right now there should be more frenzied kissing. But when he tries to push her finger away she grabs his face hard, adamant.

He stares at her and finally he sees the chinks in her armor, gone is the overly confident Cha-young that he's so used to seeing and there's something softer in that stead, the vulnerability that always shrouds over her eyes when they have this reoccurring conversation is back and it leaves him feeling cornered as it always does.

He can't answer that question. The answer should be easy and it had been before her. He was going to take his gold and get the fuck out of this God forsaken country.

That had been the plan pre: Cha-young.

Now that plan was muddled and he could admit that he was jealous of other men stealing her away from him, at least to himself. Could admit that he wanted to wreck her completely, have her screaming in his bed those nimble limbs wrapped around him as he thrust into her over and over and over. But he wasn't ready to admit that he might feel something more than just intense attraction to her. That she had changed all his plans and made him consider settling down, with her. It was insane, he barely knew her and they weren't even in a relationship.

"No. I told you, I'm leaving."

He's a coward. He can admit that too.

She sends him a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes before ducking under his arms.

"Then leave and don't confuse me. I'm not yours to get jealous over. I'll see you Monday."

She doesn't look back, walking straight to her car and speeding away without checking any of her mirrors as she's wont to do despite him constantly reprimanding her for it, he's certain she's over the speed limit.

He punches the wall with a yell, the pain in his fist nothing compared to the pain in his chest. It was a huge mistake coming back here.

[orsuliya]

This part (4 of who knows how many) of my Awu/Xiao Qi married headcanons resembles nothing more that a dying whale full of confused feelings. Which is exactly what I would swiftly turn to left alone with this drama without @madeleineengland’s continuous friendship and support. What I actually want to say is: Happy Birthday, my dear! I am thankful to have met you. I hope you like this instalment, even if I couldn’t quite manage to fit in a kneeling Song Huaien. Sorry!

There are some things that no woman can choose for herself. Some things simply happen – or not – as they please with no regard to wishful thinking or social status. A princess or a gravedigger’s daughter, a young maiden or a stately matron, none can simply will themselves pregnant, no matter how many prayers have left their lips and how many offerings have graced the altars, set there by gentle hands yearning to hold a living, breathing child instead of a bowl of rice or a stick of precious incense.

And yet, no matter how many times she whispers this truth to herself in the middle of the night, Xiao Qi’s broad hand resting on her lower belly in a sincere attempt to soothe the twinges of pain that come every single month without fail, there are still moments when Awu cannot help feeling as if she’s failing in the worst of ways. Not failing her husband, for until the day she dies she will never forget the truth shining in his eyes, still fever-bright from Wang Qian’s vile mixture despite the self-inflicted blood loss. And not even the twelve generations of Wang Empresses. After all, hadn’t she courted their disapproval already by choosing to walk through life hand in hand with her husband instead of living torn in half until her very last breath? No, the person whom she fails is always herself.

And in her mind she fails a lot. There is a bitter taste on her tongue as she pushes Xiao Qi’s wise, warm hand off her abdomen and rises from their shared bed to stand at the window, throwing open the shutters and trying to breathe, even as the feeling of warm blood pooling between her thighs makes her remember her first and worst failure, committed right in the middle of the palace courtyard. There were pamphlets, she knows, vicious, cruel rumours of how she bled her baby out from sheer disgust of having been bred by a man born nobody knows of whom and where. Only after every wagging tongue had already been silenced with a cloak of red silk set around her shoulders, did she realize that half the court must have been tittering excitedly over the prospect of seeing the proud Wang daughter set aside and brought as low as she had once sat high. And they hadn’t been kind about it, going as far as to comment that her swift appearance at the scene of the coup must have been motivated by her eagerness to be rid of her spouse as the balance of power finally shifted. Fools, what blind, base-minded fools all those high-born courtiers – many of them her distant kin – have turned out to be!

Princess Shangyang wouldn’t have felt such dark, all-consuming anger. Princess Shangyang, as Awu has learned in all her years as Princess Yuzhang, had been something of a fool, a bird kept in a gilded cage, encouraged to sing and chirp happily regardless of how the bars of that cage withered her wings. It was only later that this caged songbird discovered that she was no songbird at all, but a bird of prey. And like a bird of prey Awu wishes she had known of every single salacious rumour – but only so that she could tear their originators to shreds for using her poor never-born first child for their own vicious purposes, for making a spectacle out of her – their – pain.

In her anger she barely notices how her fingers have curled tightly over the windowsill… at least until big, calloused hands descend onto hers and she finds herself cradled in Xiao Qi’s loose, yet strangely grounding embrace. For a moment she wishes to slip away, to escape and simply be angry, no matter how futile it may be after so many years… And had he tried to lead her back to bed, had he spoken a single word, she might have done just that, but there is only silence between them. Only slightly unreal, moonlight-washed silence and Awu feels the flames of her anger sputter and go out, leaving only bitter, choking ash of regret.

Yet there is one kernel of failure she can exorcise right here and now for both of their sakes, even if it can never be made right in this life. If I have children of my blood, she says, allowing herself to let go of the magical ‘when’ this one time, seeing them entered into the Xiao family book would bring me greater honour and joy than if they were feted as princes and princesses of the first rank. And maybe after a moment she feels the need to explain further, to say that she would have been honoured to act as a filial daughter-in-law to his parents, no matter their birth and status, but before she can get out a word, he manages to catch her off-guard. Not with a kiss to the side of her neck, that much she has come to expect always, but rather with his quiet, sleepily tender reply: Before we get to filling any pages, we need to have a book in the first place. Help me with that in the morning? And what can she do in response to that except hum in agreement and lean backwards?

____________________________________

Some things simply happen – or not – as they please. Which does not mean one should not help them along in any way that comes to mind. Or several minds, as it happens in this case.

Doctor Shen, however wise and famous, is far from the only – or even the best – available authority on the matters of female body, partially due to not being of female persuasion himself. Unlike, for example, his assistant and niece Shen Yunxin, an aspiring female doctor in her own right. Once that accomplished, if rather young lady managed to make herself heard, she swiftly rose in Xiao Qi’s regard, and would have done so for her gumption alone, even if her medical skills hadn’t been excellent in the first place. Shen Yunxin, skipping the dancing-around that most of her male colleagues invariably tended to degrade to in the presence of any person of power, rather daringly announced that perhaps instead of concentrating solely on curing Awu’s infertility – and thank you, the acupuncture treatments she herself administers every week are going just as planned – they should perhaps focus on the picture as a whole. That is, after all, what a doctor should look at first, right? Especially as there is no material proof of Xiao Qi’s high fertility. The ‘or is there now?’ part remained unspoken; even though Shen Yunxin came to like her primary patient a lot and had her own reasons to distrust men and their promises, she – this time and always – held to the standards of professional behaviour.

Awu, for her part, really enjoys seeing Xiao Qi drinking bitter herbal concoctions of his own. Even if she might not be all that convinced by Shen Yunxin’s words, it surely cannot hurt anything. And why should she be the only one to suffer under a tyrannical medical regime? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. And if in truth Xiao Qi doesn’t mind the taste at all, who would blame him for exaggerating a little for his wife’s amusement? Certainly not his wife, who has seen through his play-acting at once and swiftly decided that there is something to this mouth-to-mouth method of feeding particularly vile medicines to recalcitrant patients.

And yet Shen Yunxin isn’t the only fount of knowledge to be found in Ningshuo and, truth be told, has shown much interest in the secrets of folk medicine herself, especially as practiced by Alima’s kinswomen. Although some of those women, in particular Alima’s crone of a grandmother, have proven astonishingly… direct and rather shameless with their advice, to the tune of making a fully-fledged practitioner and an old married woman such as Awu, both of them hardly prone to prudishness, blush like girls not yet through their hair-pinning ceremonies. Or perhaps the advice was actually fine and tamer that one might expect. The enthusiastic appreciation that Alima’s kinswomen seem to hold for Xiao Qi, however, could probably fluster anybody, much less the man’s wife!

____________________________________

It is not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Awu decided to follow the kindly-meant advice of Alima’s grandmother. After all, the woman had successfully given birth to nine babies and gotten eight of them to adulthood, which would make anybody pay attention. Perhaps there is something to be said for the value of hard-won experience? And perhaps it was Shen Yunxin’s acupuncture skills that helped in the end, or even her insistence to look at the greater picture first. Or Doctor Shen’s bitter tinctures, or Xiao Qi’s unwavering, ah, helpfulness. Or possibly the fact that Awu finally decided that what will be will be and threw herself with doubled energy into the whirlpool of domestic concerns… which are truly never-ending, if one counts an entire province as one’s home.

Whatever the cause, Awu eventually achieved her goal… And yet she was among the last ones to actually suspect anything, the first being Xiao Qi and A-Yue, who had informed Doctor Shen and Shen Yunxin respectively, after having noticed some rather peculiar changes. A lady’s maid knows her mistress better than her own husband, although in this case, with the husband being an exceptionally affectionate one, that might not ring quite so true. Incidentally, the symptom that both of them had noticed was Awu’s sudden heightened sense of smell combined with a rather noticeably expressed aversion to her previously favourite perfume, which, you must admit, is a rather worrying sign.

As it turns out, both the uncle and niece had a good idea of Awu’s state, going by her last bleeding being more of a spotting than anything else – and you may bet Shen Yunxin monitors that closely – and yet they remained unable to fully ascertain their suspicions without any clear accompanying signs, nor were they willing to give any early hope, which may later be dashed. In fact, Doctor Shen would have preferred to avoid any agitation whatsoever for at least a week or two more, having had difficult experiences with this patient in particular, but one look at Prince Yuzhang’s face had him rethink that plan. Had Hu Guanglie been there – or alive in the first place – he would have immediately recognized that expression as Xiao Qi getting ready for battle, which he is quite sure he can win… but not entirely sure, with his doubt rising with every hour of there being no news of enemy movements. But even an amateur would be immediately wary of this sudden tension, for all that it might be hidden under an impressive facade of pretended calm. And Doctor Shen, after thirty years of practicing medicine among the upper echelons of Cheng nobility and staying alive – which is no mean feat – has learned to be quite sensitive to his powerful employers’ moods. As a survival tactic, if nothing else.

Another important skill, which Doctor Shen hasn’t yet imparted onto his niece, is judging when and where a doctor’s presence might be wanted... and when and where it is most certainly not needed. Pulling Shen Yunxin from the room by her sleeve might seem like a rather abrupt reaction, but it was by no means unjustified. Some things are simply not meant to be seen by outsiders. Prince and Princess Yuzhang facing each other and simply looking into each other’s eyes in perfect, tremulously joyful silence before the Princess lets out a hiccuping laugh and hides her suspiciously shining eyes against her husband’s collarbone is certainly one of those.

____________________________________

Xiao Qi’s first emotion after hearing the news is joy, then absolute panic – as far as that man ever panics, that is – and then steely determination most usually reserved for military planning. Having heard one word too many about miscarriage being a real possibility this early on makes him frantic and this in turn means that something really, really foolish is about to happen. Something like riding for the capital with only ten thousand troops. Something like going into Hulan alone. Something like dealing ungodly amounts of damage and letting his hair fly loose. Hu Guanglie would call this state a silence before mass decapitation. Were he there and alive, that is. Thankfully Hu Yao is both alive and there (deal with it, people!) and manages to redirect this thrumming energy into something actually constructive, which is probably the only thing that saves Awu and Xiao Qi from having an epic row over a series of very unreasonable ideas. Like, for example, shutting Awu in her rooms in the middle of Ningshuo Fortress and standing guard over her until the baby is born.

Meanwhile, Awu’s behaviour couldn’t be more different from that exhibited by her very own husband. Now that her years of continuous disappointment are over, she refuses to even consider that something might go wrong. At least not during waking hours, when she’s surrounded by a steady throng of people and children; and there is no way she would ever agree to being imprisoned in her rooms, although she agrees to retiring at the first sign of true fatigue and actually keeps her word, which causes her to share more than one nap in the middle of the day with little Song Guanglie. Which, in turn, makes for a pretty mellow Princess, especially right after she rises.

Which is exactly why this is the exact moment the brilliant tactician Hu Yao chooses to inform Awu that her fool of a husband (even if she doesn’t use exactly those words, she means exactly that) has evaporated with a troop of six into direction unknown, which may or may not be Hu Yao’s fault. Awu confirms that yes, Xiao Qi came in as she slept, woke her up briefly and said something about going on a short trip, promising to return as swiftly as possible. The look on Hu Yao’s face is rather telling and a tiny bit guilty.

That little overnight trip? Hu Yao is reasonably certain it is a hunt for something big and impressive. A local variety of wolf? A big feline of unfriendly persuasion? Probably not Hulan raiders, such as they are those days; she is rather insistent on that last point and for a good reason. That reason being that Xiao Qi had been making things strangely tense in the training yards, which are Hu Yao’s rightful domain, and so she decided to get rid of him by asking about preparations for the birth, no matter that the happy event may be six months away yet, and describing in great detail the extent of the prospective father’s involvement in those.

And seeing as it’s paramount – for future good fortune and the safety of both the mother and the baby – that no products of the birth are allowed to touch the ground, hence the need to provide a layer of ash, rushes or perhaps a cow’s skin as is the case in the wealthier families of Hu Yao’s acquitance, and taking into account that Xiao Qi has never done things by halves, his plan is rather obvious. Awu doesn’t know whether to feel strangely amused, immensely flattered and touched… or perhaps increasingly annoyed by losing her bedmate for such paltry a cause. For the moment she chooses option one, if only because amusement helps her forget about any apprehension the word ‘hunt’ might be causing her for rather obvious reasons. She will hold her judgement on options two and three until she sees the result of Xiao Qi’s bout of paternal madness.

The hero of the hour returns four days later, impossibly smug and with a bloody enormous salted pelt of a great brown mountain bear. Which he will then proceed to cure himself, because why wouldn’t he. Awu doesn’t have the words for what she’s feeling. Exasperation? Fond exasperation? A sudden onset of unexpected horniness? And I mean really unexpected, because bears smell and she’s still not over her olfactory oversensitivity. But mainly a burst of love and womanly pride. Sure, her man might be a fool, but he’s her fool and… I mean, it is a really big bear. Very, very impressive, if one was prone to being impressed by such things. Which Awu usually doesn’t find herself to be… Oh, who is she even trying to fool?

____________________________________

Xiao Qi has made something of a study of his wife’s body, which she had always been cognizant of to a certain degree. So it’s rather hard to say that it comes as a surprise that he’s able to tell when she begins to show even before she herself does – and she shows very early due to her general slimness. All the other things, however, are somewhat more out of the left field.

Like how he starts to send Awu’s maids out every time he catches one of them with a comb even before she confesses that somehow her scalp became really, really sensitive and in a rather peculiar way. Which he has apparently noticed and decided to take shameless advantage off, especially as the pleasure is mutual; Awu’s hair has become somehow both thicker and softer, a true delight to touch for a person as tactile as Xiao Qi.

Or how he suddenly stops going after Awu’s earlobes to her sincere confusion and irritation. She liked it, dammit, and what Awu wants, Awu gets, so the next time his mouth appears anywhere in the vicinity of her neck, Xiao Qi finds himself rather brusquely pointed at the desired target. The problem is, upon his acquiescence Awu finds it not as pleasurable as all that and really rather painful, her ears apparently having become rather sensitive practically overnight. By which point she has no other choice but to demand how had he guessed before she realized this about herself. His answer turns out to be rather disarming: You haven’t worn a single pair of dangly earrings for half a month.

The worst thing is, he is absolutely right. Every single time, which at the beginning causes no little exasperation, especially when Awu’s body starts rapidly changing and sometimes she feel like she hardly knows what she even looks like anymore. Is that pale, drawn face in the mirror actually hers? Why are her eyebrows suddenly so pale and whispy? And has she always had dark patches on the underside of her breasts? As time passes, all those other changes start looking less and less dire, having taken second fiddle to the most important thing of them all: a growing, living child nestled between her hipbones, which have lost all pretense of sharpness during those last few months. And so she starts asking questions. Not to fish for compliments – she truly cannot complain of a shortage of those – but out of true curiosity. What have you noticed that I haven’t? Show me.

And he does show her, claiming and re-claiming every inch of her skin as it changes and there is not a single moment in which she does not feel beautiful, or wanted, or loved, even when she’s absolutely miserable and sick, and bloated. Although she calls him a liar the one time he truly earns it by announcing her stitches on the newest piece in the increasingly elaborate layette to be the height of perfection despite them being crooked and all over the place due to her suddenly clumsy fingers. But just as he is her guide to her own body, she is his and there is little that she finds herself unable to complain of.

It’s their journey, their child, perhaps their only chance at this miracle and she absolutely refuses to hide, especially as her time comes near. Refuses to hide both literally and metaphorically, spending hours upon hours of increasingly warm, stuffy summer evenings laying naked on top of the covers and drawing nonsensical labyrinths upon her own skin with the tips of her fingers, every line closely followed by eager eyes, calloused hands or gentle lips; every single tap or movement from within met with genuine fascination and something not quite unlike worship.

____________________________________

There has hardly been a military campaign that involved more meticulous planning than the birth of this one tiny child, Ningshuo’s first princeling. Taught by Wanru’s premature experience with childbirth, both Awu and Xiao Qi remain rather wary of any fixed dates. The child will come when it will come, rather like the enemy, announces Xiao Qi, stopping the rather spirited discussion between the womenfolk about the necessity of early preparation and earning himself a fiery glare from Awu for using such inappropriate comparisons. By which I mean there is little to be done aside from observing the terrain and getting ready for an ambush, which may or may not come at any time, he explains, trying to mollify Awu and enclose her into his self-imposed bubble of confidence, usually reserved for use upon soldiers on the verge of panic, which is exactly what this discussion of premature birth has brought into their home.

And you know what, it actually helps, if only a little. Enough to take Awu’s mind off the possible complications and redirect her nervous energy into consulting with the astronomy charts and then choosing an appropriately situated side room, setting up curtains around the bed to serve as a birthing tent and getting that blasted bearskin out of storage. Which process they will ultimately go through four times, as the star charts – and thus best orientations – keep changing every month. And which neither of them will begrudge, as every single time they move the birthing tent Awu grows just a tiny bit more confident in the success of the upcoming labour and also more attuned to her own needs. At the very last milestone – during which she is comically enormous, but no less able to give out commands – she is an absolute nightmare, having everyone running around to and fro as well as throwing an absolute fit over the birthing rope, which she has agreed to previously.

Doctor Shen, being a great believer in getting his clients through labour alive and having a long-standing grudge against the usual way of birthing practiced in the Imperial Palace – which means supine, surrounded by a crowd of panicking women and with the doctor hardly able to see the patient in order to preserve their chastity – instills a certain regime, which is perfectly in accord with the traditional ways dictated by medical practitioners of old. By which he means peace, no more that two calm attendants at one time and letting gravity do part of the work; the last thing meaning that a length of rope or cloth should be suspended from the ceiling or perhaps stretched between two pillars at at appropriate height, so that the mother can support herself while kneeling or squatting.

In Awu’s case the arrangement changes from a hanging horse bridle – which while a show of status and a portent of good fortune proved to be not that comfortable after all – to a length of silk, to a rope stretched between two pillars. Which apparently doesn’t suit Awu any longer, not providing her with a steady enough support. While A-Yue and Alima keep tying and retying the rope to Awu’s continuous disapproval and even irritation, Xiao Qi doesn’t get involved. Yes, partially because in contrast to everybody else he doesn’t find his heavily pregnant wife a nightmare to deal with. Adorable, more like, the man is that hopeless. And partially because as long as Awu acts out on her irritation, she’s not getting apprehensive or despondent. So let her rage to her heart’s content. Now, the moment she goes silent and perhaps a little bit bashful over her previous outburst, he decides it’s high time for an intervention. Any intervention, even an absurd one. Which means that he disappears for a moment and brings back his spear, which he then secures in place of the rope to the growing disconcernment of everybody present. Awu finds it steady enough for her needs and it’s not like anything else matters.

Seeing as she goes into labour the very next day and finds herself properly appreciative of this improvised solution, Xiao Qi can’t find it in himself to really mind the rapidly growing slew of jokes and ditties starting to make rounds, although he makes a point of trouncing the most intrepid joker rather soundly. Or perhaps five of those, not that he’s in the right mindset to actually keep count once the entrance to the birthing room is barred to him. Before it is, there is still time to tell Awu– not for the last time, this isn’t going to be the last time! - of her bravery, of how only now does he start to truly appreciate what it means to send a loved one into battle and of how they’re going to carry this moment through their whole lives. You’re Princess Yuzhang, you will come back with a victory, hale and whole. You will always come back, he whispers into her hair, not sure who is he actually trying to convince as he hold his entire world in his arms, desperately trying to hide his fear. And failing miserably, which Awu cannot help but notice… once she gets through the current set of contractions. Don’t you dare to be a coward now, my Prince Yuzhang, she scolds, resting her sweaty forehead against his chin. Don’t you bloody dare. I have asked for this and I don’t take upon myself what I cannot carry. And now get out and let me fight my war. You know what I’m capable of.

And by all gods, he knows. And this steely determination in her voice scares him as little has ever scared him before. This time, unlike every other time when she’s risked her life this bravely, there will be nothing he can do to help her, no miraculous rescue, no last-minute shot, no hand ready to break her fall. Has he been too greedy, he ponders, only by a miracle avoiding skewering Tang Jing straight through the gut and then actually earning a light graze from Hu Yao’s blade. Useless, she pronounces, confiscating their weapons and hurrying both men off the training field. Absolutely useless. Go and do whatever it is that men actually busy themselves with while women do all the work.

It turns out that what men actually do in highly stressful situations is sharpen their swords as well as any other blade they may encounter. They are joined in this endeavour by Xiaohe, who will later be unilaterally – and wholly unfairly – blamed for each and every single skewed edge. Of which there will be quite a few. But then, what does an imperfect sword or ten actually matter, when after long hours of absolute hell, during which Xiao Qi has imagined at least five different worst scenarios ending in a pool of blood – just like that terrible day – and prayed to all the gods he has ever heard of, A-Yue finally comes, her wide smile speaking for itself.

[arcticfox007]

The Wych Elm and the Cemetery

Happy Christmas @aibari! I’m you’re secret santa and I hope you enjoy your gift!

Thanks to @destielsecretsanta2020 for putting all of this together :)

Wishlist fulfilled: Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Weird Small Towns (well city in this case), Weird Angel Lore, Hand holding, and Americana (I tried to work in as much as I could) – if you want specific info on all of the Americana I tied in, check out my endnotes on AO3 😊 Also, @aibari I’m happy to list you as the giftee on AO3 if you have a name over there.

The is roughly set during early Season 12, but I’m not married to canon or anything.

***

               Dean wasn’t easily impressed these days, but even he had to admit that the tree growing out of the grave was unlike anything he’d come across before. The historic cemetery in the middle of Missouri had its fair share of trees, but they had come here for this one. Cas stood next to him looking like he was attempting to interrogate the tree with his mind. For a moment Dean was distracted by the angel, smiling a bit at the memory of the time Cas had insisted on interrogating a cat. Luckily, Cas had gotten better at blending in, so at least he wasn’t actively asking the tree questions. There was the sound of someone clearing their throat to Dean’s other side and Dean directed his attention back to the cemetery’s caretaker, Mrs. Paige.

               “I’m not sure why the FBI would be interested in something like this.” The older woman sniffed and looked at both Cas and Dean suspiciously. Dean turned on the charm and gave her a warm smile.

               “Unfortunately, we aren’t at liberty to discuss the details of the case, but we’d appreciate anything you can tell us about this tree Mrs. Paige, or the woman who was killed, Louisa Abbot.”

                We’d also like any information you might have on the person who was buried here,” Castiel interrupted. “Most of the marker seems to be missing, perhaps destroyed by the sudden growth of this tree.”

               “Well, I can certainly get you the information on who was buried here, this was one of our more famous gravesites. The man buried here died in the early 1800s, he is one of two Revolutionary War veterans laid to rest in the cemetery, his name was William Abbot. I believe he held the rank of Captain. The Boone Historical Society may have more information about him, but he is one of the earliest burials in the cemetery and a lot of those records have been lost over the years.” Mrs. Paige chewed on her lower lip for a moment, staring along with Dean at the tree once again. “The tree will have to be removed to restore Captain Abbot’s grave.”

               “Was Captain Abbot an ancestor of the victim?” Cas’ question caught Dean off guard. There was something strangely mesmerizing about the massive twisting trunk rising out of the ground exactly where the remains of Captain Abbot would have been. Dean registered that Cas and the caretaker were continuing to talk, but Dean stepped away to examine the tree more carefully. It’s roots, on the surface at least, didn’t seem to spread out much. Rather they seemed to go straight down into the Earth. Its trunk was thick enough to have been there for hundreds of years despite having only appeared a few days ago. The tree itself was knotted in appearance, with ugly, twisted branches shooting out in all directions. For some reason it occurred to Dean that the tree looked like it was screaming in pain. Dean jumped when he suddenly felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder.

              “Dean. Are you listening?” Dean pulled his eyes away from the tree and turned towards Cas who continued to keep his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

               “Ah, no, sorry. This,” Dean waved vaguely at the impressive scene before them, “is kind of distracting.” Cas nodded seriously. Dean noticed that the caretaker had left, but was distracted again by Cas pulling his hand back. They always touched a bit longer than was probably normal, but Dean still regretted the loss of the warmth on his shoulder.

               “Mrs. Paige said that the victim may have been a descendant of Captain Abbot, but she wasn’t sure. She suggested the Historical Society again, if we needed further information. She did say that she knew Louisa Abbot when she was a teenager. She was one of several teenagers she used to call the police on for breaking into the cemetery after hours to party. Mrs. Paige said she hadn’t really seen her in more recent years.

               “Is there any way to tell if the good Captain is still here?” Dean waved towards the roots of the tree. Cas shook his head. “Ah well, I’d be surprised if they were still here. I guess we better find out what exactly Louisa Abbot was into.” They started walking back towards the car.

               “I agree. I’d also like more information on the tree. I know it’s a type of elm, but I’m not sure of the significance, if there is any.”

               “Call Sam and get him to work on it.” Cas let out an exasperated huff in response to Dean’s delegation of research to his brother.

               “Dean. The entire reason we are here without Sam is so he can rest. He needs to sleep to get over the flu, especially since he refused to let me heal him. I am more than capable of finding the information, perhaps while you visit the historical society.”

               “Alright. You want me to drop you off at the library?”

               “That would be acceptable.” Cas paused to look out over the cemetery again before opening the passenger side door of the Impala. Dean noticed the angel’s hesitation.

               “Everything okay man?” Castiel turned towards Dean upon hearing his words and Dean notices the sadness that ghosts across the angel’s face. “Seriously, Cas, what’s going on with you? You seem more, I dunno, out of it than usual.”

               “I – this place is a lot like the cemetery where Mary was originally buried. I don’t like the memory of you leaving to die.” Cas looks away abruptly and climbs into the passenger seat. Dean is at a loss for words, so he doesn’t say anything at all. He drops Cas off at the library with all the things left unsaid hanging between them.

***

               It’s off season for the small college town, most of the students having gone home for winter break, so the hunters end up with better than normal accommodations. Dean is more than happy to discover a decent grill-themed restaurant practically in the parking lot of their hotel, and Cas is happy to wait until his companion is content with food before telling him what he’d found during his time in the library. Dean talks ideally about the pie store the server had told him about, wondering if they’ll have time to check it out before they leave. Cas lets Dean talk, he finds himself still grateful that he can have these moments, he truly thought he was going to lose him in the attempt to destroy Amara.

               Ever since Castiel’s brief time as a human he’s found that the emotions he’d been slowly acquiring over the years have amplified at a rate that he has had difficulty adjusting to. He’d hoped at the beginning that regaining his grace would have given him back some of the control that had spiraled away from him, but he can’t help but dwell on almost losing Dean.

               When they reach their room, Dean opts to take a shower before swapping case notes so Cas tries to take that time to compose himself. When given moments away from Dean, where there is a chance for quiet, the angel forces himself to let the feelings he has for the infuriating man wash over him. He lets himself feel the pain at having to let him go up against Amara alone. He lets himself feel the overwhelming joy at seeing him alive once again. He lets himself feel how much he’s fallen in love with the beautiful human being. He recalls talking to Anna at the beginning of what would become his fall, her telling him it only gets worse. He has no doubt now that she wasn’t just referring to his struggle with doubt. An angel that can feel things akin to a human can easily become overwhelmed. They were not built for these sensations, and so, every time Castiel lets go to indulge in the wash of his emotions he pulls on his grace and works to reign them in one at a time. By the time Dean emerges from the shower Castiel has regained some semblance of stoicism.

               “So, this lady at the historical society was great. She apparently teaches genealogy classes for free to the public or something, so she was able to pull up the victim’s ancestry pretty fast. Captain Abbot was her ancestor all right, so at least we have that connection. Couldn’t find much out about the family besides that, so we should talk to Louisa’s next of kin tomorrow. I think the police report said she had a sister locally.” Castiel agrees to the plan and pulls out some information he had printed at the library.

               “The tree is called a ‘Wych Elm’ and is a common wood used to build coffins, which may explain it’s presence. It’s possible, if Captain Abbot’s coffin was made from this wood, that whatever spell was cast had the side effect of growing a new tree from the wood.” Dean raises his eyebrows skeptically when Cas shares this information.

               “It’s called a witch elm Cas; do you really think it’s there because of the coffin wood?” Castiel rolls his eyes at his companion.

               “W-Y-C-H Dean, not witch. It means pliable, it’s named for the characteristic of the wood. But no, to answer your question. I doubt it has anything to do with the coffin wood. It’s not a tree common to this area.” Dean waves his hand to indicate Castiel should continue. “You are not the only one to mistake the name of the tree for something else. More recent lore does associate the tree with actual witches as many of them seem to like these trees as ritualistic sites. The rest of the lore associates them with melancholy and death, especially because the trees are known for unexpectedly dropping branches and injuring the unsuspecting people standing below them.”

               “Yeah, okay. Does that mean that Louisa was some sort of witch, and grew the tree there on purpose?” Cas thinks about Dean’s suggestion for a few moments.

               “Possibly. The other thing these trees are known for is guarding the entrance to Hades, so it may also be a result of an attempt to raise the dead. I cannot be certain as this seems unlike any other necromantic ritual I’ve heard of. I am also uncertain at to the motivation of raising someone who died over two centuries ago, as the more recent dead are usually preferrable to necromancers.”

               “Alright, well there’s not much more we can do tonight.” Castiel nods and watches Dean dig through his bag. Dean hesitates for a moment and Castiel begins to wonder if he forgot something at the bunker. Dean shakes his head and pulls a bundle out of his bag, tossing it to Castiel.

               “Here, I forgot I brought this for you.” Dean looks expectantly at the angel as Cas looks at the material in his hands.  

                “Clothing? Dean, I have no need to change clothes.” Castiel’s confusion is evident on his face. Dean sighs rubs the back of his neck.

                 “I know man. Just try though, you’re more human-like than before with Heaven losing power. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I noticed that you eat more often, and even sleep sometimes. I think you’ll actually appreciate relaxing in something that isn’t a suit and trench coat.” Cas looks at the clothing in his hands, dismayed that Dean has seen the weakening of his connection to Heaven. He hadn’t wanted Dean to think him less capable but at the same time he’s touched by the thought the man had put into the angel’s situation.

                 “Thank you, Dean. I will try.” Castiel goes into the bathroom to change and when he emerges, he finds Dean sitting on one of the beds flipping through TV channels. Dean slides over, indicating that Cas should sit down as the TV is only visible from the one bed. Dean complains that the only thing on is a Law & Order marathon because the hotel doesn’t have a streaming service on the TV. Cas doesn’t mind though, sharing the bed to watch television gives him an excuse to watch over Dean as he sleeps without Dean complaining about it. Even nicer is how Dean falls asleep gradually in the middle of an episode and doesn’t seem to notice how he curls into Cas’ side as he does it. Cas smiles and allows his feelings to wash over him again as he thinks about how the softer PJs must be more comfortable for Dean to lay on.

***

                  The following evening found the hunter and the angel at a place called Warm Springs Ranch. When they called Louisa’s sister, she told them she could talk during her break. The ranch ran some sort of Christmas event and Janice Abbot was one of the people in charge of it. Dean tried to play it cool, but he couldn’t help getting a bit excited over the chance to see the Budweiser Clydesdales. He did remind Cas that interrogating the horses was unnecessary to which he had received one of the angel’s full body eyerolls. Dean would never admit it out loud, but he really enjoyed Cas’ sarcasm. He thought the eyerolling was kind of adorable.

               Dean hadn’t meant to spend last night half snuggling with his best friend, but Cas didn’t seem to mind so he wasn’t going to worry about it. Dean figured his secret crush on the guy was his problem, not the angel’s – as long as it didn’t mess up their friendship it wasn’t worth agonizing over.

               They had unexpectedly spent the morning at the morgue. There was another strange death last night, something had eaten the victim’s spleen. They’d only received a call about it because the original victim, Louisa, had also been missing her spleen along with several other organs and most of her blood. If it was the same creature it certainly seemed to enjoy the bloodier organs of the body. The only other thing the victims had in common was proximity to the cemetery. The most recent victim had visited the cemetery the previous day according to her wife.

               After that trip, they had gotten access to Louisa’s duplex and were now in agreement that she had been a practicing witch dabbling in necromancy. Cas had been on the phone with Rowena during the drive to the ranch giving her a rundown on the information they had in the hopes that she could help then understand more of what was going on. Eventually Cas had given in and called Sam, admitting that the younger Winchester had a much easier time getting Rowena’s cooperation.

               When they finally arrived at the front of the line of cars entering the ranch, Dean began to understand why there was a crowd. The lights draped everywhere were impressive and Dean was happy to note that Cas seemed taken in by the display. It always cheered Dean up to see Castiel happy, it felt like those instances were all too rare in their line of work. Dean and Cas showed their badges at the entrance and asked where they could find Janice. They were directed to a side road for staff and Dean noticed the small frown of Cas’ face.

               “Hey, want to ask if we can drive through the light display if we have time before we leave? It looks kinda awesome.” Castiel didn’t exactly smile but Dean could tell the suggestion pleased him. Dean wasn’t always sure why, but he was much better at reading Castiel than anyone else. Dean drove around to the back to park his car in what he assumed was the employee parking lot. They made their way through the staff entrance and asked around until they found Louisa’s sister.

                “I honestly don’t know what I can tell you guys that I haven’t already told the other cops. I’m sorry she’s dead but Louisa and I were not close. She and I have barely spoken since we were kids. She was friends with some really weird people and did a lot of drugs when we were younger. I’m really not surprised she ended up dead in a cemetery.” Janice was clearly frustrated at her sister’s death and the notoriety it had brought with it. They did manage to find out the names of some of the ‘weird’ friends Louisa hung out with but beyond that she had been more than happy to offer them free access to the Christmas event just to be rid of them.

                Dean was fairly certain the interview had been a dead end outside of assuring himself the sister wasn’t also a witch, but he didn’t feel their time had been wasted as he watched Cas roam through the stables. Cas attracted the few colts in residence leading to the kids in attendance following him around so they could see the young horses up close. Dean felt a soft warmth spread out from his chest as he watched his best friend talk with both the children and the colts. The children didn’t think anything of Cas having conversations with horses.

              They eventually made their way back to the car and drove through the light display. Maybe they should have talked about the case, but Dean didn’t want to ruin the moment. Cas gazed out at the decorations with a look of quiet contentment on his face and Dean reached for the angel’s hand without thinking about it. Cas threaded his fingers through Dean’s without even turning away from the window.

             Later that night, after grabbing burgers at a drive thru, they poured through the case notes together hoping to find something they had been missing. Dean didn’t even remember falling asleep until he woke up to Cas rolling him onto a pillow and laying a blanket on him. He mumbled a drowsy thank you and sunk into a dreamless slumber.

***

               Cas thought that maybe it was a mistake, but after last night he didn’t want to be away from Dean. Once he had pulled a blanket over his exhausted friend, Cas changed into the pajamas Dean had given him again and laid down beside him. He stayed above the covers and just watched Dean sleep. He didn’t tell Dean anymore that he’d watch over him as he didn’t enjoy being called creepy. Dean didn’t seem to understand that watching was part of who Castiel was as an angel. While he had rebelled and fallen it didn’t change his need to watch over the man he pulled out of hell. It would be like going to long without air for a human. Cas needed to watch Dean, to protect him, to assure himself that he was safe.

                He noticed Dean shivering despite the blanket draped over him and Castiel found himself giving into another impulse that he wasn’t sure Dean would appreciate. He pulled on the smallest amount of his grace to give some substance to his wings and dropped one of them on top of the man he loved. They were broken and battered, but over the years they had healed enough to fill out a bit. Dean quieted as he felt the weight of the wing, and Cas saw a small smile ripple across his face. The angel would just have to pull his wings back from the physical realm before Dean woke up, but it was worth the grace to keep Dean more comfortable as he slept.

***

               Dean opened his eyes in the morning to find a sleeping angel next to him. He froze as soon as he saw Cas there, more worried that the angel had fallen asleep than about the fact that Dean was all to happy to wake up to his best friend lying beside him. He reached over to see if he could wake Cas up and ran into – feathers? Dean quickly rubbed his hands over his face and woke up more definitively. Yup, those were feathers. Large, gorgeous, black feathers that shimmered like obsidian in the sunlight. It was as if every color that had ever existed had come together to create the shimmering black of Castiel’s wings. While concerned about why Cas was sleeping and why his wings were manifested when Dean had only ever seen shadows, Dean couldn’t help but be enthralled with the things. His hand reached out to pet the one blanketing him before he actually thought about it. He had just enough time to appreciate how amazingly soft they felt before Castiel awoke with a gasp. The wing pulled back suddenly and Cas was sitting up staring at Dean in shock.

               “Sorry, sorry! Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean anything by it, they were just so amazing… I’m so sorry Cas!” Dean held up his hands trying to placate the angel as he also sat up. Cas looked at his wings as if he had just realized they were physically present. Surprise travelled over his features and with a roll of Cas’ shoulders the wings disappeared. Dean tried not to look as disappointed as he felt. Cas turned back to Dean and briefly touched his jaw.

               “It’s alright Dean. I was just surprised. They were manifested more than I intended and the sensation of you touching them was unexpected.”

               “Did I hurt you?”

               “No, like I said it was just unexpected, not harmful. I apologize, I didn’t mean for them to be out for so long.” Dean was surprised to note that Cas looked embarrassed.

               “I – I’m glad I got to see them. They’re fucking awesome Cas, the shadows were badass enough, but wow. If I had known you could manifest them like that, I’d have been begging you to show me for years.” Cas laughed and the tension between them evaporated. Dean got ready in the bathroom and found Cas back in his regular clothing hanging up the phone when he’d finished brushing his teeth.

               “Rowena thinks she knows what happened, or at least some of it. She’s not completely sure about the role of the Wych Elm, but she did say that it’s likely we will need to use wood from the tree to kill the creature that was raised.”

               “Did she say what it is?” Cas nodded in response to Dean’s question.

               “She thinks Louisa was trying to make her own vampire. Ties of blood are necessary for control and the age of the corpse increases the power of the risen dead in a ritual like this. Rowena said that no one tries this type of thing though, because the amount of power and control needed are astronomical. She said she wouldn’t try it herself, that there are easier ways to get a loyal servant. Then she said something about how maybe Louisa didn’t have the ‘assets’ Rowena had?” Dean broke into laughter and Cas tilted his head in puzzlement. Dean always enjoyed Cas’ air quotes.

               “Don’t worry about it, Cas. Okay, so Louisa was trying to make her own breed of vampire.”

               “It would seem so. Obviously, she wasn’t successful, and not just in regards to her lack of control. Whatever the creature technically is, it’s not just drinking blood.” Dean chewed over Cas’ words as the angel did something on the laptop. All Dean could think is that this thing seemed to be some sort of zombie vampire. It didn’t really make a difference though, as long as they had a way to kill it. Or re-kill it as it were.

               “So, Rowena said we can use the Wych Elm wood to kill the thing?” Cas didn’t even look up from the screen to answer Dean’s question.

               “Not exactly. She said it had to be the specific tree that grew out of the grave. She also said it wouldn’t be enough by itself. I’m looking at the spell now.” Dean decided to leave Cas to it and work on getting their gear together. It was still a vampire after all, even if it was some sort of mutant version.

               “Dean. I think this will work. Dead man’s blood should still help to incapacitate it. We also need the ashes of it’s creator and the blessing of the divine.” Dean widened his eyes at that list, but he supposed it was doable. They could steal Louisa’s body from the morgue if necessary. “We use the spell to seal the ingredients into the wood of the elm. Then we have to stab the creature with the elm wood through its heart.”

               “So, we have to stake the vampire? Seriously?” Dean was amused at the idea of staking a vampire actually working.

               “Yes, Dean. Afterwards I’d still suggest decapitation and burning whatever is left, just to make sure it stays dead.” Cas closed the laptop and pushed it aside.

               “Sure. You have a plan for blessing of the divine?” Cas smiled at Dean.

               “That’s easy enough.” Cas didn’t even warn Dean, one moment he’s standing there looking at the angel expectantly, the next he has a faceful of feathers.

               “Um, I thought you didn’t want me touching them.” Dean couldn’t see Castiel, but he could hear him snickering. Dean pushed the wing away from his eyes in time to see Cas laughing at him.

               “I said it was unexpected, not that I minded you touching. Anyway, this will work.” Dean watches as Cas runs his finger through the feathers and finds one that comes loose. In between one blink and the next the wings are hidden once again. Cas hold a single feather in his hand, the echo of his earlier laughter still present in his smile.

               “What about the ashes? Do we need to break into the morgue?”

               “We don’t need a specified amount; we can get away with most anything. Maybe just hair or something small, we needn’t steal an entire corpse.” Dean sighs in relief, that’s one less complication.

               “Well let’s head out then, I’d like this taken care of before sunset. Wait, how are we going to find the thing anyway? You think it’s prowling around the cemetery?” Cas nods.

               “Yes, Dean. Rowena seems to think it’s probably tied to the elm and with the other victim also being close to the area I’m inclined to agree with her. Using the tree for the spell may even be enough to draw it to us. If you want to drop me off at the cemetery, I can start preparing everything while you get the ashes.” Dean agrees and grabs his keys.

***

               Cas is somewhat relieved to be dropped off at the cemetery. While Dean hadn’t reacted poorly to being draped in an angel wing this morning, or the fact that Cas was asleep in the same bed, he couldn’t help feeling that he had been pushing things too far. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep while also solidifying his wings. He needed to conserve his grace for more important tasks. While Castiel was truly content to just be a part of Dean’s life it was difficult to remind himself that he could not have more, especially with his poor control over the very human-like emotions he now experienced. What was really tipping him over the edge though, was how Dean kept reacting. Dean did not react with anger or defensiveness when he found himself in situations that hinted of a more intimate relationship with Cas. He acted as if it were normal and even welcome. It surprised Cas, but it also gave him some of the hope that he had never really allowed himself to have. It was distracting, which made it all the better that he would be prepping the spell by himself.

               Cas collected a branch from the Wych Elm growing out of Captain Abbot’s grave, mindful of the tree’s reputation for dropping branches on unsuspecting passersby. Then Cas took a few moments to make sure the caretaker knew that he and his partner may be around afterhours because of the attack yesterday and was happy to find out that she had already decided to stay with a friend until she felt safer. Cas made quick work of the elm branch, pleased with how easy it was to shape into a stake. The sun would set soon so Castiel got to work engraving the sigil they would need directly into the tree trunk. Once Dean brought the last ingredient it should only take them a few minutes to complete everything. With any luck the vampire would come to them.

               He was so absorbed in creating the sigil that he almost didn’t hear the movement behind him in time.

***

               As usual, things had not gone according to plan. Dean had arrived to see Cas holding the mutant-vamp at bay, but clearly struggling to gain an upper hand over the creature they didn’t yet have the means to kill. Dean knew better than to jump into the middle of that fight, it was more important to finish Rowena’s spell. He dumped the ashes in with the rest of the material. Luckily Cas had left a copy of the actual spell out by the bowl with all the ingredients. The incantation was pretty straightforward and Dean quickly scooped up the resulting concoction on two fingers and began filling in the sigil carved into the tree. Dean picked up the branch Cas had sharpened into a stake and touched it to the sigil, running through the incantation one more time. In a brief flash of light, the sigil was absorbed into the stake.

               “Cas!” Dean threw the stake towards the angel who managed to catch it neatly without even looking. Ducking down as the creature threw itself towards him, Cas pushed the stake up and underneath the monster’s rib cage with more force than a normal human could have managed. Dean breathed a sigh of relief too early, the vamp surged back up and made another run at the rapidly tiring angel.

               “Rowena may have overlooked something.” Cas sounded remarkably composed considering how ragged he looked. Dean looked around them desperately for something they had missed. Then he saw how the tree was shivering and pulsing as if trying to reach out to the vampire. Of course!

               “Hey asshole, leave my goddamn angel alone!” Dean knew the shotgun wouldn’t work against the creature but it got his attention, and with the impact to its shoulder and the stake still protruding from its ribcage the monster snarled as it barreled towards Dean. Dean was backed up against the tree as Cas turned on him with a horrified look on his face.

               “DEAN!” Cas sounded both angry and devastated as he chased after the vampire, but Dean just yelled out instructions, all too aware what this probably looked like from Cas’ point of view.

               “Stake it to the tree!” Cas caught on quick and as Dean threw himself out of the way Cas leapt after the thing that had once been Captain Abbot. Cas reached down to where the stake was sticking out and wrenched until the creature’s back was on the trunk of the Wych Elm. Pushing off from the ground Cas slammed the stake further in, until the vampire was stuck to the tree. It screeched as light pulsed from the stake into the tree. The Wych Elm seemed to come to life as it collapsed in on itself, dragging the mutant-vamp back to wherever the tree had come from. Within moments all that was left was a broken gravestone.

               “Huh. Guess we don’t have to worry about burning it,” Dean quipped. Castiel rounded on him, clearly not feeling amused.

               “What were you thinking? What if I hadn’t been fast enough?” Dean let Castiel rant at him for a few moments, standing up and dusting off the dirt from the back of his jeans.

                  “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t want to tip it off.”

                  “So instead, you made it look like you were drawing it away from me? Getting yourself killed for me!?” Castiel’s eyes flashed dangerously blue.

                   “Yeah, and it worked. For the record, I’d have done that even if it wasn’t to trick the thing though. Better me than you.” Dean was maybe angrier than he expected. He realized he’d been worried about how long Cas would last against that thing as he noted cuts that weren’t healing and the way the angel was swaying as he tried to hold himself upright. He also noticed that the blue in Cas’ eyes was in no way diminishing as he glowered at Dean.

                    “You. Are. Absurd. You are worth everything to me.” Then, rather abruptly, Cas fell over. Dean’s heart was pounding in his ears, both from what the angel had said and the sudden alarm he felt at a cosmic being fainting. He pulled Cas up into his arms, and damn, he was heavier than Dean had expected. Not just the muscle that Dean could feel, but he idlily wondered if the wings somehow added weight. Either way, Dean eventually made it back to their hotel room, although his back wouldn’t thank him for it later.

***

               Cas woke up in the pajamas Dean had given him with an arm thrown over his chest. Confused, Cas turned slowly and realized that they were back in the hotel and Dean was asleep beside him, curled around the angel’s torso. As small rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains Cas could see his normal clothing folded nearby on a chair. He noticed that the wounds his grace hadn’t healed yet had been cleaned and bandaged, and that the blanket was pulled up around both him and Dean. As Dean let out a contented sigh in his sleep and burrowed closer, Castiel thought that perhaps he too was worth everything to someone. Smiling the angel allowed himself to drift back to sleep, happily thinking about how Dean had told the vampire to stay away from “his” angel.

***

@destielsecretsanta2020, @aibari

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

The Iowa Caucus Happened

A job offer slides into Rafael’s DMs as he waits to find out if it’ll be a new start or prison on February 8.

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Delete the Twitter app, Mr. Barba

“Mister Barba?”

Rafael didn’t like hearing his name from the young woman behind him, especially not given what he’d done. He’d texted Carmen on the first day of the trial, and she’d agreed to look into the offers from attorneys he knew, and some he didn’t, while he sat beside Dworkin and emotionally prepared himself to testify. The ones he’d looked at the night before came from people he didn’t like or were last resorts. He’d moved from his visceral response to finding law to back his actions. Applying logic could let him detangle himself from his conflicted emotions. Catholic guilt wrestled his humanity. That said, he also found himself desperate to introduce Ollie to music as Carmen worked from his apartment that first afternoon, not caring for once as the toddler drooled or sneezed or spilled all over him.

“Yes?” he asked, taking his coffee from the cart. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“We haven’t. I follow you on Twitter.”

“Ah,” he said, shifting awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss-”

“Rachel Sullivan. I have, like, a reading Twitter.”

“I’ve seen that! Read with Rachel? Your icon is a copy of Howl?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, chuckling. “I just- listen, I know it’s bad what’s going on and a lot of people are really hurt and going after you. Do I get it? No. But, I think you didn’t get a good choice, and you did what’s right for you. When it seems impossible, it’s not my place to judge something I can’t fathom. And a lot of people feel the same. A bunch of us have a group chat and we hope everything goes well and you get to start again.”

It was a stark contrast to his interaction with mami or emails from church ladies. There was an acknowledgement of disagreement, but he needed more people to respect that they weren’t there like she did. He also remembered watching his father die, and while he didn’t like the man, he regretted not ending that pain. It only drew out hurt for everyone. 

“Thank you, Rachel. That really means the world to me.”

“Good luck today,” she said, giving him a wave when she took her coffee and left. By the end of the day, Rafael hated Peter Stone for being a damn good prosecutor, and he wondered if there were any cases he’d tried, especially the ones before SVU that he was wrong on. He made his way into a new bar, definitely not his usual during all of this, and he sat and drafted his resignation. It took longer than he cared to admit, and he restarted and reread it time and time again. By the time he was drunk, he’d written something he could proofread the next morning and ignored calls from Olivia, Carmen, and mami. 

He decided it was time to do what he had been dreading, logging into Twitter. Since Carmen had cleaned it up, more people had found him, and he was able to easily ignore anything hateful by skimming for murder or murderer in the body of the tweet. He skipped those, and Rafael was surprised to see some apathy, sympathy, or respect for his reasoning. Lazily, he scrolled his direct messages. A select few of the people who knew him contacted him with revulsion, but his filtered messages were filled with vitriol. He found Rachel’s account again, following her back and deciding he could break his unspoken rule of only following people he knew or the occasional blog/podcast/museum/celebrity. If anyone contacted him with kindness, he was now more open to the reciprocity of Twitter; no one would be asking him to prosecute their case soon.  

He saw a message from Tripp Greene. In Harvard, they’d had an unspoken alliance as the two scholarship kids in their cohort, a silent allegiance that continued into law school. There were very few people Rafael respected personally from Harvard, but Tripp had remained kind, even if he worked in something as ruthless as politics. They’d been reunited by Rafael’s uptick in Twitter popularity. He was more proud than he should be by the potential presidential candidates that had followed him. Rafael should have known Tripp would reach out; he was ever the silent cheerleader and had watched a sibling die on life support when he was at Harvard. They’d discussed the morality of pulling plugs and the selfish desire to keep people alive, though most of it had been Tripp talking and Rafael listening.

While moving to Iowa seemed extreme, he was acutely aware that he would end up haunting the DA’s office and Manhattan SVU like some ghost of ADAs past instead of moving forward. His mother had a boyfriend and looming retirement that seemed likely to take the pair to Miami, where she could play grandma to his grandchildren. There was nothing left for him here but Carmen, and while a great friend, she was not enough to erase the last twenty-one years of his life. When Carmen called for the fifth time that night, he ignored it, but it was quickly followed by Answer the phone or I tell Olivia I haven’t heard from you. With a groan, he answered when Carmen called again sixty seconds later.

“I’m fine. I don’t want to delve back into a play by play of my day.”

“That’s why you’re drunk at seven o’clock,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm as she pretended that solved everything.

“It’s only been two hours?”

“You’re not at Forlini’s.”

“I’m not hanging out with Stone.”

“Send me your location. I just picked Ollie up from mom’s.”

“Take your son home, Carmen. I’ll be fine.”

“But we could talk about how much I also hate Stone. I’ll even stop and let you grab take out from that Cuban place you like.”

“Deal,” he acquiesced, motioning he wanted to close his tab. “Call me when you’re close.”

“Deal. ETA is about fifteen minutes.”

He polished off his scotch, signing the check and tipping well before taking his briefcase and leaning against the wall as he waited for Carmen’s SUV. She waved at him out the window, and he hurried into her passenger seat. Though he always knew that she was a great secretary and assistant, Carmen was proving to be the friend he needed right now. Olivia, in the few phone calls they had, was unwilling to discuss anything but the case. She was in cop mode, and she talked to him like she could swoop in and fix what he had done. While she thought he didn’t know, she’d talked to McCoy, talked to Stone, talked to anyone who would listen. But what she didn’t understand is that he’d accepted going to prison was a possibility, but it was one he felt was worth it.

“Barba!” he heard from the backseat, smiling softly to see Ollie more awake than he’d expected. He’d seen the boy periodically, mostly during evening handoffs when Carmen’s mother would drop him off so Carmen could take him home. There were a lot of single mothers in his life, and all were exceptional. The last few days, Carmen and Ollie both had spent a lot of time with him. He kept introducing Ollie to music and movies and foods like he could make up for everything Drew wouldn’t experience by making sure Ollie did.

“Oliver!” he smiled, twisting around to smile at him. The boy kicked his leg, and the blue stripe on the rubber of his sneakers lit up. “I like your shoes.”’

“Thanks,” he giggled, kicking again. 

“You’re good with him,” Carmen smiled, the navigation now leading her to get his take out. 

“He’s a good kid. Noah made me better with kids. Liv said I held him like a sack of flour at first.”

“You’ll be ready by the time you have your own.”

“I work too much.”

“That can change.”

“I don’t deserve to have a child,” he shrugged, and he could see Carmen purse her lips. “I don’t. I wouldn’t be good at it anyway. Wouldn’t be fair. Besides, I might end up like dad. No kid deserves that shit.”

“Bad word!” Ollie scolded, tablet in hand as he watched a movie.

“Sorry, Ollie. Stuff.”

“You’ve never told me what he did.”

“He wanted heterosexual, toxic machismo and got a swarmy, emotional bisexual.”

“You’re not that emotional.”

“He took care of that,” he said darkly. “I used to cry when he went after mami. That turned his attention to me.”

Carmen knew there was nothing she could say, so instead she silently took his hand, squeezing softly. He was taken aback at first, but he kept her hand loosely in his as his head lulled against the headrest. It was strangely grounding, the physical affection. He’d felt like he was swimming the last few days as memories of his father, his father’s death, his childhood, and each case he tried bubbled up. That wasn’t including the vision of baby drew and Maggie in the hospital room that lingered everywhere. 

The conflicting guilt and conviction he’d done the right thing also broke a damn and the feelings he’d suppressed- loneliness, guilt, abandonment, distrust- were all bubbling to the surface. He’d spent so much of his life trying not to process them so he could focus on a conviction rate and moving forward that he didn’t have the tools everyone else did sometimes. Right now, Carmen felt like an anchor, and he was grateful for her. 

He got out of the car when Carmen parked, ordering enough food for three adults, one take out container containing whatever he thought a toddler could handle. Soon enough, they were settled in his living room and eating, though Ollie had minimal interest in the pork, beans, and rice in front of him. The thought crossed his mind that when he took one of the out of state jobs, he wouldn’t have Carmen there like this. He was sure this friendship would be short lived; when he didn’t need her anymore, she’d leave him. That’s what usually happened, wasn’t it? She just felt bad for him.

“I’m moving to Iowa,” he blurted out before he was able to spiral into the self loathing he’d recently discovered.

“That’s far,” she said, and he thought he could detect sadness in her voice.

“There’s FaceTime.”

“Not quite the same, but I’ll take it.”

“Tripp understands,” he said, sobering up as the food hit his stomach. “He lost a sister. Watched someone dying like with my dad except she’d been born that way. It was years, Carmen.”

“That’s a lot. I’m going to miss you, Rafael. Ollie will too.”

“Come visit. If the tickets are bad, I’ll pay. Or cover renting a car.”

“You’re drunk,” she chuckled. 

“Sorry. Best friend. It’s the rules.”

“We’ll come. But I can afford tickets.” 

“Promise if it’ll make things tight, you’ll let me. You’re raising a kid. No kids means I can afford to get my friend the occasional plane ticket.”

“Deal.”

“Next week, will it be Des Moines or prison? Who knows! I’ll probably grow a beard either way. Think they’d recognize me in prison if I grow a beard?” 

“I’ve never seen you with a beard. Stop shaving and we’ll find out.”

She could see Rafael getting tired, head leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes. She preferred when he joked about all of this. They were stuck waiting, and this time the next night they’d probably know. Ollie climbed between them on the couch, and she realized her boss wasn’t the only one almost asleep. 

“You two can stay,” Rafael yawned, hand smoothing Ollie’s curls back. 

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. It’ll be nice not being alone in the morning. And you can stay here to work. We didn’t talk about it, but I know you hate Stone. He’s a good attorney. Doing his job.”

“His job is wrong.”

“That isn’t his fault. If another ADA had done what I did? I’d be prosecuting them.”

“Go get ready for bed,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes. As she scooped Ollie up, she kissed the top of Rafael’s head. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Carmen?” She turned in the doorframe. “Thank you. For all of this.”

“I’m glad to, Raf. Promise you’ll actually sleep.”

“I promise.”

“Night, Barba,” Ollie yawned, waving over his mom’s shoulder as they entered his guest room. Maybe Iowa was going to be too far if he didn’t go to prison. He was getting quite fond of having Carmen around quite quickly. He wasn’t going to be her superior anymore, so this friendship could be something he maintained. 

Olivia would be a given; even if they were primarily united around work, she was also one of his closest friends and maybe not working together would make him relax. Hell, maybe the end of his life in the city would do it. Rafael couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t felt he was chasing an upward trajectory in New York City. Even at Harvard, the plan had been to return. Maybe coming into Des Moines established would let him feel comfortable just existing. 

He liked cooking and reading in the park and going out dancing on occasion. He rarely had time for two options, and the latter made his cheeks red with embarrassment at the prospect of a colleague seeing him during the outing. In Iowa, maybe he could go dancing and take up a new hobby and wear jeans without feeling like something was out of his control. 

He woke up before Carmen, excited to be able to cook for her. He appreciated the fact she was happy to help him, but she had paused her own life for the last few days. Their friendship was relegated to offices and dinners by the office. He’d come to her baby shower and birthday parties and even a holiday party, but that was it and that had other colleagues present. Except maybe the baby shower, but he was determined to buy up whatever was left on her registry when the day came, using mami, abuelita, and the older women at church as pseudonyms to pretend he’d just let family know. 

“You can cook?”

“I just never had time,” he shrugged, tray coming out of the oven.

“You made pastries?” 

“Pastelitos de guayaba.” Carmen didn’t miss how proud he looked as he admired them. They were something he’d always made with family. “They aren’t hard, but abuelita used to make them for me all the time. Puff pastry, sweetened cream cheese and guava paste. Cafe con leche on the way.”

“You couldn’t sleep?” He shook his head, pouring the espresso and adding the milk before placing mugs at the breakfast counter. His mouth was set in a line now, the corners sucked in as he focused on the countertop. Her hand rested on his, giving a squeeze and he rewarded her with a soft smile. “We’ll be helping you pack for Iowa in no time.”

“I hope,” he nodded, biting into a pastry. Ollie came out, eyeing the countertop. “Want one, Oliver?”

“What are they?”

“Delicious,” Carmen groaned, having torn into her own. That was enough for Ollie, who accepted a pastry from Rafael with a soft Thank you before biting into it carefully.

“Wow! It is good!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

It felt a somber affair, despite the pastries, when Carmen saw him off to court. She chose to wait in his apartment, ringer on high and news coverage on. Ollie was easily entertained by the toys she had in the car, and the phones were forwarded to be answerable on her cell phone. By the end of the day, she’d put dinner in his slow cooker and cleaned most everything at least once. And then her phone rang with his ringer. She’d picked one of the other presets for him long ago, and she watched Ollie with his blocks as she answered.

“Rafael?”

“Not guilty,” he exhaled, still unable to believe it as he surveyed his office to begin packing. Her desk was empty, and he didn’t mind today because if she had been here, McCoy would’ve had her helping Stone. Carmen was his assistant, his friend, and it was bad enough to know Stone would probably take his place at work.

“Thank God,” she whispered. “Did you turn the letter in?”

“I put it on Jack’s desk. I’m hoping to be gone buy his return. I think three heavy boxes will cover it. Plus anything I hung, but other than diplomas most of it came with the place.”

“I put dinner on. Ollie and I ran to the store and picked up short ribs and potatoes and carrots. I needed something to do.”

“Nervous you’d be visiting me in prison?”

“You know damn well juries can be swayed. You’ve done it.”

“And I’m safe. I’ll be there in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Okay,” she said softly. “I’m really glad you get to go to Iowa.”

[taeken-my-heart]

Revenant Chapter 2

Summary: You’d always been told that when you died that you’d walk into the light towards Heaven. Only problem is, you died and the light never showed up. Now you’re attached to a handsome but grumpy and sleep deprived medical student and neither one of you knows what to do to get you to finally cross over.

Rating: PG15

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, Ghost!au, MedicalStudent!Namjoon

Word Count: 3501

Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse and one seizure in future chapters

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When Namjoon walked sluggishly into the kitchen the next morning, he looked surprised to see you, shoulders jumping as he spotted you on the couch. “Thought it was a dream?” You asked softly and he flushed.

“Uh, yeah, I did. Sorry.”

“It’s OK, I can understand why you would. This is all rather strange, wouldn’t you say?”

“Strange is definitely an understatement.” He said, walking to the cupboards and pulling down a glass, filling it with water. “I’d offer you something, but I don’t know…”

He looked uncomfortable and you smiled, shaking your head. “I appreciate the thought.”  

He leaned against the countertop, sipping at his drink as he eyed you over the rim of the cup. He looked handsome all puffy faced and tired. His flannel pajama bottoms and plain white t-shirt sagged against his lithe frame and he pushed forward slowly, coming to sit on the couch beside you. 

“I don’t know what to do to help you,” he admitted, “especially since you don’t even remember anything about your death. I wouldn’t even know where to look for your body.” 

“Perhaps I’ve already been buried.” You supplied. 

Namjoon sighed, setting his empty glass on a coaster on the coffee table and leaning back into the cushions of the sofa. “If we’re going to assume that you’re stuck here for some reason, it must be unfinished business, right? For some reason you’re attached to me, so what is it about me that makes me important enough to help?”

“You’re smart?” You shrugged and he looked smug.

“What was that?”

You scoffed, laughing and rolling your eyes. “Don’t get a big head, I’m just saying, you’re becoming a doctor so you must be smart.”

“Ah, that’s not necessarily true.” Namjoon said, sitting up straight, “you should see some of the people in my class.”

“Well…maybe we have connections. Like, maybe you know someone who knows me?”

Namjoon stood, retrieving his laptop from the belly of the loveseat across from the two of you before rejoining you on the couch. “It’s unlikely, but I guess you never know. Still, doesn’t really explain why only I can see you. Why wouldn’t you just appear to someone who could actually help you?”

You shrugged with a sigh, “I don’t know, it’s all conjecture at this point. By the way, you’re up very early this morning, it’s only been like, what? 3 or 4 hours?”

Namjoon smiled, pulling his laptop open and typing in his password. “It was about 5 hours actually. I’ve got clinicals 3 to 4 days a week this semester, it really just depends on the week. On the days that I’ve got clinicals, I’ve got to be at the hospital at 6am.”

You switched your gaze to the clock on the wall. “You’ve got just under an hour to get ready and get there.”

Namjoon nodded, closing his laptop suddenly. “Yeah, it’s only a 10-minute subway ride. I do need to shower and eat, though. I assume you’ll be joining me at the hospital?” He looked back at you from the mouth of the hallway and you shrugged. 

Riding the subway left you with the fuzzy warmth of familiarity; like you’d done it many times before. This wouldn’t truly surprise you, you only wished you could remember. Namjoon was studying his notes, finalizing details in his “care plans” for the day, or at least that’s what you thought he’d called them. 

“I don’t think I’ll have a choice.”

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There weren’t many people on the subway at this hour. A couple of young college students who seemed to be teetering on the edge between drunk and hungover, a business man who was dressed smart in tailored navy blue, and a young mom with a sleeping toddler attached to her shoulder. 

The morning was warming once you’d left the station, a break in the scorching summer heat that you were sure was to come later in the day. The subway station was only a block away from the hospital and you walked along side Namjoon quietly as he continued to work through his plans. 

“This is familiar to me.” You remarked softly, staring up at the off-white walls of the outside of the hospital. Namjoon looked up at you before glancing up in front of him.

“Maybe you lived in the area?” 

“Maybe.” You hummed, following him up the stairs and into the hospital. 

The front reception area was quiet, only a few people waiting and two receptionists busy tapping away at keyboards. You followed Namjoon to the elevators where he pushed the button for the second floor and you frowned over at him.

“Really? The second floor?” You scoffed, “you couldn’t walk up the stairs?”

“It’s not even 6am. I’m tired and don’t want to, so sue me.” He griped as the elevator doors slid closed. 

“So, what is a care plan anyway?” You asked as the elevator began to move. 

Namjoon looked down at the manila folder in his hand. “It’s basically the plan of action I think we should take with a patient in order to further their health and care. It’s something you have to do to pass clinicals, but it also gets you in the right mindset for one day when you go into residency and have to take a more serious role in the health of your patients.”

“Do you already have patients you’re taking care of?” You asked as the elevator dinged and came to a stop. 

Namjoon shook his head, stepping out of the elevator as the doors slid open. “Not in the way you’re thinking. I’m still a student and this is my first year of clinicals so I’m still being heavily guided. Mostly the doctor that’s mentoring me will have me do simple things, or the nurse that is training me will oversee certain procedures that I’m allowed to participate in. It’s a good, hands on experience, but I can’t just take the reins yet, I don’t have enough experience.”

He paused outside a door and turned to look at you before down at the ground. “You can’t come in here.” He mumbled softly, so as not to attract the attention of anyone nearby. 

You glanced at the plaque by the door reading locker room. “I promise to try not to.”

Namjoon entered the locker room and you moved further down the hallway to peruse the papers stuck to the side of a bulletin board. Most of it was medical jargon and conditions you were woefully unfamiliar with, but on the bulletin board to the left there were pictures of the interns for the semester in a cute tribute to the Brady Bunch. You sought out Namjoon’s picture, grinning when you found him towards the right middle, poking his fingers into the dimples in his cheeks with his eyes squished closed tight. He was smiling and looked bashful but happy. It made you feel all warm and funny. 

“I hate that picture.” Namjoon said suddenly from beside you. You turned to look at him, smiling at the blush on his cheeks. 

“No. you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” He admitted with a chuckle. 

“What now?” You asked, following him as he moved away from the wall and began to walk down the hallway. 

“Now it’s time to go check in with Doctor Bang and get my assignment for the day. There will be a group of us, so it might take a minute.”

You followed after him, his strides long and confident. He was dressed in a nice grey button up and a pair of black slacks that made watching him walk a true pleasure. He was fiddling around with a white coat, adjusting the collar and ID on the breast pocket before sliding it over his arms and shoulders, sadly obscuring your view. 

“What’s a normal day for you like?” You asked as you hurried to keep up with him and he chuckled. The hallway was relatively empty, so there was no risk of him being seen speaking to himself.

“There’s no such thing as “a normal day” in medicine, but basically I come, figure out what part of the hospital I’m going to be in for the day, and then follow the nurse training me around and try to learn and practice whatever I can. You’ll get a feel for it today.”

The two of you pushed through a set of double doors at the end of the hallway, entering into a new, much busier hall. A group of people dressed similarly to Namjoon stood by the nurse’s station and you followed your companion as he made his way towards them, shaking hands with a few as he settled in. 

“Morning Joon.” Someone greeted cheerfully and Namjoon moved towards the smiling man, fist bump as a greeting. “You’re looking surprisingly sleepy this morning.”

“And you’re looking surprisingly chipper. Do you ever have an off day?” Namjoon teased and the man laughed, smile brightening. 

“One time, back in middle school. It was the pits man.” He remarked and Namjoon rolled his eyes with a grin. “Seriously, though, you look really tired. What’s up?”

“Just out late with friends.” Namjoon quietly and you watched as his eyes darted to the set of doors you’d just come through, a pretty young woman around their age walking through and towards them. She offered a shy smile, waving her hand as she came to stand beside your group.

“Good morning Namjoon, Hoseok. I hope you slept well.” She pushed an escaped strand of ebony hair from her forehead and back towards her bun. 

“Good morning Eunae.” The man named Hoseok greeted. Your mind flitted back to the conversation between Namjoon and his friends about the girl he liked and you surveyed her carefully. 

She was very pretty. Dark hair pulled back in a bun, soft pink painted on her lips and eyes bright and open. It was no wonder he was attracted to her. Soft and pretty, it would be unreasonable to say otherwise.

“I slept great.” Hoseok continued, “This guy was up late.”

Namjoon flushed as his friend thrust a thumb in his direction, eyes shooting to look at the pretty young woman as she turned to smile softly at him. “I wasn’t,” he stuttered, “I was out for a couple drinks with friends, though I won’t deny we were definitely up later than we should have been.”

Eunae hummed, bowing her head as her fingers navigated the baby hair by her ears. She glanced up at both Hoseok and Namjoon, “sounds more fun than my night. I watched a medical documentary and then went to bed at 9.”

Like a love sick puppy, Namjoon’s smile turned goofy and lopsided. “That sounds like fun, though.” He countered awkwardly. “That’s my favorite type of night.”

“Nerd.” You scoffed under your breath and you could see his eyes dart towards you from your peripheral. His lips fastened tight, cheeks heating as you turned to look at him with a smile. “I mean that in an endearing way.” You assured. 

Just then, another person walked up to the group and everything quieted as he began his morning welcome. You listened half-heartedly as he assigned tasks for each individual in the group before they started morning rounds. 

Watching Namjoon work was surprisingly interesting. He was a good listener, shadowing his nurse Sasha as she showed him procedures and allowed him to use the skills he’d been learning in classes and during his clinicals. 

You followed him diligently around the hospital as he moved from room to room. Each one a blinding white, though some were filled with flowers and gifts from loved ones. He worked quickly and effectively, striking up conversation with patients and you watched as they relaxed in his care. 

You imagined you would have liked to have had a doctor like him in your lifetime. Attentive, gentle, great bedside manner, and handsome on top of all of that. It made your heart ache to think that had you been alive, maybe you could have even had a shot with a man like Namjoon. Maybe even him.

Smart, competent, and kind; all traits you very much admired. Death was an inconvenient thing, keeping you from the very things you wanted most in life. You couldn’t remember if you’d been dating anyone before you died, but you had the feeling you’d died alone. 

Now you were attached to a man that was an unfortunate reminder of everything you could no longer have. You sighed, moving towards the window and peering outside as said man took the vitals of the patient he was working with and reported back to Sasha. 

The street below had filled with people. It was nearing noon and the lunch rush was in full swing. You stared down at a long line of people outside of a food truck in the square. It looked like Mediterranean. You missed the experience of tasting food; wished you’d thought to savor the flavor of your last meal. 

You hadn’t known then that, that would even be important. Hadn’t known that you should care. What you wouldn’t give to have another day to make it count.

At noon you followed Namjoon down to the cafeteria. He moved towards the lunch line, grabbing a tray and scooting further down, pointing out foods he wanted and waiting for the lunch ladies to supply his needs.

“Why?” He coughed over his shoulder and you chuckled. 

  “Get the mashed potatoes.” You said and he looked at you from the corner of his eye. 

“Because I want to live vicariously through you and I distinctly remember loving potatoes.”

Surprisingly, he called out for potatoes and waited patiently while they were ladled onto his plate. After getting his plate back, he peered through the glass of the bakery display, eyeballing all the different options. He finally reached in to grab a pudding before moving towards the cash register and you trailed happily after him. 

The cafeteria was busy at this time of day, reminding you of the passage of time that no longer affected you. You sat across from Namjoon at an empty table and watched as he eagerly dug into his pot roast. 

“How’s it taste?” You asked, watching as he chewed. 

He looked up at you, eyebrow raised before chewing slower as he pondered.

 “It’s kind of rubbery.” He admitted, “But the seasoning is nice. It’s marinated in something tangy.”

“What about the mashed potatoes?” You queried, staring down at the coveted food and he took a spoon full, eating it with all the enthusiasm of a man who was trying to please their companion. 

“It’s hard to mess up mashed potatoes.” He said, taking another spoonful. “It’s warm and soft and the gravy is amazing.”

“You’re killing me.” You groaned and shrugged at his expression. “You know what I mean.” 

“Do you remember what food tasted like before?” He questioned idly, grabbing his fork and stabbing a broccoli floret. 

“Sort of.” You hummed, staring back at the mashed potatoes. “It’s more of the memories associated that stick out. I remember warmth and how content I’d feel when my stomach was full. I remember really liking to eat.”

Namjoon watched you frown, eyebrows furrowed deep as you glared down at the table top. “Perhaps we should talk about something else.” He offered.

“What’s to talk about?” You huffed, “I don’t remember anything.”

  You sighed, leaning back in your chair and staring out the window beside you. There was a courtyard where most people had congregated to eat. The cafeteria was still busy, but your table was far enough away from crowds that no one was paying attention to an overworked medical student talking to himself. 

You kept your vision trained outside. Birds flit from one tree to another, so animated you could almost hear them. You wondered what it would feel like to fly. Would it feel exhilarating or just natural, as though it was what your body was made to do? 

“Where’d the annoying miss happy go lucky go? I kind of miss her.” Namjoon said, returning to his food but eyeing you carefully.

You smiled, looking back at him. “You’re right. It’s just…do you think it’s possible for a ghost to have an existential crisis? Because I feel like that’s what’s happening here. I just really don’t want to be dead. There’s so much left I want to do. I wish I could get married and buy a house, have children, get a pet… anything but this empty space.”

Namjoon put his fork down, scratching at the skin of his wrist. His watch twisted at the action and you watched him move it back into place. “I wish I had better answers for you, but I just don’t know anything about what you’re going through. I really don’t know how to help. I imagine it’s normal, though, to wish for things to play out differently. The living certainly do it all the time.”

After Namjoon had finished his lunch the two of you made your way back to the second floor. Dr. Bang was waiting for him at the nurse’s station, flipping through the pages of a medical chart and tapping a pen noisily against the countertop.

“True.” You mumbled.

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“Of course.” Namjoon nodded, moving around the doctor and making his way to the left hand side of the hallway. You followed after him, aimless in your steps

  “I need you to do me a favor.” He said, looking up as Namjoon came to stand in front of him. “Can you go grab the vitals of a patient in 213? Her chart is incomplete and she just transferred in last night so I need to update everything.”

. You wished for a fleeting moment that you could do something other than follow him around like a little lost puppy, but then you remembered bitterly you had nothing better to do anyway.

Room 213 was stark white like the rest of them, a window in the corner letting light filter in to brighten the space. Namjoon walked quickly over to the bed before stopping suddenly and you watched the muscles in his back stiffen. 

“Y/N.” He whispered and you moved to stand beside him, looking up at him in question. “It’s you.”

“It’s me?” You queried, before following his gaze down to the bed. 

Like a dream quickly turned nightmare, you stared down at yourself, bruised and broken in a hospital bed. Your face was mildly puffy, head wrapped in bandages but still easily identifiable. 

Your head spun with unanswered questions. What had happened? How could you not remember any of this? Why was your body here and why couldn’t you remember the details? You felt like you might vomit as you rounded the side of the bed to examine yourself. “What’s wrong with me?” You whispered and Namjoon reached out to grab your medical chart, flipping through pages.

You heard him, but it didn’t make sense. There was your body right there…but why weren’t you in it? “So…I’m not dead?” You stuttered woodenly. 

  “Bleeding to the brain, perforated lung, broken femur and pelvis…you’re in a medically induced coma.” 

Namjoon moved towards your body, reaching his hand out to touch your forearm. You jumped at the contact, like a spark to the system. He looked your way, watching your reaction before pulling his stethoscope from around his neck and beginning to silently take your vitals. 

After scribbling some things down on the chart, he left the room suddenly and you rushed after him as he made his way to the doctor, handing over the medical chart mechanically. “What happened to her?” He asked.

Dr. Bang paused to look over at him, eyebrows furrowing. “Who?”

“The patient. The woman in room 213.” Namjoon supplied. 

Dr. Bang hummed, looking back down at his medical chart and shrugging. “You know we don’t get a ton of information about that stuff, but from what I understand, it was a domestic violence case. Scumbag nearly killed her.”

He scribbled a few notes in the chart before handing it back to Namjoon and walking in the other direction. You followed Namjoon back to your room, limbs heavy from shock. How had something like this slipped from your mind? How could you honestly remember nothing?

Namjoon slipped the chart back into the rest at the end of your bed, watching you moved towards the head. 

It was strange looking into your face from the outside; like looking at a stranger. It was clear some time had passed since most of the bruising had healed but it was all alien in its unfamiliarity. 

“I’m sorry.” Namjoon whispered.

You could barely hear him over the roar in your ears. The room was hazy from the light filtering in through the windows, highlighting small specks of dust floating. 

Dr. Bang said it was a case of domestic violence. Your only question now was who had put you in here?

.

.

Thank you so much for reading! I’m sorry it’s shorter than normal, but there’s been so much going on the last few months and I didn’t want to have you guys wait any longer. 

I hope you enjoyed and I’d love to hear what you think!

Previous

Next

Copyright © 2019 by Taeken-My-Heart. All rights reserved

[big1ron]

The Venator “Resolute” had jumped right into a separatist trap. Somehow a virus infecting the main computer has scrambled the hyperspace jump coordinates, and now the companies on board were outnumbered and without reinforcements, deep in separatist space. A few last, desperate SOSs to nobody, and the ship was quickly overwhelmed with fire. The Resolute was going down. But not before each of the escape pods could be jettisoned.

————- Chapter Six: Rescue. -————

- as always sorry for the wait and length. But here you go! May receive small edits later. -

There were a few moons in the system to check over, and they couldn’t waste much time. This was separatist controlled space and they had already shot down one Venator. Plo Koon didn’t want his fleet to be next. Still, he opted to be deployed with the rest of his Wolfpack. Leaving the fleet to Admiral Coburn. Now that he was closer to the system, he could feel Anakin and Ahsoka in the force. He took a gunship down with Wolffe and his personal squad to the command outlet the message had been sent from, as that was where they were most likely to find them.

Echo pulled up beside Jesse, now free of Kix as Kix got too fed up with the constant tripping and was now walking by himself. Jesse was still carrying Dogma, who was resting his head on Jesse’s, eyes closed.

“did he actually fall asleep?” Echo poked him in his injured side and he jolted awake with a hiss of pain.

“Well he’s not sleeping anymore” comments Jesse as echo flinches in sympathy, clearly not having intending for that poke to hurt badly.

“You karking bantha fur osik rag shabuir better kriffing have one hell of a karking good reason for doing that.” Dogma cursed angrily. Kix stifled a chuckle.

“No I just wanted to see if you were awake.”

“Jesse, if you would be so kind.” Jesse took a step closer to Echo and Dogma smacked him upside the head.

“Hey no, that’s not fair! You two teamed up on me you’re not meant to do that!” Echo complained, rubbing his head

“You did deserve that” says coric.

“You too?! You’re supposed to be the neutral party you shabuir!”

Tup continues his trek forward, now using his weapon as a walking stick, when he hears a clones voice. He can’t make out what they said but he stops and looks around.

He hears shouting and chatter but when he determines the direction they’re coming from and heads towards it, he doesn’t see anything.

Great. More hallucinations. He thinks. Maybe from the dehydration this time. He ignores it when he hears a more clear

“Hey! Trooper! Over here!”

He starts walking again, in the same direction, but he hears running footsteps behind him. He turns around and points his stick at whatever it is.

“Who is this!? Are you even real or am I just actually going crazy now?”

He’s face to face with a Wolfpack clone. But he doesn’t lower his weapon until he gets his response.

“Woah, vod calm down. This is the 104th, here to retrieve you. I’m sparker. Come with me, let’s get you back to the transports ok?” He had the signature warmth of the 104th’s relief devision but tup couldn’t quite believe it. Still, he cast his stick aside and followed Sparker back to his squad.

He gained a few strange looks from the rest of the squad as he still looked quite wild. A wave of self consciousness washed over him.

They located a couple other 501st members as well before returning to the gunship, marked with the signature “plo’s bros”. There he was looked over by a medic, and told to sit tight for the trip back to the venators in orbit.

Plo Koon’s gunship landed at the outpost that had relayed the message. Three troopers were waiting outside the command post at attention as the general stepped out. Wolffe was right on his tail

“At ease, troopers. You must be Rex, Fives and Hardcase correct? We received your transmission. It was quite... entertaining. Trooper Fives, do you mind sharing what discussion topic had you so passionate? You have permission to speak freely.”

Fives could feel Rex’s glare burning holes into the sides of his head. They had actually heard that? That was embarrassing. “It was uh... wether or not how many lightsaber blades an individual had related to how much of a bitch they were... sir. Among other things.”

Rex shook his head disappointed and embarrassed, hardcase was struggling to contain his laughter, and one of the Wolfpack members passed some credits to one of the pilots. Wolffe was definitely grinning Impishly at Rex. Definitely. Plo Koon only shook his head amusedly. “Well captain, do you happen to know where your two lightsaber wielding individuals are?”

“Oh yes sir. They should be back soon. They got bored and so made a small speeder bike track. They’ve been racing eachother.”

“Then we had better get the gunship out of the way. Wouldn’t want to skew the results.”

No doubt the Wolfpack was already placing bets. They were notorious for it.

As the men took their places along the main road, eagerly awaiting the results, Rex finally asked Wolffe the question that was burning in his mind. “Have you heard from the other squads yet? Did you find anyone else?”

“Sorry Rex, haven’t had any contact with them since they were deployed. But it’s still early. Just you wait and I’m sure at least a few will turn up. Don’t worry”

Waiting, Rex could do. Not worrying? Not so much.

Cheers erupted from the small group as the motors of the speeders came into earshot. Anakin jetted last the crowd and with a quick 90° turn he drifted to a stop. Ahsoka wasn’t far behind, but Rex had no doubt in his mind that anakin had lapped her. Ahsoka might be a daredevil but Anakin was a true speed demon. Always had been. The Two of them dismounted and met with Plo Koon as the Wolfpack paid their bets.

“Ahsoka, Skywalker. It’s good to see you two.” Plo Koon greats them.

“And it’s great to see you Master Plo” Ahsoka responds.

“Now, I assume you two have had enough of this planet?”

“Definitely” they both respond at once.

Jesse and echos squad overhear a series of howls in the distance. Multiple groups communicating to each other. Jesse signals for them to ‘stop’ and be ‘silent.’ Coric disobeys.

“No. No! Howl back!” Coric howls as loud as he can, to Jesse’s horror.

“What are you doing!? You’re going to lead those animals right to us!”

“Those aren’t animals! It’s the Wolfpack!” Coric howls again.

“It’s official. He’s lost it. Good job everyone, we actually drove him crazy.” Says echo.

Coric gets a response and howls once more, before the air is quite again. “I’m not crazy. But rescue is coming now”

“You can’t possibly know that. The howling thing is fake, we all know that.” Jesse isn’t having it.

But in just a few minutes two Wolfpack members, sinker and boost make contact with the group.

“Hey! 501st! Coric! Come over here! Man you all look terrible!”

“Yeah Thanks boost. Truth is we all feel mildly terrible too. Here to get us off planet I hope?” Coric walks over to the two, and the rest of the group follows. Jesse and echo are completely stunned.

“Yep! We were just about to leave. You were going to be left behind you know. You all got lucky. Which one of you was howling by the way?” Asks sinker, as they lead the group in the direction of the transports.

“That would be me.” Says coric.

“Ah, figured. Pretty impressive, but not as impressive as this.” Sinker takes a deep breath and howls so loud it makes the rest of the groups ears hurt. Kix winces. Boost laughs.

Rex darts around the hangar. This is the last batch of gunships and he’s still missing so many clones. He feels terrible. Especially about Kix and Echo. He can’t stand the thought of leaving any clones behind, but he knows they won’t all come back. He spots Tup getting out of one of the gunships and rushes to him

“Tup! You’re alive! I was worried when Hardcase and Fives told me that had lost you. Are you doing alright?”

“I’m gonna kill those karking nerf herders. They left me! I fell down a cliff and I don’t think they even noticed I was gone!”

“They looked for you. But fives thought you were dead. With good reason. How did you even survive that fall?”

“I didn’t jump, I slid. I rolled the entire way down.”

“Alright kid. I’m glad to have you back. You’ll have to give Hardcase and Fives a stern talking to about that.” Rex patted Tup on the shoulder before moving onto the next gunship.

His eyes fell on the group leaving this one. The group was larger than the rest, sitting at 5. Dogma, Jesse, Coric-

“Echo, Kix!”

Rex ran over and hugged the two tightly.

“Huh. Guess I am your favourite after all.”

Rex smacked Echo in the back of the head. “You’re not my favourite. I don’t have favourites. But I’m sorry for leaving you two. I had to lure a group of droids away, and I got lost.”

“That’s fine. We survived. Mostly.” Says Echo

“Thanks to Coric. Echo would have killed me if it weren’t for him”

Rex gives echo an unimpressed look, but he can’t stay mad as he’s still to relieved at seeing them both alive.

Tup storms over to where Hardcase and Fives are discussing something with Sinker and Boost.

“You two LEFT me! I was all alone! Cause you two wouldn’t too arguing long enough to notice I FELL OFF A CLIFF!”

“TUP!” Fives immediately scooped up his little brother in a bone crushing hug. “I’m so sorry! I won’t do it again! I’m not gonna leave you anywhere again and I’ll stop picking fights with Hardcase I promiseeee”

“No you won’t.”

“Ok maybe I won’t but still I love you and I’m sorry. Hardcase, you can come in too.” Fives knew he wanted too, but sometimes Hardcase needed an invitation. He joined the hug wrapping his arms around the both of them but not too tightly.

Rex watched as the troopers found their brothers, and each made note of who was there. He waited for more gunships, there was still a significant portion of the 501st missing. But the last wave had arrived, and Rex tried not to think too hard about the ones he would have to leave behind, as he saw the stars turn into smears and the planet disappear out the viewport.

Wolffe put his hand on Rex’s shoulder. How long had he been standing next to him?

“You know... we did the best we could. I’m sorry Rex.”

“I know... I know.”

“Why don’t you go join the others? Some of them have some pretty interesting stories to tell. I’m sure you do too.”

“I will, thanks.”

Wolffe knew the thanks was for more than the offer. He watched Rex go join the others, laughing and enjoying the company of those who were still there.

[trixareforeveryoneaq]

Tell the Wolves I’m Home

For the Daenerys Resurrection Week Event Day 5 (I don’t know if this event is still going on, but whatevs. I wrote this so here you go) Thanks @adecila for the moodboard

Can also be found here on ao3 if you desire to leave a comment.

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It was almost six years after he left the Wall with the Free Folk before Jon’s past caught up with him. He kept his distance with certain aspects of the Free Folk in regards to taking a woman or having told the explicit details to those who’d asked what had happened south of the Wall. The only one who knew everything was Tormund and even he didn’t know that Jon was now a kinslayer. For amongst the Free Folk, kinslayers were cursed. However, he still helped within the community and went hunting with them.

It was during one such hunt where the group noticed smoke rising heavily a distance from where they were and had decided to go see what was going on.

Upon arrival, the hunters in front of Jon stopped dead in their tracks with gasps of shock. Pushing them aside, Jon couldn’t help but have a similar reaction.

A weirwood tree burned so badly that only the husk of the trunk remained. But Jon’s eye caught on to what was attached to the burnt trunk. Everyone else did as well and turned from the tree to murmur to each other.

His heart beat wildly and his hands began to shake ever so slightly as he walked up to the partially burned crow that had been impaled to the ruined wood with a dagger. The shaking in his hands increased as he pulled the dagger out and realized that he knew it. He knew it well. Well enough to never be able to forget it.

The dagger he’d used to kill Dany.

It was so blatantly obvious that this message was meant solely for Jon, but he had no idea who left it or when they would come for him. At night, he found himself sitting on his furs, holding the dagger as memories he had tried to distance himself from came rushing back full force.

His answer came on the bleak, muted rays of the morning four days after the discovery. A familiar cry rang through the air that had Jon’s heart stopping and his eyes snapping up towards the sky, desperately searching for the source. Off in the distance to his left, he saw the brief outline of a black dragon before it disappeared into thick clouds, calling out again as it did so. He’d have convinced himself that it was only his imagination had it not been for the fact that everyone else had seen it too.

It continued on like this for almost a week. Jon would see quick glances of Drogon flying, always far enough away that the dragon couldn’t be bothered by the Free Folk but close enough that he could just see the red in his wings and clearly hear the echoes of his cries. He tried to quell the growing feeling of doom each day, but was unsuccessful. Especially when he unconsciously found himself trying to follow the dragon’s trail and would stumble upon the burned carcasses of crows on the ground as well as two more burned weirwood trees.

Jon knew his time with the Free Folk had to come to an end when Drogon started flying closer to where they were, looking around as he went as if searching for something… well, someone. That’s when the worried whispers and fearful looks towards him began. He knew they remembered when he flew on Rhaegal and that he would be the only reason that the dragon would have come here and stayed near for so many days.

On the night of the eighth day, he packed up his belongings, intending to search for Drogon. Or let the dragon find him. Whichever came first.

Upon making his way out of the camp, he pulled up to a stop when Tormund stepped in front of him, a pack on the tall man’s back.

“So I guess we’re goin’ to find that dragon of yours, eh?”

“He’s not my dragon and I can’t ask you to come with me,” Jon said, shaking his head in refusal at his friend.

Tormund clapped him on the shoulder with a sigh and a grim smile. “Ah, I’ve already followed your pretty crow face enough times to know that someone has to look out for you. ‘Cause you sure as fuck won’t.”

With a clenched jaw, Jon slowly breathed out through his nose. He didn’t want his friend involved in this. “You know we’ll probably die.”

The ginger man shrugged, unfazed as he turned towards the woods. “It won’t be the first time we went head first to our death. Who knows? Maybe we’ll come out of this one too.”

Jon looked at Ghost in resignation, knowing he couldn’t dissuade Tormund once his mind was made up. The direwolf’s red eyes stared back silently before he too trotted off on silent feet, leaving Jon no choice but to follow.

As they searched, they realized that no matter which direction the dragon went in the morning, he always flew back northeast. Jon had Ghost lead, using the direwolf’s superior smell to their advantage. It took five days, but they finally found where Drogon had made a temporary lair. An icy lake settled at the bottom of a few mountains where a large cave was carved out of one of them. There was a little forest on the far edge of the lake to their left.

From where they stood, Jon could clearly see how much more Drogon had grown as the dragon perched at the mouth of the cave. Where he’d been huge before, he was twice as large now, if not more.

“All right, we’ve seen the beast,” Tormund muttered to him. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

But Jon found himself unable to move as he continued to stare at the dragon. What was he doing all the way up here? Was he really here for Jon? Had he come back to Westeros and made his way up the realm, avenging his mother? If so, why now? Why wait this long? Or was he simply wandering the earth? Was he connected with whoever left the dagger? Had he...had he somehow found a new rider?

Jon was brought out of his confused musings when Drogon sniffed the air. His head suddenly turned to them, those red eyes staring right at him.

“Fuck,” Tormund breathed right before Drogon let out a roar that Jon felt in his bones and lifted into the air.

“Run!” Jon shouted to his friend.

Not needing to be told twice, they both took off towards the woods. It was a futile attempt. They were covered in shadow and then Drogon was in front of them, forcing them to halt in order to try to keep their balance as the ground shook with his landing. When Jon looked behind them, he saw that the dragon had used his tail to block them in, effectively trapping the pair. He could see Ghost staring at him from a distance, unable to do anything.

Turning back to face Drogon, he was met with an open mouth filled with black teeth the length of Longclaw. He could even see the glow of the fire building in the back of the dragon’s throat. Just as he accepted this was how it was going to end for him, a voice Jon thought he’d never hear again said, “Drogon, kelītīs.”

That huge maw snapped shut and the dragon turned his head to the side. A figure cloaked in black stepped out from behind his wing and into view. Jon felt faint as two small hands pushed away the hood to reveal the face of Daenerys Targaryen.

He stumbled back, barely registering the soft curse Tormund let out as he stared with wide eyed disbelief at the woman he’d loved; the queen he’d murdered before him. It had to be a dream or a hallucination. He had to have gone mad because she couldn’t be standing in front of him, here in the far reaches of the North.

But he knew it wasn’t. Because the Dany in his dreams had long flowing locks of silver all the way down her back that were intricately braided with little bells. This Dany’s hair hung in loose waves that ended at the top of her breasts with only a few strands tied back so it wasn’t in her face. The Dany in his dreams didn’t wear black lightweight leather armor that mimicked dragon scales with a sword hanging from one side, looking like the warrior queen, Visenya Targaryen, come again. The Dany in his dreams certainly never looked at him with such cold loathing.

“I knew you’d come, Jon,” she said. Her voice was like a bolt of lightning down his spine. She rested a small hand on her dragon. “You wouldn’t be able to resist following him, seeing why he was here. Especially not after the gift I left for you.”

Jon couldn’t form a response. He could only stand there and stare, breathing as if he’d run for miles. He let his eyes drink in all the details of her that time had made him forget. He was pretty sure he was looking at her as if he was a man dying of thirst and she was his salvation.

Unmoved, Dany simply arched a brow. “You seem surprised to see me again. I’m not sure why though.” Cocking her head, she gave him a mean smile that was completely foreign to see on her face. “Would you like to see the proof that it’s truly me?” she asked, her hand skimming just under her left breast. “We can compare our scars and reminisce how we were both stabbed by men who were supposed to be loyal to us only to be brought back to life by a red priestess.”

Jon sucked in a sharp breath in shock and couldn’t hide the hurt in his eyes. Dany’s smile turned into a full on grin that looked more like she was baring her teeth. When she started walking towards him, her cloak rustled and his eye caught on the handle of the same dagger he found in the weirwood hanging off her other hip. Seeing where his attention was just as she stopped in front of him, Dany looked down and pulled the dagger out, examining it as well.

“I was going to leave this one for you,” she told him as she began spinning and twirling it expertly with her fingers. “But strangely enough, I found myself unable to part with it. So I had a twin made and left that one for you instead. I thought you’d enjoy the sentiment of the gesture regardless of whether or not it was actually the original blade.”

She looked up at him and his heart stopped at having her so close to him. It stunned his entire being for a moment. And in that moment of being caught off guard by her nearness and her beauty, Jon wasn’t able to do anything when she suddenly wrapped her foot around his ankle and pulled forward while pushing down on his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. Before he could react or fight her off, one hand grabbed his hair to pull his head back, meeting her violet eyes again. The other held the dagger to his throat.

“I’ve learned a few things since I was brought back,” she said with a smirk.

Tormund shouted out and made to move forward as if to help Jon, but was immediately halted by Drogon turning towards him and letting out a horrible roar. Throughout the entire exchange, Dany’s eyes never left Jon.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you, Tormund Giantsbane,” she warned calmly, finally turning her focus to him with a sardonic smile. “After all, you’re dealing with a dragon rider and according to you, only a king or a madman would ride a dragon. And since I’m obviously no king, by your logic, I am therefore the madman.” Violet eyes went back to Jon then. Her smile softened into a mockery of something gentle because her eyes still held that emptiness in them. She let go of his hair to trail her fingers lightly down his face. “And mad people...well, it’s best to treat us with caution. We can be so very unpredictable when provoked. Sometimes with catastrophic results, wouldn’t you agree, Jon?”

He flinched away at her words, how casually she called herself mad and the reminder of what she’d done, unable to look at her. She caught him by the chin though, refusing to let him move. “Oh, no. None of that now, Jon,” she reprimanded with that same tone. She jerked his head back up. Her eyes were colder than the harshest North wind and the fingers holding him dug into his skin to the point of pain. “Don’t hide from the monster you helped turn me into. Look at the fruit of what your actions bore. Accept it, as I had to.”

Jon’s throat ached with how tight it was from holding in all the emotions swirling in him and he felt that he would break any moment. Still, he didn’t look away from those eyes that were so similar yet so very different. They didn’t look anything like they had the last time he’d stared into them. They were as clear and still as water. There was none of the passion he remembered seeing. Even in the throne room, she’d gazed up at him with love. Now they were dead. Oddly enough, it was that fact that made him want to weep, but he held it in. After a while, he finally was able to ask, “are you here to kill me then?”

She smiled as if he’d said something completely ridiculous and could only laugh sympathetically at him. “Kill you? I’m not here to kill you, Jon Snow. No, I’m here to warn you. Because soon, I have a very strong feeling that others are going to come looking for you. My dear old Hand and your supposedly all seeing king brother for example. Maybe even your treacherous sister.”

Even though he stayed silent, she apparently could see the wariness in his eyes and explained, “they’re going to want you to stop me. After all, you’re already apparently cursed from killing me before, aren't you? My blood is already on your hands, so what’s the harm in dirtying them a second time? Better you than them.”

Swallowing that old familiar feeling of dread mingled with panic, he quietly asked, “stop you from doing what?”

“You’re so far removed from the rest of the world up here in your little idyllic winter wonderland, you've no idea how one can smell it in the air when arriving on these shores; how the earth here is practically quivering with it in anticipation. The deep breath before the plunge.”

“What? What is it?” he rasped.

“Revolution. Liberation,” she said with an indulgent smile that still didn’t reach those cold, cold eyes. Yet she still managed to stare at him so piercingly that he felt like the deepest parts of him were being stripped bare. “Fulfilling my oath to break the wheel and remake the world.”

The memory of her speech to her armies after she’d burned King’s Landing came to him and made him go cold all over.

“Dany, you–” The name was out before he could think and he paid for his mistake. His head was turned to the side by the force of her smack to his cheek. She grabbed his hair and yanked hard as she leaned down until only a few inches were left between them.

“Don’t you ever call me that again,” she snarled. And just like that, her eyes were suddenly filled with such rage that they practically glowed. The only consolation in being on the receiving end of her fury was that at least there was the life he remembered in them. It hadn’t completely disappeared.

The blade at his throat pressed in hard enough to pierce his skin. “You lost that right when you abandoned me in Winterfell; when you continuously refused to return the love I felt for you in the time I needed it the most; when you stabbed me in the heart.”

With a look of disgust, she let go of him and took a few steps back. Not looking away from him, Dany twirled the dagger in her hand before sheathing it. When he remained kneeling, she snapped, “get up. You look pathetic.”

Jon clenched his jaw but did as he was told. By the time he was on his feet, she had regained her cold, steely composure. The way she stood with her hands folded in front of her and her chin held high felt like a kick in the gut as a painful wave of nostalgia washed over him, forcing him to remember the queen she used to be.

“Even if you did wish to stop me, you can’t. It's too late. It’s already begun.” She looked out over the white expanse in front of them. “It’s taken years of convincing and whisperings of a better life. Years of organizing and planning while simultaneously continuing to free the remaining slave cities in Essos. But the common folk of Westeros are finally waking up and finding that they’re unsatisfied. They realize that they want more; that they can have more. Because I will give them more.”

“The Iron Throne is gone. ” he said, almost pleading with her.

She huffed a laugh, still eyeing the area around them. “I’m not doing this to be queen. I don’t need to be queen. That’s my point. Kings, queens, lords, ladies, they’re all unnecessary. Once I’ve given the people their liberation and the tools to use for their next step in governing themselves, I’m leaving. My old bear once told me that dragons plant no trees. Dragons make no homes. I forgot that. I listened to the young, lonely woman inside of me and tried to make the home I’d always yearned for. With you,” she said. She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “But we both know how that turned out.”

Ignoring each new slice of pain her constant jabs caused him, Jon asked, “what are you going to do to the nobles then? How will you handle them and their soldiers, Daenerys? The common folk don’t know how to fight against armies.”

Another joyless smile as she turned to face him fully and cocked her head. “Now why would I tell you that?” Jon’s lips thinned, knowing she was justified in not sharing her plans with him and feeling like a fool for thinking she might. “I’ll give you a boon though and say that they won't be alone. Plenty of those with power understand what I’m fighting to achieve and are willing to help me.” She gave a sly smile as she went on to say, “and also, Drogon presented a gift to me right after I was brought back that he came across during one of his travels to Valyria. And I’ve not wasted it. Would you like to see?”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned to Drogon who lifted his head and called out. Gooseflesh erupted across Jon’s skin when an answering call was heard, then another. Out of the large cave emerged two dragons. They took to the air and lazily made their way to where they stood. When they landed on either side of Drogon, the size difference was easily noticeable, but they were still extremely large. Probably the size of Rhaegal when Jon had ridden him.

Impossible, he thought. But of course it wasn’t impossible. Of course if anyone was going to bring dragons back into the world again, it would be the mother of dragons.

Dany walked up to the one whose scales looked like gold coins. Its horns and wings were a rich, dark blue color with a sheen that was reminiscent of a pearl. Dark gold eyes flickered from Dany to Jon.

“Mirax,” she said reverently, laying a hand on the dragon’s snout before walking to the other and repeating the gesture. This one a dark pine green with black horns and wings and silver eyes. “Morrelion.”

Looking at Jon, she dropped her hand. “Named after my two closest and most beloved advisors. Brought back to life just as my first children were.”

She then pulled out her sword and gave it a few expert swings. “You see, Jon. I learned from my mistake. I’m so much more prepared for Westeros this time. I can now fight just as easily with a sword as I can off the back of Drogon. I understand the loyalty you gained from fighting side by side with your men. The difference between us though is that while you’ve led armies, I command legions.”

For some reason, knowing that Dany had not only learned how to fight but had apparently been in battles made his heart hurt. A very small, irrational part of him hated that he wasn’t the one who taught her; that he hadn’t been there, fighting by her side.

When the blade caught the light, his eyes widened a little as he saw what it looked to be made of. She flashed him a smug smirk as she kept it aloft, confirming his thought. “Yes, Valyrian steel. Another gift from someone who felt I was finally deserving of it.”

Resheathing it, she said, “so I’ll handle the lords and ladies and everyone who opposes me the same way I handled the great masters. They can live in my new world or die in their old one.”

Jon stiffened. Her purple eyes caught the motion and her smile turned deadly. “Are you thinking of your beloved siblings? The family you constantly chose over me? Never fear, dear nephew, if they die, it won’t be at my hands. I simply plan to be there to enjoy their downfall. Along with your old friend Samwell Tarly and my dear Hand.”

She began stalking towards him, like a cat toying with her prey. “Your continued loyalty to them is ever so interesting though. What was it you Starks were always posturing? The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives?” Stopping, she held out her arms and looked around. “Well? Where’s your pack, Jon Snow? Where’s your family?” With a scoff, she let her arms fall. “I’ll tell you where. They’re enjoying the spoils of our downfall. Your so called family used you as their puppet and threw you away once they got what they wanted and you were of no more use to them. The same as you all did to me.”

His fists clenched so hard, he could feel his nails biting into his skin. Again, she saw it. “The truth is a harsh mistress to lie with, isn’t she, Jon?”

“I never used you. I followed you. I pledged myself to you.”

“That’s right. Do you remember your vow to me right before you stabbed me in the heart? I was your queen, now and always. I wonder if that still holds true,” she mused, stepping towards him again. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink, as she leaned in and loudly whispered, “shall we test to see if your family’s saying holds true as well? Does the lone wolf really die?”

“Stop it,” he snapped. He hated the words coming from her mouth. He hated that the woman he’d loved had become so cold and cruel. He hated that he was the reason why she was.

They stared at each other for a long moment before Dany’s lips slowly curled up. “As my nephew, the rightful king commands,” she mocked, dipping into a curtsy.

“I’m not the bloody king of Westeros,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I never was and I never wanted that damned throne.”

Her smile fell as she straightened. “No,” she disagreed, “you were a king, Aegon. Now, you’re a queenslayer, an oathbreaker, a kinslayer. Now, you’re nothing.”

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Jon closed his eyes. “Say whatever you want to say. Hurt me however you want. I deserve it. I hate myself for what I did. But I had to do it, Daenerys.” He opened his eyes to meet hers, his voice rising as he went on. “You were out of control and you didn’t even care that you’d just murdered thousands of innocent people!”

“And you didn’t even try to help me! Even before King’s Landing!” she yelled back. “You didn’t talk to me, you didn’t defend me, you didn’t do anything! You stood there while your sister, oh excuse me, cousin, openly disrespected me! I lost my armies to save your people and you couldn’t even tell them to be at least a little grateful! No, you just sat there and smiled like a gods damned fool and the puppet you were. I was drowning and not only did you not try to pull me out, you pushed me under and let the waves consume me.”

Taking a steadying breath, she composed herself. “But you made me realize that I can never depend too much on anyone in this world. Even my shadow leaves me when I’m in darkness.”

Jon’s eyes fell closed a second time as he absorbed the truth of her words. “I’m sorry, Daenerys,” he said brokenly. “You’ve no idea how much.”

“We’re all sorry for something, Jon Snow. I would know that better than anyone,” she finally said in a cool voice, making him look at her. “But words are wind. Action is what’s needed to make up for the wrongs we've done to others. It’s why I’ve returned to this forsaken land. I’m here to pay the debt I owe.” Her lip curled. “So don’t stand there and insult me with your paltry excuse of remorse.”

“It’s not an excuse,” he argued. “I hated it. Even though I was told it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do, it didn’t feel right. Not then, not now.”

He could tell that she refused to listen to what he had to say. When she stepped away, he matched her by stepping forward.

“If you can’t believe anything else I’ve said, at least believe that I loved you. So much,” he told her, desperation in his voice as he begged with his eyes for her to believe him.

Dany looked at him with something akin to stern pity. “I’m sure you thought yourself to be in love with me.”

Anger flared up in him at the way she so easily dismissed him. When he grabbed her shoulders and her face went blank. “Damn it, Daenerys! I know my own feelings! You were the love of my life!”

Once again, they got trapped in each other’s eyes in a silent battle of wills. Even though her expression didn’t change, he felt the air around her soften. Ever so slowly, she lifted her hands to cup his cheeks, her eyes never leaving his. The heat of her skin; the gentleness of her touch as she rubbed her thumb across his skin was what finally broke Jon. The ache in his throat he’d been holding back the entire time loosened enough that the smallest sob broke through before he could stop it. He turned to nuzzle into her palm as his own hands went to her neck to pull her closer. The smell of smoke, snow, and Daenerys filled his nostrils and made him want to bury his face in her neck.

“If that were true,” she whispered, her hot breath fanning his lips, “you wouldn’t have pulled away from me when you found out that you’re a Targaryen. You would have stayed. Because it wouldn’t have mattered...in the end.”

He shook his head, trying to find the words that would make her understand the turmoil he’d felt back then; wishing that she believed him and hating that she didn’t.

“I loved you,” she said quietly, “more than anyone else I had ever loved before. So much that I gave you everything I had.” She pulled back, letting him see her sorrow and hurt as her next words sliced through him worse than anything else she’d said. “And you repaid that love by showing me that once again, I wasn’t enough.”

She dropped her hands from his face and stepped away, taking all the warmth with her and leaving him with nothing but regret. The rawness of her words and openness he saw in her gaze made Jon’s face crumble under the weight of it all. His chest clenched so hard, he didn’t know how he was still standing. Before he could say anything though, she blinked and her face quickly became hard as stone. “But as I’ve said, I learned my lesson. I don’t want you or anyone else to believe that the love I once held for you is why I spared you. The reason I have not and will not kill you is because I want you to live with the knowledge that I’m not only alive, I’m thriving.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I want it to choke you.”

With that, she headed to Drogon and climbed onto his back. Once settled, she looked down at him imperiously and said, “The time of the wolves is over. Dragons put them on their thrones and it will be dragons that tear them down. Stay here or don’t. It makes no difference to me. But if you do stand against me, Jon Snow, I will show you as much mercy as you showed me. Except I won’t tell you pretty words and kiss your lips as I do.”

Then Drogon was pushing off into the air, with the other two following, flying towards a place and future Jon didn’t know. He couldn’t tear his eyes away even when Tormund came to stand next to him. With each flap of those wings that took her farther away, the part of his heart that still belonged to her broke anew.

It was only when they were mere specks that Tormund let out a whistling breath and asked, “what in the fucking hells are you gonna do now?”

And well, that was the question, wasn’t it? Because he had absolutely no idea.

[tastyliltina]

The Payment

You almost stepped over it.  You’d almost moved past when a glittering caught your eye.  Something just out of reach, but interesting enough that you stopped.  It looked like a coin, but...it looked like it was glowing. Slowly, you glanced in front of you.  Behind you. No one was coming. No one was in the alley. You were alone.  

It sat there, shining like a gem against the dampened concrete.  Just as you suspected, the strange glow came from a coin. Despite being the size of a quarter, the coin was gold.  You knelt, collecting the trinket with a frown, and held it into the glow of a streetlight. It didn’t look like any sort of currency you knew.  There was an inscription engraved into the surface of the coin, and you squinted to make it out.  

Something cold gripped your stomach.  The first word on the coin was a name.  Your name. Startled, you lifted the coin closer to your face.  This only confirmed your worry. There, in plain sight, was your name.  Spelled correctly. Each letter was perfectly carved into the metallic surface of the coin, as though they belonged there.  You let your gaze wander along the coin, and turned it over in your hand. On the back was a bear. It stood tall and looming, claws outstretched, its lips curled back in a snarl.  Beneath the bear was more text.  

Today is your lucky day!  You turned the coin to continue reading.  Take your chance and flip the coin!

“No way,” you breathed.  Frowning, you turn the coin over and over again, trying to find some reasoning behind it.  Maybe this was...maybe it was a joke. Your friends, the assholes they were. This was...it could have been a joke.  Right? But...you didn’t know how that was possible. You glanced up and down the alley. Still no one. Not a single soul was with you.  How in the hell…

You hesitated.  The coin said to flip it...why?  None of the reasons you could think of made sense.  None of this made sense. A gentle breeze tugged at your hair, and you huddled the coin close to your chest.  All of a sudden, you felt exposed, like something was breathing down your neck. You stuffed your hands into your pockets, and hurried in the direction of your place, letting your thumb trace the coin as you moved.  

Once you got to your place, you threw the door open and kicked it shut behind you.  Halfway back, you’d decided to sprint...and now you were struggling with the repercussions of the unprompted night jog.  You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a heavy sigh as you pulled out the coin. It was still there, and a quick glance showed the strange letters were, too.  You shrugged off your jacket, placed it back on its hook by the door, and kicked your shoes off. After a pause, you locked the door.  

Now feeling more secure, you stepped to your couch and sat, still rolling the coin between your fingers.  You snorted. Look at you, you thought. Sitting here, scared of a stupid little coin...come on, what was it going to do?  Explode? Without another thought, you propped the coin on your fingers, and gave them a flick.  

The coin soared in the air, spinning and glittering brilliantly before it plopped back into your hand.  You smirked, rolling your eyes as you looked it over. You blinked. Something was different. The bear...the bear on the coin was moving.  You squinted, lifting the coin again. The bear lowered onto all fours.  

You heard something shift in the other room.  You flinched, staring between the coin and the entrance to the living room.  

“Hello?”  you called.  There was a shuffling sound.  Your stomach clenched again, but your focus was pulled to the coin again.  It was heating up, getting hot to the point you dropped it with a hiss. Burning waves radiated over your hand, and you brushed the fresh blister on your palm.  What the hell…?

“Ah, I see you got my calling card…”

Your gaze snapped up.  A dark-skinned, husky man stood in the entrance to your living room, leaning against the wall.  He raised a hand as you gasped, scrambling back on your couch. Sharp, starkly white teeth flashed in a grin that made your hairs stand up.  

“Hey now,” the man stepped forward, his baritone voice drowning the roar of your heartbeat in your ears.  “Take it easy, friend...I’m just here on business.” You swallowed, looking the strange man over. Now that he mentioned it...he did look like he was on business.  Big as he was, he was hearing a pressed suit, adorned with a dark blue tie. Your gaze flickered to his face, tracing the scruffy curves of his cheeks, finally resting on his eyes.  They were a cold kind of blue, and prickled at your skin like a sharp winter wind.  

“I-I’m, um-” you stammered, shaking your head.  “I’m...sorry…? I just-I don’t...how did-how’d you get in?”  You cursed the squeaky, uneven sound of your voice. Contrarily, the man’s grin widened, revealing teeth that were inhuman in every way.  

He rolled his eyes, stepping towards you.  But, instead of focusing on you, he turns his attention towards the empty loveseat.  He sat, blocking the entirety of the seat from your view. It looked too small for him, as did everything in your home.  

“The coin you dropped,” his voice startled you back to attention.  Oh. Your gaze trails downwards to where the coin fell. It wasn’t there.  Nothing was there. But...how?  

“It was right...there…”  You frowned, and looked back up to the stranger.  Now you were curious. “Who are you?”

“Finally,” the man smirked.  “Something I’d like to discuss.”  He sat back, plopping his hands on his knees, casually regarding you.  “My name is Vincent. I’m...a warlock, I suppose you could say. I do magic.  For people.”

Magic?  That explained a few things...the coin, his sudden appearance.  You’d heard of warlocks before, too...sometimes benevolent wielders of magic.  It didn’t help ease your nerves. “Uh-huh,” you murmured, furrowing your brows.  “And...just what is a warlock doing sitting on my loveseat? Do...are you here to do magic for me?”

Vincent shrugged.  “If you’d like me to, I can.”  

“And what if I don’t want you to?”

“Then I’ll take my leave.  But...I think you’d be interested in what I have to offer.”  

“Huh,” you mused.  A large part of you wanted to hear what he had to say.  Thus far, he’d done nothing but speak and sit. At this point, he was already in your home.  “What do you have to offer?”    

“A couple things,” he nodded, and waved a hand.  There was a cloud of blue smoke. You closed your eyes and coughed, turning your head.  When you could look back to the seat, a much smaller man sat in Vincent’s place. Where Vincent’s hair was a dark navy, this man was a pale ginger, with bright green eyes.  The only similarity was the suit, which was as crisp and clean as it had been before. You recoiled, gaping at the new stranger. Vincent, or whoever this man was, smirked. “I can transform myself...and some things.”  He pointed to your television, and snapped his fingers. A cloud of smoke grew around it, and after a moment dissipated to reveal a much nicer, newer television.  

“Wow,” you breathed.  “And-...is that permanent?”

Vincent waved his hand again, and your television went back to normal.  He shifted in his seat, stretching his arms up as his skin began to darken, and his hair straightened.  Once he was back to his dark-skinned, husky self, he nodded.  

“Permanent on things that aren’t alive...temporary on things that are.  I can’t control people or kill them.”

You tilted your head.  “So...you’re kind of like a genie?”

“In a sense,” he shrugged again and rolled his shoulders.  “But I only do one wish, not three. And...everything comes with a price.”  Vincent leaned back into his chair. “See, I have a pretty...steep charge for my services.  Couple thousand per spell, potion, whatever you need.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the coin from before, though it looked absolutely tiny in his hand.  “I have...alternate methods of payment, though. Comes in the form of favors, small things I’ll get you to do for me.”

Of course it came with a price…  Nothing was free. Nodding, you resettled yourself, regarding Vincent skeptically.  He’d sat back now, and scratched his chin. You knew you didn’t have a couple thousand dollars to give, especially to someone you didn’t know…  “Could you fix my car?” You asked. He lifted a brow, giving you a funny look.  

“That’s...it?”  

“I mean-fix it so it never breaks again, and...like- so it doesn’t get damaged.  If I get into another wreck. Mechanics are expensive, and I don’t-...I’m getting tired of having to walk everywhere, and it gets creepy at night,” you explained.  Vincent’s head tilted, and he squinted. He almost looked insulted.  

“Uh...yeah, I can-fixing a car is pretty easy,” he nodded, sitting forwards again.  “Is that all you want me to do?”  

“Pretty much,” you shrugged.  “Figure that’s worth a couple thousand, so…”  

Vincent smirked, and you were once again met with the sight of those fangs.  But...a part of the smile felt warm, kinder than any gestures he’d made so far.  “Consider it done. All I need you to do is hear out my terms.”

“Sure,” you sat forwards, folding your hands in your lap.  Vincent did the same.  

“All I ask...is you let me drop by for a quick snack every once in a while, and that you don’t tell anyone about this.”

You blinked, leaning forwards.  When he didn’t continue, you sat back and quirked your lips.  “That’s...it?”

There was a glitter in Vincent’s eyes.  Something you couldn’t quite place...but you got the feeling there was more to what he was offering.  Yet, it wasn’t enough to scare you.  

“That’s it.  Just allow me to pop in like I did tonight...my line of work means I have to jump around a lot of places, so having somewhere to crash always makes the job more fun.”  Slowly, he shifted, a hand extended. You looked between his face and palm, narrowing your eyes. “Like I said, you reject the terms, I’ll be out of your hair. On that note, though...if you tell anyone about me, the deal’s off.  Your car goes back to how it was before.”

You nodded.  A lot of this seemed to weigh on your willingness to participate in whatever Vincent was offering.  That put you at ease. All of this was up to you. None of it was being forced on you. After a moment’s deliberation, you slid your hand into Vincent’s, and realized just how much his size dwarfed your own.  He grasped your hand, almost engulfing it with his, and lifted it, before letting it drop in a shake.  

There was a moment of silence as you pulled your hand away.  When you looked up to Vincent again, you heard the sound of screeching metal coming from the direction of your garage.  You sat up, head snapping in the direction of the door. Your gaze flickered between Vincent and the door, and you stood, slowly approaching the garage.  

When you opened the door, your car sat still.  But...it was gleaming. Shiny. There was no remnants of the SUV’s front bumper on the trunk.  The paint was fresh again, instead of spotty and rusted. You stepped into the garage, a hand reaching out.  You brushed the side of the car. It looked new. Felt new.  

“It’ll run like new, too,” Vincent chuckled.  You jolted, whipping around to face the man. He stood behind you, looming over you as though he hadn’t crossed the living room without a sound.  

“Wow…”  You turned back to your car, grinning.  You hardly noticed the hand on your shoulder, or the words Vincent mumbled behind you. What you did notice, however, was a dizzying sensation spreading through your entire body.  You grimaced, stumbling in place and closing your eyes.  

Vincent chuckled at your back.  His voice sounded...bigger. You groaned, hands reaching to your face as your head continued to spin.  Nausea bubbled in your stomach. But, as soon as the sensations appeared, they vanished. You lowered your hands, grimacing and blinking a few times.  Dark shadows came into focus. You staggered, head snapping up. Your car...your car was above you.  Or, were you beneath it?  

“Mhmm~,” Vincent’s voice crooned behind you.  You flinched, and yelped as something lowered over you, trapping you in darkness.  Warmth and humidity built around you, and you shoved out at the leathery walls now closed around you.  Everything shifted, and you felt the world dropped, as if you’d boarded a giant elevator.  

“H-hey!”  you exclaimed, and suddenly were blinded with light.  You covered your eyes, grimacing until you could lower your palm.  

Vincent’s face took up your vision.  Rather, it was all you could see, and it was much, much bigger than it had been before.  He was grinning again. You squeaked, scrabbling against the fleshy surface beneath you. You glanced down, and realized you were sitting in Vincent’s hand.  His fingers curled behind you, further trapping you within his palm.  

“Now now,” Vincent chided.  You whined as you stared up at him, your eyes locked on the dark cavern of his mouth.  You didn’t realize it before, but his tongue was orange. Bright orange. You met his eyes, and shivered at the gleam the icy glaciers had.  He looked like a cat that just caught a mouse… “Don’t you worry, I’m not going to hurt you…”

“Wh-” your voice was failing you.  “What’s going on?!”  

“Collecting my payment,” hummed Vincent.  “You see, when I said I’d drop by to get a bite...I didn’t just mean food…~”  His tongue flicked out and traced his lips, and your stomach twisted into knots.  He couldn’t be serious… You looked to him, terror throwing your heart into overdrive.  He couldn’t be serious!

“Y-you’re-you can’t-!”  you cried, only to yelp as Vincent’s free hand lifted, and his fingers pinched around your waist.  “N-no, wait! I don’t-I don’t wanna die!”

Vincent rolled his eyes, plucking you from his hand as though you were nothing more than a candy.  “Oh hush, you’re going to be fine...I don’t hurt clients,” he chuckled again, flashing you a wink. “Besides, you signed up for this, remember?  You agreed to the terms… Can’t blame anyone but yourself for not reading into the fine print~.”  

“B-but-but!”  you tried to counter him, but Vincent seemed to tire of talking.  His fingers lifted you above his face, and you were exposed to the sight of his jaws parting.  Those wicked fangs you’d seen before had been intimidating, but that was nothing compared to the sight of his teeth now that you were tiny.  You squirmed against his fingers, kicking at him as best you could. Vincent didn’t seem to care. Instead, his fingers lowered you over his mouth, and you shivered as a warm breath brushed by you.  

He let go.  The result left you freefalling until you landed on something warm.  Something squishy, and wet, and...his tongue. You’d landed on Vincent’s tongue.  You rolled onto your stomach, staring up and out of Vincent’s maw. A rumble resonated around you, like thunder, but much more alive as Vincent’s tongue shifted.  It lifted slowly, bathing you in warm and thick saliva. You groaned, trying to shove the muscle back, but it didn’t relent. Instead, the tongue shifted, and bucked beneath you.  It squished you against the top of Vincent’s mouth, pinning you in place as the muscle slid and shifted along your figure.  

You tried to fight against Vincent as best you could, but you weren’t making any difference.  Vincent nudged you about his mouth, and though you fought every bit of the way, he still licked and tasted at you like you were some sick form of candy.  Waves and waves of saliva drenched everything around you, and you with it. Eventually, everything stilled. You were beyond soaked now, absolutely lathered with saliva.  Whatever fight you’d had before gave way into exhaustion, and you slumped into the curve of Vincent’s maw.  

“Hmmmmhmmm~,” Vincent’s voice purred around you, resonating against his cheeks and teeth.  “All tuckered out?” his words rolled you around, rippling and rolling around you like ocean waves.  At the same time, his teeth parted, revealing bits and pieces of the outside world. He’d gone back into your living room, it seemed...and was stretched out on the couch.  

“L-let me-let me out!”  you barked, though your voice still sounded like a squeak compared to his, even more so now that it echoed around you.  

“I will,” Vincent continued.  “After I’ve had my payment~.” Everything shifted, but instead of shifting you around, you began to slide backwards.  At least, you assumed it was back...towards the throat. Your hands squished into Vincent’s tongue as you tried to claw your way back up, but you couldn’t get any purchase.  A choked scream escaped you as you began to sink further into him, to the point you could feel his breaths at your feet.  

There was a shift, and you fell.  Heat and air built around you, until your feet hit something squishy and tight.  You barely had time to react before the world flexed, pressing in around you, and sucking you further down.  There was a sickening GLRK</b></i>, and another flex pulled you downwards.  Then another flex, and another, and another...wave after wave of muscle crawled over you, and it occured to you what was happening.  Vincent had swallowed you. You squirmed in his throat, whimpering as the sound of his breathing and heartbeat took over your senses.  

Your feet wriggled, squeezing through a tighter area of throat.  Before you could make sense of everything, you freefell again, this time plopping into a roomy and muggy space.  You lay on your back a moment, taking several breaths of the acrid air. When you could, you looked around, and whimpered as you made out pulsing, churning walls surrounding you.  In the meantime, Vincent seemed all too pleased, and thrummed around you. You clapped your hands over your ears, but it did little good to muffle the sound of your host.  

There was a moment of quiet, then the rumble of...language?  Vincent was saying something, but you couldn’t make it out. It sounded foreign.  You didn’t have long to question what he was saying before everything began to close in.  The walls that surrounded you began to tense and tighten around you, now snugly holding you in place where you’d had room to move around before.  You squirmed.  

“Mmmh~ keep that up, and I might extend my stay…”  Vincent broke into what sounded like a yawn, and you flinched.  

“I-I don’t want you to stay!”  you screeched, thrashing as much as the tight walls allowed.  This only seemed to excite them, and they began to squish and pulse around you, massaging you back into the fetal position.  

“Oh hush,” Vincent’s voice slurred, and he yawned again.  “You don’t have a choice~. You’re in there as long as I want...and I think I’m going to keep you for a good while...”  

“No, wait-you can’t!”  

“I can, and I will~.  You agreed to the terms,” Vincent mumbled, and you felt something press against you, rubbing against the walls.  You got the idea Vincent was rubbing his stomach, as though to calm it down after a rowdy meal...which you guessed you were.  “Now pipe down...I’m gettin’ a nap…”

“Wait-Vincent, please</i>-!”  you begged, but it was met with a deep sigh, and a shudder along the walls squeezing in on you.  Vincent went quiet. After a moment, you heard a sound like a hum...but much more crackly, and broken.  A snore? He...was he sleeping?! Snarling, you squirmed in place again, figuring if you fought enough it would wake the bastard up.  

It didn’t.  Minutes passed of you throwing your weight around, pressing out against Vincent in whatever way you could, but nothing changed.  He snored away, and you remained where you were.... Thankfully, things didn’t seem to change much as far as his stomach went, either.  Nothing felt different...you could still breathe, and albeit being slimy and terrified, you were unharmed.  

Sleep began to creep into the corner of your mind, beckoning you to relax.  Part of you wondered if this was more of Vincent’s magic, but you’d had a long day...walking to and from work had been taxing.  Work had been taxing. And this...deal, trap, whatever it was, had been taxing. You were exhausted. The warmth and snug embrace around you didn’t help with your sleepy state...if anything, it only encouraged you to give in and close your eyes.  Vincent said you were staying here as long as he pleased...you figured that would give you enough time to catch up on your rest.

Something itched at the back of your mind as you drifted off…  How many times would Vincent collect his payment?  

[writingpaperghost]

There is a Me Who Can Become Strong (Chapter 6)

Chapter 6: A Hollow Beating in the Heart!

Saki's not acting herself today, but there's a Bugster to deal with so... They start hearing a bit more of this black Para-DX.

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/32857183/chapters/82387561

Emu stands outside of Masamune’s office in Gemn Corp, clutching the Gekitotsu Robots Gashat in his hand. He wants to return it, he does, but something about going in there and actually giving it to Masamune didn’t feel right. He’d thought about asking Saki or Asuna to do it, but he figured that it wouldn’t do him any good going out of his way to avoid Masamune. He was doing a lot to help the CR, right? So he shouldn’t feel so distrustful of a man he only met yesterday.

Standing outside, especially since anyone could walk by and see him, wasn’t going to do him much good. But somehow he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Still, he finally steeled himself and entered.

“Um, Mr. Dan?” He called, trying to his best to be polite. After yesterday, he was already hoping that Masamune didn’t have too negative of an opinion on him. Masamune was at his desk, typing away at his computer.

“Hojo,” There’s something in the way that Masamune says his name that feels wrong, “What brings you here?”

Holding out the Gashat, Emu answers, “I’ve come to return the Gekitotsu Robots Gashat that we retrieved yesterday.”

At that, Masamune looks up, “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

“What?”

“Keep it, so you can better fight the Bugsters,” He insists, “That’s a part of what they’re for, anyway.”

Looking at the Gashat in his hand, Emu doesn’t feel quite sure at taking Masamune at his word, “Are you sure?”

“Quite, it will do you more good than it will sitting around here.”

---

Mu and Graphite sit on the couch, Kuroto over at his desk across from them. It’s not clear what Kuroto was working on, but Mu was certain it would be fun and make people smile, like all of Kuroto’s games. Assuming he was working on a game and not a Gashat, of course. He thought that it was always really amazing watching Kuroto work on things, but he couldn’t see what Kuroto was working on from here. Normally, he’d get up and look, or ask, but he couldn’t move much right now.

Mostly because Graphite was situated in a manner that had him curled up on Mu’s legs, arms around him. For some reason, Graphite was oddly more clingy than normal, which was strange in and of itself, because Graphite wasn’t ordinarily what Mu would call clingy. Normally, Graphite only ever acted any way similar to this when… Mu was a little more out of it. But he wasn’t, he hadn’t been forced through… those things, that would make him out of it, since around the time he was started to be allowed to go out. So he wasn’t sure what had Graphite acting like this.

Of course, the most direct way would be to ask, and Mu was comfortable enough with him to do just that. “Graphite,” He began, “Is everything alright?”

“Why?” Graphite asks, raising his head up from its place on Mu’s shoulder, “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re clinging,” Kuroto notes, sounding terribly unimpressed. He glances up from his computer, “Did seeing Brave really shake you up that much?”

“It did not!” Graphite hissed back, gripping Mu tighter.

Mu was confused, though, “What do you mean by that?” He looks at Graphite, “Hey, what was up with Brave?”

After a moment of looking at Mu, Graphite buries his face in Mu’s shoulder again and mumbles, “She was my host’s fiancée.”

“Oh!” Mu cried, “That’s terrible! But was that really enough to make you… upset? Or did you get more of your host memories…?”

Graphite grumbles something.

Dryly, Kuroto says, “I don’t think even Mu can hear you,”

Repeating his words, but lifting his head so Mu can make them out, Graphite says, “It’s also seeing you fight Para-DX. You could have gotten hurt, especially when Para-DX reached Level 3.”

“Oh…” Mu said, “Well, I was fine. He’s pretty strong like that, but it turned out okay.” He reaches his arms out and wraps them around Graphite in a hug, “Besides, if something did seem like it would have happened, then you would have come to help, right?”

“Of course,” Graphite huffed, “As if I would let any of those Riders harm you.”

“So it’s all okay!” Mu chirps, then looks over at Kuroto, “Which reminds me, I’m going to keep using those Gashats.”

The look that Kuroto gives him is enough to know that he’s not happy about that statement, “No.” He says, “It’s dangerous.”

“You’re still recovering from using the Proto Gashat,” Mu counters, “It’s too dangerous for you to keep using it. I’ll be fine, at least until you can find a good solution.”

Kuroto stares at him, then sighs, “Fine, fine, you have a point.”

Mu smiles at him, doing his best to be reassuring, prompting Graphite to snort, “Don’t force it, Kin,” He finally loosens his grasp on Mu, “You look too uncomfortable like that.”

Dropping the attempt at a smile, Mu frowns slightly, “Right,” He sighs, “So are you going to let go of me anytime soon?”

“No.”

“Silly dragon,” Mu sighs, “You’ll have to let go eventually.”

“But not yet.”

---

Alongside Asuna, Emu searches for the person that the Bugster with the Gekitotsu Robots Gashat had been looking for the day before. They’d return to the college of music, hoping to find him.

After a while, Emu abruptly asks, “Why do you think Kiriya lied about that Bugster, uh, Graphite, being the black Para-DX?” Because they all knew that was a lie. He’d said he’d seen Graphite become the black Para-DX. Emu might have considered asking Kiriya himself, but he was still in the hospital and unconscious. Nico carried him back the day before, much to everyone’s surprise. She said she’d had help, but no one saw whoever it was.

Asuna replied, “I don’t know. I doubt he knew that Graphite was a Bugster but…” She shrugged, “I can’t say why he’d lies like that. I guess he just does that sometimes.” That felt far too simple for Emu’s liking, but he didn’t think he’d get a better answer. At least, not from Asuna.

They’re attention is drawn to a pair, “Ah, Yoko, I won’t be so busy soon enough!” The man cried.

The woman, Yoko, just looked at him sadly, “No, no, Seiichi, I think we just…” She trails off and takes a deep breath, “Need some time apart.”

“I see,” The man, Seiichi sighs, “If you say so…” Then, sadly, he walks off.

Watching him leave, Yoko falls to her knees. Some part of Emu thinks that it’s a bit melodramatic, but then he sees her keep falling. Then glitching. Grabbing the Gamer Scope from his neck, Emu rushes over to her. The screen told him what he already knew.

“Game Disease,” He said, though he didn’t imagine Asuna needed telling. The only strange thing was that it was showing two strains. The Gekitotsu Robots strain, and the DoReMiFa Beat strain.

It was about then that Saki arrived. She seemed a bit… out of it, but based on what he’d been told yesterday, it wasn’t too surprising. “I see we have a patient,” She says. She seems a bit distant.

“Saki,” Asuna says, looking at her with concern, “I didn’t think you’d work today.”

“Bugsters,” She says the word with far more venom than normal, “Don’t stop for anyone.”

There was a lot to unpack there. Unfortunately, like many times of important or possibly important information, Emu was forced to file it away for later review. Right now, they had a patient to focus on.

“Miss,” He called, “Can you hear me,”

“It… doesn’t matter,” She says, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Miss-“ Before he can say anything else, a Bugster appears from her. This one has two arms connected to some kind of tail. Given how Saki’s been, both yesterday and now today, Emu was hesitant to ask Saki to deal with it, at least on her own… But he didn’t have access to Level 1 and Nico was nowhere to be seen. Kiriya as still unconscious in the hospital, so he couldn’t help even if Saki would accept it, which he imagines she wouldn’t.

So he had no choice but to trust that Saki would be fine on her own. Unfortunately, he didn’t think that would be the case.

Taddle Quest!

“Let’s hurry this along,” Saki says, sounding none to happy to be there. Emu winces.

Let’s game! Metcha game! Mucha game! What’s your name? I’m a Kamen Rider!

Standing in Level 1, staring down the Bugster, Saki takes her sword in hand. She switches it to fire, only for the fire to cover her entirely. Emu startles, but holds himself still. Clearly she meant to do that. Obviously. Then Saki begins to the attack the Bugster, repeatedly hitting the Bugster. Finally, it’s destroyed, Saki catching Yoko as the Bugster fully separated from her. With the Bugster, it was another Bugster like the one from yesterday, again with a Gashat in its forehead.

“We Bugsters,” A voice begins and everyone turns their attention to Graphite, who’s appeared in his human form, “Have our own goals. My goals, though, are not the same as theirs.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emu asked, “You’ve managed not to tell us anyone’s goals.”

Graphite shakes his head, “Don’t worry about that, just know,” He points at Yoko, “I’ve infected her with both of the strains for those purposes.”

Saki sets Yoko down and turns her attention between Graphite and the Bugster. She seems conflicted. Emu decides that he’ll let her figure that out, instead taking out his Gashat.

Mighty Action X!

Level Up! Mighty Jump! Mighty Kick! Mighty-Mighty Action X!

He was going to focus on the Bugster. Whatever exactly was between Saki and Graphite wasn’t his business. He needed to make sure their patient would be okay.

After a moment of deliberation, Saki finally lands her attention on the Bugster. Emu’s thankful, not that he says anything. Before they can do much the Bugster throws an attack at them.

“DoReMiFa Beat is a dancing game,” Asuna reminds them.

That alone was enough prompt, as the music notes came towards them. Emu’s able to hit each note perfectly, though Saki’s another story. She truly seems like she’s trying to hit the notes, but every time she’s just the slightest bit off. This results in her taking a bunch of damage, while Emu took none.

Emu hoped that Graphite wouldn’t choose to intervene at any point…

“Hey, dragon dude!” Nico appears, already in Level 2, aiming her gun at Graphite, “Don’t think I’m not still annoyed about yesterday!”

Graphite scoffs, but assumes his Bugster form either way.

Annoyed at the damage from the Bugster, if nothing else, Saki is nearly trembling as she flips the lever on her Gamer Driver.

Level Up! Taddle meguru! Taddle meguru! Taddle Quest!

Emu decides that he’ll need to step it up too, taking out the Gekitotsu Robots Gashat.

Gekitotsu Robots!

Buttobase! Totsugeki! Gekitotsu punch! Gekitotsu Robots!

Graphite turns his attention to Saki, “I have a few feelings to sort out, Brave,” He says, giving his weapon a few experimental swings, “I hope you can help with that.”

Leveling her sword at him, Saki harshly responds, “Gladly.”

The other Bugster focuses on Emu and Nico, much to Nico’s annoyance. “Why is the dragon so focused on her?” She wonders, dodging the Bugster.

“I think it’s personal,” Emu answers.

None of their fighting does much. The Bugster lands a hard hit on Nico, knocking her transformation out. Saki doesn’t fair much better against Graphite. Whether it’s that he’s just that strong or whatever is really between him and Saki, he’s easily able to knock her transformation out too.

Emu was half ready to try to take on both Bugsters at once, but then the black Para-DX appears. There’s definitely something off about him that Emu can’t place, but he also doesn’t have time to focus on that.

“Graphite,” The black Para-DX said, same voice as before, “You get the Bugster and get going.”

Oddly, Graphite seems hesitant, “Are you certain…?”

The smile when the black Rider responds is almost visible, “Well, I think I can handle Para-DX… After all, his friends aren’t in any position to fight.” There’s a threat there and Emu isn’t entirely sure whether or not the black Para-DX will follow through.

“Then we’re gone,” Graphite grabs the Bugster and the two disappear.

Tension rises as Emu watched the black Rider. He’s not really sure what he’s going to do, but Emu knew he had to be careful, with Nico and Saki around. He couldn’t trust the black Para-DX not to attack them.

The black Para-DX shrugs, “I don’t know about you, Para-DX… but I- I don’t really want to fight,” He gestures to Nico and Saki, “So why don’t you get your friends somewhere safer?”

Unfortunately, Emu thinks he’s going to have to take the black Rider up on that offer.

---

“Seriously,” Emu says, staring at Saki, who’s sitting at the table in the CR, a slice of cake in front of her, “What is up with you? You’re acting really off.”

Taking another bite of cake, Saki takes her time answering, “I am not acting ‘off’.”

Emu blinks, “Yes, you are. You’re not normally so aggressive. Is it Graphite? Or something else?” He casually leans against one of the chairs, “Poppy wouldn’t tell me much, last night. But if it’s going to effect how you deal with Bugsters, than I think I, as your teammate, have a right to know.”

It looked for a moment like Saki was going to protest, but finally she sighed and set her fork down, “Six years ago, my fiancé died,” She said and Emu hadn’t exactly expected that as what she’d open with, “He’d been infected with Graphite’s strain of Game Disease. Taiga was his doctor, and…” She shakes her head. He thinks that she means the man who was supposed to be Snipe when she says Taiga. “He’d been working to help people injured when he was somehow infected. He hadn’t wanted to tell me, because he knew I would worry and he hadn’t thought he was deserving of that worry. He’d been very distant, he always had been. Hiro was… reserved and it had frustrated me. But when I’d found out what happened, when I finally got Haima to tell me…”

Saki takes a deep breath, “I guess being faced with death was enough for him to really feel the need to get his feelings out. He expressed so much to me that day, I knew for certain afterwards that I truly loved him and he truly loved me, even if he hadn’t been the best at expressing it. But he knew he wouldn’t survive and I knew the chances were slim. I’d fallen asleep at his bedside that night. When I woke up… he was gone. Almost like he was never there at all, no body, just an empty bed. Taiga and Haima came in after they heard me scream, apparently. They didn’t need me to explain what had happened. Haima… was his father. He looked so devastated.” She’s not looking at him anymore. She’s looking down, at her lap, “That day, I swore to become the best surgeon I could, for Hiro. So that no one had to lose their loved ones. So no one would have to go through what Haima and I had gone through that morning.”

“Now,” Emu realized, “You’re faced not just with someone with his face, but also the one who was responsible for his death.”

“And on the anniversary of it, to boot,” Saki shakes slightly. Emu’s not sure he’s ever seen her quite so emotional. Not like this. “So… pardon me if I’m not myself. It’s… hard, even six years later.”

“Of… course,” He assured, “I’m not going to… hold it against you.” How could he? He understood the feeling far too well. Just around four months ago, on the anniversary of it, he shut himself away and broke down crying, realizing just how close he was to achieving Emu’s dream.

He realizes, belatedly, that she’s crying, now. It’s quiet, that’s why it took him so long to notice, but it’s there. He’s not really sure what to say. He wants to try to say something reassuring, but he’s not really sure what. He’d dealt with his grief alone. He supposes Saki probably at least shared it with the director.

“I’ll…” He began, “I’m going to go talk to the patient.” He just needed to get out of there, before he said or did something stupid. He felt bad about just leaving Saki like that, but he honestly wasn’t sure what he should do. He wanted to help, but…

Ugh, he hated feeling helpless like that.

Well he might as well go and actually talk to Yoko, like he said he would. He recalls Asuna’s conversation with her earlier, when Yoko had first arrived at the CR. According to Asuna, Yoko hadn’t wanted her now former boyfriend to know that she was sick. Which might have made sense, if they hadn’t literally just broken up that day. Obviously he cared and would want to know about it, so why hadn’t she wanted him to know?

Not to mention how her Game Disease only flared up while she was watching him leave. Even though she was the one to say they needed to be apart, she was getting stressed by it. Which, while Emu certainly wasn’t an expert on relationships – as in he knew very little – he didn’t think would be normal.

Entering the patient’s room, he hesitates for a moment. He’s not entirely sure he’s the best suited for this… Then he shakes his head, no, he had to do what he could. Saki certainly wasn’t in the position to, and Asuna had already tried as much as she probably could.

“Ms. Horiuchi?” Emu called, catching her attention. He begins to walk over, “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Oh, what is it?” She asks, “Is something wrong?”

He smiles, “No, nothing really. I was just wondering…” He pauses, taking a deep breath. This is definitely not his strong suit, but he’d just have to treat it a bit like with Alhambra. Engaged couple breaking up is sort of like a couple just. Breaking up normally. Close enough. “Nurse Asuna mentioned that you specifically didn’t want us to inform your boyfriend – or is it former boyfriend? – well him, that you were sick. Is there a reason why?”

She hesitates, before answering, “Oh, no real reason…” Emu hopes the look his gives her is enough to show that he doesn’t really believe that. “Well, if he knew I was sick, Seiichi would drop everything to come be with me. But he’s working so hard to try to get into the orchestra, I don’t want to distract him from that.”

Somehow, that sounded a bit familiar. Not exact, but he wondered if Graphite chose Yoko on purpose, or if it was just coincidence. He really didn’t know what the Bugsters were after, and Graphite had declared his goals were not the same as other Bugsters. Still, it seemed that he’d found the source of her stress.

“If he’s worried about you,” Emu begins, “Then shouldn’t he know?”

“He’ll worry more,” She sighs, “He’s so dedicated and I’m just trying to keep him from getting distracted.”

Emu wasn’t sure how well that would work, but he also wasn’t really sure what else to say. Matters of the heart were a complicated thing for someone who’s had no romantic relationships and limited skills with people in general. Children were easy, adults were not.

“And if you die?” Emu’s startled to hear Saki, standing in the doorway. She seems to have recovered from earlier rather well, but Emu wasn’t really sure what people usually looked like after those sort of things anyway. Regardless, she did not look like someone who’d just been crying less than ten minutes ago. “He’d be heartbroken to find out you were sick and he never even knew.”

Yoko looked down at her lap. “I just don’t want him to get hurt,”

Then, Emu came to a realization, “If the Bugster attacked Seiichi, it would stress you.” He stands up and looks at Saki, “Saki, we need to find him.”

Saki purses her lips before responded, “Yes, we do.”

---

It didn’t take long to find Seiichi, and predictably, the Bugster was there too. And alongside the Bugster was Graphite, watching from afar. Emu can see Saki tense when she sees him.

Pulling out the Mighty Action X and Gekitotsu Robots Gashat, Emu tells her, “Focus on the Bugster,” When it looks like Saki’s about to protest, he adds, “I’ll keep Graphite from interfering.”

“Intern,”

“No, Saki,” He insists, “Focus on getting the Gashat so you’ll be stronger. As it is you don’t stand a chance. I might be able to at least hold him off.”

She still looks like she wants to protest, but at last pulls out the Taddle Quest Gashat and her Gamer Driver, “Fine, but only because you bring up a valid point.”

Both transforming, they set their sights on the Bugsters they’re ready to fight. Hopefully Emu’s Level 3 might be enough to stand against Graphite, at least for a bit. Immediately swinging at Graphite, he gets blocked by the Bugster’s weapon. Then thrown back a bit. Okay, this might be a bit harder than he thought it would be. Or rather, he could understand why Graphite was able to shove away Saki and Nico so easily.

Saki changes the stage that they are on to a forest and begins to fight the Bugster. Because the Bugster attack rhythmically, it quickly became easy enough for her to dodge the attacks. She’s able to counter with a few of her own before her opening arrives. With her sword in ice mode, she inserts her Gashat.

Taddle Critical Finish!

Slashing at the Bugster, it’s quickly destroyed and Saki now has the DoReMiFa Beat Gashat in hand.

Game Clear!

As Emu attempts to block one of Graphite’s attacks, only for it to knock him back and out of his transformation, Saki activates the Gashat.

DoReMiFa Beat!

Do-Do-DoReMiFa-So-La-Ti-Do! Ok! DoReMiFa Beat!

She dodges out of the way of Graphite’s attacks, countering with her own, each in the beat that the Gashat had begun to play. Though it clearly wasn’t doing much more damage than Emu had been, if more at all, it was still enough to push Graphite back. Finally, Saki takes the Gashat and inserts it into her sword, now in fire mode.

DoReMiFa Critical Finish!

The attack, despite landing clear on Graphite, doesn’t seem to do much. Still, he staggers back a bit. “Brave,” He says, “I doubt this will be the last we see of each other. Don’t think you’ve beat me yet!” And then, Graphite’s gone, just like before.

---

Watching through the window in the CR into the observation room, Emu and Asuna see that Yoko and Seiichi are reconnecting. Yoko seemed to have explained her thought process while Seiichi simply seemed relieved.

“Well that went pretty well,” Emu says, wondering if the two had sorted out everything. They couldn’t really hear the pair. He looks around, noticing that only he and Asuna were in the room, “Where’s Saki?”

“Oh,” Asuna responds, “She had somethings she wanted to do. Don’t worry, I think she’ll be fine.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Emu decides to take her at her word, “If you say so,”

---

“Haima?” Saki calls, entering Haima’s office. He’s at his desk, the only place he is when he’s at the hospital and not out and about or at the CR. She knew she’d find him here. In her hands, she holds a box with a cake inside.

“Oh, Saki,” Haima looks up from his work. He smiles at her, “How have you been?”

She laughs a little, like he doesn’t see her daily, “I’ve been okay. You know how today always is.”

His smile falls a bit, “Yes, it doesn’t seem to get much easier,” He regards her for a moment, “You had a Bugster today, too.”

Choosing not to respond to the last part, she holds up the box, “I brought cake,” She said, “This is the one that Hiro always liked.”

“Of course, I guess you haven’t been here the past few years,” Haima moves aside some papers, “I always make sure to put a piece out for him,”

“Yes…” Saki says sadly, “But now we’re able to save people. So no one else has to leave out a piece of cake for their loved one.”

“And you’re all doing a great job,”

---

“I wonder what mo – Kujo, said to that black Para-DX to get him so beat up, yesterday,” Nico wonders from her perch on a hospital bed in Taiga’s clinic. “I mean, that was pretty bad.”

Taiga sighs, “I don’t know, Kujo’s always been sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong,” He shuffles some papers then takes a moment, looking at the room that Nico had commandeered. “I’m really not getting you out of here, am I?”

“You want my help?” Nico stretches, wincing slightly, “Then you let me stay here. It’s cheaper than a hotel.”

“You have plenty of money,”

“That’s not the point, old man.”

“I’m not old,”

---

“Graphite?” Mu asks, looking up from the game he’s playing. Previously, one could hear the sounds of DoReMiFa Beat and some cheerful pop song playing. “Why does Brave want to fight you so badly. Your host was her fiancée, yeah, but…”

Over in the corner, Graphite is adjusting some pillows and blankets on a mattress, forming what Kuroto has more than once referred to as a nest. Mu watches warily, hoping not to get dragged in, because then Graphite would make him sleep again. “Because she’s hurt,” Graphite answers, “And she blames me for his death. It’s easier for her to blame me and for her to take it out on me, in hope that it might do something to lessen her pain.”

Mu frowns, “Does she really think that’ll work?”

“Do you?”

He doesn’t answer.

[rpsocsandcanonohmy]

Unexpected

Cordell set the popcorn on the coffee table and glanced up at the screen to see what was on the docket for Movie Night. It was Stella’s turn to pick, so he was expecting a romcom or a musical or something. What he saw instead was a documentary on modern LGBT spaces. Okay. Different. “Where’d you find that one?”

“My sex-ed teacheer showed us part of it and I wanted to see the rest of it. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Just...wasn’t expecting it.” Who knows, maybe he’d learn something.

Turns out there was a lot he wasn’t expecting that night.

Asexual

It came up a few times during the documentary. A complete lack of sexual attraction to anyone. Not a lack of love or compassion. Not even a lack of sex drive necessarily. Just...no sexual attraction to anyone, man or woman. It sounded strange. 

It also stirred something inside him that he hadn't thought about in years.

It kept coming back to him over the next couple of days. Memories forced themselves to the forefront of his mind. Exaggerating how much he enjoyed Hoyt’s skinmags. Claiming to have wet dreams about whatever star was most popular at the time. Never being quite sure how to respond when his girlfriends would talk about how sexy he was. How Emily was always the one to initiate sex when they weren’t actively trying to have kids. All those nights he would lay awake in bed, wondering why he didn’t seem to see the world the same way everyone else did.

Did that mean something?

He tried doing his own research on the internet during some spare time but he wasn’t really sure what he was looking for and there was just so much out there. He needed help. At least a roadmap. He’d ask Liam but he didn’t want to assume anything. He doubted his parents would have any advice in this department. He remembered Micki putting a bisexual flag in her pen cup last week but he didn’t want to assume anything there either. But this kind of stuff was everywhere. Surely there was a person or a library or something he could go to.

Maybe Google could help him with this one….

-----------

Cordell sat in his truck in front of the LGBT center. There were a couple of places like this in Austin but this was the only one that didn't specify being a place for Youth members. He thought going somewhere where some of the patrons might be a little closer to his age would help. So far it was ineffective.

Maybe he should've brought someone along. Liam would've come with him. Micki and Trey too. Hell he probably could've begged Momma into coming along. But he hadn't wanted to bother anyone unless he was sure. 

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

He slowly got out of his truck and suddenly realized it was the only one in a sea of Priuses and compact cars. 

Focus, Walker.

He forced himself forward and tried not to think  about the fact that none of the other patrons walking up were wearing work jeans and boots and a Stenson and-

Breathe, Walker. Worst they can do is ask you to leave.

The Center was calmer than he'd been expecting. Not that he could really say what he'd been expecting. More rainbows probably. He flinched internally when he saw some people give him odd looks and just kept walking, not really paying attention to where he was going. Which, he discovered when he had the guts to look up again, was an excellent way to get lost. He cursed silently as he looked around for any kind of signage to direct him to anywhere that might be useful but all he saw were empty hallways with closed doors. He probably wasn’t even supposed to be in this area.

He probably wasn’t even supposed to be here at all.

He knew this was a bad idea.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you lost?”

He flinched involuntarily and looked over at the woman that was approaching him. She was dressed nicely and wearing a lanyard that introduced her as Clarissa. She probably worked here and if the lesbian pin on her shirt was anything to go by, she belonged here for other reasons too. 

"Hi. Yeah, a little. Don't worry, I’m just on my way out.” As soon as I find where that is.

She smiled kindly. “Alright then. Mind if I walk with you? I’m just on my way out myself and these hallways can get really confusing if you don’t know where you’re going.”

Well. He clearly wasn’t getting out of this. “No, that’s fine.”

“Great! I’m Clarissa, by the way. I work in public outreach,” she said as they walked. “What’s your name?”

“Uh, Cordell.” Should he say his occupation? Did it matter? He probably wasn’t coming back here anyway, right?

“Pleasure to meet you, Cordell. Are you here with anyone?”

“Uh, no.” Dammit. “I’m here for someone. My...my brother, he’s been meaning to come by but with work and stuff he gets...busy.” Smooth, Walker. Real fucking smooth.

“Well, that’s nice of you, though I’m sure he’d get more out of it if he actually came himself.”

Right. Of course. “Well, he was just looking for some books or information packets or something. He’s just got a lot of questions.”

She hummed and nodded her head. “Do you know what kind of information he was looking for? We have a library I could help you look through if you wanted.”

“I…. That would be really nice. Thank you.”

“Of course.” She smiled and turned a corner. “Just this way.”

------------

Clarissa watched Cordell out of the corner of her eye. She’d seen this a few times during her years working at the Center. Someone figures something out about themselves later in life and feels a little uncomfortably openly exploring it, usually due to internalized prejudices or insecurities or external pressures. Judging by the gold band on his finger, she’d say it was a mixture. She had to admire him for coming this far, especially alone.

“What did you say your brother was looking for?” she asked as they approached the library space.

“Ummm….” He seemingly felt the need to look somewhere else. “Do you have anything on asexuality? I think that’s what he said.”

Ah. That filled in a few blanks. “Of course. I know a few titles that might be helpful….” Definitely not her first time dealing with this particular issue. There was a go-to list she and a few others had put together for situations like this; she decided to tack on a few extra titles on self-acceptance. Hopefully that would help.

“When you hand these over to your brother, remember to tell him he’s always welcome here, okay?”

He smiled at her, the first time since she saw him standing in the hallway, and nodded. “I will. Thanks.”

She smiled back and gave him a little shrug. “It’s what I’m here for. You can check those out at the counter over there. I have a few things to do but I hope to see you around.” As she waved and walked away, she prayed she would see him again. Maybe with a friend or a family member. Or at least with a little more confidence.

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections {21}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 20. Boys’ Night A/N:

More Helsa heavy chapters to come

21. Nonchalant

The girls' night concluded after plenty more sisterly bonding after their tea party. The parlor which had been in a state of disarray, because of the construction of the pillow fort, was reverted back to its original state. It was put together rather quickly thanks to the help of Kristoff who had returned before bedtime like promised. Elsa was in charge of the last chore, returning the borrowed pillows and blankets, they'd offered to help her with that task, but assured them it was best if she did it herself since she knew exactly where to return the items. Elsa said she'd head to bed after finishing her errand so they all wished each other good night and were off in opposite directions. 

 Elsa had returned the other items rather quickly and now she hesitantly stood outside Hans' door firmly hugging the pillow across her chest. Maybe it had been a bad idea to take his pillow in the first place. She was starting to hope that room would be vacant once again, though she knew that would likely not be the case this time. Something about having her hair down made her extra anxious (even though Anna said it made her seem more relaxed), Kristoff had seen it of course, but that didn't bother her, he was already like a brother. She knew she couldn't stall forever; she had left a note after all. She held her breath as she opened the door. 

 When she entered she saw the next best thing she could hope for, which was Hans already laying down in bed asleep, in a rather strange position but in bed nonetheless. The breath finally escaped her lungs in relief, one less thing to worry about she thought. Now all she had to drop off the pillow by the bedside.

Hans was not a heavy sleeper. He had twelve brothers, he couldn't afford to be. But he was also a man of deception, so he remained still, and measured his breathing as she neared, listening. Footsteps too light to be a guard, so it had to be Elsa, only confirmed by the slight chill in the room. He opened an eye carefully, under his arm, with just enough gap to see her by. 

 "I never thought I'd live to see your hair down." He murmured, before he could stop himself. Maybe he'd had more than he thought, but surely it would have worn off by then. Sleep dulling his senses, perhaps? "I suppose now I can die happy." he added, entirely as a joke. He'd already alerted her that he was awake, may as well toss subtlety out the window and make it humor instead. He was good at that. Somehow referencing his depression and making a joke all at once seemed to be sort of a trend for him.

His voice resonating in the silence had completely startled her. She let out a yelp and before her mind could fully process his words, her body practically moved on it's own, tossing the pillow at his face out of pure reflex. 

 Elsa let out a nervous laugh. 

 "Oh, you're awake," her voice higher pitched than usual. "I'm so sorry!" she panically stated, realizing the pillow left her grasp. Good thing she'd thrown the pillow at him instead of ice, though it was possible the pillow was at the very least slightly frosted over.

Hans laughed at the pillow throw, downright giggly at the sudden pillow fight.

  "Well I can't say I didn't deserve that." He admitted through his fit of laughter. Maybe it was the drinking, or the evening before, but he found it easy to laugh that night. "No need to apologize, I startled you, and I should've known better. Perhaps I should be grateful you didn't hit me with a snowball." He proposed sweetly. He nonchalantly shifted down to reclaim the pillow (which had bounced off of him and flopped off the bed) and got back up to put it behind his head, though cringed a little. His wound was still a little sore. 

 "Today was a lovely day on my part, I hope yours was as well." He hummed, laying back again as nonchalant as ever. If not moreso. He had never been one to sit or lay while others stood, but her being there so frequently and him being so injured so often (and the drinking didn't help here), he didn't seem to mind it this time. Or maybe it was just to illustrate to her that she wasn't a bother to him.

Elsa's face was florid from the embarrassment of being caught by surprise, and with her mind finally settling and registering what Hans had murmured surely didn't help diminish the bloom of her cheeks. She definitely took notice that Hans seemed a bit more laid-back than usual (both figuratively and literally), but it was more than his posture that cued her in, the subtle difference of his laughter had also caught her attention. 

 "Yeah, so-," she caught herself from apologizing again. "I don't know if I can say the same about my day as a whole, being busy and all, but my evening was indeed a lovely one, spending some much needed time with Anna," she affirmed with a smile. She hadn't noticed but she was fidgeting with her hair. Holding and sliding a long lock of her hair in between the first three fingers of her alternating hands in a repetitive motion. Elsa normally didn't wear her hair down so it made sense that she'd subconsciously want to touch it in one of her anxious mannerisms. "I just came by to return your pillow like promised."

"Promised?" He hummed, seeming somewhat bewildered. "Ah, was that that scratching?" He reached behind his head and looked for whatever he had felt, before uncovering the paper. "I admit, I was tired and didn't think to care what I landed on. Rest assured, the pillow wasn't particularly missed." He assured, with an amused look. He almost seemed like a different person when he was smiling, to when he was sad. But he could change between the two so very quickly. 

 "I meant what I said, you know. Your hair is beautiful when it's down. It always is, but especially when it's down." He occupied himself reading the note, then idly folding it. He seemed to be doing it to some purpose, but not really for something grand. Just a thing to play with. He didn't know why he was telling her that, but it seemed so simple now. So easy. He would undoubtedly hate himself for saying it later, but why not take the chance while he didn't feel bad about it? 

 "The Captain of the Guard and I were drinking, don't pay me too much mind, I'm sure I'll make even more a fool of myself. But I suppose that's my official title these days." He hummed. He finished toying with the note over the course of a few moments, and presented her with the result: A little paper frog. Not perfectly folded, a bit wrinkled from being slept on and from his own failed folds (as he only half-remembered how it was supposed to be done), but it still had a little bit of spring in its feet, and could sort of haphazardly hop when pressed down to the table (even if it might typically fall on its back). Simple and silly.

"I-Uh...Thank you," she acknowledged rather shyly, the crimson continued to suffuse her cheeks at his repeated words of praise. So he'd been out drinking, that would explain a lot, inebriation (as well as drowsiness) were surely the reasoning behind his more mellow mood. Having a more airy Hans was far better than a somber one, even if it caused some awkwardness. She definitely wouldn't be able to easily ignore him even if it was just tipsy babbling. Elsa smiled at the paper frog, it was a cute little craft. She tried pressing down on it herself. 

 "It must have been nice to finally spend some time outside, instead of being confined to this room," she said. A slight shiver crossed her body as memory of her own confinement momentarily re-emerged, she quickly shook her head and got rid of it. "Hopefully your wounds didn't give you too much trouble today." Elsa showed concern about him like always, he had regained a lot of his mobility, but he wasn't completely out of the woods just yet he still had a bit of healing to do. "It sounds like you're already getting along quite well with the Captain, that's good to hear," she commented. Hans and the Captain would have together for a while with the training regimen, it was good that they were already becoming chummy enough to warrant going out for drinks.

"My wound hurt a little, but only because I did something stupid, as men are wont to do. I took it easy after that, rest assured. Training the men got more physical than I had intended, I think I'll try to stick to paperwork for a few more weeks, much as it pains me." He hummed. "I got to see Sitron at the stables, after drinks. I ran into Kristoff and Olaf, and Sven, and we had a fine time." He had to pause to remember the reindeer's name. "Sitron seems cared for, but he needs more riding time. If it's alright with you, I may take more time out with him." And there was the crux of it, 'if it's alright with you'. It wasn't bars or locks keeping him where he was, but her wants.

"Oh?" Hans' forthcoming was surprising, yes, but him willing to refrain from being stubborn and allowing himself to heal, was even more so. Maybe he finally discerned that if he was to remain patient for a little while longer, he'd be able to heal up much faster and no longer have to be shut up in his chamber for most the day. Elsa smiled at the fact that he was going to try to take it easy, for the time being, well at least as easy as Hans would allow himself to be. "Of course, I don't see why not. I'm sure Sitron misses you and he could really use the exercise," Elsa affirmed giving him a warm smile. Hans knew how to best care for him and she surely wasn't going to keep a man from his horse.

Hans smiled a bit at that. "He did. We were both excited to see each-other. I'm afraid I distracted all of us from our outing to go see my horse, and groom him. Sitron has always been a friend to me, and I do look out for my friends and allies." He hummed. "And, whatever we are." He glanced at her, a curious look in his eyes. "I still find it difficult to discern, to be honest. I don't think of you as an enemy. I never have. But I'm not sure you would appreciate me calling you a friend, either. Especially not while Anna still hates me -as she rightfully ought to, I suppose-. If anything, hers is the most sensible reaction I've seen from me. The guards murmured a bit, but I won them over quickly. Captain Johannes told me some still have doubts and that they haven't forgotten, I'll believe it when I see it." He felt it easier to talk to her that evening. It didn't feel like it was because of the alcohol, but maybe it was. It just felt like... he wanted to talk about it. It didn't feel like a bunch of secrets, it felt like things she must have already surmised. Like friends discussing a nuisance of one's day, not dissecting his character.

Elsa glimpsed back at him. She let a titter escape as she combed her hair atop her head with one of her fingers. "Yeah, it really is hard to know where exactly we stand, given the odd circumstances." Elsa concurred. "You know, I was also wondering about that myself, being able to consider you a friend, I mean. I wasn't sure if I could call you that, and not because of Anna or that I don't want us to be friends, I was just uncertain," Elsa expressed and paused biting her bottom lip a bit. "Because to tell you the truth, I don't have many friends, and I don't know if I can count Anna since she's my sister, so as you can imagine I'm not very good when it comes to that sort of thing," Elsa explained. "The Ice Queen, still having trouble warming up, big surprise. Thirteen years of isolation surely didn't help in that regard,"she huffed. "Though Anna seemed to have gotten the hang of it unlike me, but then again she's always been amiable, social and striving to connect with people," she recognized. She paused once again getting lost down memory lane. 

 "It's silly but, I didn't have a companion like Sitron or Sven, instead for the longest time, since I couldn't interact with Anna, I had a Sir Jorgenbjorgen, he was a little stuffed puffin doll I would talk to," she reminisced. "Had I known sooner that I had the ability to bring my creations to life, I might have tried to make myself a friend," Elsa considered, lost deeper in her thoughts. There was one last pause before she noticed. "Oh, sorry, I'm getting carried away." Elsa realized she had gotten a bit too caught up in the friend talk, maybe she was being too chatty herself, but since they were already opening up to each other, might as well just say what was on her mind, just because it felt right to do so. "Anyway, I don't know what else we could deem ourselves if not friends." She didn't address how others might feel about Hans, because it was pretty obvious how she felt herself, if she was considering him her friend.

Hans looked up at her, with perhaps a bit of hope in his eyes. "Do get carried away more, it's easier to converse when both sides are chatty." He pointed out with a little smile. "Friends, then?" He asked, almost wary. She may have been isolated for years, but Hans was familiar with backstabbing and attempts to be perfect. Elsa may have been slow-melting ice, but Hans was more of a doe, listening for trouble and leaping away at the first movement, even if it was from a future friend. "I like that your puffin was a sir. That's cute." He hummed. "I had my journals, why wouldn't you have a doll? I had to be wary of echoes, you had to be wary of living things. I can't imagine being afraid to touch life. I suppose we were both prisoners in our bedrooms in different ways. You to hide from yourself, and protect others; me to hide from others and protect myself. At least I could wander out, most times." He seemed less than comfortable thinking about it, not quite frowning, but not looking happy. "I'm glad you can still love your castle and kingdom. I can't." He would visit home if someone was dying; but he had no further desire to. He doubted they kept his things in his room. He was only a prince in name so he could visit the dying, because they knew his father wouldn't live long. "Ah, there I go, turning grim after we were having such a lovely day before. I didn't mean to bring us down." His tone was lighter and apologetic, to make up for his gloominess. Even though it may not have been him starting the gloom, he blamed himself and his mercurial moods.

"Yes, Friends," Elsa replied with smiling eyes. It felt good to finally have a bit more clarity on the relationship between them. "I'm sure it was my doing this time, I have a knack of turning things sour without wanting to," She assured, remembering how well the conversation with Anna went before the fun finally started. "Let's see if I can just as easily divert it back to being lovely again," Elsa affirmed, taking a moment to ponder. "Oh, I know! Aren't you the least bit curious as to know what the pressing matter that required me to borrow your pillow?" She asked. It was going to be a bit embarrassing to admit, but it got the conversation to revert back into something more pleasant. It didn't really matter.

Hans looked up at her curiously, and grinned playfully. "Missed me that much?" He proposed, with mock flattery and a playful smile. She looked ready to go to bed, with her hair down. He had to be careful not to think too much about that all at once. "Alright, I'll bite, why borrow my pillow?" He had guesses (after all, how many reasons could there be?) but he participated for the sake of the conversation. The longer it lasted, the more time he spent in her presence, and could admire her beauty while he thought she wouldn't notice.

She giggled a bit. Even though Hans himself was joking it technically wasn't far from the truth, she had indeed wished to see him, though she wouldn't actually admit it and she hadn't playfully denied it either. "Well, how else would we construct Arendelle's most extravagant pillow fort? " Elsa laughed followed by a sigh. "Childish I know, and most unbecoming of a Queen, but I must admit it was rather fun, doing things with Anna we never got the chance to do growing up."

Hans smiled a little, especially in his eyes, where crow's feet would form well before any other wrinkles made themselves prominent with age. "Now if we can't spend our adulthood being childish, whatever did we grow up for?" He joked easily. "We're both rather giggly tonight. I quite like it. And I'm glad to hear I'm not the only one with a penchant for childish behavior. Olaf got me to smile earlier with bad puns, and the time at the pub-- well I think the Captain thinks of me as the obnoxious young recruit more than a trainer to his troops, but he reminds me of the Captain of my ship, in spite of being much younger. I wouldn't have it any other way." He hummed. He sounded as if the day had overall been quite positive, even if -for a time- he had been quite melancholy. It seemed that was his natural state of being, and happy any time someone got him out of it.

"It is rather nice," Elsa agreed as a grin crossed her face. The two of them sharing a moment in good spirits was very pleasant. "I may not be able to indulge in acting childish often, but I won't deny it's enjoyable to do so," she laughed a bit more, the laughter sure seemed to be contagious tonight."I'm glad you were able to have a nice night out."

"Hmm, why not? Perhaps you simply need to take more time to be a child." He suggested, gesturing to the little paper frog he had made. "I learned to make those in Japan, then promptly forgot. With a little struggling I can get them almost like they're supposed to look. And that's one of the easy ones. Some people can make flapping birds,dogs, cats, all out of folded paper. It's a mystery to me, I guess I just don't have the mind for it. But I like the little hopping frog fold. Simple and cute."

Elsa smiled at the frog, poking it once again. "I don't think it would make the right impression if I was regarded as 'Elsa the Childish Ice Queen of Arendelle'," she jokingly remarked with a snort. "Actually, I've already planned to make more time, I promised Anna to try doing more fun things we didn't get to do together."

"Hmm, I try on titles and attitudes like most try shoes. Something different for any occasion, no need to let one define you. Why bother? Of course, I'm hardly the picture of mental health." He remained casual, leaning back, though he propped himself up a little more to converse with her. Maybe he just preferred there to be a power imbalance. It made him less of a threat. Especially with his sword still on the bureau. "My moods change faster than the tides, as does my personality and my behavior, if I could do anything else as fast, I'd be a much more productive human being. But it means I have the freedom to be a different person to everyone I meet, if I choose to be. I'd say it doesn't change who I am at heart, but I'm not convinced there's a layer deeper than that. I'm still a mirror, I am whatever others want or need me to be, and that's why I get all the titles. My favorite so far was Admiral, but my second-favorite is Fool. I suppose it's the only one I gave myself." He mused. He didn't really have a singular purpose to mention it, he just found it intriguing. "At any rate, you can have more time to be a child, and not be defined as childish. Even kings and queens must laugh."

Elsa didn't care too much what people thought of her, but then again she was a Queen and a big sister, two titles she felt didn't allow freedom to be carefree, responsibility seemed to have been engraved as a part of her personality from a young age. She might have seemed serious and resolute in remaining regal, but she didn't really mind being like that, actually she preferred it, it was essentially how she was in character, she could never be abundantly energetic like Anna that was way too draining. 

 "Adaptability isn't necessarily a bad attribute, sounds exhilarating having that freedom explore the infinite possibilities, instead of being set in stone." There was a part of Elsa wished she wasn't bound by the expectations (that she'd mostly placed on her own shoulders) and she could have the freedom to be that flexible. "I guess you're right, even I deserve some fun," she answered. 

 Elsa then pursed her lips and pondered. 

 "Do you think I'm too serious? I know I can be a bit of a stickler," she wondered. All this talk made it sound like she was normally no fun at all, and maybe that was true, she was rather duty driven. Perhaps what she was really trying to ask was what was his impression of her.

Hans considered her question a bit. "Seriousness is a necessary evil, especially as a royal. You need to be able to be serious when the time calls for it. But we can't stop enjoying life, else there's no reason to have it. I adventure and enjoy wordplay, that's how I enjoy life. You're dutiful, but I think you're serious for work, and very human otherwise. You laugh and smile and tease. Some military men seem like they hold onto their frowns and barked orders like a man holds to a life raft. Those types of men tend not to like me, because I refuse to take them seriously." Hans smiled to himself, ever the young rogue. "People like that tend to demand respect they haven't earned with me, or expect me to follow them because I'm young. Ah, but alas, I suppose I am a follower again. My highest rank now is 'Queen's Fool'." He smiled a little to himself just the same. As far as it was from 'prince', he still had an inordinate fondness for the title. At least in part because nobody really hired fools anymore. "Very human, hm?" she repeated in a murmur. She smiled, that really was a compliment to her, since she often tended to forget that. "That's quite the title, the highest ranking Fool in the land, a very rare achievement indeed, I can see why you are quite fond of it," Elsa playfully teased.

Hans laughed a little, smiling at her. "Well I can't think of a better kingdom to be a fool in. Careful, I might start asking for pay. Though, if I keep playing cards with the men I'm training, I might need one anyway." He laughed. "I wonder how the history books will write about me. 'The fool who trained the Queen's Guards, a failed treasoner and prince of a foreign land', I like the reverse-ordering. I'm sure they'll gloss over the admiralty, history books always seem to miss the important bits." He chuckled and shook his head. "Of course it's only by the treason I'd have made it in, anyway." He shrugged. "Glad it didn't work out, though. In spite of all my pains and injuries, I am glad life has brought me to where I am. I just wish it had taken a somewhat different path to get here."

Elsa smiled and laughed along with him, up until the treason talk. "I'm glad you're here too," she reassured softly. "It might not have been the preferable path, but life might not have granted the same possibilities any other way."

  "There're so many good things that might not have happened had we not gone down the paths we’d chosen."

"Just so." Hans hummed. She brought him a sense of peace, even though he felt somewhat trapped there in his room. Even healed, he tended not to explore the small space. 

 "Not the preferable path, indeed. If I'd have known about your powers, maybe we could have been friends. I certainly would have been a lot more careful." He thought about it a moment, then waved the thought off. "Best not to think about 'what ifs', they only lead to sadness, I find."

He seemed to be right, the unattainable 'what ifs' did indeed only tended to bring sorrow of how things might have been. She was melancholy for a moment as she let out a sigh. Then a strange concept crossed her mind.

  "That seems to be true, but what if," Elsa giggled a little at the way she started that statement. "Instead of thinking of the impossible 'what ifs' of the past, we think of the potential 'what ifs' of the present and the future." She suggested. "I think those are far less gloomy since they are still probable prospects." 

 "Like what if I did officially grant you the title of fool?" That part was of course just another joke, but certainly not out of the realm of possibility.

Hans chuckled. "Embarrassing, truly, yet charming. I imagine my family would never understand that I'd sooner be a fool in Arendelle than a prince in the Isles." He admitted idly. "Well then, what if my work here somehow encouraged the Isles to give back my titles? Then I would be a fool admiral and a fool prince. What a combination. One confusing hierarchy of titles. My mother would hate it, therefore I'm for it." He chuckled dryly.

Elsa wasn't sure if she should ask the next question, but the 'what if' of returning titles made her curious. After a brief hesitation she decided to ask. 

 "What if you were given the opportunity to sail again, would you?" She wondered, wringing her hands. Her crimson nails contrasting her porcelain skin. It was a bittersweet question even for a hypothetical, since she wouldn't want him to leave, yet she knew how much he loved the sea and adventure and was rather curious to find out if he would. She'd asked him a similar question before about why he'd returned to Arendelle instead of sailing away. She wondered if his answer would differ, given other circumstances, such as regaining his admiralty.

He thought about it a bit. "Of course, I do love adventure; but I must return to a friendly port now and then to rest and restock and call home. I would sooner that be here than the Isles, if Arendelle would have me. I daresay the Isles has no need for me now, if I'm no longer an Admiral, and not counted in the line of succession. I have nowhere I must be but where Her Majesty assigns me." He gestured to Elsa, not toward home. His mother was Queen Consort and had no true say in the running of the government.

His answer had put her mind at ease. Elsa smiled a bit. "But of course, if you are indeed considering yourself my fool it's only logical that Arendelle would be your home," she affirmed. It felt a little strange to call him her fool in the possessive especially out loud, but she was in fact the Queen and he was her fool. It did embarrass her a little to have said after the fact, even if it was only meant to be playful banter.

Hans smiled a little at the thought. He was welcomed there, even if it was only as a jester in her court. "I could always be considered the Guard Trainer or whatever official title that would be. In the Isles, we had the Swordmaster, who taught us boys to swing a sword, but that was a bit of a different job." He admitted, considering the thought.

Oh, right his real official title, she had practically forgotten about that and it made her fluster a bit more. 

 "Yes, definitely," she nodded."I'm not quite sure of the official name yet either, but we'll figure it out soon enough." She assured him. 

 "Hmm, what about Combat Consultant? It has a nice ring to it, but I don't know. Do you have any other ideas?" Elsa suggested and asked him for his input. "Oh, and before I forget since we're on the topic of training. Kristoff might be the one watching over us while you're training me." She informed him.

"Oh that does have a nice ring. 'Consultant' sounds a bit like desk work, though. There must be a term for the one who trains the guards, that isn't 'captain'. I'd hate to dethrone the captain we have, after all." He chuckled at the thought. He would absolutely tease the Captain about it if it happened, but he thought it might make a bit of a sore spot. "Ah, we'll figure it out." He shrugged. 

 "That's fine with me, Kristoff is a nice young man, dutiful and level-headed. Hell, he can join, if he likes. Give you someone to vent to when you both get tired of hearing me quote 'A Treatise on The Swordsmen of the Southern Isles' at you. It's not a common book, probably doesn't exist outside of the Isles. If it does exist in your library I'll be surprised, but feel free to read it in advance, if you do have it. It's a written explanation of the 'implied sword-culture' of the Isles, and goes into detail about why we give up swords, what it means, all sorts of minutia you might not care about. And some things that might actually help swordplay, occasionally." He chuckled a little. It was clearly a favorite read of his. One of those books, not read for entertainment, but guidance; as a man reads a bible.

"Yeah, we'll figure it out later,"she concurred. Elsa really didn't want to step on anyone's toes, by making Hans the new captain, so she hoped to come up with a suitable solution without having to resort to that. "Oh dear, are you going to make me regret acquiescing before we even begin?" She giggled. "I'll be sure to check the library, I doubt we have a copy, but you never know."

He chuckled a little and shrugged. "I have a fondness for my country's 'sword culture'. It's one of the few parts of it I like. But that's mostly fluff. Cultural details that won't necessarily apply to you, though you may gain an appreciation for how and when I carry mine. It's perhaps the political equivalent of a lady's fan-language, or perhaps that's an odd English trend. I never bothered to learn whether ladies truly bother with communicating with coquettish fanning. It seems a bit silly to me. I'd say I'm more straightforward than that, but you and I both know that's a lie." He laughed dryly. He was a man who chose his words carefully, most times. Still, he seemed to be learning how to be more casual with her-- for good or ill.

"I would actually like to try to understand that fondness, as well as the significance behind the swords, it honestly sounds like an interesting topic, besides I don't mind a history lesson," Elsa smilingly nodded. It was true, Hans seemed to take his sword culture seriously, and if it was something important to him she wanted to learn more about it to know why, believing that it might give her a better idea of who Hans was at heart. "As for fan-language I wouldn't know too much of that myself either, I never learned any of that, there was really no use for it, considering," Elsa did a quick demonstration of her magic, in the palm of her hand."Nor was I ever interested in that sort of thing, so it was for the best. I also think it's rather silly, though I'm fairly certain Anna knows how to do it, she's always liked things like that, and think I've seen her play around with a fan. Seems unnecessary complicated to me, just like a certain person I know," Elsa giggled, she was kidding of course, playing along with what he'd said before.

"All too complicated." He agreed with a smile. "If you can get a copy of the book out here, it's a thin one, if dense. If not, I'll likely cover most of it while I teach you, anyway. Just as soon as I can do that without injuring myself." He touched his old stab wound. It hardly needed bandages, but it was still scabbed and occasionally spotted blood. It would heal soon.

"I'll see if I can get my hands on one, though it might be better to just wait and hear it from you, your way with words is certainly a lot more vibrant than reading them from a book, that's for sure" she acknowledged. "Yes, please do heal up first, we wouldn't want to keep you trapped in here, because of yet another injury two is more than enough."

Hans chuckled a little. "Much as I've managed to enjoy my confinement, it will be nice to get out of this damned bed, at least." He admitted. "I don't mind being in a cell or a room, it's not being able to move around that bothers me. You never know how much you gesture when you talk until it hurts to move." It was strange, he still felt their relationship was nebulous. Friends, yes, and friendly. But... more, perhaps? Was it possible that they could be? Or was he just fond of her, and it was all one-sided? He could never admit it to ask, surely. "I'm at least dimly aware that Anna doesn't trust me, and I don't blame her in the slightest. Am I permitted to move about the castle, though? I'll accept any restrictions, or a no, but I am curious. I never bother to check outside my door for guards, I just assume they're posted." Because at heart, he thought of himself still as a treasoner. It had been as deeply ingrained into him as the scars across his back.

"Oh, there aren't any guards," she stated, shaking her head. "You're free to leave your room if you desire, though Anna probably wouldn't be too thrilled if she caught you roaming around. Hmm. I think this whole corridor is probably safe though, I'm sure she doesn't come this way at all, just to avoid bumping into you. There are some places that are likely to always be unoccupied because they mostly go unused, like the music room and ballroom for example. I think the only area of the castle that I would really consider off limits is the upstairs level, where our bedrooms are, I think Anna would be rather upset if she saw you around there, she'd likely see it as an invasion of her personal space. As for the other parts of the castle, are pretty much open to you, if you wish to visit, all I say is go at your own risk and can only suggest that you proceed with caution."

Hans nodded thoughtfully. "I'm uncertain how to feel about that." He admitted. "Ah, but I got stabbed defending the kingdom. The Captain tells me I should give myself some credit for that. Though I am about as eager to run into Anna as she is to run into me. I'm quite good at not being found when I don't want to be. She won't hear from me if I can help it, let alone see me." He had quite enough interaction with Anna for one lifetime. No man scared him, but he would sooner fight pirates than deal with Anna calling him useless again.

 "It didn't make sense to keep guards posted when you are no longer my prisoner," she expressed.

 Hans considered that thought. "I suppose not." He said, but didn't seem to quite believe the idea. "I suppose it would look bad if the man training your guards needed a guard presence, himself. So... if I'm to live in Arendelle, if I'm truly to be a citizen here, should I save for a home here? I imagine I probably won't be asked to stay here when Anna is so upset with me. And I don't exactly have family money anymore in the Isles. But I don't mind the idea of having a humble home here. As long as the people of Arendelle don't feel like lynching me in the night, anyway. Thankfully I seem to be winning people over easily enough." Though he wasn't sure if that was truly a good thing.

Elsa didn't know how to answer that, she hadn't really thought of him leaving the castle. She opened her mouth to speak but remained silent for a little while longer. 

 "I-Uh, I...I really don't mind having you stay here in the castle myself,"she began in a soft-spoken tone. "but I know that's not really fair to Anna. She really only seemed alright with letting you stay while you heal." She admitted with a sigh. "You could probably stay at the barracks for a time," she suggested. "And if you wished to build yourself a home in town in the future you're welcome to do so."

"Hmm, building a home." Hans mused, seeming new to the idea. "I wouldn't have the faintest idea how, what an intriguing thought." He remarked, sounding more excited by the prospect than anything. "I may have to get a uniform if I'm to work with the guard staff. Wouldn't be my first, though the least likely, I'd wager. Perhaps when I'm fully ready to train them? I always was in favor of living alongside the men I work with." He didn't mind that any. But perhaps most importantly, she wanted him there near her. That was a sweet idea. "I might have to save a long while. Perhaps I'll find a place near the fjords someday. Near the ships and the sea. Near the castle." For her, not for anything else. The only reason he had to put his feet on dry land anymore was to visit her, really. He could have left, could have returned to sea life. But then what? Just be a midshipman? A sailor with no rank or renown? He could have, perhaps, joined Arendelle's navy, but why, if not to stay at her heels? "I suppose I have more options than I've had in a while. I'll have to think about life and consider them."

[thesilverdragoon]

Bumps and Bruises

Previous: An Iron Grip

Next: By Order of the Exarch

Vesevont landed on the ground backside first as the viera captain, Lyna, circled around him like a wolf who’d managed to single out its next meal. "I thought you said you were trained."

"I am!- I was… ow… it's been a long time since I've had to do any fighting like this," The Ishgardian groaned as he got back to his feet with a slight wobble.

"Mayhaps if you direct more of that energy you spend on complaining into your messy footwork, you may be able to land a hit on me yet." Lyna goaded him on.

Training and assessing novices wasn't something she typically had the time for. But the Exarch had absolutely insisted she take the outlander out for a practice session. He wouldn't explain why, of course, but she'd come to expect that from him. He always had his reasons. She just hoped that the answers would come to the surface a lot sooner than they usually did.

She twirled her sword in her hand as easily as a baton. "Again. Better this time. Faster. Harder."

Ves' ears pinned back in annoyance as he clutched his own weapon with his prosthetic arm. He'd lost his sword-arm to Puffy when they had rejoined together again in Coerthas, and he hadn't the time nor the need to practice fighting anything while he recovered.

He became used to using his right hand for more mundane activities of course, but not combat.

Using the prosthetic for swashbuckling and sword swinging felt awkward and clumsy, despite him finally growing accustomed to the weight of it. Regardless of its impressive range of movement, it still couldn't account for the real thing. And it never would.

He didn't want to fight anymore. But Lyna wouldn't let him quit.

"Hurry up. The eaters won't wait for you. And neither will I." She suddenly lunged for him swinging her sword down hard, leaving the knight barely any time to react (a more recently trained soldier would have begged to differ.)

The sounds of their steel rung in the Temenos Rookery where they kept pastures for the furry flying beasts they called amaro.

Quite strange looking things… Puffy would try to catch a glance at them every time Ves' back faced one of the holding pens, putting the poor beasts on edge.

On one of the nearby corrals the worm spotted a boy standing on the fence boards, watching them eagerly.

The young dark haired elezen boy with the ball from the marketplace.

Ves tumbled backwards suddenly, startling the worm enough to let out a shriek as they both flopped down into the dirt ungracefully.

Arval laughed from his place at the fence as another boy, his brother, came up from behind him.

"What are you doing?" Fenick eyed the scene before them, sticking his head in between the fence boards rather than standing on the middle one like Arval had been.

"Watching Captain Lyna beat up the old man! He's Eulmoran you know. I saw him with the others in the marketplace yesterday! He got hit with the ball right in the face on accident."

Fenick raised a brow curiously as he turned his attention back to the two. "How do you know he's Eulmoran? They don't like it here, even if they DO run away."

"Look at his coat! Have you seen anything that fancy around here?" Arval pointed at Vesevont. "That means he had money at some point. Pixies got to him he said! Poor sod."

Fenick hummed in disbelief as Lyna shoved the old man back into the dirt. "He's not very good at fighting, is he?"

"Not at all! He's probably going to have to pay a visit to mum after all that."

The sparring went on for a little while longer, until Lyna decided enough was enough for one day.

"I'm not sure who taught you, but your swings are too readable. Too stiff. You need to work on the flow and timing. Next time it will be against a more appropriate sparring partner than I." Lucky for him, she wanted to say. But she kept it to herself.

Ves panted as he leaned forward, hands on his knees. "What's… what's wrong with the way I... fight?" He remembered the techniques Ishgard drilled into his head. They were perfectly fine under any other circumstance. And certainly fine enough for fighting dragons with. Sin eaters were just a different flavor of beast.

Lyna, however, danced around as she fought and never held still. It was hard to catch her and stay in range long enough to actually strike out against her.

He could feel Puffy snickering at him from his back. If only the worm was allowed to help him... But... 

He could hear the Exarch’s words in his head, and for whatever reason, they always gave him a harsh sense of deja vu. “A time and place for everything, my friend. But not now...”

Lyna frowned. "You need to work on listening as well. No matter... enough for today. I will report your progress to the Crystal Exarch when I have finished my daily duties. Go and get yourself cleaned up." She came to his side, pulled him back up by the arm (before dusting his sleeve off a little for good measure) and turning her back to him, walking away and back to the Rotunda.

Ves eventually was able to catch his breath. His knees hurt, his elbows hurt, his head, his ribs- every little thing. Lyna really knew how to hurt someone when she needed to. And she wasn't even trying, he would have bet.

"You almost had her that one time!" Arval called out, climbing over the fence and hopping back down onto the dirt.

Fenick followed him by stepping through the fence instead.

The knight paused and looked around before he turned and saw the two boys approaching him, one of which he recognized. How long had they been there? "Oh. You're the one with the ball back in the marketplace, right?"

"That's right!"

"Ah… er… what...are you doing here? If you don't mind me asking." This area didn't look like a place for children to play. Especially not with the brutal looking amalj'aa keepers around (or the Zun, as Lyna had called them.)

"Watching you and Captain Lyna spar. It was good fun!" Arval grinned as Fenick cringed at about the same time.

Ves pursed his lips. These children watched him get knocked around in the dust. And so gleefully too. Well, one of them anyway.

He eyed Fenick then. "And...you are??"

"Fenick, I'm his older brother."

"Oh. Well, it's nice to meet you?"

"You look like you could use a trip to the Spagyrics. Have you ever been there? Mum works there. She'll be able to clean you up in no time!" Arval suggested as he quickly began to lead the way with Fenick following behind him.

"Your m- oh! I believe I've met her already. Hanameen, yes? Brown hair, long ears," ...Adorable freckles-

"Yes! Wait- you met mum already??"

"Yes, my arm was hurting me the other day. So she took me upstairs to the craftsman terrace up on the top floor to find someone to fix it for me. I was there all evening yesterday."

Arval paused and waited for Ves to catch up before coming closer to look at his prosthetic. "Your arm? Can I see??"

The Ishgardian stooped lower a bit so that they could both look if they wanted to.

Arval's eyes lit up. Even Fenick came closer to have a look, only he was more sheepish about it.

"I don't think I've ever seen anything like yours before! Where'd you get it??" The old man definitely had to be Eulmoran. Without a doubt.

"A friend built it for me; her family makes these. They're very talented." 

"I wish I had one, it looks so cool.."

"N-no, you might reconsider when it gets stuck or starts hurting your back or whatever else!"

"Well it's attached to your shoulder, not your back."

"Your shoulder connects to your back."

"WELL-"

Fenick remained quiet as the two bantered along the way. Something about the old man was… odd. He could have sworn he'd seen something in his coat moving at one point, but it was impossible to tell otherwise.

The Spagyrics came into view, and the three walked inside. "Mum! The old man's gotten himself beat to a pulp by Captain Lyna!!" Arval announced, leaving Vesevont incredibly red in the face.

Hanameen glanced up from wrapping another soldier's arm in linens. "I'll be a minute!"

"Well now! Back so soon?? It's only been a day. Vesevont was it?" Chessamile chuckled from her desk, once again busy with her log book.

Steam could have been coming out of Ves' ears by that point. "Yes ma'am."

"You should have been there- Captain Lyna was throwing him around all over the place like a blanket that needs a good dusting!" Arval began to swing his arms in very dramatic sword-wielding-like fashion.

"No- it wasn't like that." Ves retorted, trying to look at a wall or a shelf instead of anybody directly.

Arval paused. "You’re right- it was more like this," He yelled and threw himself on the floor.

Fenick's ears were completely pinned back at the embarrassing display (right along with the old man,) and he floated off towards the back where his mother worked.

"Now you're just exaggerating it too much!!”

"If you were an eater you would have exploded into a shower of sparkling aether! Poof!! Like a cloud!" Arval picked himself back up, moving his hands in an outwards motion as Ves groaned.

"Arval leave the man alone! Any more of that and he's going to stay that shade of red for the rest of his life!" Hanameen scolded from behind one of the dividers. She couldn’t even see him and somehow she knew (Ves wanted to hide.)

Arval winced but still held a smile on his face. "At least that would mean you're not white as a sheet... We’d have to start panicking then."

Eventually Hanameen came over, eyeing Ves up and down and shaking her head, clicking her tongue a few times for good measure. "I'll fetch you a basin. You don't look too bad, maybe a bandage and a bit of salve here and there once you wash all that dirt off and you'll be good to go get beat up again."

Ves sputtered as she turned and walked away to the other side of the room as Arval giggled to himself.

When she returned she set the water-filled basin down on the floor at his feet and threw a few clean rags at his lap, then quickly walked over to a shelf filled to the brim with potions and salves and other sorts of colorful liquids in equally colorful bottles. Fenick had retreated there earlier and remained close to her, watching the old man warily from afar.

"So, when are you going to actually go out and fight eaters instead of fighting the dirt??" Arval asked, leaning against the edge of the cot in which Vesevont had sat.

"Fight? You mean the sin eaters?? Oh no no no- I'm not doing anything of the sort."

"But you were sparring with Captain Lyna! Doesn't that mean you're going to join the guard and help defend the Crystarium?? You need a job right??"

"Arval you'd best watch where that tongue of yours is wagging." Chessamile warned from her desk.

Arval groaned aloud before looking towards his mother who had returned with a short and round glass bottle in hand. The sour smell of herbs clung to it.

"Arval," Hanameen eyed him.

"Well… I guess he is a bit old,"

"Arval!"

The boy quickly darted away towards the back of the room.

Hanameen sighed. "Sorry about him. He gets too excited sometimes.

Done scrubbing off??"

Ves blinked a few times as he went back to wiping off the dirt from the few scrapes and bumps he had collected in the short time he sparred with the viera. Or viis. Or whatever Lyna was. Whatever anyone was anymore. "It's no trouble really, my own son was a handful, so I know what you mean. He was shy, but he had his moments. Very outspoken ones." Just remembering those moments made him chuckle. "Oh- yes, I am, sorry."

"Oh! I had no idea. How old?" Hanameen asked as she knelt down, cotton in one hand, now uncorked bottle in the other.

"He'd be about twenty now I believe. Time certainly flies all too quickly."

"Ah… I see." She didn't ask beyond that. Instead, she pressed the cotton piece to the lid of the bottle, turned it upside down, and then pressed it lightly onto one of the few scrapes. It burned immediately.

The Ishgardian looked away and scrunched up his nose briefly before the sensation faded. "He uh… Arval, was it? Seems to really like the guard."

"Oh, that's because their father Gennar is one. He’s stationed at Fort Jobb most days. He's gone for a week or maybe several and then he comes home for a few nights. It's hard sometimes, but you have to manage as best as you can, right?"

Ves hummed in agreement as his head drifted off into memories of pulling very, very long shifts at the Vigils. He'd be stationed for weeks, maybe months at one before moving on to the next.

Those days were very wearing. When he'd heard he was to finally be permanently stationed at Whitebrim, it had truly been a blessing.

Again came the burning cotton with the salve and his breath hitched suddenly. "Ow-"

"Hold still,"

"I am,"

After a few more times Hanameen stood up again to put the bottle away. "There we are. Try not to roll around in the muck and they'll be healed up in no time. They weren't so bad.”

Ves sat there, watching her move to and fro almost falling into a sort of trance before shaking his head slightly. "I won't.

...Roll in dirt that is." He quickly added as he got to his feet, his knees creaking. "I don't have pay-"

"Oh it's not a bother. You know how much I wish I were treating only minor scrapes and bumps all day long? It would mean there's less trouble in the world." Hanameen rolled her eyes. "Speaking of, find some ice for those lumps on your head lest they turn to horns. That goes for the rest of the bruises I see beginning to form already. They’ll be only end up purple as opposed to yellow, green, red, blue, and a whole myriad of other colors."

Ves reached up towards the spot on his head tenderly. "I'll try…"

As he wandered away from the Spagyrics, Arval came to the doorway and watched him go. "I like him, he's funny!"

"I have a feeling we'll be seeing him a lot." Chessamile said aloud, mostly to herself. "He seems like the sort."

Fenick scowled and joined his brother, glaring at the old man's back as he wandered off towards the other side of the Crystarium. "Didn't you see the way he was looking at mum?"

"Huh? No." Arval tilted his head in confusion.

"Well, I did.

He looked at her like father does. He can't do that!"

Arval glanced at him, and then back outside. "...Well, I think he's funny… and nice." He didn’t believe him.

Fenick gave a sharp hmph before making his way back to Hanameen protectively.

"Fenick?? What's wrong??" She asked, looking down at him as he clung onto her and pulled on her arm a little.

"Nothing," He muttered darkly, shoving his face onto her apron afterwards.

[simplysoriya]

The Eternal Serpent

{Prologue, pt1}

Chapter 2: Unrest in Uldum

Weeks had passed since Soriya had enlisted her father's help in her tomb delving exploits. Initially skeptical of allowing another to muscle in on her claim, a concession was made as the stubborn rogue refused to drop the topic. She couldn’t deny that the pace had slowed considerably over the year long obsession as the doors continually closed on her leads. The dismal feeling of having every effort only fail and falter was beginning to wear down even the most stalwart of believers.

But Kirollis, for his part, had helped to reinvigorate the search. He asked about it constantly, whether it was morning, noon, evening or night. Probing little details and picking her brain when it came to the more obscure parts of the story. Investigative skills that she lacked were evened out with his interest, and with her faltering motivation? It provided just the right boost for Soriya to press on unfretted.

While his intent was deeply rooted in helping his daughter, and less so in unearthing ancient Pandarian legends? It was genuine effort nonetheless.

The proposed option of Uldum was chief among their discussions. Offering Soriya a completely untapped location to throw herself into. It was the missing suggestion she needed to delve deeper into the mysterious desert, a previously unconsidered option.

It wasn’t the longest journey to the Golden Sands of Uldum. While the demand for portals to the oasis among the wasteland was scarce, leading them to be discontinued in the capitol. It didn’t stop the duo from securing a ride from a cargo ship out of Zandalar. With its market now a melting pot of cultures, it made finding routes to remote locations just a little easier if one had enough coin and knew who to ask. Another task that Kirollis excelled at.

The central city off the eastern riverbank, Ramhaken, was a sight to behold. A city built next to one of the only habitable places in the whole area. Ancient sandstone structures punctuated with their own unique architecture afforded to a culture that spent its time in seclusion, hidden away from the rest of the world. A bastion of civilization in an otherwise untenable area that stood out like a jewel upon approach. Like a reprieve from the harsh sun and sand that made up most of the locale. It was an oasis, and one with running water to boot.

There was no attempts to hide her wonder as Soriya stepped through the archways into the city. Excitement in her eye as her mouth hung open while taking it all in. One of the rare locations she had never visited, when she finally saw it? The glimmer in her features was unmistakable as her seafoam colored eyes bounced from structure to person with no discernable pattern.

Eventually, however, her eyes did stop to admire the main structure situated in the center. Soon after darting over in Kirollis’ direction, “So pop…. What exactly was your plan here? You know there’s a lot of desert and mountains, right?” Soriya quipped to her fathers act first think later policy that had propelled them to the bottom of Kalimdor.

“Ye of little faith.” The rogue replied with a smirk. “You know half of investigating is like… going places and asking questions right? It’s part of the process. Heck, if we’re right about it maybe being here? I wouldn’t be surprised if the Ramhaken had a similar story that got passed down.”

“Really?” Soriya asked as that same wonderment filled her voice. “I’ve only ever met a few of them. They have such a beautiful city though, I can’t believe I never thought to visit.” The young monk added a smile along with her thoughts.

Kirollis, however, paused to give his daughter an incredulous look, “You mean to tell me that -you-, miss world traveler galore, has never been to Ramhaken?”

“Nope! Not even Uldum if we’re being honest. I mean I like sand but… not… like… sandpaper sand. I went to this beach party in Tanaris once and went wandering. I have no idea how it happened but sand even got in my canteen. I didn’t like it.”

Kirollis tipped his head to the side, finding that a valid point. “Yeah sand sucks. Especially in leather armor.” Accentuating that point by looping his fingers into his leather codpiece as if to reference it. Taking a deep breath he would add on exhale, “I can feel the rashes already.”

“Sucks for you.” Soriya replied. No stranger to shifting climates and far more malleable than her father. The young monk had chosen far more weather appropriate attire.

“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly pull off short shorts and flip flops as well as you do.” Kirollis bemoaned.

“You rocked the hell out of that bedazzled shirt.”

“You’re damn skippy, I did.” Kirollis confirmed proudly. “Anyways, I know a couple of people from back in my uh… less savory days. I’ll check in with them and see if I can kick up any dust.” Looking over to Soriya, who was still enamored by the sights, he offered, “You want to poke around the market?”

“Sure.” Soriya agreed. “Maybe I can even find you a pair of shorts.” Though one look at the native Ramhaken and their unique lower halves and that youthful face of hers soured. “I’ll have to get back to you on that one, though…”

The rogue snickered and shook his head, “I’ll be fine. Don’t get into too much trouble, okay?”

“That’s really funny coming from you.” Soriya said in a tired tone, one that distinctly held no laughter with it.

With their objectives doled out the father daughter duo split up to their respective tasks. While Kirollis had sunk into the shadows, as he often did, Soriya had a markedly different approach. Walking right up to the first market stall in the bustling city center she saw. Flashing a bright curl of her lips directed at its owner.

Breezy silk shawls and finery lined the small stall that the Ramhaken stood in. Looking every bit proud of his colorful and light wares. “Hello there. Something catch your eye, young one?” He said with a smile to match Soriyas own.

Soriya took a moment to look over the goods. Even pinching her index finger and thumb on an orange scarf to feel the material. “They’re all really pretty…” She spoke her mind. Though a brighter purple piece with golden trim did end up ceasing her attention. “Oh I like this one!” She proclaimed before pulling the garment from the rack.

“A fine choice.” The vendor replied with a confident nod. “Although… For one such as yourself? I would recommend brighter, more vibrant colors.”

“Oh it’s not for me.” Soriya stated in a chipper tone.

“Ah, I am sure they will love it, then.” Reaching a hand up to rub against his chin for a moment of consideration, the catlike Ramhaken finally said, “I will give it to you for two gold and some silver. It is very rare material, spun from the silks of a foreign spider cave.”

“Pandaria?” Soriya gasped out as her objective came to the forefront.

The Ramhaken snickered, “No, no child. There is a cave to the west.”

The young monk frowned at the revelation. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. “Oh, I was just sort of hoping. Me and my dad are looking for this Pandarian thing we think is around here.” Soriya explained as she dug into her pocket for some coins before handing them over. Taking a moment to look at her new purchase soon after.

“That is strange. You’re the second to speak of Pandaria recently. I believe the other man who asked me is staying in the inn, maybe you can ask him about your lost ‘thing’.” The Ramhaken offered.

Soriyas eyes went wide at the revelation before they peeked over the fabric, “Wait, the inn?” Her head swivelling as if to try and spot it. “Where’s the inn?”

The vendor merely chuckled once more before pointing it out, “Good luck on your journey!” He called out to the mistweaver as she scampered off.

There was a skip in her step as she swiftly made her way toward the lodge, brustling right passed the rest of the market with a fluttering sense of interest. Even marking a few of the other stalls down as places to check out later. But she didn’t make it passed the last stall before a hand grasped onto her arm and tugged her into a back alley.

While she resisted at first, the mysterious Ramhaken merely said, “You search for the temple.” Before continuing to usher her along into a more secluded alleyway.

“Wait, what? Th- yes! Yes I’m looking for a temple. How did you know?”

The armored Ramhaken scoffed before shaking his head, “I overheard you speaking to the silk merchant.” He confessed in a deep, yet low, tone. “You are far too trusting…. That merchant would feed you to the wolves at his first convenience….”

Soriya’s brows knit together at the offered information. Though it wasn’t the first time her trusting nature had been called into question, hearing it from a stranger always stung just a little bit more. “I just figured maybe he would know where to look?”

“Mmm, and he would sooner kill you then let you in on his claim.”

“Wha--?” Soriya managed out, genuinely confused, as the telltale click of a hammer being pulled back on a revolver sounded.

“Sori, didn’t I tell you to stay out of trouble?” Kirollis appeared behind the Ramhaken with the barrel of his gun pointed toward the natives head. “Because I was pretty sure back alley deals were my thing.”

“No! Dad wai--...” Soriya tried to explain the situation, though once again she was too late to stop the litany of moving parts. Swiftly the trio was flanked by two local guards, both with sharp spears pointed at the visiting elves.

“You dare come to our city and threaten our officials? You Azerothians are all the same.” The guard grunted out before prodding Kirollis with his spear, prompting the rogue to lower his weapon.

“You’re from Azeroth too man…” Kirollis quipped in a low tone. Only to recieve a swift elbow to his side from Soriya.

“Dad you aren’t helping.”

“Take them away.” The politician stated as he flashed a sympathetic look to Soriya. Seemingly unable to stymie the situation, or perhaps jilted by Kirollis sudden threat. Whatever his reasoning, he did not seem to be a friend anymore.

“....father of the year right here. We could have gone to jail somewhere more local.” Soriya stated in an exasperated tone.

“Listen! Some weird guy pulls yo-”

THWAK the guards now pushing them away from the market whacked Kirollis over the head. “Enough talking from you.”