#ah there's the answer.... why did i have a suspicion it would be mexico

[sopranokirstin]

Pentatonix's Scott Hoying Marries Fiancé Mark Manio in Romantic Seaside Wedding: 'Luckiest Man on Earth' (Exclusive)

The happy couple tied the knot on Friday in Santa Barbara, California

Pentatonix singer Scott Hoying has found his happily ever after with husband Mark Manio.

The happy couple tied the knot on Friday in an intimate, star-studded black tie ceremony at the Ritz-Carlton Bacara in Santa Barbara, California after six years of dating.

"I feel like all of our life experiences and choices, and ups and downs, have led us to each other and this is the moment where the people we love most get to see us truly make the leap," Hoying tells PEOPLE. "I knew pretty early on that Mark was my dream man and I genuinely feel like the luckiest man on earth to get to marry him."

Hoying, 31, and Manio, 32, say that in planning their wedding, they wanted a "timeless, unique experience," and felt drawn to Santa Barbara after previously celebrating Manio's birthday in the seaside locale.

"Mark and I both have a deep love for the beach and the ocean and some of our favorite, romantic, lifelong memories together are by the beach," says Hoying, who popped the question in the Bahamas in April 2022.

For their ceremony, the couple opted for all-white florals, and exchanged handwritten vows beneath a baby’s breath archway, with singer and friend Christina Perri acting as their officiant.

On hand as the grooms walked down a mirrored floor aisle was musician Kina Grannis, who sang "Can't Help Falling in Love," just as she did in a pivotal scene in the 2018 movie Crazy Rich Asians.

"That's our favorite love song of all time from our favorite scene of our favorite movie," Hoying says. "We've had countless nights over the years of dancing in each other’s arms to this beautiful song. Sometimes we turn the movie on just to watch that specific scene, so it's truly our dream scenario for the wedding processional and we are so grateful to have Kina lend her gorgeous talents to our big day."

Both Hoying and Manio wore custom, off-white wedding tuxedos created by R. Swiader, and later changed into custom reception outfits better suited for the dance floor. The reception wear was the same color as the ceremony tuxes, just redesigned as a short-sleeved button-up. Hoying says he and Manio went for looks that were "different but cohesive," and were thrilled by the "gorgeous silk material" thanks to its shimmery quality.

When it came to the reception, it was all about music for the couple, who curated their own playlist to ensure that guests were able to "dance the night away."

Hoying even surprised Manio with a performance of his new song "Four," which the baritone singer wrote for the model after their engagement last year. The track will feature on Hoying’s new EP Parallel, which is set for release on July 28.

"The song is one of my favorite songs I have ever written, as it is a love letter I dedicated to Mark after we had dated for four years, and I can barely sing it without crying," he says.

For their first dance, the couple asked Loren Allred to perform "Never Enough" from The Greatest Showman, as Hoying says they had the song "on repeat when we were first falling in love."

Guests including Colton Haynes, Adam Rippon, Brittany Broski, Randy Jackson, Betty Who and of course, Hoying's Pentatonix group mates noshed on braised beef short-rib with parsnip mousseline and wilted rainbow chard, seared free-range chicken breast with porcini mushroom risotto and vegetable lasagna. The couple also incorporated some of Manio's favorite Filipino dishes into the lineup, including lumpia and lechon, plus bao buns, crab cakes, chicken kebabs and mango mochi.

For dessert, they served a chocolate buttermilk cake designed in the shape of wings, and also included a donut and dessert wall.

Though they went with an all-white theme for the ceremony, the reception was the opposite — twinkling lights and chandeliers illuminated all-black floors and draping, while white and cream florals throughout the ballroom offered a warm touch. The tables, just like the aisle, were also mirrored, as Hoying says they "wanted the space to feel like we were dancing among the stars."

"We wanted a big, epic wedding because our families are very close-knit, passionate and supportive of our love, which we think is so special," he explains. "We wanted this to be an event that celebrates not only us, but our entire families on both sides—a moment we could cherish forever. "We really wanted it to be grandiose and like nothing else we’ve ever experienced, just like our love for each other.”

The entire wedding weekend, planned with Orange Blossom Special Events, was filled with surprises for guests, starting with a welcome dinner and drinks that featured an upright piano primed for karaoke. The big day itself included an audio guestbook for friends and family to leave messages on an old rotary phone, and there was also a tattoo artist and a photo booth that splashed guests on the cover of a magazine. The three-day event — into which their puppy Mozart was also incorporated — concluded with a farewell brunch on a bluff overlooking the ocean.

"My family absolutely adores Mark, and his family are the most wonderful, fun, warm people in the whole world," says Hoying. "We are so fortunate and lucky to have these incredible support systems in our lives!"

The big day was a long time coming for the pair, who first met in Los Angeles in 2017 at a friend's birthday party. Hoying, who appeared with Pentatonix on The Masked Singer earlier this year, arrived late at the get-together because he was coming from a music video shoot, and immediately set his sights on Manio.

"We talked the whole night and really it off," he recalls. "We started hanging every single day, and I remember being blown away at how warm, wholesome and sweet Mark was. It was such a refreshing energy that I couldn’t get enough of. People always say that six years later, we still haven’t lost our 'honeymoon phase,' and we couldn't agree more."

Manio, too, is full of praise for his husband, calling Hoying "passionate, brave, inspiring, hard-working… and caring, tender and deeply honest and sincere."

"He is truly one-of-a-kind," says Manio. "He leads through life with such a unique, electrifying presence. And of course, he is the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on. He lights up my life in every single way."

With their wedding now behind them, Hoying says the couple will head to Punta Mita, Mexico for their honeymoon — and that they already "talk every day about starting a big ol' family."

"Getting married to each other means everything. I think we, like so many queer people growing up, wonder if they’ll ever even come out, and if they'll ever find love, and for some of us, if gay marriage would ever be legal. The fact that all of those obstacles ended up working out in the end is a really beautiful thing and only makes us cherish each other more," he says.

He continues: "What I love about Mark is that he is the most loving, gentle, genuinely kind ray of sunshine that you’ll ever meet—always! It's like a superpower. He just loves life, loves people, loves every single part of me. I just know he is going to be the most amazing father in the world to our children."

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

What a Time to be Alive - Diego x reader

Chapter 4- The Majestic 12

Summary: Although, your wounds are able to heal instantaneously, Diego’s are not and for that he payed the price. In the aftermath of getting shanked, you give Diego some much needed TLC. Now you, Diego, and Five, are on the hunt at some gala for any valuable information, regarding the activities of Sir Reginald Hargreeves.

If you want tagged just hit me up. Tagged: @white-wolf-buckaroo @fandomoverlord221 @la-vie-en-amour1​ @2cuteforyourlies​ @thatfandombitcch

Sitting next to Diego on the couch, you rip off his bandage, intently listening to Five ramble on about the Vanya situation as you attend to his healing injury.

“So what you just let her go.” Asks Diego surprised.

“Well, Vanya had a lot to process.” He says matter-of-factly. “She’ll come around. I know she will.”

“What about the guys that went after her?” You ask him, while ripping off some medical tape for Diego’s new bandage.

“The Swedes?”

“Yeah, how do you know they won’t go after her again?” You question, taking a cup of hot coffee from Elliot.

“We don’t.”

“Do you have any idea who sent them?” Lila asks Five, taking a sip of coffee from her own cup.

With a knowing smile, Five answers her, “Oh, I have my suspicions.” You guessing it probably has to do with Five’s colorful background coming back to bite him. “But right now, our priority is finding Dad and getting answers, cause everything else depends on it.”

“Which for the record, I found him already.” Diego adds, you hold in a chuckle at how well that interaction went.

“And then let him go before we could have a meaningful conversation.” Sasses Five with that stupid I-know-more-then-you smirk.

“He stabbed me.” Says Diego bluntly, trying to make a point as to why things didn’t go well.

“I’m surprised he waited this long, Diego. We’ve all had the urge.” Jabs Five yet again. Causing you to snort and start laughing out loud along with Lila and Elliot. Getting an offended look from Diego, you turn you face to give him a kiss on his cheek in an attempt at lessening his hurt pride.

“Good thing I know where Dad’s gonna be tonight.” Five says, handing Diego a piece of folded paper.

Reaching across the small coffee table to grab it, he sits down next to you again, holding up the parchment for you to both read. Leaning in, you look at its contents, as Five continues to talk. “Found it at his office while he was busy stabbing you.” Five says sarcastically, as Diego fake laughs.

“Hoyt Hillenkoetter and the Consultant General of Mexico in Dallas cordially invite you to a gala.” Diego reads.

“Whoa, wait. Hoyt Hillenkoetter? Are you serious?” Questions Elliot, apparently knowing something none of you four do.

“You know him?” You ask curious.

“We should go, says there’s gonna be a seafood tower.” Lila adds randomly, having looked it over before, when Five wasn’t looking. You nod to her, looking at Diego. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a suite.” You wink, earning a warm smile from him.

“No, Hillenkoetter is...is one of the Majestic Twelve.” Elliot says slightly nervously.

“The hell are the Majestic Twelve?” Questions Diego. As you quickly throw an orange slice in his mouth.

“It’s a...a secret committee. Uh, scientists, militarily, uh, deep state.” Rambles Elliot, walking over to his desk looking for something he continues. “No one really knows what they do.”

Scoffing you add, “Huh, they sound like a blast.”

“Wait, so they’re government?” Diego grunts, trying to sit up better.

“Shadow Government. Yeah, Kennedy was the first President to try to push ‘em into the light, but these guys are not to be trifled with. Oh, here we go. Ah, right here.” Elliot says bringing a photograph over to the four of you. “That’s Hoyt right there.” He points.

Examining the picture you notice only 11 men. “Weird there’s only 11 of them.”

“Well, that’s because they’ve only identified 11 so far.” Adds Elliot.

“Who’s the twelfth?” Diego asks looking at the photograph. You look to Five, raising your eyebrow in that you-thinking-what-I’m-thinking mutual understanding, him doing the same. Oh boy, here we go.

——

Arriving at the gala dressed in your best attire, a slightly uncomfortable dark blue dress and flats. You, Diego, Five, and Lila, hide behind a short brick wall type structure. Each of you peaking your heads over the edge to get a better view of the place full of richly dressed people. Quickly Diego climbs up and over the stones, you three following suit and crouching close to the nearby parked cars.

“So, what’s the plan guys?” Asks Lila quietly.

“Don’t answer that.” You warn Diego. Who ignores you, trying to be the smart tough guy once again. “We infiltrate, we identify, we extract. Double time.” 

“I feel like I’m in a spy movie.” You whisper to yourself.

“What the hell’s he talking about.” Lila asks from behind you turning her question to Five, who’s crouched at the rear of the pack.

“Find the old man and get out fast.” He says smartly.

“That’s what I said.” Diego looks back at them, like what he said before wasn’t obvious enough.

“Alright 007, lets go.” You say, touching is shoulder and pushing ever so slightly for emphasis. Turning forward he crouch walks to the next car, you trailing him. Suddenly your ears catch the conversation between Lila and Five a couple cars over. You raise your eyebrow at Five’s untrustworthiness towards Lila, amused by their little conversation. Now that you think about it, you have assumed some odd shit could be up with her, but you’ve been playing along this whole time. Not wanting to state the obvious yet, you needed more time and suspicious proof first of any false behavior.

——

Walking into the wealthy looking establishment, you take a drink off a waiters tray. Giving it a sniff, before taking a small sip enjoying the fizzy liquid sliding down your throat. “I don’t see Dad anywhere.” Diego says, looking around the room full of wealthy strangers.

“Just keep an eye out for the Majestic Twelve. I got the upstairs.” Five tells you three, alcoholic beverage already in hand. “Diego, try not to do anything stupid. Y/N, watch him.” He adds, walking away. As Lila walks off towards the seafood table.

You sniff the air, trying to catch a familiar scent, maybe if old Reggie really is here, you’d be able to smell his stupid suffocating cologne. A second later trumpets start to play to a well known tune. You suddenly feel the urge to dance, excited now that your old dance partner’s back. Walking through the crowd while pulling on Diego’s tie, you lead him to the dance floor.

Diego pulls you to him, trying to gain control of the situation unfolding before is very eyes. The two of you are almost eye to eye with each other, as you hold onto one another closely. As the mariachi band continues to play, Diego twists you around, your back now to him. He lets his hands trail down your sides without so much as single protest from you, you’re enjoying this way to much. You twirl grabbing his hands before he can go any lower. Your hands wander up to rest on his shoulders, his comfortably caressing your lower back. “Someone’s got moves.” You look up at him stating the obvious.

“Well the old man did insist on making us take those ballroom dancing lessons.” He looks at you lovingly before continuing, now mimicking Sir Reginald’s voice. “One never knows when the paso doble will be the difference between life and death...” “children” You both smile, saying the last part together as Diego dips you.

“My turn.” You say while giving him a mischievous grin. Pulling yourself up with Diego still holding you close, you take the lead. Surprising him in the process, much to your amusement.

“What are you doing?” He asks, taken aback at your sudden dominance.

“Just follow my lead.” You saying smiling sweetly at him.

“Uh, Y/N, no. I’m the man here.” Diego says dazed by the abrupt change in the dance positioning, you smirk at him, thoroughly enjoying how you’ve taken him off guard.

Grabbing his hands you smoothly twist him around so his back is now to you. Using your left hand you touch his cheek, hastily bringing his undivided attention straight to your own beaming face. Quickly giving him a kiss before pushing his face away once more, twirling him around, and positioning yourself back to how you two first began. With his right hand on your hip and your left on his shoulder, you two holding hands and swaying to the music. He pulls you in closer to his chest, your faces inches apart as you turn your head to laugh into his broad shoulder. You can feel him kiss the side of your face as he smoothly sways you to the music, he follows your gaze as you adjust yourself to look up into his chocolate eyes.

“You have no idea how glad I am to have found you again.” He gives you another chaste kiss in reply.

“Sorry you had to wait for my ass for so long, if I would have known you were in Dallas.” You let out a small laugh, biting your lip to hold in a smile as he continues to sway you around to the festive music.

“Instead you got yourself arrested within the first day of being here. I don’t know if I should be impressed or not....Diego Hargreeves you are truly...something.” His face breaks out into an embarrassed smile as he leans his head down onto your shoulder to hide his redness, only you would be able to make him lose his cool, and so easily at that. He picks his head up once again to stare adoringly into you bright eyes, his eyes flickering down to your parted lips for a fraction of a second. Your face breaks out into a Cheshire Cat-like grin at the absolute wonderful cuteness of Diego. 

“So how’d I do last night? Since you know, it’s been awhile for you. I think I still got it Y/N.” He says with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, you roll your eyes at his implication of last nights love-making, he’s so bold.

“Satisfactory.”

“Just satisfactory? Babe I think I was really doing a great job. You sure looked like you agreed at the time.”

“Okay fine. You were incredibly stunningly marvelous, a perfect 10 out of 10. The review says she would do it again.” He smiles in deep satisfaction at your praising of his more intimate talents. You just give him a slight half annoyed eye roll, only you two would be scoring each other on how well your I-missed-you sex was.

When you look up at his face again, he isn’t smiling anymore, attention now snagged by some shinier fish. You twist your neck right, following his distracted gaze. “It can’t be.” He whispers in disbelief, breaking away from you to go see... Grace. Letting him go, you silently follow him, hiding behind a white pillar as you eves drop onto their conversation. Holy shit, Grace was a real person and she was Sir Reginald’s frickin date, you thought to yourself almost as shocked as Diego probably is. You listen more intently, and cackle at the comment Grace gives Diego about being a little odd. You’re definitely not wrong about that, you’d like to tell her.

Watching Grace walk past you and towards who knows where, you come out from behind the pillar to face Diego, who’s standing there with his arms folded, looking rather lost. “Well that went swimmingly.” You quip.

Diego breaks from his thoughtful trance, rolling his eyes as he walks on over to you, taking your bent arm in his. “I guess we should probably find Lila, huh.” He adds. “Perhaps we shall.” You say in a posh English accent, giving him a wink as he lets out a breathy laugh at your theatrics.

——

Leaning against the wall, watching as the other party-goers make boring conversation with each other. You push yourself off the marble surface and begin walking towards Diego, who’s obliviously looking at a chandelier like an intrigued child. Right on cue, you hear a thud coming from up above you and then aggressive shuffling around. Five is the strongest guess most likely, and someone else. Hearing a quiet “Oh, shit.” Coming from Five you decide it’s probably best to not leave him hanging.

Turning to Diego, while also unknowingly gaining the attention of Lila. You whisper yell for him to follow you up the stairs to Five’s rescue. Racing up the steps in record time with Diego not far behind you. You look to your right, noticing in surprise that Five’s in a bit of a scuffle with one of the blonde Swedes that tried shooting you, Diego, and Lila earlier. Stopping for a brief moment, not entirely sure what to do as this is indeed very odd. You hear footsteps quickly approaching from behind you, smelling the scent of sweat and anger in its wake.

A second later you hear Diego yell out your name in distress as your hair is pulled back and a belt is tightly wrapped around your windpipe. Getting dragged back down the hallway, completely taken off guard, you struggle to breath as your eyes go wide in astonishment. Your gaze shifts to Diego, as he angrily sprints to you, charging at the taller Swede who’s about to gut punch you with brass knuckles. Fuck.

Bracing yourself, ready to get the wind knocked out of you. Diego heroically pushes the guy into the wall, punching him hard in the face. Your throat is suddenly released, only for the shorter Swede to turn you around and crack you across the side of your head with his belt. Kicking you out of the way and across the floor you tumble, your head stinging in pain. Dazed, from the not even 20 second violent actions you just got shoved into. You get up from the floor feeling a hot liquid running down the side of your face. Touching your temple, you pull your hand away to unveil deep red blood coating your fingers. This bitch is dead.

You look up instantly to watch in dismay as Diego is currently getting his ass whooped by the two pissed off Swedes. The one that was previously choking you, is now suffocating Diego with that fucking leather belt. After getting punched in the stomach by brass knuckle Swede, Diego kicks him to the ground, still struggling with the first who’s still doing his damn best to suffocate him. Grabbing a knife previously hidden in his pocket, he throws it with his free hand. Missing his target in the heat of the moment, which was intended to hit the other large Swede that’s beating the shit out of Five further down the hallway.

Fuming, with the rage of a bull at the manhandling you just unwillingly received. You rush forward throwing your right arm around the blonds throat that’s currently choking Diego. Pulling down hard, the Swede releases him, now struggling to breath from your own violent attack. The tables have turned, bitch. You aggressively throw him into the wall, kicking him hard in the stomach as you send him thrashing onto the carpeted floor.

Turning quickly to the sound of pained grunts, you watch as Diego gets punched in the stomach with the brass knuckles you so marvelously avoided. You catch sight of Lila, who looks to both of you before turning to Five and running to his aid. Alright then.

Only letting yourself get distracted for a moment, you turn back to your new little fighting buddy, who’s now standing and looking very enraged.

“Let’s dance.” You hiss at him with a bitter smirk, clenching your fists.

Hearing the sound of glass breaking behind you, you ignore it. As you face the blonde Swedish assassin, dodging a heated swing, you bring your left arm up to sucker punch him right in the guts. You turn around swiftly to face him again, only to receive a hard blow to your shoulder. He’s good, but not good enough. He goes to kick you in the legs, missing by an inch as you pull back just in time. Realizing he still has his belt clutched in his right hand, he cracks it at you with lightning speed. Time slows for a second as your senses begin to take over, giving you better reaction time. You turn to the right and watch as the shining silver of the belt buckle shows you your own distorted reflection. Catching the makeshift weapon mid-throw, you grab it tightly with your left fist. Pulling him towards you in the process, you then reach out and tightly seize his throat with your right hand. Throwing the leather belt off to the side and growling fiercely at his surprised face, you lift him up an inch or two off the ground. Struggling to breath and find his footing again, he suddenly shoots his arms up directly into your right one, that’s currently strangling him. You drop him, yelping in surprise at the sudden pain. Quickly gaining his bearings back, he jumps up on the wall for support, as he speedily throws himself at you, sucker punching you right in the cheekbone. Fucking ouch. Stumbling back from the aggressive hit to your face, you both begin intensely throwing punches at each other, getting a hit in here and there, while also managing to block most of his advances. Who knew you’d be reuniting with your lost lover and fighting Swedish assassins at a gala this week. Things have been weirder, you think, focusing back on the task at hand, literally. Grimacing in pain at the hit you just received to your shoulder, you jump up, kicking him into the wall and leaving a small dent. Slightly disoriented, he gets up again, blocking another one of your knee thrusts heading straight for his junk. Sometimes you fight dirty, okay. Throwing your left arm up to block a hit, you take this opportunity to twist yourself around to the right in a quick circle. Jutting your right elbow directly into the Swedes temple, knocking him unconscious. That’s right fucker, nighty night.

Your ears tune promptly to the sound of broken glass yet again, and the sound of Diego’s grunts mixed with that of the angry Swede he is currently fighting. You watch as they fight dirty, picking up whatever objects they could get their hands on as they continue to beat each other up down the hallway. Knocking blondie out with an impressive hit to his head, Diego looks out the window spotting Reginald and Grace standing outside ready to go home. You catch where his eyes are looking, observing the scene of them together for yourself.

You hear Diego whisper a soft, “Dad” before turning to you, worriedly looking at the stream of blood coming from the side of your hairline.

Pointing to the bloody spot you flash him a small smile. “You should see the other guy.”

Smiling briefly, he nods at you while turning towards the stairs and walking quickly down them, you right behind him. As the two of you make your way through the bustling crowd, right out the doors, and through the grass to the front entrance where Five is shouting something in another language at a retreating car.

“Was that him?” Diego questions.

“Yeah.” Five says, sounding like he’s out of breath.

“Jesus, it’s just one thing after the other” You add irritated. Fed up with all this Hargreeves nonsense. Especially those fucking Swedes.

[scullydubois]

Only the Light: Ch. 15

15/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: Anasazi/The Blessing Way | T | 5k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

After shooting Mulder to prevent him from implicating himself in his father's murder, Scully takes Mulder & Melissa on a road trip to Albert Hosteen's Navajo reservation in New Mexico.

TW for mentions of guns/shooting, death, funerals

----------------------------------------------

His eyes flutter open to some place like Heaven, which pisses him off cause that’s not supposed to exist, and if it does, then how in the hell did he make it here? A fiery-haired angel lays a gilded hand upon his chest, her touch made out of air. Tendrils of hair fall against her face, and Mulder wonders where one gets haircuts in Heaven. 

He must be floating on a cloud, so close to the sun that it is stained an earthly golden-yellow. His sky accommodation is not as comfortable as all those Renaissance painters made it look, and for that he feels deceived. Is the soul so solid that it is weighed down, even in Heaven? And if it is, well, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a soul?

He is fatigued, and it’s bullshit, in his opinion, that he could be dead and still feel anything but blissful numbness. He’s about to voice this particular grievance when he realizes where he is, and sure English is turning into a lingua franca of sorts, but something tells him that God isn’t spending his spare time teaching the angels the difference between too and to. So he keeps his mouth shut, unnerved by not knowing whether he’ll ever be able to speak his mind again. 

“Hey,” a soft voice breathes, and he’s surprised to understand it, but not altogether upset. He tries to respond, but his tongue has tethered itself to the base of his mouth.

“Mulder…” the voice says, and it registers in his mind that it’s not an angel--not technically--but Dana Katherine Scully, and my god, what atrocity has dared to send her to Heaven so damn soon? 

He coughs, then grumbles from deep in his throat. He’s got to be the most undignified person in this joint, and he can only hope his welcome dinner with God isn’t anytime soon. The angel’s hand that is actually his partner’s drifts over his forelock, her fingers guiding his hair back into its part. 

“Mulder, can you hear me?”

He nods, hungry for some sense of things.

“You were shot, Mulder. By me. Because you were acting very stupid.”

She killed him?!? Maybe he shouldn’t be so shocked by this, but he can’t help himself. And she’s here too, so how did that happen? Murder-suicide?

Her hand sweeps his shoulder, and he looks down to see the space where her bullet must have pierced him. Patched up right above his heart. He didn’t expect to carry wounds into the afterlife.

Her eyes meet his, blue as ever. “I’ve been taking care of you, and you’ll be just fine.”

His lips form an O, but no sound follows. 

“Let me get you some water.” Scully disappears from his line of sight, and he realizes that his cloud has a roof and an open door. You can’t see those from the ground.

Scully returns with a plastic water bottle. Deer Park, to be exact--another thing he didn’t expect to find in Heaven. She holds it to his lips, tilting the liquid gently into his mouth. He revels in it, vitality slowly being returned to him.

At last, his tongue functions as it should. “Where are we, Scully?” he asks, his voice creaky. He’s beginning to think it’s not Heaven after all, but the back of his partner’s Chevy. Which feels about as equally likely, if he’s honest.

“At a gas station In Texas, about two miles off I-40,” she answers, twisting the cap back on the bottle. “We’re headed to a Navajo reservation in New Mexico.”

Met with the realization that his life is not, in fact, over, Mulder tries to piece together the last moments he can remember. He squints, the sun outside the vehicle colliding with the darkness in his brain. He remembers a fever and a bed that was not his. 

“Did I sleep in your bed?” he asks, fairly confident that more important things before and after have slipped his mind.

“You did indeed,” Scully replies. And before he can get to it--”Melissa and I shared.”

“Ah.” He pushes himself up, every muscle in his arms rebelling. 

Scully pats his shoulder. “You should stay reclined.”

“I’m like a whale in a fish bowl back here,” he protests. And he’s not wrong, Scully knows this. To fit him in, she leaned his head against the driver’s side windowsill and let his bare feet push against the passenger side door, then said a silent prayer that there would be no potholes. 

“Why can’t I come up front?” he whines. “I’ll lean the seat back.”

“Because Missy’s sitting there.”

Mulder glances into the front, his expectations of privacy shattered. Still, an empty passenger’s seat meets his gaze. “Well, where is she then?” he pesters, more pointed than intended.

Scully chuckles. You can put a hole in the man’s chest, but you can’t take the restlessness out of him. “She’s inside getting snacks.” Scully smiles at her partner, fondness flowing out in a way she rarely lets it. He’s been out for a couple days now--and while she was closely monitoring him and knew he was okay--she’s so glad that he has come back to her. “Do you want sunflower seeds?” she asks with a sparkle in her eyes.

He nods. “Sp--”

“Spitz.” The moments that have gotten them there, that have indebted her with that knowledge, flash through her mind. “I know.”

And it feels almost prophetic, to Mulder, that she does.

--------------------

The plains of North Texas roll past them, headlights and moonlight meeting in a demure embrace. The two-lane road bears a great resemblance to many they’ve gone down in days past. There’s no one else in sight. 

Mulder has been relieved of his back seat duties, taking Melissa’s place at the passenger side so she could get some sleep. He’s slipped on the shirt Scully swiped from his apartment, a Knicks 1990 tee that she must have found in the corner of the living room where he throws his dirty clothes. He wonders if she even packed anything for herself before she hightailed it out of the city.

He couldn’t have imagined that punching Skinner would lead to his father dead, him shot by his partner, and them on the run across the country. And yet, there’s no place he’d rather be. The desert gifting them with a stunningly clear night, he’s opened the car’s sunroof and kicked back to stare up at the stars. The radio having long turned to static, quiet permeates the car.

“I’d gladly live in the middle of nowhere if I got this view every night,” Mulder remarks, drinking in the night sky.

Scully glances at him. There’s a rogue part of her brain that hoped he’d be looking back at her. Alas, the sky is his mistress. 

They continue barreling down the highway, about seven hours out from their destination.  The speedometer reads 87 mph...Scully is prone to speeding when she can get away with it.

“Keep it up and we’ll beat the sunrise,” Mulder jests. 

“That’s the plan.”

Mulder pulls his seat back into place, popping suddenly into Scully’s peripheral vision. “Hey Scully, can I ask you a question?”

“If I said no, would that stop you?”

“Negative.”

“Go on, then.”

“Setting aside the why--though I’d be interested in that, too--how exactly did you decide that shooting me near the heart would be the safest bet?...Unless you wanted to kill me.”

“Well, I was pretty certain I’d be able to remove the bullet with what you had in your apartment, since the wound isn’t near a bone. That also makes it easier to prevent infection.”

“So you either have an insane amount of confidence in your shot, or you don’t value me very much,” he quips.

Scully smirks. “Lucky for you, I consider target practice a great stress reliever.”

“Does the Bureau psychologist know that?”

She bats his arm playfully, the car swerving as she does.

“Hey, that’s no way to treat a patient. Now I know why you’re not practicing.”

“Oh, did I forget to mention…? I’ve decided that I prefer Dr. Scully to Special Agent Scully, so this is the last you’ll be hearing from me.”

Mulder chuckles, though the very idea that there could be any truth to that gives him a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. “There are millions of doctors out there,” he says, “and some of them aren’t even the cool type. Special Agent? That’s way sexier.”

“Oh, is that the metric we’re measuring at now?”

“That’s the metric I’m always measuring at,” he deadpans. 

“Mmm.” Scully looks at the rearview mirror, her sister’s steady-breathed sleep reflecting back at her. Good. She’d never hear the end of it if Missy overheard this conversation.

Mulder rubs his eyes, the events prior to his blackout having flowed back to him through the waking hours. “I’m sure I’ll regret asking this,” he begins, “but am I a fugitive?”

Scully glances out the driver’s window, as if she were going to change lanes though there is nowhere to go and no one else around. “I took your weapon to ballistics and proved it wasn’t the one used in the murder.” She says it so casually, Mulder notices, distancing them from the fact that the victim was his father. “But you’re still the only one placed at the scene, and it doesn’t look good that you called the police then ran. Still, the evidence implies that it wasn’t you. Of course, there’ll be suspicion…”

“Especially since we’ve both disappeared…”

“Hey, we’re on FBI business,” Scully declares. “We didn’t go through the official channels, but this is related to the X-Files.”

“Maybe Skinner will believe that if he hears it from you.”

“That’s what I’m banking on.”

Mulder smiles. She’s using her reputation to pull off a ruse. And damn, does that turn him on. 

He breathes in the scents of the car--the McDonalds fries they bought with Melissa’s credit card (just to be safe), his own eau de cologne from three days without a shower, but, above all, Scully’s sweetness. Her, just...her. A hint of strawberry, a swipe of gardenia perfume, and her honey-suckle skin. Smoke was never a fitting scent for her, and he is glad she has given it up.

“I’m guessing it’s safe to say you never caught up to Krycek,” Mulder mutters, balling up the fast-food straw paper and tossing it in the air. “Unless you’ve got him in the trunk.”

Scully shakes her head. “No stowaways besides you. He ran off after I shot and catching him wasn’t exactly my top priority.”

“So you do value my life…”

Scully flashes a brilliant but bashful smile. “You caught me.”

What a relationship they have. They are each other’s slayer and savior;  a cut of the knife stitched by a meticulous hand. Hurt then healed on the other’s command.

“Fox…” 

Mulder glances at the backseat. He finds Melissa sound asleep, snoring softly, and his gaze snaps back to the other Scully in the car. What glitch in the universe has led her to address him by his dreaded name?

He has never been so sure as in this moment---his partner is an otherworldly being, something supernatural. Not an alien, nothing so sinister...but perhaps the angel he imagined, or a fairy who has guided mankind for millennia, or a genie granting his wishes in freeze-frames. She looks through him...not in a way which makes him invisible, but one that takes the physical aspect out of it entirely. She sees his soul. He knows this.

“Fox,” she continues, layering on the vulnerability, “I’m sorry about your father. I know you loved him, above it all.”

Mulder pinches the bridge of his nose. “Something like that...I don’t know, honestly, that he ever loved me.” He looks at his lap. “He spent his last breath asking for forgiveness. You have to wonder what he’s done with his life to end up there.”

“It all becomes clear at the end,” Scully responds, not so much a hypothesis as a statement of fact, drawn from experience. “His regrets caught up to him, and he loathed some things he did while cursing himself for the things he left undone...And in that moment, an apology was all he could do to right some wrongs.”

Mulder looks at her through the corner of his eye, somewhat disturbed by the oracle she has become. “He asked me to forgive him,” Mulder replies. “That’s not the same as an apology.”

“Isn’t it, though?’

Mulder crosses his arms over his chest, the lumpy gauze of his wound rubbing him through his shirt. “Well, first of all, he didn’t even specify what I was supposed to forgive him for, so I don’t see how that can yield any sort of apology. And the very fact that was saying it at the end of his life means that it wasn’t actually about soothing my feelings, but lessening his guilt. Really, it didn’t have a damn thing to do with me.”

“So you’re saying it was a selfish apology, and that doesn’t count.”

“Exactly.”

“So do apologies only work if the recipient accepts them?” Scully interjects. “Is there no value in the attempt?” 

Mulder bites his lip.

“I’m not trying to play devil’s advocate,” she clarifies. “I’m genuinely curious about what you think.”

He sighs. “I think...what matters is not necessarily if the apology is accepted, but the intent of it. Like in this case, it was ill-timed, and so I don’t accept it. Maybe if he had said it to me ten years ago, it would have mattered, even if I were too stubborn to accept it at the time.”

“So if your father had apologized to you ten years ago, you would accept it now that he’s dead…?”

Mulder shrugs. “I think I’d realize that he actually meant it, and so I should cut him some slack.”

“Interesting.” Scully says nothing else, keeping her attention straight ahead.

Mulder smirks. “You don’t agree with me, do you?”

She pulls her lips into a tightly-knitted line. “No, no, that makes sense. I just think there are instances when a poorly-timed apology is accepted, and what then? Is the inevitable misunderstanding that will result the recipient’s fault for being so naive? Or do they get to place all the blame on the dishonest person?”

“How about a little bit of both, ey? Spread the blame out nice and evenly. A sprinkle there, a pinch here...”

Scully cracks a smile. Of course he’d make this conversation dirty. “You know, you scare me sometimes, Mulder.”

And just like that, they’re back to his preferred name. He lets out a sideways smile. “Yeah? Why?”

“Because I think that maybe you’re truly crazy, you’re not just faking it.”

He laughs, deep and sudden. Pulled from the trenches of his being. “Glad to hear it,” he snickers. “Glad to hear it.”

-------------------------

As the motorcycle rumbles over the desert dust, Scully wonders how she could be so stupid. Barely out of psychosis and she sends Mulder to a burial ground. She didn’t intend for it to be his final resting place. 

Eric had tried to warn him before the helicopter men, as he called them when describing the scene to Scully and Melissa, burned the place. But Mulder couldn’t hear him over the whirl of the blades--that’s what Eric suspected. As he recounted to the girls, the smoking man had threatened him, had laid a grotesque hand on him and forced him to show the way back to his house. They interrogated his father Albert and bruised and bloodied him. The conclusion, all around, was that nobody knew where Mulder was. Regardless of whether he had burned in that boxcar or somehow disappeared into the desert beforehand, he was gone.

Scully has a pretty clear idea of who’s responsible, and she wishes she had a helicopter she could ram into their dumb black helicopter to wipe them off the face of the Earth... and prevent them from wiping anyone else off the face of the Earth. Thwarting their ambitions will have to be enough.

But how? Desert heat mixes with smoldering ash as she stands over what’s left of the boxcar, making the moment unbearable. It is obvious to her that if Mulder was still in the boxcar when the ignitor went off, he is now dead. No human can survive that magnitude of burning--he would, in fact, be incinerated. Not a piece of him left behind, identifiable even to Scully’s trained eye. 

And if he wasn’t in the boxcar, if he heard the helicopter and gave himself over to the desert? What then? Surely he would have found his way back to where she was standing by now. Surely she’d be able to see him, hear him, touch him. There’d be proof he was something more than ashes. Maybe even, he might have made it back to the motel. But Melissa is keeping watch, and she hasn’t said a word. Missy would not play games about this. 

Logic prevailing, as it often does with her, Scully lets Eric drive her back to the motel. If he’s not here, then he’s there. And if he’s not there then--well, she knows. And isn’t it just like Mulder to leave her enough evidence to point one way without giving her the proof she needs to conclude? She imagines a funeral sans a body and shutters. 

When they get back to the motel and Missy opens the door and she is alone in the room, Scully is not surprised. She is shattered. It’s like learning the day you’ll die, then waking up on that day and recoiling at the calendar. What will be cannot be stopped. Not by any power of persuasion. Any.

She wants to scream, cry, file a personal complaint with God. Instead, she walks through the door, thanks Eric for his help, then asks her sister what she wants for dinner. Scully’s not hungry--she rarely is these days, and how could she be at a time like this?--but Melissa, she’s human, and she’s been waiting around all day, and all they have in the room is a quarter-full bag of gummy worms, so yeah, Scully decides, Missy probably is hungry. And that’s something she can take care of. 

Missy looks at her sister like--well, like she said she just saw an alien. “Dana, you’re not well.” Then, after getting no reaction--”It’s okay to be upset.”

Scully throws her blazer over a chair. ”I didn’t say I wasn’t upset.”

Missy sits down on the bed and pats the space next to her. “Come on, let’s talk about it.”

Scully throws her hands in the air. “He’s gone, Melissa, what else can I say?” She paces through the room. “If he was in the box car, he burned to death. And if he wasn’t, then shouldn’t we have found him by now?”

“Not necessarily,” Missy counters. “Albert told me about the Anasazi, a tribe that lived here hundreds of years ago.”

“I know, I know. They disappeared, historians have no explanation for it.”

‘“That’s what they say. But, honestly, Dana--nothing disappears without a trace. Mulder included.”

Scully shoots her a look. “So what is your explanation? That he was abducted, despite there being multiple witnesses who didn’t see a thing?”

“He called you, he said he saw something in the boxcar.”

Scully nods. “Bodies...lots of them. He said they didn’t look human. And they all had smallpox vaccination scars.”

“What do you make of that?”

Scully shrugs. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the Anasazi.”

“So why did the men burn the boxcar?”

“It could have been because Mulder was in there, and they wanted to kill him. Or because what’s in there was damning to them.”

Missy bites her lip. “Did the boxcar blow up?”

“No, but it’s still smoldering.”

“Could you go in tomorrow and take a look? See what you can find?”

“Missy, I doubt there’s anything left. And besides, I’ve already ignored about thirty calls from Director Skinner. I need to get back to DC...I’m lucky if I’ll still have a job.”

“Fuck the job. Think of Mulder.”

“I need to consider both if I’m actually to uncover any of the conspiracies that Mulder--and his father and so many others--died as a result of.”

Melissa frowns. Dana’s already counting her partner out...that’s hard to come back from, being christened as a corpse. She sighs. ”Alright, I’m going to preface this by saying that I truly don’t believe that Mulder’s dead, and I know you will find him.”

Scully’s eyes narrow, intrigued by her sister’s shift in tone. “Okay…”

“There’s a technique that I learned from my therapist friend,” Missy begins, already setting off alarm bells in Scully’s head, “that is meant to help process complicated feelings about a person.” 

Scully purses her lips as Missy continues--”It’s used to find clarity and--if it’s someone you’ve lost, literally or metaphorically--to give closure. I think it would help you establish a clear motivation to keep up your work on the X-Files.”

Scully’s forehead creases right between the eyebrows. “I just told you, I have one.”

“Yes, but if you go back to Washington, bureaucracy’s gonna get in the way of all of that. That’s why you drove out here in the first place, isn’t it? To avoid bureaucracy and push forward with the case?”

“I suppose,” Scully mumbles.

“And that’s exactly what Mulder would have done, and that’s what he would want you to do now.”

“This is beginning to sound like one of those ‘if x jumped off a bridge, would you?’ scenarios,” Scully retorts. 

“But with the opposite sentiment,” Melissa clarifies. “You and Mulder have never been closer to finding the truth. Now do you want to hear my suggestion or not?”

Hands on her hips, Scully’s silence commands Missy to continue. 

“Let me remind you that Mulder is not dead, and this is just an exercise.”

Scully nods, more to keep her moving than in agreement. 

“I want you to write a eulogy for him.”

Scully’s mouth drops open in protest. “And this is going to advance the investigation how?”

“By giving you emotional clarity. Essentially, you’ll realize how much he means to you, and it will push you to do whatever you can to complete the investigation.”

Scully scoffs. “You act like I don’t even like him or something.”

“You like him, but you’re afraid of imitating him. There’s a lack of...respect for his methods. And they’re the only way this case is gonna get solved.”

Scully crosses her arms. “Gee, apparently you should have gone to Quantico in my place.” It’s not that she’s afraid, per say, but that she doesn’t think Mulder’s unconventional approach will work. Two plus years in and she still believes herself more than him. She wishes she didn’t.

“You don’t have to read the eulogy out loud,” Missy coos, knowing full well that she’ll be sneaking around during the night to get her hands on it when her sister refuses to share. 

“Wow, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better,” Scully groans. 

Melissa squeezes her sister’s shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay. You’ll find him, and this will help you know what to say when you do.”

Scully leans into the hug. “For the record, I think this is insane, alright? I’m only doing it because it’s getting too late to search the desert.”

“Understood.” Missy stands up. “Oh, and to answer your question, Albert invited us over for a traditional tribal feast at his house.”

“What?”

“You asked what I wanted for dinner. Those are our plans.”

“Oh.” Scully looks at her lap. It seems unfair to have to face the world at a time like this. Especially when her head is plagued with thoughts about what she would--will?--say at her partner’s funeral. And still, she continues.

--------------------

Crowding around Albert’s dining table, the party finishes the last bites left on their plates. It has been a long day--or days, more accurately--and the desolate black sky outside makes Scully feel like it’s 4am, though the clock only reads 7. She blinks toward her company, trying to remain present.

“I am thankful we could share this meal,” Albert says, nodding to Scully and her sister. “It is not often we get outsiders here, and even less often that we’re able to indulge in the foods of our ancestors.”

Missy reaches for the final piece of fry bread, biting into it daintily. 

“There’s not a lot here,” Albert tells them, eyes downcast. “Nowadays, we take what we can get, and that means eating to survive...your processed foods and non-perishables have become the staples of our diets.”

Scully tries not to frown. “Well, we’re very glad that you prepared this for us. It was delicious,” she says, trying to inject enthusiasm into her downtrodden heart. 

“Yes, thank you very much,” Missy affirms. 

Albert casts his eyes in Scully’s direction. A shadow falls over her. From where, she is not certain. 

“You are hurting, but you do not need to be. What is yours will find you. There is no such thing as disappearance.”

Scully pulls her lips into a solemn smile. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“It is the truth. The desert acts in its own way, and it is never wrong.”

Scully nods, trying to believe him. Trying to have faith. “Thank you, Albert.”

From across the table, he extends his palms toward her. “Pray with me.”

She clasps his hands and closes her eyes. Prayer is not normally something she engages in with others around, but neither is grief. 

Albert begins speaking in the language written on the Defense Department files. She doesn’t understand the words, but his sincerity transcends semantics. The spirit of faith--the spirit of God--is there.

She has been thinking lately of faith. The faith she has been feeling is not that of Sunday mornings and ‘forgive me Father for I have sinned.’ It’s something else entirely, something that has compelled her to do things she would never do... until she looked down at her hands and she was doing them. 

So many transgressions to count, and yet she hesitates to even call them that. Injured her partner--a suspected fugitive--to keep him from implicating himself, tapped her sister as her sidekick to take him halfway across the country, and deserted her duties at the FBI, all in favor of the truth. 

Maybe truth is faith that good will prevail. 

--------------------------

When Scully sits down that night with the motel notepad and a pen, she becomes a conduit for everything she couldn’t say out loud. She copies the entire Mulder file from her brain, and it still doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t capture any of his essence, the unique flavor of humanity that he bravely faced the world with which made him so...him. 

It is then that Scully realizes you can know all the details of someone’s life without ever really knowing them, and that scares her because she gets the inkling that she has never truly let Mulder in--though he has opened up to her--and what if he dies feeling like he never got further than the young woman whose physics thesis he read? That’s not fair, not when she knows him so well.

She takes a breath and puts the pen down. She can’t compose Mulder to life. Resurrection doesn’t work that way. What she can do--and what she realizes is what every person does in this situation, and there must be something wrong with her because it wasn’t her first instinct--is write about how the man she knows (knew?) made her feel. About the impact his life had on her life. 

Her vision blurs as she works to consolidate her unauthorized biography of Fox William Mulder into a passage that suggests the joy their partnership brought into her life. Though Missy said she wouldn’t have to share, Scully can’t shake the feeling that she will need this at some point in time, that having a eulogy on call might not be such a bad idea. It’s a terrible thought, but a truth every agent knows. After all, she and Mulder witnessed each other writing their wills, and that was considered a customary work duty. Nothing is out of reach.

And so she wrote as if she’ll have to read it one day, letting her emotions flow within the confines of her finely tuned self-awareness. The end product turns out somewhat more sentimental than she envisioned, but she caps her pen and walks away, giving herself permission to take up space. 

--Fox William Mulder--

As he despised being called by his first name, I must take the liberty of referring to my partner as Mulder one last time. I was lucky to know him. Not as Spooky or the alien-obsessed man in the basement, but for who he truly was. Nothing was more important to Mulder than the truth. And the truest truth I know about him is that he loved his sister, and he wanted justice for her. It’s what he spent his life on, and ultimately, what he sacrificed it for. I am honored to have played any role in his mission, and I hope to continue it in his memory. 

If there’s one piece of Mulder that I hope to carry with me for the rest of my life, it’s his tenacity. Mulder never, never let any obstacle get in his way. I can’t tell you how many times I wasn’t sure where he was, only to learn that he had flown to the ends of the Earth to investigate whatever lead he found promising that day. I doubt that I’ll ever encounter anyone who lives up to the passion and determination he contained within him. And it’s a shame because the world needs that...The world needed him. 

I needed him too. He challenged me in ways I never dreamed of. Sometimes I wanted to pull my hair out, but mostly, I just kept thinking about how boring my life would be if I never met him. And now...I don’t know what’s next. There were so many possible futures ahead for us and the X-Files. This isn’t just a eulogy for Mulder, it’s a eulogy for all that could have been. He was my best friend. There’s nothing more I can say. 

When she reads it back the next morning, she falls to her knees in conversation with God, pleading for a miracle to bring the man she has finally realized she loves back into her life.

[mythicvelocity]

Mercy76 Week Day 4- Reunion

Hey everyone! So I am so sorry that I didn’t post this earlier, but I have been busy! That is also why I am posting this even though it has already been posted on Ao3 and fanfiction.net :/ Anywho, I really like this work so I hope you enjoy it if you haven’t read it yet! 

“Right”

The rain fell parallel with the tears from his eyes. He would have laughed at himself for doing such a childish thing, but there's nothing funny about when a soldier cries, especially when it's over a loved one he lost due to his selfish actions.

He remembers everything about her like it was yesterday. Her fair, soft skin, dreamy blue eyes and melodic voice. Her silky platinum blonde hair and her laugh of pure gold. She was utterly perfect. How he got lucky enough to steal her heart he would never know. He always believed his Angel could obtain someone much better, and this further proved his point.

Honestly, sometimes Jack wished he would find someone who would love her just like he had. He didn't want her to hurt because of what he did. He beat himself up on the daily because he felt as if he was the sole reason for any suffering Angela ever encountered. He didn't want her spending sleepless nights in the arms of nobody, longing for someone she would never get to see again. He wanted her to feel the love she deserved again.

Jack wouldn't call himself a stalker. He just wanted to make sure she was safe. He truly hoped that Angela didn't think to much about the sightings of the vigilante named Soldier 76 near whatever city she was in. He tried his hardest to stay undetected, but there were always young punks somewhere that needed a good beating and stuff like that wasn't so easy to hide.

The fact that he was so close to her, yet couldn’t touch her or be with her was difficult to get used to. Some days were easier than others, but some days he could almost feel her loving touches ghosting over his skin in mockery. So close, but so far away. Keeping her safe was tearing him apart, but he was ok with that. As long as his Angel was out of harm’s way. He knew she could defend herself well enough and that she probably didn’t need someone else to be watching out for her, but he couldn’t see her suffer more than she already had. He would never forgive himself for that. Hell, he still hadn’t forgiven himself for all the pain he had put her through with the downfall of Overwatch, and he’d be damned if he ever did.

Sitting in this safe house in the middle of Dorado, Mexico, the blood of the Los Muertos fresh on his hands, he felt utterly and completely lost. A call had just been sent out. He was surprised that the old gorilla still had his phone number, let alone was brave enough to recall the same organization that had produced so much controversy in the world. Part of him despised Winston for it.

He could only imagine the strain that was put on Angela’s shoulders from the recall. Her lover’s organization, being pulled back together again without their leader. It would be a difficult decision for her. He didn’t want her to join again, in all honesty. He wouldn’t be there to keep her safe. Side by side with  her on the front lines of the most dangerous battles, keeping an eye out for her well being. What if she was killed? He couldn’t live with that. If she found it in her to join again, he would have to follow her. How he would get himself into Overwatch, he didn’t know, and how he would keep his identity would be an even bigger challenge, but if it meant protecting his beloved from the dangers of the world, he would do it.

It was three months later. The night after the first mission the newly reformed Overwatch had completed. They had won, no doubt, but it was a pretty rough battle. Mercy almost had to revive D.Va from the dead, and although the healing technology was helping her recover, she was still in pretty rough shape. The mission was extremely difficult for him. He did what he usually did, keep Angela safe, but he had to make it as discreet as possible. Not only did he have to struggle with keeping his identity concealed, he had to adjust to not being the leader of the team.

It was difficult watching others make decisions that he normally made, and even more difficult watching them make decisions he knew would lead to negative consequences. He knew when Lena called for them to move forward into an unknown circumstance somebody would get hurt, and when it turned out to be Hana, he was even more angry. Something about that girl brought out a fatherly instinct in him, and while he didn’t know why, he felt the need to protect her almost as much as he needed to protect Angela. The whole mission had been taxing on him, as it had been on everybody, but his old muscles were complaining. This work wasn’t as easy as it used to be.

He knocked on the door frame of the open door leading to Angela’s office. “Mercy?” he asked in the gruffest voice he could muster. “Yes?” she asked, and as soon as he heard her voice, he knew she had been crying. Rounding the corner and walking into the room, he confirmed his suspicions. Her eyes were swollen and the tip of her nose was red. A few tissues were strewn across her desk, and next to them was a framed picture.

Jack’s heart dropped in his chest when he saw the picture in the frame. It was him and Angela, arms wrapped around each other, on the day of his promotion to Strike Commander. There he stood in Overwatch blue, the same azure color as Angela’s sparkling eyes. She was so proud of him, he remembered. Their smiles were the brightest and they looked so genuinely happy. That day was so hard for him. Reyes was hostile and the responsibilities he was going to carry seemed like they were already crushing him, but coming off the stage and being promptly enveloped by Angela’s beaming form was enough to make him smile too.

His hand quickly flew to his chest pocket, tracing over the image he knew was hidden in the fabric. The same exact image that he was staring at on her desk. His very favorite picture of them. A lump formed in his throat and he tried his hardest to swallow it. The tears that rimmed his eyes threatened to spill and he was grateful for the mask covering most of him face. “I… I came for some pain meds.” He said, voice slightly wavering. “This body ain’t what it used to be.” He attempted chuckling, but it wouldn’t come out. He felt so extremely guilty.

“Ah... “ Angela said, quickly wiping the tissues into the waste basket besides her desk and returning the photograph to its corrects place, “Before I’m allowed to give you anything, you need to complete your blood tests.” Shit.

“Um… I might be ok then.” he said, making his way back to the door. He had been avoiding this for so long. Mercy insisted on it, telling him they wouldn’t been able to treat him if they didn’t know vital information that would be revealed by his blood work, but he continued to dodge the tests. He wouldn’t let them figure out who he was. They had to have his blood still in the medical database. There was always the chance that they weren’t able to recover the data from after the explosion, but he knew the records had to be stored somewhere else.

“Please tell me it isn’t because you’re afraid of needles or something.” she grinned slightly. God. Even when she had been in tears just minutes previous, her smile was still so damn gorgeous.

“No, that’s ridiculous.”  he scoffed.

“Then what’s holding you back?” she asked.

Oh how he wished he could tell her. He wished he could just hold her and never let her go, tell her he’s sorry, ask for her heart back again. He wanted her to understand why he had to go away, and why it was for her good, but he couldn’t let her know. He couldn’t put her in that position. He kept her safe and sound for so long, but watching her cry made him question his motives. Looking from the picture on her desk, back to her still-glassy eyes, he figured he had nothing to lose. Maybe that data wouldn’t even be there anymore, and John “Jack” Morrison would be erased for good and replaced by Soldier: 76, just like he should be. “Alright.” he grumbled.

“Come on then.” she gestured, leading him to sit down on one of the exam tables in the medical bay she called her office. “I’ll need you to take of your jacket, please.” Peeling off the leather material that had become like a second skin to him, he cursed himself in his mind for letting emotions take control of this situation.”It will only hurt a little bit, I promise.” she joked, wiping the inside of this arm with a small alcohol wipe.

Tying his arm off above the elbow, she uncapped the needle and slowly slid it into his vein. He winced as it broke the skin, and she stroked the side of his arm. “It’s only a twenty two gauge needle Soldier,” she laughed, “Is it really that bad?”

Jack couldn’t even answer her question sarcastically. The small touches had sent electricity up his spine. Oh, how he missed her and the feeling of her skin on his. He was so enthralled in memories of her body flush against his that he didn’t even feel the needle being pulled out of this arm. “Hold this.” she said, placing his hand on the square of gauze held over the sight of where the needle had been placed, “And apply pressure.”

He took a deep breath as she walked over to the nearby counter and placed the vial of his blood into a small machine that whirred to life at the push of a button. “In a matter of minutes we will truly know who is behind that mask.” she joked. His knees felt weak at that saying. She didn’t know how literal that saying was to him.

“Those pain killers?” he asked, attempting to take his mind off of the fact everything he was trying to hide may become revealed in only a few minutes. “Oh yes,” she said, opening a cabinet to the left of him, “Give me a second…”

“That picture…” Jack blurted out. He regretted saying that the moment the words came out of his mouth. He almost slapped himself at that. Why did he bring that up. Did he want to make Angela more upset, or reveal who he was. HIs heart pounded so loudly in his chest, he was surprised Angela couldn’t hear it. Looking towards the photo on her desk, her face fell.

“That’s Jack.” she mumbled, “He… We…” she stuttered.

“You guys were together.” Jack finished for her.

“Yes…” she took a deep breath, “before he passed.”

Jack just nodded, and watched Mercy come undone in front of him. She let the tears fall down her cheeks, and she let out a quiet sniffle. Angela never broke down like this in front of strangers. Hell, she would barely let herself through even when she was with Jack. Of course, he saw right through her tough facade and would tell her it was ok, and she would finally let down her walls. In front of strangers though, the world around her could have been ending, and you would have thought everything was ok. Jack knew that because she was willing to let her tears out in front of someone so foreign to her, she was in a whole world of pain.

“I didn’t even get to bury him.” she said, shaking. “There’s so much that I want to say to him. So much more I could have done to let him know how much he really meant to me.” Her shoulders trembled as her eyes cried and all Jack wanted to was grab her and hold her tight and take of his mask. His breathing was unstable and guilt came and filled him like a flash flood. At this moment in time, he yearned to be Jack again. Maybe this was his chance, and just maybe he would take it.

“I just wish I could get the chance to tell him how much I really love him. She choked, a sob escaping her throat. As she leaned up against the cabinet and let her knees buckle, the machine reading Jack’s blood let out a tone.

“Data recorded. Match found.” It read.

“Well maybe,” Jack said, grasping the edge of the mask covering his face, making a decision that would forever change things, “You’ll get that chance.”

“Strike Commander John Morrison. Blood type: A+”

Angela’s jaw dropped as the cold, metal mask hit the floor. Jack was practically shaking. Now Angela knew, and there was no take backs. Regaining her balance, Angela advance towards him with caution. Jack wasn’t sure how to read her face. There was definitely surprise in her expression, and he saw love and longing, but he wasn’t sure what else he saw was.

The sting across his face and the sharp sound that echoed throughout the room confirmed what emotion he saw. Yup. Definitely anger. The slap had taken him by surprise, but what surprised him even more was what she did next.

Falling into his chest, arms wrapped around his neck, she let her knees give out as she clung to him for dear life. She went from disdain to yearning in a matter of seconds. He didn’t blame her. Finding out your lover was alive after grieving for many years had to be an astonishment for anybody.

“Why?” she choked out, as he held her up with his strong arms. She kept asking herself this over and over as she wept in his embrace.

“I love you, Angel.” he whispered in her ear, stroking her blonde hair that was now a slight mess due to her upset.

“Do you Jack?” she pulled away from him and met his eyes with her tear-filled ones. “You let me suffer for five years. I mourned you, I never had closure and I went through so many things alone only wishing you could be there.”

The venom that laced her voice concerned him. Did he do the right thing?

“You are my everything Jack, and not a day went by when I didn’t feel guilty and heartbroken for what happened in that building. You left me with so many doubts, so many regrets and so many words left unspoken. I love you, god damnit, and I had to live without you. How can you tell me you love me when I had to endure all that because of you.”

Her voice cracked at that statement, and the melancholy that filled her tone shattered his heart. “You know I wouldn’t do something like this if I didn’t have a motive.” he practically whispered. He couldn’t bring his tone any louder, or he would break down too.

“After Overwatch fell, if I was alive, they would have been after me. The UN, terrorist organizations, people who hated the work I did. They would have blamed that explosion on me. Blamed me for the lives lost that day. I know you wouldn’t have left my side, and when they came after me, they would be after you too.

“I could never let you be killed in the crossfire of a battle between me and the rest of the world. You came to Overwatch to help save lives. You never asked for all of what happened. You weren’t a killer like they accused us all of being. You were so innocent.I was not going to let them take you and use you against me. I did it to keep you safe.”

A few tears leaked from his eyes, but he was quick in wiping them away. “You are here, Angela, and you are safe. And now I don’t have to hide from you anymore.”

She sobbed in silence. Her sorrow, relief and anger poured out of her and the sound of it filled the room. He did not know how much time had passed before she looked up at him and wiped her eyes, sniffling slightly.

“Jack?” she asked in a tired, broken voice.

“Please don’t ever leave me again.” More tears ran down his scarred face at the sound of her voice.

“Never again, Angel.” he said, wrapping her still-trembling form tightly in his strong frame, as if to make sure he would never be able to lose her.

Gently touching his face and drinking in the differences that would take her a while to recognize, she pressed her lips to his.

This kiss could not be defined as gentle or graceful, for it held five years of longing and desperation. It was in this kiss she understood his desire to keep her safe and sound. Time seemed to melt away and it felt like just yesterday she had been kissing him and congratulating him for his newly received and hard-earned promotion. All anger left her and all apprehensiveness left him. Nothing stood between them.

That night, laying with his beloved wrapped tightly in his arms, revelling in the feeling of bare skin on bare skin after enjoying eachother with unsuppressed passion, he realized that he had done the right thing.

[elrondsscribe]

The Seventh Avenger: Chapter 6

All rights belong to the Tolkien Estate and to Marvel Studios.

Thor's gaze followed the two science men as they left, after which he turned back to look at Glorfindel with interest. "What are you, exactly?" he asked. "You are no Asgardian, and you are not human, yet you resemble both more than any other species I know."

Glorfindel smiled blithely up at the Asgardian. "I am an Elf, or a Quende, technically."

Thor's eyebrows went up. "So the tales brought back from Earth of the immortal peoples with fair faces and voices are true after all," he said curiously.

Fury, who had gone back to his post at the central platform, looked from Glorfindel to Thor. "So you've heard of each other but you haven't met?" he asked.

"So it would appear," said Glorfindel. "Unless perhaps you happen to be Maiar in disguise -?" He looked quizzically back at Thor. Though Maiar usually sneak up on me disguised as Mortals. . .

"Maiar?" Thor blinked in honest confusion.

"I suppose not," Glorfindel shrugged. I really didn't think so. "Never mind."

"And you're no relation to the Dark-Elves of Svartalfheim?" inquired Thor mildly enough, though Glorfindel had the idea that some critical impression was riding on his answer. I also somehow don't think he's talking about the - well, the Moriquendi.

"I don't think so," he said. "I don't know any Svartalfheim, anyway."

"Alfeneel, then?" Thor pressed. "Harudheeniksel? Lovers of the Darkness-Before-the-Universe, enemies of Asgard -? No?"

Is he asking me if he needs to slay me speedily? "Ah, no." Glorfindel shook his head emphatically.

"Maybe the name 'Eldar' might also help," interjected Natasha Romanoff. She had been watching the interplay with somewhat more interest than she had earlier displayed. "Means People of the Stars. 'Quendi' just means 'speaking people.' What?" she added at Glorfindel's curious look. "I did some research myself. The name was originally used by Orome to describe all Elves. It only started to be specific to the Elves who followed him after the initial split."

That's a . . . concise way of putting a very long and complicated linguistic explanation of what we call ourselves.

Thor seemed to be satisfied that whatever Glorfindel was, he was not a "Dark-Elf" (and I've got to stop calling the Sindar, Nandor, Green-Elves, Silvans, and Avari tribes 'Dark-Elves', especially if I'm going to go public) and therefore not an immediate enemy. "I see."

"What exactly does Loki want?" asked Glorfindel, frowning. "You say he wants to use the Tesseract to open a portal for this army of his, the Chitauri. And once the Chitauri conquer Earth for him, he gets to keep the Tesseract. What does he ultimately want with it? Power?"

Thor sighed, and stared glumly into space. "I don't think it's just for the Tesseract that Loki wants to conquer and rule the Earth. It's not mere power he craves. He wants to flaunt his victory before me, and make me feel the betrayal he imagines he has suffered. He wants vengeance - upon me."

Steve blinked incredulously. "Whatdja do to offend him?"

Thor didn't answer.

Fury tilted his head and looked closely at the Asgardian. "You think he can tell us where the Cube is?"

"I don't know," said Thor bleakly. "And even if he could, I don't know if I could wring it from him. His mind is far afield." He frowned again. He was quite obviously burdened with sorrow for his (adopted) brother. And he was worried - for Erik Selvig, his friend, and for someone else too, if Glorfindel wasn't mistaken. And - perhaps most obviously - Thor seemed to imagine that the whole sorry affair was in part his own fault.

"I don't know what's between you and your brother," said Glorfindel firmly. "But blaming yourself for his current misdeeds solves nothing. He must be answerable for his own crimes."

Thor started, and threw the Elf a look of unease and suspicion.

"I'm sure you don't want him to suffer," Glorfindel pressed. "But a little encouragement regarding the finding of the Tesseract may be in order."

Thor's face darkened further. "Even if I were willing to help you torture Loki, it would avail you nothing. There's no pain that would prize his need from him."

"A lot of guys think that," interjected Fury. "Until the pain actually starts."

Thor looked between the stone-faced Director, the uncomfortably penetrating gaze of the Elf, the unreadable Agent Romanoff, and the questioning eyes of the Captain. He seemed to falter. "What are you asking me to do?"

Fury's single eye gleamed. "I'm asking what are you prepared to do?"

"Loki is a prisoner," said Thor.

"Prisoner!" snorted Glorfindel. "Don't make me laugh!"

Thor turned and glared balefully at the Elf.

"Thor, c'mon," said Steve spreading his hands. "Rolling over and playing dead in Germany, sitting up on the side of a cliff watching you and Stark were beat each other up - please! Loki's the only one on this boat, or Helicarrier or whatever, who wants to be here." He got up and walked off, passing Agent Coulson who was just coming in as he went.

Thor caught sight of Coulson, and looked half hopeful and half afraid. Coulson smiled. "Don't worry," he said reassuringly. "She's fine."

I knew there was a 'she' in it somewhere.

Thor sagged with relief as Coulson went to a nearby monitor, set down a folder he was carrying, and with a few touches brought up a picture of a young, petite, attractive brunette woman. The caption next to the picture listed the various and (to Glorfindel's admittedly ignorant eye) impressive accomplishments of astrophysicist Dr. Jane Foster.

"As soon as Loki took Dr. Selvig we moved Jane Foster," Coulson went on as Thor gazed at the image. "We've got an excellent observatory in Traunsee. She was asked to consult there very suddenly yesterday - handsome fee, private plane, very remote. She'll be safe."

"Thank you," said Thor sincerely. "It's no accident, Loki taking Erik Selvig. I dread what he plans for him once he's done. Erik is a good man."

"He talked about you a lot," Coulson smiled. "You changed his life. Changed everything around here."

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. "This wouldn't have anything to do with what happened in New Mexico last year?"

There had been pictures and stories all over the internet of the weird, seemingly indestructible metal creature that had been fought by four (now undoubtedly Asgardian) warriors and defeated by none other than Thor himself. Both Selvig and Foster had allegedly been involved (along with their much more social media savvy assistant, a pretty brunette by the name of Darcy Lewis who was all over Instagram).

"Sure does," said Coulson. He picked up the folder, came up to the table, slid the folder across to Glorfindel. "Figured you'd want some extra details," he added.

"Thanks," said Glorfindel, opening the folder. The pictures inside were almost more interesting than the reports, including aerial photographs of the atmospheric disturbances and the strange not-thunderstorm, the remarkable hammer (Mjolnir by name, according to Thor) the fire-spitting half-sentient machine (apparently called the 'Destroyer'), and the four strangely armed warriors whose faces Glorfindel had already seen.

Looks like Loki involved in this too.

"You know, we like to pretend on Asgard that we're more advanced," Thor was saying. "but we come to Earth battling like bilgesnipe."

"Like what?" inquired Coulson curiously, and Glorfindel looked up.

"Bilgesnipe," said Thor. "You know - huge, scaly, big antlers -" he curled his hands on his forehead in an imitation of the latter. "You don't have those?"

Glorfindel and Coulson looked at each other, then back at Thor. "I don't think so," said Glorfindel.

"Then you are the more fortunate," said Thor. "For they are repulsive, and they trample everything in their path." He went to the railing at the edge of the upper level of the central chamber and leaned against it, staring pensively into the distance. "When I first came to Earth, Loki's rage followed me here, and your people paid the price - and now again." He sighed. "In my youth I courted war."

"You are still very young," said Glorfindel not unkindly. "And the war may never begin, if Banner and Stark find the Tesseract in time. May I keep this?" he added, raising the folder.

"Sure," said Coulson, and Glorfindel got up and left the room.

He had intended to head down to his locker but on the way down decided to check in on Tony and Bruce. He poked his head into the lab, and Bruce, who was standing nearest the door about to scan the Chitauri spear, looked up. "Oh, hey," he said. "Can we help you with anything?"

"Not really," said Glorfindel. "If you're terribly busy, that is."

"Sure we're busy," said Tony, who seemed to be working on three different equations at once. "Step in for a minute."

Glorfindel entered the laboratory, which seemed to be full of top-notch equipment and the very latest technology. He watched as Bruce scanned the spear, probably for gamma radiation. "Hey, Tony?" he said. "The gamma readings are consistent with Selvig's reports on the Tesseract. But it's going to take weeks to process."

"If we bypass their mainframe and direct a reroute to the Homer cluster," Tony proposed. "We can clock this around six hundred teraflops."

Bruce chuckled ruefully. "All I packed was a toothbrush."

Tony crossed the floor, passing Glorfindel to get on Bruce's other side. "By the way, I forgot to ask you earlier," he said to Glorfindel over his shoulder. "The glow's all natural, right? I mean, obviously it's supernatural, but it is actually, you know, natural?"

Glorfindel arched his eyebrows. "Why, do you want to scan me for radiation?"

Tony eyed Glorfindel with undisguised eagerness. "Maybe - would you mind?"

Bruce snorted quietly, but watched just as curiously out of the corner of his eye.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. "Go ahead, I won't bite."

Tony grinned, picked up the scanner Bruce had just put down, and brought it over to the Elf. He re-calibrated it and waved it in front of Glorfindel's shoulders. The device began beeping madly, and Tony pulled it back while Bruce swiped an icon on his screen. "Whoa!" he said. "We're definitely looking at something unique here - the pattern's totally unlike anything I've ever encountered."

Tony went over to look at the screen Bruce was studying. "Would ya look at that?" he said. "After we find the Cube I'm going to have to take a closer look at this. The equipment here's nice, but we could really do this faster if it was better."

"Looks pretty state-of-the-art to me," said Bruce in amusement.

"That's because you're deprived," said Tony. "You know, you should really come by Stark Tower sometime," he said. "Top ten floors, all R and D. You'd love it, it's candyland."

"Thanks," Bruce grimaced. "But the last time I was in New York I kind of . . . broke Harlem."

"I think the Abomination actually broke Harlem, and you broke him," suggested Glorfindel.

"That's one way of looking at it," Bruce conceded, scrunching his nose under his glasses.

"So how about this," Tony proposed as he stepped around behind his new colleague. "A stress free environment - no tensions or surprises."

And then he jabbed Bruce in the ribs with a very small prod.

"Ow!" cried the startled Bruce.

"Oi!" protested Glorfindel. "What's he ever done to you?!"

"Hey! Are you nuts?!" Steve Rogers came storming imposingly into the laboratory, glaring at the billionaire. Glorfindel blinked down at the costumed Man.

"Nothing?" asked Tony curiously, ignoring both Steve and Glorfindel. He'd been peering closely into the unfortunate Bruce's eyes. "You really have got a lid on it, haven't you? What's your secret - mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"

"Tony," said Glorfindel. "Did it occur to you that you might have just threatened the safety of everyone on this Helicarrier, to say nothing of offending the man?"

"No offense, Dr. Banner," added Steve.

"Nah, it's okay," said the equitable physicist. "I wouldn't have come aboard if I couldn't handle pointy things."

"See, he's working," Steve pointed at Bruce. "He's focused on the problem at hand, like you should be, Mr. Stark."

"Oh, you think I'm not?" Tony swung round to look at Steve, looking disconcertingly serious. "So riddle me this, Captain - why did Fury call us, and why now? What's he not telling us? I can't do the equation unless I have all the variables."

"You think Fury's hiding something?" asked Steve, as if this were some shocking idea.

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows to cover his rising misgivings. "He's the Director of SHIELD. Keeping things from people who keep things from other people is his business."

"See?" Tony held out his hand. "You've had this run-around before, and it's bugging you too. Probably Banner as well, isn't it, doc?"

The aforementioned scientist hemmed and hawed. "Uh, I just wanna finish my work here . . ."

Steve turned on Bruce. "Doctor?" he asked sharply.

Bruce pursed his lips. "'A warm light for all mankind to share' - Loki's jab at Fury about the Cube," he began.

"Yes, I heard it," said Steve.

"We all did," said Glorfindel. "Go on, Doctor."

"Well," said Bruce. "I think that was meant for you." And he pointed at the famous man.

"What do you mean?" inquired Steve.

But Glorfindel snapped his fingers. "Isn't Stark Tower supposed to have just started its Arc Reactor test run?"

"Stark Tower?" asked Steve. "That big ugly -"

Tony turned a justifiably miffed look on him.

"- building in New York?" finished Steve with only a trace more respect.

You Americans, honestly. I'm not sure why I expected better manners from you, Captain.

Bruce decided to ignore the obvious brewing ego conflict. "That building will run itself for, what, a year?"

"And that's just the prototype," said Tony. "I'm kind of the only name in clean energy right now."

"So why didn't SHIELD bring him -" Bruce pointed to Tony again. "- in on the Tesseract project? I mean, what are they even doing in the energy business in the first place?"

"I should probably look into that," said Tony casually. "once my decryption program has finished breaking into SHIELD's secure files."

Glorfindel's jaw swung, and Steve whirled on Tony. "I'm sorry," he snapped. "Did you say -"

"JARVIS has been running it since I hit the bridge," said Tony rather smugly, pulling a few granola bars from his pocket and tearing into one. "In a few hours I'll know every dirty secret SHIELD has ever tried to hide." He held out the other bars to Glorfindel and Steve. "Blueberry?"

Glorfindel automatically took a bar of granola. Steve ignored the snack. "Yet you're confused about why they didn't want you around," he said, folding his arms.

"An intelligence organization that fears intelligence?" Tony munched on his granola. "Historically not awesome."

"Intelligence organizations generally don't like being hacked," said Glorfindel. "And who's to say they won't catch you?"

"I'm the best at this stuff," said Tony. "I don't get caught."

"Look, I think Loki's trying to wind us up," said Steve sternly. "This is a man who means to start a war, and if we don't stay focused he'll succeed. We have orders, we should follow them."

"Because following orders always works out so well for you, Steve," snapped Glorfindel, who was getting tired of Steve's moral posturing - for all Tony's cocky recklessness, at least he wasn't self-righteous. "And speaking of wars, I'd say something's certainly got you wound up like a clock. Is it all that nervous energy from sitting still instead of bashing people's heads in? Or do you treat everyone you encounter these days like your damned subordinate?"

And then Steve turned on Glorfindel a smile for which the Elf could have wrung his neck. "And you wouldn't know a thing about soldiers breaking trust, would you, Lord of Gondolin?"

Glorfindel drew himself up, nostrils flaring. "I think, Captain," he said icily. "that Loki hardly needs to start a war here as long as you're around." And he strode from the lab.

As he left he heard Steve say "Look, just find the Cube," and come running after him. "Glorfindel?" he called. "Hey! Glorfindel!"

Glorfindel huffed in annoyance and walked faster.

"Could you stop for just one minute?" asked Steve in exasperation.

Glorfindel neither broke his stride or looked around. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be the model soldier you seem a lot better at giving orders than actually taking them."

That seemed to have hit a nerve, for Steve's heavy boots stopped thumping after him and he was left to storm off in peace.

Important reminder: The Light-Elves of Vanaheim exist only in Marvel Comics. In the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Vanaheim is populated by the Vanir, who are very similar to the Asgardians (Hogun the Grim is a Vanir). Remember that this story is strictly movie-verse Marvel.