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spookyspecterino · 10 months ago

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Back to You Again

Tangerine x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Injury, mention of blood, mention of death/fear of death, arguing/bickering, swearing. Serious idiots in love who have a little trouble expressing their feelings and choose the wrong time to do it.

You've been gone a little while. A few months to be specific. Why? Tangerine can only guess, but he's not happy about it.

Requested by @nocturnest. I'm so sorry this took so long. I started it thinking it was going to be short and then 7K words flew out. 😬Anyway, thanks for your request. It's been a long time since I wrote anything seriously and this was really good for me. Hope you enjoy!

“Laser cutter. Three auto-rifles. Two handguns. Three boxes of ammo each.”

Check.

The binoculars are heavy duty, and the metal texture grates your fingers as you pull them up to peer through the lenses into the next building over. A high-rise that had at least 30 floors. All windowed at least, which made this a little easier on you.

“In through the fifth-floor service area. Through the employee hallway to the service elevator.”

A map of the building laid next to you on the gravel roof. It hadn’t been easy to get your hands on it, but it was worth it for a building as secure as this. No security measure had been overlooked by this man and as paranoid as he seemed it went a long way to his credibility.

“In and out through the service elevator. 20 mins tops. Oh, the jammer.”

A handheld device that you’d paid top dollar for. Yes, it has duct tape holding pieces of it together, and the screen was a repurposed old Gameboy front, but it is the best your back-channel dealer could provide.

How did anyone do anything without a handler these days?

The jammer would save you the trouble (if things turned sideways) of dealing with reinforcements. It flickers to life by flipping a switch smoldered to its side. The thing really does look like a piece of garbage.

Several frequencies and networks flashed across the screen, all of them belonging to the building you were surveying. Scrolling through, only a few needed to be shut down, too many and it would raise alarms.

Wifi was the last to be turned off and then you would really need to book it inside.

Everything planned out to a T. Entrance and exits mapped. Back-up plans (and back-up plans to those back-up plans) in place. Extra weapons and ammo in case you had to go out guns blazing. This should be no problem.

“Office-penthouse on the top floor. Computer terminal on the desk, west side.”

Get to the computer, get the files, destroy everything. If you happened to kill the son of a bitch, well, that was a bonus.

You sigh and rub your face, trying to work out the stress lines that seemed to make a permanent home between your brows. “Now I just need to stop talking to myself.”

It was an unfortunate habit you’d picked up in the last few months of working alone. Usually, you had… no. This was no time to think of them, or of him. You have to focus. After this is done, you can go back and apologize, even grovel if you have to.

But now is the time for focus.

In the middle of repeating this mantra, one you’ve been repeating for the last month, you happen to look up at the street. Not for any real reason, nothing had drawn your attention. Nothing was amiss in your perfect plan.

Except two very familiar faces walking down the sidewalk.

Lemon and Tangerine.

Clad in their typical attire. Snazzy suits, dress shoes, and ties.

Your stomach does several things. First it flips at the sight of Tangerine as he saunters with his hands in his pockets, then it sinks and twists into painful knots.

“No, no, no!”

They can’t be here! Anywhere but here!

The two walked casually down the sidewalk, as if they were taking a nice midday stroll. No rifles, no car, nothing. Either they were ballsy as hell…or wildly misinformed about this building and the man inside.

Something in you hoped, prayed, they would pass the building. That they were going somewhere else.

They took a sharp turn to cross the street—toward the building entrance—and your breath turned ragged, your blood chilled. At the same time, your mind was churning with practicality, cold and calculated ideas. Some nasty part of you that had gotten you this far in such a dangerous career, that had nestled in you a long time ago and only now resurfaced in the months of being alone.

You could just walk away; they have their job, and they’re professionals. They can handle themselves.

You could go in after and clean up without ever being seen. Easy. The plan you made could still work, Tangerine and Lemon would be a perfect distraction.

But you were already moving. Lega working on their own and putting you into motion. Fingers tapping off the Wi-Fi signal on the jammer while you slung your duffle bag over your shoulder.

This was not the plan, you argued with yourself as you flew down the back stairs. You’ll get yourself killed being this reckless and impulsive. What happened to in and out in 20 mins?

With every point you made the other side of your mind made a counterpoint.

They’re underprepared. They’re misinformed. They don’t have the firepower to walk in the front door, hell, they don’t have enough bullets to make it to the second floor.

“God damn it!” You yelled, taking the stairs down two at a time. Your voice echoed off the walls in the cramped stairwell. The rifles in your duffle bag clattered and banged together.

They’d be killed. Tangerine and Lemon would be killed. You couldn’t let that happen.

. . .

“I say we take a hostage and negotiate our way up.”

“Yeah, sure, Lemon.”

“This guy’s what, a tech billionaire, or something?”

“Probably.”

“Ok, so he’s a nerd. Easy job.”

“Uh-huh.”

Lemon shoots his brother a less than happy look. Tangerine is staring off into space with a slight frown, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he hunches over a little. Which wasn’t new, he’d been doing that a lot lately. A reflection of his dour mood.

Lemon rolls his eyes. “Oh, mate. Come on. We’re on a job.”

Tangerine shrugs, frowning harder. “I’m fuckin’ aware of that, Lemon.”

“Then stop with your sulking! What have I told you?”

“No—” Tangerine waves a hand, “—you don’t need to say it again—”

“Just send her a letter or something. She’d love it.”

Tangerine groans, he’s starting to get a headache now as they near the target building. “As I’ve said before, I attached letters on the flowers I sent.”

Lemon opens his mouth, but Tangerine cuts him off. “And I sent more than one bouquet. For fuck’s sake, her house probably looks like a tropical rainforest by now.”

“What about—”

“I’ve sent her presents. Jewelry. Perfume. A new phone in case hers was broken. Fuckin’ hell I even had her porch repainted.”

“And she didn’t say anything?”

“Nothing.”

Lemon hesitates. “Did you say you’re sorry?”

Now Tangerine was about to lose it. His eye twitched, not that his brother could see it. “Sorry for what? She’s the one that up and disappeared without a word.”

“I still think you should say it. Just to cover your bases.”

“I’m not apologizing. We were all perfect and you know that. She was happy as a clam and if something was wrong, she would have told me.”

“Then why’d she—”

“You’re really getting on my fucking nerves, Lemon.”

They were across the street from the main entrance now. Two glass doors with golden handles reflected the brothers. In sync they both took a sharp turn toward them. Through the glass they didn’t see anyone else in the lobby and there was a long, chest high counter with a clerk along the far back wall.

Neither of them blinked at how empty the lobby was. Their client had said this target was some kind of informant, but that was about it. They’d paid half up front and sent them on their merry way.

Tangerine yanked open the glass door, holding it for Lemon. He was beyond pissed and just wanted this to be over with. Despite his complaints he was still mulling over what his brother said. Should he apologize, even though he had done nothing wrong? He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, and he had thought back on all the times you’d been with them, working a job or not.

He’d been happy, he thought you were happy too.

The white floor tiles of the lobby were so shiny they could check their reflections in them. The whole place was upstanding and flaunted wealth. On both sides of the spacious lobby were two silver elevators. The clerk, a lady in her mid-thirties, looked up at them as they walked in. She picked up a phone and turned away as she spoke.

It took them 10 seconds to reach the desk, and, in that time, Lemon had pulled out his gun.

He pointed it at her now. “Hang up the phone.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Not the usual response someone has when a gun is pointed at them, but she slowly hangs up.

“Come out from behind the desk, slowly.”

There’s a moment when she does nothing. Then, “No.”

Tangerine blinks, then pulls out his own gun. “Did you really just say no? Listen lady—”

She leans forward over the desk, leering. “Turn around and get the fuck out.”

Lemon shoots into the wall slightly to her left. She doesn’t even flinch at the sound. “I will fucking shoot you. Get out. From behind. The desk.”

She leans back. “Cute gun.”

Tangerine starts to get a sinking feeling. He turns to Lemon, about to say they should take a walk (maybe find a back entrance to this place instead) when the woman pulls out .22 Uzi from somewhere in the desk. They only catch a glimpse of the muzzle before they start shooting wildly and ducking.

Lemon takes a shot to the chest with a grunt. Tangerine hears the bullets whizzing past him and shattering glass.

The desk clerk turns disappearing behind an employee door seamlessly built into the wall.

They crouch down next to the desk. Tangerine’s head pounds, as it usually does when a job gets out of control.

“You alright?” He reloads his gun, watching his brother carefully.

Lemon checks himself over, patting his chest and stomach. “Yeah, all good, the vest caught it. This is fucked what do we do—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish as both elevators open and squads of heavily armored men pour out. They all have automatic rifles and black Kevlar vests.

“Behind the desk!” Tangerine shouts, pulling Lemon up.

They jump over just as the bullets start flying. Glass shatters, wood splinters, tiles crack. It’s utter chaos and Tangerine and Lemon can only sit behind cover.

“I think we might be fucked!” Lemon shouts, checking his gun.

Tangerine grits his teeth, mind racing. “The client didn’t mention this level of security! I’m going to wring their fucking neck!”

“We’re outmatched!”

“No question, Lemon! Thanks for pointing that out!” Tangerine can feel his brother’s rising anxiety as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“What do we do?!”

“We hope to God this is all of them and try our best to make it out of here!”

“You’re saying—”

Tangerine fires blindly from behind the desk. “Yes, we bail on this job and break our client’s fucking legs!”

The onslaught never seems to end. These assholes are top security and they’re trained well. Their shots chip away at the desk piece by piece, Tangerine and Lemon can feel the bullets violently embed themselves in the wood against their backs.

Tangerine glances at the employee door, there’s no handle and no way to pry it open. He figures there’s a remote control that opens it somewhere from behind. He tries to remain calm, think of a way out that isn’t behind at least 10 guys with rifles.

What would you do in this situation? His heart feels like it’s been pierced with a lance as he thinks of you. Obviously, you would never be caught in a situation like this. You were careful, practical, methodical in the way you planned out jobs.

He wished you were here with him.

Instinctually, his hand reaches into his pocket, grabbing his phone. Lemon watches him with something close to sympathy on his face.

Your number is on speed dial. Tangerine presses a button and holds it up to his ear.

It goes straight to voicemail.

The automated answering machine has become very familiar to him these last few months. Were you checking his voicemails? He’d left you enough to fill up your mailbox, he was sure of it.

“Please leave a message after the tone.”

He hopes you can hear him over the sound of gunshots.

“Yeah, look. Lemon and I, we’re in a bit of a pickle. I was really hoping you would answer this time ‘cause we need help. Since you didn’t, I just wanted to say that you’re a real prick for leaving us the way you did. And you haven’t said a single thank you or anything for all the gifts I’ve sent. Poor Lemon has been wondering where you went off to.” He pauses. This wasn’t the way he wanted to start this message, but every other attempt at getting your attention has failed.

“You know how I feel, I’ve made that pretty clear. But right now, I’m just pissed. Nothing has worked, so I’m going to break into your house and wait for you to come home.”

Lemon gives him a startled look, shakes his head from side to side.

Tangerine frowns. “Don’t take that the wrong—Alright, I won’t break into your house, but I will wait on your doorstep. Every day, I’ll be there until I see you.”

Lemon is still frowning, but Tangerine ignores him.

“This is all because…Well, I…” He struggles, throat turning dry and closing around the words he wants to say. Instead of continuing, he hangs up.

Sitting back against the desk he exhales. The gunfire has stopped to an occasional patter here and there.

Lemon runs a hand through his hair. “Bruv, what the fuck was that?”

“A last-ditch effort at getting some backup.”

They fell into silence; the lobby was eerily quiet. They knew the security team was just waiting for them to come out from behind the desk. The air crackled with energy.

Lemon checked his pockets. “I’ve got two clips left, you?”

“One and a half.”

The look they share conveys their doubts, their dread. An unspoken conversation passes between them.

Tangerine puts it in the back of his mind. “I’ll run out first, then you go a few seconds later.”

“No way, we go at the same time.”

He shakes his head but arguing only puts off the inevitable.

“Go to the opposite side of the desk.”

They split, crouching behind opposite corners. There was no way either of them would be able to make it two steps without taking 10 rounds to the chest. The image of you stays in Tangerine’s mind. He just wished he could see you again. Whatever comes next, afterlife or not, he hoped you—or some form of you—would be in it.

Tangerine gives Lemon one last look, finds that his brother is watching him, and gives him a somber nod. He holds his gun up, takes a deep breath, gets ready to run…

He’s out from behind the desk, gritting his teeth and firing in a flash.

He hits one, another to his left falls from Lemon’s bullets. His legs are shaky, he can feel them trembling.

Rifles take aim.

Tangerine opens his mouth to urge Lemon on.

And a grenade goes off.

The loud bang startles him, his ears ring and a second later he’s shrouded in white, smokey fog. Tangerine stops, confused, looking around to try and find Lemon. But a strong hand yanks him and drags him back. He stumbles, scattering empty bullet shells along the ground, and falls onto the tile.

He’s back behind the desk. Lemon falls next to him.

A pair of legs stands between the brothers. Next to them lies a green duffle bag. Empty rifle shells fall to the ground. Tangerine didn’t even realize guns were firing. He followed the legs up in one long sweep of his eyes.

. . .

A million and one things were going through your mind as you fired an automatic rifle at the security team in the lobby. The biggest thing was holding back every fiber of your damn being from screaming at Tangerine and Lemon for being so foolish.

If you had been a breath later, a second too late, these idiots would be laying in a pile of their own blood on the floor. That thought definitely won’t haunt you for a few months.

The other thing you were concentrating on was ignoring the way Tangerine was staring at you right now. He’s not hurt—you kept repeating, over and over again. He’s ok.

The security team was scattering for cover, but finding little, making your job easy as the last of the smoke cleared. They hadn’t been expecting someone to come in from behind and you’d shot a few in the back before throwing the smoke grenade. Only a few were left now.

They seemed to get over their surprise and began firing back, opening the elevators, and using the inside cabins for cover. Keeping the doors open would stop them from being sent back up for more goons to come through. That was good.

You duck down behind the desk. They were still staring at you.

“Yes! Hello!” You stubbornly gritted out while staring into the wood.

Tangerine’s mouth opened and closed many times, but no words came out. That didn’t mean Lemon wasn’t able to say anything.

“Did you get his message?” He was grinning like some kind of fool.

“Message? Which one?”

Was he talking about the hundreds of messages—texts, voicemails, and letters—Tangerine had been sending on a weekly basis? Yes, you’d gotten them. Read every single one. It had been hard enough sleeping normally, after all that you hadn’t been able to sleep at all. The guilt was overwhelming.

Lemon’s eyes dart to his brother. You did the same and regretted it immediately.

Tangerine’s eyes were practically bulging from his head. His mustache twitched.

Oh, he’s pissed.

You quickly look away and clear your throat. “Are you on a job?”

“Yeah, a shit one. We were just trying to bail.”

“Can’t blame you. What happened, bad intel?”

Tangerine’s voice resembled a growl, it grated against your ear, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. “Understatement of the century, love.”

Love. Love. Love.

Lemon wipes his forehead. “What’re you doing here?”

“I have my own problems with your target.” You turn to Lemon but feel Tangerine’s eyes burning a hole in your back. “I was about to sneak in when I saw you two walking down the street.” You check your gun, then rummage through the duffle bag for another clip.

“A massive coincidence then?” Lemon was holding back a smile, eyes darting to Tangerine occasionally. It was as if they weren’t just about to die only five minutes ago.

“If you two still want to bail, that’s fine with me. I’ll give you a window after taking the rest out. I’m going to push on.”

Tangerine spins you around by the shoulder to face him. “Are you fucking mental?”

You’re very close together. The determination it takes not to just lean in and…

Speaking slow, you’re focusing your words and hoping it gets through to him. “Your target has info on me that could get people hurt and ruin my reputation. I need to wipe his computer.”

For all his credit, Tangerine takes you seriously in that moment, even as he looks like he might commit murder. He looks to Lemon—they do that ‘sibling conversation’ without words that they’re so good at.

“We’ll stick around to help.”

“You sure?”

Something in him ignites. There’s a fire behind his eyes. “Fuck yes, we’re sure.”

He’s giving mixed signals now. Is he angry? Probably. But apparently not angry enough to leave you on a job alone.

“Alright…” You say, slowly backing away.

You search through the duffle bag, cold objects graze your fingers, you can identify them each by touch. The laser cutter has a rubber handle. “Lemon—" You toss it to him. “—Cut a hole in the employee door. Tangerine—” You grab another rifle, placing it into his hands. “—Help me take out the last of the guys.”

He takes the rifle and for a moment your hands touch. You expect him to flinch away, or recoil, but he lingers there for a moment. His golden rings gleam—of course he wore them, he never leaves them behind—and catch your eyes until he takes the gun from you.

Fucking confusing.

It had been months, but the three of you worked together like no time had passed at all. Tangerine falling in sync with you, watching your back. Working in tandem, the few remaining riflemen dropped like flies.

“Doors open!” Lemon shouted tapping you and Tangerine’s shoulder.

The three of you waste no time dashing into the small service hallway. Tangerine grabbed the duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. You were just about to pick it up, but he gave you a look.

There wasn’t as much polish to this part of the building, the lighting was dimmer, and it lacked the white tiles, replaced by a steely gray metal flooring instead. The hallway was long and narrow, its walls matched the floor in color.

“This should lead to an employee elevator. That will take us to the top office.” You panted, oddly exhilarated.

Lemon was looking down the hallway as he crouched. “Watch out for the desk clerk, she went this way.”

“Still can’t believe you both just walked in the front door…”

“We don’t all have your sense of planning, darling.” Tangerine huffed, hiking the bag higher on his shoulder.

“Did you have any sense of planning?”

“Lemon had a plan.”

You turn halfway back to face him. “You—Tangerine!”

He fixes you with an odd look. “What?”

“Lemon doesn’t even read the briefs! And you let him make the plan?” You shoot an apologetic look to Lemon. “No offense, you’re really great in every other area.”

He gives you a half smile. “I appreciate that.”

Tangerine grinds his teeth. “In my defense, the intel in the brief was already bad.” He steps closer, into your personal space. “And you always come up with the plans.”

You don’t shy away from him, in fact, you inch closer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to make them, but you should know better—”

Lemon sighs, long and loud. “Can you two please focus? We’re in the middle of a dangerous situation here.”

It took a moment for you and Tangerine to resume, the closeness was intimate. Electricity crackles in the air between you.

You both say ‘Fine’ at the same time, like stubborn teenagers. The tension hadn’t settled one bit.

If Tangerine needed to be ignored for the remainder of this mission, then ok. That’s fine. No problem. That doesn’t bother you one bit. Nope.

The three of you empty the duffle bag of its contents, splitting the ammo and giving Lemon the pump action shotgun. That shotgun was your Hail Mary in case shit hit the fan—which, by your definition, it had.

You three were your own personal attack squad now, armed to the teeth.

The employee lift was at the end of the twisting hallway, metallic doors shining like a beacon. The panel to call it only had the arrow pointing up, a one-way lift. You’d poured over the maps late into the night leading up to your personal mission, often with a glass of wine, and it had struck you as odd that it only offered a one way up.

You jab at the button, and the little golden light is stark against the greys around it. Tangerine stands just behind you; you can hear his breath over your shoulder.

“Why’s it only one way?” he asks, hushed and tense.

“I asked the same question.” You responded turning a little to look at him. “I thought it might be security measures.”

“Doesn’t really make sense though, does it? It lets people like us up.” Tangerine zeroes in on your frown. “What is it?”

“There might be internal controls from the top office. This guy doesn’t fuck around with security.”

“Who is this guy anyway?” Lemon sniffs, casting a look back down the hallway.

“An asshole that likes snooping into people’s personal business.”

The brothers trade looks.

“He also works in satellite tech, undercover ops, information gathering.”

There’s a gentle bump into your shoulder. “He’s been snooping into your business, has he?”

How long is this elevator going to take?

“He has.”

“Did he try to blackmail you?”

“Yes.”

“What did he find?”

The elevator dings and the sleek metal doors slide open. The inside is full of ominous red and gold hues. The luxuriousness of it gives you the impression that the boss of the building takes it regularly.

Instead of answering, you step inside and forcefully hit the button for the top floor. Tangerine watches you carefully, studying you. Somehow, he looks like a kicked puppy, yet holding the rifle he takes on a much more sinister tone. He still looks dashing as hell in his suit though. You can see the little gold chain of his necklace around his broad neck.

Focus, focus, focus!

His mustache twitches a bit as he catches you staring. And to top that off, he stands in front of you, very closely in front. Either trying to shield you or irritate you. Possibly both.

He’s wearing the cologne you got him as a present almost a year ago.

“If there’s in house security for this lift, we should be prepared.” You shift a little to see Lemon over Tangerine’s shoulder.

“What do you suggest?”

“They know we’re coming, so we have to be fast. Their access to elevators has been blocked. All remaining security teams will need to take the stairs. This elevator opens to another employee hallway that we’ll have to exit in order to reach the office. That’s assuming—”

The elevator stutters, something above you screeches in the elevator shaft, and the panel lights flicker. All three of you stumble as it comes to an abrupt stop and the dim emergency lights switch on. They coat the interior in a faint red light, turning it into a nightmare scenario.

You groan. “That’s assuming they don’t just turn the elevator off. Fuck.”

Lemon places the shotgun on the floor and motions to Tangerine. Together they pry the paneling off to reveal the switchboard underneath. Lemon fusses with the wiring, using a knife to cut through some and connect it to others.

Sparks fly, flashing in the dim light. Your anxiety ramps. Trapped in an elevator was not on your list of things you wanted to deal with today.

While Lemon fussed with wires, Tangerine turned back to you. “Relax.”

“Excuse me?”

“Try to stay calm, we’ll be out in a second or two.”

Your blood boiled hot. “Don’t tell me to be calm.”

Tangerine smiles at you. “I know you hate elevators.”

“They’re fine, I just particularly hate being trapped in them.”

“Just relax, I’ve got you.”

“That doesn’t help at all!”

More sparks and flickering lights and the elevator doors open an inch. Tangerine has the audacity to smirk in that moment and he touches your chin briefly. His eyes gleam in the dim light.

If you all lived, you were going to kill him.

The twins work wordlessly to pry the elevator doors open. It takes a tremendous effort and both of them are sweaty and breathing hard at the end, but there’s enough space for a person to climb through. Except, you’re going to have to jump down into the office below. Half the elevator is blocked.

“Well, good news is…” Lemon says, scratching his head, “we can get out. And if the elevator can only fall downward.”

“The elevator only goes up, Lemon.” You choke out.

“Oh. Right…well, best get a move on then.”

“I’ll go first.” Tangerine volunteers.

On instinct you reach for him. He sees the slight movement before you hold yourself back.

As if it was easy, he’s crouching down, squeezing through the doors, and jumping into the office below. All with his gun in his hand. Meanwhile, your heart is doing summersaults in your throat.

He holds his hands up, beckoning you. “Come on. You’ve done harder things than this.”

You force yourself to move, crouching down and inching toward the opening. You toss him your rifle. “Like when?”

“Like when you jumped between rooftops in Venezuela.”

“I wasn’t thinking when I did that! And in hindsight, it was fucking stupid of me.”

He laughs. “I’ve got you. Come on.”

You squeeze through the doors, imagining the elevator crashing down, the doors snapping shut, something—anything drastic, and then throw yourself at Tangerine. He catches you with practiced ease and holds you close to him.

He says something you don’t catch over the sound of your trembling breaths. There’s a pat on your shoulder, Lemon is out.

Regaining yourself, you move away from Tangerine and straighten your clothes. His brow furrows, mustache tilts down. Maybe it was your imagination, but did his fingers grip your clothes? A silent plea for you to stay?

You do your best to ignore it. “Let’s go. Did anyone catch what floor we stopped on?”

“37th.” Lemon says, handing over your gun.

“Two floors short.”

“You think they’re waiting for us?”

“I’d bet money on it. Be careful, both of you. I don’t want to see any heroics.”

Tangerine’s eyes follow you as you move to the front and lead them through the hallway at a jogging pace. The single door at the end is much like the one you entered on the first-floor lobby. There’s a control panel for it to the side. As you run up to it, you press your ear to the other side.

No noise.

Your hand hovers over the button. With one last look behind you at the twins you give them a nod, then press it. The door clicks open a fraction, and everything goes to shit.

They were waiting for you on the other side of the door and the gunfire started up immediately. Your vision was blocked immediately, and you were pushed and tugged out by a strong hand—the world was a blur of loud shots, ringing ears, and scrambling. Grey cubicles shoulder-height tall were set up along the floor, which made spotting the enemy incredibly hard. All the fighting was done in the tight walkways between the office spaces.

Your shirt had blood on it, but you had no bullet wounds. Tangerine sat beside you, holding an arm. He’d been shot in his right arm.

“I said no heroics!” You practically shrieked.

Lemon was firing between cubicles, and from the sound of it, he was holding his own.

“What was I supposed to do, love?” Tangerine pants through the pain.

“You’re supposed to let me handle it!” You’re shouting as you pull out some gauze. The bullet went straight through his upper arm. He’d need stitches but, overall, he would be ok. You poke and prod gently as he hisses with each touch.

His teeth are gritted as he grunts out, “You wanted to get shot?”

“I’d take a bullet for you, happily. You know that.”

“I feel the same way, which is what I was doing.”

“I still don’t want you to!”

“I don’t want you to, either!”

Something bounces off your back. It’s a stapler. Both you and Tangerine stare at it for a moment, confused.

“Oi! You two! Get over yourselves and actually talk about your feelings for once!”

You whip around to stare daggers at Lemon. “Did you just throw a stapler at me?!”

He’s taking cover behind a grey cubicle not too far away. “Yeah, I did! I’m sick of you two avoiding an actual conversation. Talk—it—out!”

Tangerine sits up, pushing against your hands on his chest in your weak attempt to keep him down. “You’ve lost your mind, mate!”

“Thomas would say to express your feelings, that bottling them up is bad for you! So, express them!”

“Is it really necessary—” You pick up your rifle and fire blindly down the walkway, “—to do this now? We’re a little busy!”

“It’s now or never, I know you two! Once all this stops, you’ll avoid it!”

Tangerine looks perplexed, like he’s really considering it, and you try not to look at him again. “Fuck this job!” You shout, before rolling into the walkway and opening fire.

The two or three men that hadn’t been behind cover are caught by surprise and the bullets chew through the walls of the cubicles. A deadly silence permeates the office floor, only the ringing in your ears remains.

Another shot rings out and you feel like your shoulder’s been ripped from the socket.

You’re thrown back onto the ground. It must have been a heavy round, your left arm is completely numb, do you even have an arm left?

There’s shouting and more gunshots, the grey office walls and floor merge into one as the room spins. You’re getting pulled off the ground, someone is prodding your arm. Absentmindedly, you swat at whoever is doing it.

“Listen, hey, open your eyes!”

Tangerine…

You obey. He’s inches in front of your face, brows furrowed, a vein in his forehead sticks out.

“I’m fine.” You cough out. “Just fell down, is all.”

“You’ve been shot!”

“Oh.”

He struggles, he looks like he has more to say, but stays silent. You swat at Lemon who’s wrapping your arm—or shoulder, more accurately. “I’m fine, let’s keep going.”

“You’re not fine.” Lemon grunts, pushing your hand away. “It was a .308 round. You’ll be lucky if you have any bones left in your shoulder.”

“Why’d you do that?!” Tangerine is shouting, running his hand through his hair. You both match now, he’s bandaged up on his left arm too.

“Do what?” You ask through gritted teeth as Lemon tightens the bandage.

“Run out like an absolute lunatic?”

“I told you I’d take a bullet for you.”

His eyes bug out. “You threw yourself into the line of fire!”

“All in a day’s work. Now, can we get back to it?” You don’t wait for a response, instead pushing yourself to your feet. Your left arm hangs to the side, limp and numb. A dull throb pulses through your side.

Tangerine watches you. “We need to have a serious discussion when this is over, love.”

You huff out a breath, swaying slightly. “Noted.”

The three of you push on in tense silence. Tangerine makes sure you’re behind him while the rest of the floors leading to the main penthouse office are cleared. He’s acting so stubborn, blocking you at every turn, holding you back with a gentle, yet unyielding hand. The vein in his forehead never goes away.

Finally, the double doors leading to the office are before you. Platinum gold, of course, with carved handles. This guy’s style was beginning to get obnoxious.

Lemon kicks open the doors with as much anger and prejudice as you feel (yet can’t muster at the moment). Instead of what you were expecting, the target stands alone behind his desk. He smirks, giving off a Wall Street investor impression with his pressed suit and perfectly cut hair.

He spreads his arms wide. “I really should have known you three would be together for this.”

“Shut up, wanker.” Tangerine shouts, pointing his gun.

The target opens his mouth to say more, but Tangerine doesn’t let him. He empties the clip into the man’s chest.

The target dies with a startled look on his face, falling back over his desk.

You move past Tangerine, fighting his hands that grip at your clothing. “Thank God for that.”

The computer is easily hacked, the files you’re after are on the desktop. Maybe the dead man was looking to bargain—or gloat. You glance at his dead, glazed over eyes.

Bastard.

Tangerine paces, looking at you often. His job is done, the confirmation is sent to the client through Lemon’s phone.

Your files are downloaded onto an encrypted flash drive, and you rip the wiring out of the computer’s back, smashing the server tower. Mission accomplished.

“I guess now that you have what you need, you’ll disappear again.” Tangerine is glaring at you, chewing his lip. His bandage is bloody.

The flood gates open.

“I needed these files!” You shout, worsening the headache you already have.

Tangerine shouts back, taking a step closer. “I would have understood if you had just told me!”

“I couldn’t have told you!”

“Why not?”

“Because—well—I didn’t—It doesn’t matter now!”

“So, you disappear for months, without a word, for something you won’t even tell me about?!”

“I didn’t want to involve you! I wanted to get this done myself!”

“I’m involved now!”

“It was a shitty coincidence you showed up here today, and I’m sorry you got hurt because of this job!”

“I’m not concerned about me!”

“Well, you should be! I care about your safety!”

“And I care about yours!”

In the corner, Lemon shakes his head.

You hold your arm, trying to work some feeling back into it. It throbs and you wish you hadn’t. “I would have come back after this was done.”

“Oh, really?” Tangerine laughs dryly. “How was I to know?”

You groan, throat turning dry. “You’re so impatient! I just needed a little time!”

“You know how often I tried to reach you—?”

“Yes! I heard every message, got every bouquet of flowers—and thank you for my porch, that was really nice.”

Tangerine flounders a little, he still wants to argue, but some of the steam has been let out. “A thank you would have been nice.”

“I’m thanking you now!”

“A whole good that did when I thought you were done with me—” He shoots a look at his brother, “—and Lemon!”

“I’ll say I’m sorry a thousand more times, Tangerine! Is that what you want?”

He turns his back to you, grumbling something.

“I don’t understand why it was such a big deal to you, we’re contractors! We kill people for a living, and you’re freaking out—”

He spins back around. “It’s a big deal because I thought you were hurt.” He stalks closer, you notice his hair has come undone from the neat gel, curls flair out around his neck. “I thought something happened to you!” He’s within arm’s distance now. “It’s a big deal because I love you!”

And then he stops. His eyes go wide, as if he’s just spilled a secret.

Fuck, he did just spill a secret. Maybe you had known, but he’s never said anything. It was always just little guesses here and there, a thought—a feeling—and inclination. Late nights, especially recently, that you spent thinking about it, wondering.

Your mouth falls open in the silence. “I—I…love…” but damned if your mouth just wasn’t getting it out.

Arguing and bickering was so much easier.

But he knows, he can see it in the way your eyes soften, in the way you swallow with a dry throat. In the way your hand reaches to him, and your body leans forward.

“You know…” Lemon says, looking up from his phone, “Most people would kiss at this point. Just a suggestion.”

A quip, a very fitting one, comes to mind and you’re about to tell Lemon just how you’re not normal people, when Tangerine pulls you to him. Your chest presses to his and his lips are on yours in an instant.

Hungry, needy. It’s desperate, an urgent need be close, to be touching. Burning with desire and hot with passion. You give into it.

His mustache scratches at your lips and you pull him into you, threading your fingers through his curly hair, mussing it up even more. His hands grip at your back, pull at your clothes.

Closer. You need to be closer.

Fuck air, the feeling of his lips moving against yours is the only thing you’ll ever need again.

Your arm throbs and the dull pulse shoots up to your chest. You sigh, half in pain and half in pleasure. Unfortunately, Tangerine pulls back. There’s blood on his lips and he looks concerned.

“Wait…” You mumble, trying to pull him back to you. He’s your lifeline now.

“You need a doctor, love.”

“Just a little longer.”

Tangerine chuckles, wrapping an arm around your back. “After you’re patched up. I promise.”

…Bonus…

“You’re going to ‘break into my house and wait for me to come home’?”

Tangerine groans, throwing his head back as you walk into the small office. Private clinics with ‘respectable’ doctors. Gotta love ‘em.

“Love, I didn’t mean it, I was in a life-or-death situation—I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”

You give a good-natured laugh, sitting next to him. You’d been patched up first, Tangerine was just waiting for some blood work to come back.

Tangling your fingers in his you give his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m just teasing, Tan. I know.”

“Ok.” He sighs, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Good.”

You ruffle through your pockets to pull out your phone, your arm stings, but the pain medication the doc gave you does wonders. “I thought about it, I think you deserve to know why I was after your target.”

He looks at you with new interest now.

You tilt your screen to show him.

It had pictures of you and Tangerine. Pictures of you sitting together at lunch, laughing. Pictures of you walking down the street together, arm in arm. Pictures of you looking like a couple.

“Oh,” he breathes out, “I see.”

“I was worried you’d be put in danger if these…well, if they got into the wrong hands.”

“Didn’t want our clients to think we were softies either, huh?”

“That too.”

He presses his face into your hair. He hasn’t expressed his feelings for you again, but you’re starting to realize he always had—just through actions instead. A gentle hand on the small of your back. Wrapping an arm around your waist. Leaning down to speak softly into your ear.

These were just as much of an expression as words.

“Will we have to do this every time?” he asks, voice muffled slightly.

“Every time what?”

“It’s only a matter of time before more pictures of us make it into someone’s hands.”

“Oh. That’s a good point.”

He pulls you a little closer. “I’ll be dammed if I have to stop taking you out over that.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to kill whoever tries something like that again.”

“We’ll do it together next time, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

#Tangerine x Reader #Fem!Reader #Tangerine Bullet Train #Bullet Train

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pearls-and-vignettes · 11 months ago

Text

Spaceway 70 - Pablo

The Marlin heaves out of the darkened dock, whining with unwarmed engines. A simple objective:

- Assess damages, neutralize threats.

I've done it a million times before. Come to think of it,—

Red lights blare outside and the station's distress call is picked up by the radio. I fly around the cylindrical body—perform a systematic scan. How would the incident report be written?

- Upper hull damaged in a hit-and-run bombing; station status unknown.

- Soldier casualties: ...

Soldiers. They never chose to lay down their lives—to fight for an uncaring ruler—not them.

- Assailant(s): Unknown vessel, presumed solitary. Heat signature detected, actively pursuing.

Ambiguous language. Open to litigation. Sarge would be sad.

- Disregard previous entry. Chasing assailant via engine heat; infrared reading with 0.87 certainty. Monitoring radar.

- Radar confirms a small ship. Moving at 75% of own velocity. Distance 2000 mi.

- 1500.

- Approaching civilian zone

- 1000.

- 500.

- 250.

- 175.

- 100.

- 50.

- 25.

- Contact.

They pull up and to the left, attempting to get above and behind me, though it's too little, too late.

- Assailant neutralized with ballistics. Assumed to have hit engine.

- Upon visual examination, there appears to have been no pilot. Control is either automated or remote. No outstanding radio frequency detected.

Darn...

Out and ahead of me are markers indicating a commercial route. Safe for traders.

A transponder on one of the markers pings my ship. Something about remaining in place, a unit arriving soon. I don't make it a good hundred miles before a squad comes in with weapons hot.

I dodge a few shots and they graze me with a laser. I'm not about to make war with a whole task force.

The Marlin is a ship of esoteric construction. It has a hull constructed for incredibly heavy salvos—granted you have enough sealant [1] aboard. It comes with a cloak [2], more a scrambler than anything, which uses up insane amounts of power, and an EM pulse [3] which likewise drains my batteries. It's a perfect ship for an early retirement [4], as long as my encounters are few and far between.

With the push of a fader I turn my radio into a tool of war, creating a streak of white along their IR imager and making their radar unusable. Similarly, with a press of a button the magnetron pulses on, disabling their steering and warming up their cabins.

- Three combatants neutralized; nonlethal means

Two more pull down and in front, shooting and missing. I pull up and turn around, hoping to hit them with more microwaves.

< -#- VACDETEC V1.4 -#- >

< ALARM >

I begin to sweat as the laser weapon dissipates as heat into my cockpit.

< HULL SEALED >

< SEALANT AT 25% >

I need to leave.

I reach up to grab a solar compass [5] and scribble my heading onto the cockpit glass.

- Taking extratactical measures: Magnetron shielding angle set to 175.8 degrees

< ## Are you sure? Use of EMP with current settings may cause systems to misbehave. ## >

[ YES ]

Navigation goes dark as two more ships behind me lose steering. I launch a wide-range RF jammer [6] and a hot net [7]. I cut my engines and seal the exhaust [8].

This is a special dance they taught us in Academy; " . . . each ship has its own precise limits, though with them come potential," they had us memorize old literature, "that is why you must know yours more intimately than the body of your lover . . . " I positioned one hand over the exhaust control and another over the ignition. Two seconds, three seconds, and

< -#- SHELL -#- >

< ALARM >

The ship rattles as I rocket dead ahead in the direction of home. Another alarm blares on my monitor,

A few milliseconds too late. I hear a faint whisper—a hiss—join the chorus of the Marlin's song. I'm sorry. I'll fix it soon. It'll be ok.

" . . . for each time you take up the helm, you partake in a romance far more real than any other, for no other can see the terror

of a deprivation so terrible, or a death so swift."

[1]: A chemical formulation which undergoes an extremely exothermic reaction when exposed to the vacuum of space. Akin to tire sealant from when vulcanized rubber was used for land vehicles.

[2]: A system consisting of telescoping antennae and an ultra-high amplitude RF generator. Hides a ship's exact location within a much broader, irregular radio signature.

[3]: A high-powered magnetron capable of producing strong microwaves with multiple miles of range. Temporarily scrambles navigation systems, causing affected ships to veer off-course.

[4]: I can't keep doing this

[5]: An indicator which points in the direction of the closest star, when properly calibrated. Detects the unique products of nuclear fusion.

[6]: Akin to the cloak, a disposable projectile which blanks out vast swathes of a ship's radio imager.

[7]: A large, mechanized retroreflector which concentrates heat from all directions, and shoots it back at the viewer, making infrared imaging of a ship nearly impossible.

[8]: In reference to a mechanism which seals the exhaust vents of the Marlin. This turns the entirety of the engine tract into a bomb. A stupid idea if held closed for more than a few seconds.

#`twtocwbart

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jakelandryshorts · 2 years ago

Text

The Wrestler

(AI art created by Jammer Link)

“Mr-Mr Stafford? I don’t think wrestling is right for me…” Ned stammered as he walked into the wrestling room. The strong smell of musk filled his nose and he found it hard to breathe.

“It’s coach,” Coach Stafford snapped.

“Of course! Sorry! Coach!” Ned quickly corrected himself. He didn’t understand this sports stuff too well. He was just in the library studying for his Intro to Biology 1100. College was so new for him, that he didn’t fully understand what was expected of him but he figured he had to try to say yes a little more than he had when he was in high school. That’s why when Coach Stafford came over and asked him to join the wrestling team, he spoke without thinking. “But I’ve never wrestled before…”

“That’s alright,” Coach Stafford said. “Everyone has to start somewhere. And as long as you listen to me, you’ll do fine.” His brow raised as he looked down at Ned. It was the tone drop that made Ned really shake. “You are going to listen to me, right?”

“Of-Of course! I’ll do whatever you say coach!” Ned said dutifully. As he agreed he couldn’t help but feel as though there was something different about him all of a sudden. He brushed it off.

Coach Stafford’s grim mood quickly changed. “Good. Go put these on.” He handed Ned a pair of tight wrestling shorts.

Ned did as he was told. Any resistance he would have met with, instantly turned into reasons why he should listen. He couldn’t exactly wrestle in his normal clothes. Besides what if they got all sweaty or gross?

“Good,” Coach Stafford said. “And you’re okay with me making you big and strong?”

“Y-yeah,” Ned nodded. He wouldn’t have minded gaining a bit of muscle on his weak frame.

“And you’re okay with me telling you what to do?”

“You are my coach,” Ned answered.

Coach’s smile broadened. “Perfect. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Ned’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Something about Coach Stafford felt off. It was almost like he looked semitransparent. “Co—” Ned was about to say before a glowing ethereal mist that was heading directly for his open mouth. It entered inside of him.

“Sorry bud. This’ll be a bit uncomfortable,” Coach Stafford said as more of his body grew more transparent.

Ned struggled to say something. Anything at all. Only gagged muffled sounds escaped from his mouth. He tried to grab at the string of mist entering inside of him, but its incorporeal form was impossible to grab onto. His fingers slipped through the glowing green mist. He can feel it going down his throat and clinging to his gullet. A small bulge of a tummy pushes out from his thin body.

“C-coach?” Ned asked the now empty room. His mind was reeling from what just happened. Even stranger was the full feeling in his tummy. He rubbed it gently trying to calm it down. “Coach Staff—” A deep grunt forced its way out of his chest. Ned’s body buckled. Whatever was inside him was starting to move. It was stretching out his insides.

A series of moans and groans filled the room as he rolled around on the wrestling matt. It was the craziest feeling. Every part of his body was pulsing. Ned could almost see his muscles growing. What had been completely weak and undefined was rapidly refining itself. Muscles molded and sculpted itself onto his frame at an alarming rate.

He could see his biceps forming and rounding out. Thick forearms with a dense lattice of veins led to massive hands. His neck widened. The moans and groans only grew deeper. Each time resonating more off the concrete walls.

Ned could feel his bones growing longer. He was getting taller. His shoulders were wider while his waist stayed perfectly trimmed. His silhouette actually looked somewhat intimidating. “F-FUCK!” He cried out as his back arched. The growth of his quads happened to press hard against his dick that was currently raging in his wrestling pants.

His massive hands gently massaged and moved it out of the way. Slowly Ned came back down from his painful state. He rolled around a bit before standing up and looking at his reflection. The one looking back wasn’t what he remembered. The feminine face he had had, had squared itself off into a masculine jaw. His brow had pushed forward a bit and his eyes were almost dark and mysterious. He reached up and ran his hand across the tiny bit of peach fuzz rounding his mouth.

“What the—”

“And I was saying…” Three guys walked into the wrestling arena. They stopped and looked over at Ned. “Oh? Is the fresh meat already here?” The other two laughed. “Let’s get a few things straight. I’m not some pansy ass bitch like Luke was. You’ll listen to me because I’m seniority here. Got it?”

Ned felt his eyes roll. “Maybe if you could actually win a match when we needed it, I’d consider it.” Ned said. But Ned didn’t say it. He could see his mouth moving in the mirror and feel the words vibrating in his throat. And even though it sounded like Ned with a slightly deeper more commanding tone.

The guy looked stunned. Then pissed. “Really bitch?” he stomped forward. “You think just cause you’re new here I’m going to take it easy on you? What’s your name bitch?”

“Ned,” Ned replied. He was screaming in his head, but it came out with a calm and cool confidence. “Why don’t you prove that you’re worth listening to?”

Anger turned into rage. “FINE! One round. Loser has to do whatever the winner says! And don’t think those showy muscles you got are going to do much of anything. You need real talent to do anything against me.”

“Talent?” Ned scoffed.

‘WHAT THE FUCK!?’ Ned was screaming inside his head as his body readied itself to wrestle this other guy. He didn’t understand what was going on or why his body was doing this.

‘Calm down,’ he heard Coach Stafford’s voice in his head. ‘You’re distracting me… It’s annoying. Just calm down and go along with it. I don’t need you fuckin’ this up. Got it?’

Ned went quiet. He didn’t understand it, but if Coach Stafford was still around, that meant at least, in some sort of nebulous way, something made sense.

It was Ned’s body that set itself up in front of the other wrestler. Even though he’d never done anything in his life like this, his body took on perfect form. One of the other guys watching counted down. On one, the other wrestler charged.

“Asshole…” Ned grunted.

The wrestler just smirked. He had grabbed a hold of Ned’s body. But Ned’s leg had made its way behind the wrestler’s body. It swept the wrestler’s leg out and the two fell to the ground Ned quickly recovered and went for the pin. The wrestler struggled as much as he could, but the sheer strength in Ned’s body made that completely useless.

The two lackies reluctantly began to count. They waited as long as they possibly could, but Ned was declared the victor.

“Fucker,” the wrestler growled. “Two out of three.”

“God damn you’re a little bitch. Do you really think that another round is going to turn out differently? Or is it that you just loved feeling my body on top of yours?” Ned smirked. He raised a bicep and flexed it showing off. “I mean I wouldn’t mind getting on top of you again.” The strain in the singlet only grew as more blood pumped into his dick. It looked like a full blackjack club was running down his left leg.

The wrestler flexed. His anger was still raging. “Whatever asshole.”

“Oh! One more thing,” Ned said. “Kiss it.”

“WHAT?!” the wrestler roared.

“Kiss it,” Ned positioned his massive dick forward. “You said I could make you do whatever I wanted. Right? Or are you that much of a loser bitch that you can’t even keep up on that? Or maybe it’s not enough… Do you want to suck me off? Or feel it deep inside your asshole?”

The devilish smirk on Ned’s face only pissed the wrestler off even more. But that was the deal. He dropped to his knees and gave Ned’s massive slong a kiss. “Fuck you…” the wrestler cursed as he went to leave again.

‘Phew…’ Coach Stafford’s voice rang inside of Ned’s head. ‘What an asshole. Am I right?’

‘But what just happened?’ Ned question.

‘Hmm? Oh. I just took over your body. Sorry about that. It’s just Luke graduated and was going to start his new job that I needed someone new to take his place. Hope you don’t mind. After a little while when you start learning how to wrestle, I’ll let the training wheels off. Alright?’

Ned felt as though he had control over his body again. The amount of power that he could feel in his arms felt unbelievable. Even just standing there he felt like he could lift the world. He flexed and watched as different muscles on his body bulged and shifted. ‘Yeah… I don’t mind…’ he smiled.

(more stories over on my wordpress)

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phregnancy · 5 months ago

Text

i don’t think phil’s “irrational” fear of home invasion is irrational. is not everyone scared of home invasion? do you not purchase door jammers and portable door locks and door stop alarms just in case? do you not sleep with weapons in your nightstand and an extra one tucked under your side of the mattress? just me and phil?

#i am a little neurotic but i think home invasion is a very reasonable fear #people invade homes

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tdtd-au · 9 months ago

Note

Just one Egg hammer? That’s it? Omega is gonna be pissed. You guys should at least leave it for him to destroy so he has some kind of reward for coming all the way here.

"Yeah we Probably should...."

"We can totally take it though. And there's probably an alarm on the jammer anyway that will bring more bots."

"hmmmm. Well, it would be easier for them to find us if an alarm sounded."

#miles tails prower #kit the fennec #story

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pixiemage · 2 years ago

Text

There’s Not a Word Yet - Pt. 4

“And I Should Have Said It Before You Were Gone”

[ Previous | Next? ]

Inspired by this post by @raviodoesstuff {This work can also be found on Archive of our Own}

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“It’s just a server glitch,” Jimmy said, swirling his bottle of melon juice where he and Tango were standing off to the side, away from the rest of the group. He made a face, his frown illuminated by the light of the campfire most of their Double Life servermates were gathered around. “Fwhip says it’ll be patched up soon…but ‘soon’ could be anywhere between two days and two months, knowing him.”

It was said with a half-humorous chuckle, one that made Tango grin slightly from where he was leaning against the trunk of the nearest tree. He stabbed at his slice of cake with a fork. The vanilla sponge gave way easily, smearing a bit of frosting along his plate. He took a bite, chewed, swallowed.

“…what kind of glitch?” Tango asked curiously, his head tilting at his avian partner. (Some of the buttercream stuck to the roof of his mouth and he poked at it with his tongue, trying to clear some of the stickiness from his palate before he spoke again.) “I mean - is it dangerous? If you guys are gonna be in trouble by heading back to Empires, I can talk to Xisuma about–”

“No, no!” Jimmy quickly shook his head, the feathers around his ears fluffing up in alarm. He waved his hands in front of him, wide-eyed, his juice bottle sloshing slightly. “Nonono, nothing like that! It’s just - connection issues, he says. Unstable connection. The server’s having a bit of trouble stayin’ hooked up to the main hub, is all. Which is annoying, sure, but there’s plenty o’ servers and worlds that run offline.”

Jimmy wasn’t wrong, Tango supposed. While less common, it wasn’t exactly unheard of for people to create group servers with the explicit purpose of disconnecting them from the hub. Tango couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on one himself - Hermitcraft, though private, was always connected so members could come and go as they pleased - but a handful of his friends used them often enough. Impulse and Skizz usually disconnected their Naked and Scared worlds to keep themselves dedicated to their survival challenge, and Grian had opted to temporarily disconnect his last hardcore server after finding out that repurposing the previous Life server for hardcore use had left it open to anyone who had been on the 3rd Life server prior.

And if Tango remembered correctly, hadn’t Grian’s old server - the one he’d been on before joining Hermitcraft - also been disconnected from the hub? The one he and Jimmy had been on together, right? Ego or Emo or…something. Evo? Yeah, that sounded right…

“Well that’s not so bad then,” Tango smiled, shrugging off his worry. “Your admin…uh…”

“Fwhip.”

“Fwhip, yeah,” he nodded, prodding at his cake again. “He’ll be able to keep the connection steady long enough for all of you to hop servers?”

“Yeah, of course!” Jimmy brightened slightly, a small smile coming to life on his face. “We’ll be fine. It’s only Joel, Scott, an’ me who’ve not joined yet. They’re waiting to start the season until we all get there. It’s just–” His smile faltered and he fiddled with the bottle in his hands, his wings twitching behind him. “...well like I said, there’s been…connection issues. And, er…it–” He fumbled the bottle, nearly dropped it, caught it at the last second, and clutched it to his chest with a strained look on his face. “...well it’s the comms too.”

The - what? Tango paused with a forkful of cake halfway to his mouth, eyeing Jimmy curiously. The server itself having connection issues was one thing. That wasn’t too uncommon, even if it didn’t happen frequently. But communicators were directly connected to players themselves. They didn’t require a server connection to function. So…

“That sounds like a localized jammer virus,” Tango muttered, his eyes narrowed. “That’s - yikes. They’re fixable, but your admin’s gonna have a heck of a time chasing it down. Those things are wriggly little pests.”

Jimmy’s eyes took on a slightly clueless crinkle, his brows half-furrowing in the shadows of the treeline where they had sequestered themselves. In the low light from the distant fire and from Tango’s barely-glowing hair, Tango watched Jimmy blink blankly at him with an adorable little tilt of his head. The corner of Tango’s mouth tugged upward in amusement and he shook his head, waving away his own thoughtlessness.

“Uh - sorry,” he murmured. “Forgot you haven’t been an admin for many servers.” He shoved his fork into his mouth and finished the bite of cake before he carried on. “Jammer viruses don’t pop up often, so I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of ‘em. They’re almost bots, the way they’re coded. They block signals and they know how to hide. They’re programmed to cause problems in a way that stops any server admins from bein’ able to message out for help.”

“Are they dangerous?” Jimmy asked. His fingers were drumming against his bottle of melon juice rapidly, nervously, and once he realized what he was doing he banished it to his inventory and plucked at his shirt buttons instead. Tango’s eyes followed the movement of Jimmy’s fingers for a tick or two.

Then he shook his head.

“Nah,” he shrugged. “They’re friggin’ troublemakers, and they’re a menace to get rid of, but unless Fwhip mentioned having any other major bugs to deal with, my best bet is that it just hopped servers to Empires when he booted up your new world. New coding linked up straight to the hub, and–” He made a popping sound with his mouth and jabbed at the air with his fork. “–it probably just latched onto the weak spot of a fresh, unprotected server.”

Jimmy eyed Tango’s fork curiously, thoughtfully, and Tango could see the way the concept was cementing behind his soulmate’s eyes.

“...and they’re hard to get rid of?”

“If that’s what you guys are dealing with, then - yeah. Unfortunately.”

Jimmy’s face fell and he frowned.

“So…I might not be able to message you for a little while,” he concluded woefully, his wings pulled tight against his back and his ear feathers pinned back against his head. “Not until Fwhip fixes it.”

He looked so sad, so apologetic, and Tango couldn’t help but tug him closer by the arm. The half-finished plate of cake quickly vanished into his inventory. He brought up a warm hand to cup his soulmate’s cheek, absolutely melting at the way Jimmy leaned into his touch with a warbled chirp.

“Hey, it’s okay!” Tango murmured softly, flashing his soulmate a bright smile. “It’s only a few weeks at most, right? And besides…” He tilted his head to the side, grinning a sharp-toothed grin and winking. “...if you can’t stand being away that long, you can always sneak off to the hub the next time Empires has a stable connection. I’m sure I could…ya know…abuse my admin status a bit to sneakificate you onto the Hermitcraft whitelist–”

Jimmy let out a startled little laugh and he gave Tango a scolding knock upside the shoulder, but in Tango’s opinion, it was worth it to see the way Jimmy’s downtrodden expression gave way to exasperated amusement.

“Tango!” Jimmy hissed, his wings fluffing up while he cast a glance over his shoulder, as though he was worried someone might overhear. “You can’t do that! If I end up on Hermitcraft, I wanna make a good first impression, alright? Don’t - don’t sneak me in like some stowaway!”

“A stowaway, huh?” Tango smirked, taking advantage of Jimmy’s distracted gaze to slowly reach toward him with both hands. “...I mean…you wouldn’t be a stowaway if I…just…kidnapped you!”

Jimmy turned back one tick too late, his eyes flying wide when he found himself ambushed by a pouncing netherborn. Tango had a hold around Jimmy’s waist in an instant, hoisting him off his feet and spinning him around with a strength that seemed to surprise Jimmy if his flailing wings and gaping expression were anything to go by. He let out a startled chirp and clung to Tango’s shoulders, his cheeks going slightly pink and drawing a cheeky and adoring grin to Tango’s face.

“T-Tango!” Jimmy gasped, tucking his wings in tightly to avoid sending them both toppling off-balance. “What’re you doing??”

“Well I’m kidnapping you, of course,” Tango declared. His eyes crinkled at the corners from the humor in his smile. “I’m bringing you back to Hermitcraft. I bet X won’t even notice–”

“Tangs, come onnn.” Jimmy pressed his face into Tango’s hair, grumbling into the fiery strands. “That’s too tempting. If you keep offering, I’ll never make it to Empires.”

Well that was kind of the point, wasn’t it? To never have to say goodbye?

But at the same time, Tango knew it was unrealistic and a little bit selfish to even wish for. He and Jimmy were close now, extraordinarily so thanks to Double Life, but Tango wasn’t the only person in Jimmy’s life. And Tango wasn’t foolish enough to assume that, just because they were soulmates here and just because they had a newly-flourishing relationship on this server, Tango held priority over anything else Jimmy cared for outside of Double Life. It would be selfish to try and keep him away from the life and friends and family and home he had back on Empires.

Or…the home he would have. New season, new server. New adventure.

Tango slowly settled Jimmy back on the ground, his hands resting on his soulmate’s hips and a melancholy smile tugging at his lips.

“...is it so bad for me to want you to stay?” he asked, only half-joking, and Jimmy smiled sadly.

“A part of me wants to,” he admitted. He leaned back, his back now pressed to the tree that Tango had been leaning against before, and he sighed. His hands lingered on Tango’s shoulders and his fingers toyed with the collar of the vest his partner wore. “...I’ll miss you.”

Tango stepped closer, moving into Jimmy’s space, close enough that he could feel the warmth of Jimmy’s breath tickle his nose. There was nowhere for Jimmy to go, not with the tree trunk at his back…but it didn’t seem like he wanted to be anywhere else anyway. Their faces were mere inches apart. At this distance, in the low glow coming off of Tango from his blazeborn traits, Tango could see the different shades of brown in Jimmy’s eyes. (Brown. Not yellow, not red.) He could make out the coffee shades and milk chocolate hues and occasional flecks of caramel, and he longed to have enough time to memorize them all. So little of the time he’d spent with Jimmy had been while his eyes were their natural color…and it wouldn’t last for much longer, at least until the next time.

“Mind if I give you something to remember me by?” Tango asked, teased, pleaded. “Just until we can see each other again.”

Jimmy’s smile turned flustered and playful.

“D’you have something in mind?” he asked. He seemed to already know where this was going, his eyes darting down to Tango’s smile and his tongue darting out to lick his lips, and Tango couldn’t help but chuckle breathlessly.

“Eh, I’ve got a few ideas…”

All it took was leaning a little bit closer for Tango to close the gap, for their smiles to meet in the middle and for his heart to leap ever-so-slightly while he let himself savor the kiss. He had Jimmy half-pinned against the tree, the slight breeze rustling the leaves above their heads and distant voices carrying over to their little hiding place from by the fire…but he paid it all no mind. He simply let himself be enveloped in the feeling of his soulmate held close, of slightly sun-chapped lips and tentative fingers coming up to comb through the flames dancing through his hair, and he let himself fall. Jimmy melted against the tree and his wings came up to cocoon them in a soft wall of blaze-lit golden-yellow, and for a few long, wonderful moments it was as if they were the only two people in the entire world.

It wasn’t a rushed kiss, nor was it desperate. It was soft and slow and measured, each movement heartfelt and gentle and sure. It was as though they were trying to commit the feeling to memory, trying to make these last moments count so they would both have something to hold onto until they could see each other again.

“Hey, Tango? Are you over - oh! Sorry!”

Jimmy jolted, an alarmed squeak leaving him and his wings jerking at the surprised approach of another player. Tango pulled away with a huff, but only barely, and he turned to shoot Impulse an exasperated look over one of Jimmy’s half-lowered wings.

“C’mon, man, you couldn’t have waited - like - two more minutes?” he grumbled. Impulse’s expression turned rightfully sheepish and a bit apologetic.

“Sorry man,” he said, wincing and scratching at the back of his head. “Joel was looking for Jimmy, and I thought I saw you come this way, so I figured - yeah.” He chuckled weakly. “The Empires portal is gonna be up soon.”

Jimmy groaned and let his forehead fall against Tango’s shoulder, tucking himself close to his soulmate and half-hiding from both Impulse and - Tango assumed - the idea of having to leave Double Life behind.

“Thanks Impy,” Tango muttered. Impulse let his eyes dart to Jimmy for a moment, pointed and knowing, and Tango forced a pained smile. Impulse returned it. He nodded back the way he had come and jerked his thumb in that direction.

“I’ll stall,” he mouthed, and he backed away to leave the ranchers alone for a little longer.

Tango trailed a hand up Jimmy’s back, letting his palm rest between his soulmate’s wings while Jimmy buried his face into the crook of Tango’s neck. It was quiet for a long moment. Tango could hear the chattering of their servermates not too far off, Martyn and Ren’s playful banter and Joel’s cackling laughter and Grian’s half-joking scolding of his soulmate. Tango’s own soulmate was far quieter right now, Jimmy’s grip tight on the back of Tango’s vest and his face hidden from view, but Tango could hear the quiet and saddened little avian vocalizations that Jimmy was trying his best to hide.

“...Jim?” Tango murmured. Jimmy pressed himself closer, a tiny whine escaping him. Tango chuckled weakly. “C’mon Feathers, you can’t hide in my vest forever.”

“I can try,” came Jimmy’s grumbled reply. Despite his reluctance to move, he did inevitably pull away, avoiding Tango’s gaze for a second or two before he gave in and dragged his eyes up to meet his soulmate’s. The moment Tango caught sight of the warm brown of Jimmy’s eyes he flashed a vibrant grin.

“Well hey there handsome,” he teased lightly. “Come here often?”

Jimmy flushed and scoffed, thumping a weak fist against the back of Tango’s shoulderblade where he was still clinging to his partner’s vest…but any false annoyance he held was hard to maintain with the affectionate smile Tango could see tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re the worst,” he grumbled, half-amused, and Tango stifled his usual barking laugh so he wouldn’t draw outside attention.

“Eh, I’ve heard that before,” he shrugged, snickering. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Jimmy thought for a moment. Then he smiled faintly.

“...a part of me wants to tell Scott and Joel to just leave without me?”

Tango’s cheeky grin softened to a melancholy smile. He sighed and his tail came up to curl around one of Jimmy’s legs.

“I know that too, buddy,” he murmured. “You say that like I’m not tempted to break into Empires the next time your server’s connection stabilizes.”

Jimmy huffed out a half-laugh, though it lacked much of the bright joy it usually held. He let out a breath and let one of his wings fall away, glancing backward around the tree trunk to seek out his servermates. Tango followed his gaze. Grian was in the process of summoning the usual inter-server portals that allowed Life players to return directly to their home servers once the games were over, and Scott and Joel were chatting with Etho, Cleo, and Pearl a few feet away. Both Scar and - surprisingly - Bdubs were doing a wonderful job of being a horrible distraction…which accounted for the scolding tone Tango had been hearing from Grian, he supposed. (Though maybe, judging by Impulse’s half-hidden smirk and casual glances toward Tango and Jimmy’s tree, Bdubs’ involvement in the chaos wasn’t too surprising after all. Tango would have to thank them both later for the gift of a little extra time.)

Jimmy let out a twittering sigh and slouched against the tree trunk.

“I should go,” he muttered, regret lacing in every syllable. “Before they come looking.”

And as much as he hated it, Tango had to agree.

“Yeah…yeah. Probably.”

Jimmy detangled himself from Tango’s hold, tucking his wings against his back and running a hand through his hair to fix it, but he barely made it a step before Tango was reeling him back in, both by a hand on his wrist and the tail still wound around one of Jimmy’s legs.

“Tang-mmph!”

The kiss Tango drew him into was quicker and more heated than the last, short and half-desperate and full of what few things Tango hadn’t managed to say just yet. Unspoken promises, doting devotion…silent sweet nothings. Jimmy had only half melted by the time Tango broke away again, his expression slightly dazed and his cheeks slightly flushed. His wings were fluffed and he was half-clinging to Tango’s vest again from how off-kilter the sudden show of affection had sent him.

“...o-oh. Yeah. Okay. That’s–” Jimmy chuckled breathlessly, that sparkle finally returning to his eyes, and Tango smiled brilliantly. He gently knocked their foreheads together.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured, sly and a bit giddy. “That’s a better goodbye, huh?”

Jimmy fell into giggles, brushing their noses and letting his eyes flutter shut for one second, then another. He sighed, and it was full of fondness and amusement rather than the melancholy ache that had been weighing him down before.

“It’s a better see-you-later,” he corrected. “You silly, silly man.”

“Oh, of course,” Tango drawled, “my mistake.”

“JIM!” Joel’s voice carried to the trees and Jimmy jolted, turning his head slightly and flaring the feathers around his ears to better hear his brother-in-law. “Oh, for goodness sake, where is he - JIM, THE PORTAL’S OPEN!”

Jimmy chewed his lip for a moment. (The fact that Tango could no longer feel it through the now-untethered soulbond was surreal and left him feeling a bit hollow, if Tango let himself dwell on it. He opted to save the dwelling for later.)

“D’you think Grian would notice if I just never left this server?”

Jimmy’s innocent comment drew a bright laugh from Tango, who poked at Jimmy’s side where he knew his soulmate was ticklish, causing the startled avian to dance out of reach with a flurry of feathers and a surprised little squawk.

“Tangooo!”

“Jimmyyy!” Tango sing-songed right back at him. He snorted and trailed after his partner, both of them no longer hidden by the trees and finally catching the attention of the rest of their servermates. Joel shouted something across the clearing to them, and Scott waved when he caught sight of them, and Jimmy only managed a half-raised hand in return.

Tango sidled up beside him with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, lest he became tempted to “kidnap” his soulmate all over again.

“C’mon, Feathers,” he murmured. “You can’t stay. This place is gonna go offline in about an hour anyway.”

“I know,” Jimmy grumbled. “I’m still gonna miss it.”

Tango leaned sideways to bump shoulders with him, an affectionate little nudge, and Jimmy habitually extended a wing to tuck Tango close to his side.

“I know, buddy. Me too.”

And maybe they lingered a bit longer than they should have, and maybe their walk from the treeline to the portals was slower than was probably polite. Tango knew it, and he was sure Jimmy knew it. But if this was the last time they’d see each other for a while, then - voiddammit - Tango was going to make the most of every last second they got.

“Oh, hurry it up, will you?” Joel rolled his eyes good-naturedly once they were close enough to the portal to hear him clearly. “Some of us ‘ave got places to be you know!”

“Says the man who just spent the last ten minutes so engrossed in goodbyes with his soulmate that I had to drag him away just to get him to the portal,” Scott drawled, sly and amused, and Joel’s beetroot expression was enough to send Jimmy and Tango into shared stifled laughter.

“Oi!” Joel huffed. “Me an’ Etho are from different servers! We don’t usually get to talk this much! Excuse me for takin’ advantage of what time we’ve got.”

“Cleo and Pearl and I are from different servers too.” Scott quirked an eyebrow at him. “And so are Tango and Jimmy, in case that escaped your notice.”

Joel, who had taken a defensive stance with his arms folded over his chest, opened and closed his mouth a few times before he seemed to deflate. He cast a look past Scott to Jimmy, who was still half-amused but had taken on a slightly pink-tinged complexion.

“...well I’m not sayin’ you can’t say goodbye,” Joel shrugged. (Tango was half convinced he could see a friendly smile in Joel’s eyes, a fraction of proof that he and Jimmy acted more like brothers when they weren’t in the midst of a murder game.) “If you two need a second, Jim, then take it. But I dunno how long Fwhip’ll manage to keep up the connection, is all.”

Right. The server connection. Tango winced.

“No, it’s fine,” Jimmy was saying now, tossing Tango a melancholy smile. “We said goodbye. I’m all good.”

It was a half-lie, Tango knew, but he wasn’t about to point that out. For a moment - a brief breath of a moment - Jimmy reached sideways to catch Tango’s hand. Their fingers interlocked, and they exchanged a gentle squeeze, and then they were separating and Jimmy was stepping toward the portal.

He was going to leave.

He had to leave.

(You should’ve said something. You should’ve said something sooner.)

Grian finally shook free from Scar with a grin and a laugh, batting him away and stepping up near the Empires portal. He had his admin panel out and he was double-checking his work, putting a palm to the portal frame and ensuring the connection.

(You should’ve told him.)

Grian said something, made a gesture, and Joel stepped up, tossing one last wave to Etho and grinning as he vanished from sight, and–

(Say something.)

–Scott was quick to follow him. He said something to Cleo, something to Pearl, exchanged a word of thanks with Grian and tossed a wink in Martyn’s direction. There was a spattering of laughter and a grin or two. Then he stepped through the portal, and Jimmy–

(Tell him.)

–was next. His wings were twitching, antsy and nervous, and when he cast a look in Grian’s direction, Grian’s cocky grin became warmer, gentler. He tugged Jimmy into a hug, said something only Jimmy could hear, then nudged him toward the portal. Whatever it was must have helped because Jimmy’s shoulders weren’t as hunched as before. He shot one last longing smile back toward Tango, then–

“Wait, Jimmy–”

Jimmy paused, turning more fully to face his soulmate, curiosity lighting up his expression. The glow of the portal illuminated him from behind, haloing him, making his wings look ethereal.

“Yeah?”

“I…I, uh…” Tango swallowed, nerves making his throat feel tight. Just say it. Say something. Anything. “Jimmy, I–”

But…the timing felt wrong. It felt cruel. Jimmy was about to leave, and there wasn’t enough time to do it properly, and leaving Jimmy on a note like that when neither of them would be able to see each other again for a few weeks at least…? No. No, he couldn’t do that to his soulmate.

He couldn’t do that to himself.

So instead, Tango summoned something from his inventory, the red and white fabric feeling soft and plush in his hands. He felt eyes boring into the back of his head, the knowing look from Impulse all but tangible, but he ignored it. He just focussed on Jimmy, and the bright recognition in his expression when he realized what it was Tango was holding. His eyes widened and his breath caught.

“Tango…?”

“Here.” Tango held the folded sweatshirt aloft, the bright TNT colors vibrant even in the fading sunlight. “I want you to hold onto this for me.”

Jimmy's head snapped up and he gaped at his partner, his ear feathers flaring.

“You - really?” he breathed. He reached out a hand, hesitant and uncertain, to let his fingertips brush against the familiar material. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Tango tugged on a grin and pushed the bundled hoodie into Jimmy’s arms. “It’s lucky, remember? It kinda sounds like you need that a bit more than me right now. You can give it back the next time you see my ugly mug.”

Jimmy flashed him a watery sort of smile and held the sweatshirt close, hugging it for as long as it took to banish it into his inventory.

“Thank you.”

Tango shrugged.

“Now get outta here, Rancher,” he waved Jimmy away, reveling in his soulmate’s laugh, “before you miss your exit.” He rocked back on his heels, taking a few slow steps backward while Jimmy finished his path up to the portal. “And - hey.”

Jimmy paused again, one hand on the portal frame, one foot at the threshold. Tango flashed him a brilliant grin, one that refused to betray the ache in his chest that Jimmy could no longer feel through their nonexistent bond.

“Don’t forget to message me when you can, alright?” he demanded, only half-joking. “Don’t be a stranger.”

And Jimmy beamed, bright as the sun, as he said:

“I promise!”

Then he was gone.

When Martyn and Ren and BigB swept in, the next cluster of players in need of a portal, and when Tango’s grin slid off his face, the remaining babbling crowd wasn’t paying enough attention to see the way Tango deflated, the way he drifted away from the portal, the way he shoved his hands in his pockets just a little too hard.

Nobody but Impulse, of course, who appeared at Tango’s side as a familiar and solid presence that he was grateful for.

“Your lucky hoodie, huh?” Impulse asked, warm and knowing, and Tango snorted as he lightly elbowed his best friend in the ribs.

“You can’t talk, man, you and Bdubs are just as bad.”

Impulse laughed, not denying the accusation.

“Maybe. I’m just surprised. I know how important that sweatshirt is to you. Zed stole it one time, and you nearly pushed him off the top of Toon Towers.”

Tango just shrugged. He didn’t feel like explaining. He didn’t feel like putting into words how it wasn’t the sweatshirt that he had really wanted to give Jimmy, how he wanted to do more, how he wanted to say more. How he should have done something before their game was even over, or in the time they spent together after they’d lost their final life, but he’d waited too long, and now the timing was all wrong, and now -

Well.

He’d just have to hope Jimmy’s admin didn’t take too long on those server repairs.

“Hey.” Impulse stilled Tango with a hand on his shoulder, and it was only now that Tango realized they’d managed to walk all the way back to the shadows of the tree line. Tango blinked up at him, suddenly very aware of the warmth dancing across his scalp and against his palms and down the length of his tail. “You two have the most solid relationship out of anyone in this game,” Impulse pointed out. “A little bit of long-distance can’t do a thing to damage that.”

It was a simple thing, so few words, but somehow it helped uncoil some of the tension beneath Tango’s ribcage. He took in a slow breath and let out a lungful of hot air, cooling his core and nodding. Yeah. Yeah, Impulse was right.

Tango’s communicator beeped and he reached for it almost as an afterthought, expecting something from Zed or maybe Xisuma, checking in on the status of the Life players, but–

<SolidarityGaming> hi rancher! we made it back safe and sound! <SolidarityGaming> keeping my promise and messaging before the signal dies again <SolidarityGaming> I cant wait to send you pictures once I start building my empire :D

–and Tango grinned, something soft and warm curling up in his chest alongside his heart.

Impulse was more than right, and it was a thought that became more concrete as he sent back a cheerful ‘Can’t wait to see it!’ and it registered as received. It wouldn’t be forever. A few weeks, right? Or two months, at most. Tango had gone longer without talking to Skizz or, heck, even Impulse before. He’d get through to Jimmy when he could, and when he couldn’t, he’d just have to save up pictures and messages to send when they connected again.

Martyn and BigB were gone soon enough, and while the remaining players gathered to leave - only the Hermits left now - Tango traded messages with his soulmate for as long as he was allowed. When the connection stuttered and failed, and when it was his turn to step through the portal, the bubble of warmth didn’t pop or fade. It lingered in his chest, a small spark of hope, and he smiled. He let the effects of the portal whisk him away, pixels and particles blurring his vision, and he let the code carry him home.

Yeah. He and Jimmy would be fine…and they’d see each other again soon enough.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tango was almost proud of the fact that his grin remained intact until he was fully through Tumble Town’s nether portal. His expression only dropped once he stepped off the obsidian frame and onto unforgiving bedrock, the atmosphere of the nether much muggier though not much hotter than the mesa Tango had just left. For a moment, he barely moved. His knees felt unsteady and he reached out a fumbling hand to grip the wood-and-terracotta structure decorating the Sheriff’s portal, but he didn’t move from his spot. He didn’t have the willpower to try.

Jimmy was building the ranch.

Something sizzled nearby but Tango didn’t pay it any mind, too fixated on that single revelation that was spiraling in his thoughts.

If Jimmy was building the ranch - their ranch - then…then a part of him had to remember. Right? He had to. Tango had been so hesitant to hope, but he couldn’t deny that he had been hopeful, that he had wistfully wondered if the Jimmy he had built a ranch with was still somewhere beneath the Sheriff’s welcoming grin. He had already seen traces of the Jimmy he remembered in the man that he had just bid farewell, tiny reflections of familiar gesticulations and intonations that made Tango’s heart ache just by being near him. (So close, yet so far.) Jimmy’s smile was the same, and his bright laughter, and his bombastic energy. The movements of his wings and the way he turned sheepish when receiving a genuine compliment…still so very him.

And he was building the ranch.

It was the same Jimmy, just as Grian had said back by the rift…and that was proof. The Sheriff of Tumble Town was his Jimmy. Tango’s Jimmy. He remembered. Somewhere in there, somewhere under the cowboy hat and the boots and the badge, Tango’s soulmate was lying dormant just waiting to be brought back to the surface. Tango’s partner, Grian’s brother, their friend. Something had made him forget, but that part of him wasn’t gone. Tango just needed to find it.

The sizzling sound from before caught his ear again and Tango dragged himself from his racing, blurring thoughts. It took him longer than he would’ve liked to realize the sound was coming from him. Namely, from the hand still clinging to the top of the nearest block, one of the terracotta pillars that made up Tumble Town’s portal decor.

One of the terracotta pillars topped with wood.

Tango snatched his hand away quickly, shaking it out to dispel the heat and grimacing at the clear imprint of his palm and fingers charred into the decorative slab. He hadn’t meant to do that. His flames had been hotter than usual as of late, he knew that, and he’d gotten into the habit of taking care not to let it get the best of him back on Hermitcraft, but - well. Today was a day of heightened emotions, wasn’t it? He could be forgiven for a momentary lapse in control. He would just have to remember to replace the damaged block when he returned to Tumble Town later.

Because he would be returning. He would be.

“Don’t be a stranger!”

Tango gritted his teeth and forced himself away from the portal. The rockets Jimmy had gifted him fell into his hand.

He’d keep his promise. Jimmy might not be able to do the same right now, not when he didn’t even remember such a promise existed, but Tango would be damned if he didn’t try to make up for it on his end. He wouldn’t fail his Rancher.

With the coordinates Jimmy had given Tango on their way back through the train tunnel, finding the Gobland portal wasn’t too difficult of a feat.

(There was one rather embarrassing moment where he had somehow gone through Joel’s portal instead of Fwhip’s. It was obvious whose it was based on the Greek architecture, gold detailing, and obnoxiously ostentatious builds literally floating in the sky. Tango just about patted himself on the back for opting not to burn the banners he could see hanging about ten blocks out from the portal.)

After finding his way to the right portal, ducking through and finding himself face-to-face with some cactus was a little startling, and the climb up out of the small stone cave area he spawned in was a bit precarious…but to be fair, Tango had seen stranger portal locations on Hermitcraft. And really, stumbling out of a hole in the wall and finding himself in the belly of an absolutely jaw-dropping cavern carved through with an expansive web of colorful and sprawling structures and pathways? It made the short climb worth the effort. The sight he had come upon was absolutely breathtaking.

Where Jimmy’s empire had been warm and welcoming and sang of friendly neighbors and home cooking, and where Sanctuary from that morning’s journey had been lush and vibrant and - pardon the term - mythical in its aura, Gobland felt ancient. Organic. It felt like a civilization that had grown with the earth around it, one that was just chaotic and disorganized enough to almost feel overwhelming, but in a way that seemed to flow naturally with the space it had settled into.

It was an odd juxtaposition and an impressive level of building prowess that left Tango a bit wide-eyed on his first step into the empire.

(In truth, he had been just as impressed by Sausage’s creations, and just as much so by the smaller area of swampland the witch Shelby had chosen to inhabit. Perhaps - much like the Hermits - the Empires members were just like that when it came to building their bases, and the unfamiliarity of their build styles was what really made Tango take notice. It was impressive.)

“Tango! - sorry, excuse me - TANGO!”

Impulse’s familiar voice rose above the general hubbub of the cavern and Tango’s attention whipped around to his friend, who was ducking around a group of short, green-skinned miners that Tango belatedly realized must be actual goblins. They were shorter and more gremlin-looking than Fwhip…though Tango supposed Fwhip was a player hybrid, so he would look different. (Not that Tango knew goblins were even real before coming to Empires. He was learning a lot of new things today.)

Tango descended the mossy cobble pathway that led up to the portal, passing by a lava farm and a quaint-looking house on his way down. He had to duck around a handbuilt fence made of mangrove roots to reach the street - or what he assumed was the street - and the moment he was past it, Impulse managed to free himself from the small crowd of workers.

“Tango, hey!” he grinned, straightening his vest. “I lost you after we met up with everyone on the nether roof. Where’d you go?”

“Uh - yeah, I…” Tango jerked a thumb back over his shoulder toward the portal, his words trailing off. I asked Shelby where Jimmy lived, he could have said, or I found Tumble Town. But he must have hesitated a moment too long because Impulse’s grin faded to a knowing and sympathetic smile in the tick or two Tango remained silent.

“You went to find Jimmy, didn’t you?” he asked, understanding in his voice.

Tango huffed out a weary chuckle and ducked his head, the brim of Shelby’s gifted hat half-hiding his face.

“Am I that easy to read?”

“No, I just know you.” Impulse’s boot steps were heavy and recognizable against the stone path. Tango heard him come closer, and he saw Impulse’s arm move into his line of sight only moments before the oversized hat brim was tugged upward so Impulse could catch his eyes. “And if it were Bdubs, I know I’d look for him first thing too.”

Tango smiled, sheepish.

“Soulmates, huh?” he quipped commiseratingly, and Impulse laughed, a grin alighting beneath his beard again.

“Soulmates,” he agreed. He tugged at Tango’s hat, dislodging it from its perch and causing Tango to make an inhuman sound of protest as he swiped it back from Impulse’s grip.

“This was a gift!” Tango spouted, darting back from him on nimble feet. “No touchy!”

As an afterthought, he turned the hat over in his hands, checking to make sure none of the fabric had been singed by his overheated core in the time he’d been wearing it. (He probably should have thought to check back in the nether, when he’d managed to burn that slab. But it seemed entirely untouched. Perhaps Shelby’s claim of her hat being magical wasn’t unfounded.)

“...so, uh…speaking of soulmates,” Tango murmured, plopping his gifted hat back on his head where it belonged, “didja manage to find Bdubs?”

“I did, yeah.” Impulse nodded in the corner of Tango’s vision. “He’s sticking pretty close to Etho right now. I think Etho’s more worried about Joel than he’s letting on, so Bdubs being there for him is probably a good idea.”

Tango tilted his head curiously, a revelation dawning behind his eyes. Bdubs was keeping an eye on Etho? And here Tango was, showing up in Gobland for the admin meeting, with Impulse practically waiting at the gate.

“Ohhh,” he drawled. “Oh, so you two are on Babysitting Duty for the Lonely Soulmates Club, is that it?”

Impulse went a little too quiet, casting a sideways look at Tango, and Tango’s grin widened into a knowing smirk.

“Uh-huh. Thought so. Divide and conquer, right? He’s watching Etho, you’re watching me–”

“Tango–”

“–making sure neither of us sad sacks is left alone to cry into our breakfast cereal–”

“Tango, come on!” Impulse laughed, turning to face Tango more fully. “You know it’s not like that. I know this whole thing has gotta be tough on you, so…I just wanna be here for you. You’re family, man.” He stepped closer and patted Tango’s shoulder with one large hand, squeezing it gently. “Let your pyre brother take care of you for once.”

Tango huffed out a half-scoff, half-chuckle, not even fighting the appreciative little smile that lingered on his face. His tail waved lazily back and forth near his ankles for a moment, stirring up some of the dust lingering in the cavern air, and he let out a slow breath.

Impulse was a part of his pyre, that was true. His blazeborn family. Impulse was about as close to a brother as Tango had ever had…so if Tango couldn’t trust him to be a solid rock to lean on when he needed it, then who could he trust?

He reached up to drop his hand on top of Impulse’s on his shoulder, squeezing once to show his thanks.

“Yeah, man,” he muttered, nodding once. “I appreciate it.”

Impulse nodded back. After a moment he let his hand fall and glanced off to the side, staring down the path Tango had arrived from. The nether portal, Tango realized.

“So…how’d it go with Jimmy?”

Tango snorted.

“Subtle.”

“I try.” A beat, a breath, and Impulse fixed his focus back on Tango properly. “But really, how did it go?”

And, void, wasn’t that a hell of a question?

Tango sighed and shoved his hands in the pockets of his robes, shrugging and feeling his hood's fur lining tickle his ears.

“Well Joel is still an ass,” he said first, starting off easy. “He was being a total jerk to Jimmy again right about the time I found everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Uh - oh, right–” Tango blinked up at Impulse. He hadn’t even said– “By the time I made it to Tumble Town, Jimmy had a whole entourage with him. Grian and Scar were there, which was good, because I probably wouldn’t have known about the admin meeting otherwise. And Fwhip too. And Joel.”

He grimaced, making a face. The Joel he remembered from the Life games could be a bit pushy and teasing at times, but he always had his limits and he’d never upset someone intentionally. But this Joel was–

Anyway.

“I think even Grian was getting fed up with him too because he came up with this whole excuse of needing to find Pixl before the meeting just to get Joel to leave Tumble Town with him.”

“Pixl?” Impulse spoke up, intrigued. “As in Pixlriffs? From the Recap team?”

Tango grinned lopsidedly, his eyes crinkling.

“Yeah, that Pixl,” he said. “I knew that guy in the blue shirt looked familiar. I saw him by the rift before everyone got all scatter-fied. I can’t believe I forgot he was an Empires member.”

“No wonder Grian wanted to go find him.” Impulse scratched at his jawline below his ear, thoughtful. “He’s a Hermitcraft historian. And he knows us. If anyone has a chance of remembering us, it’s him.”

“Or the Life members,” Tango tacked on, and Impulse nodded.

“Or the Life members.”

Silence fell for a moment as they both pondered that.

If anyone has a chance of remembering.

“...Jimmy’s building the ranch.”

“Wait - what?” Impulse jolted at Tango’s murmured words, snapping to attention and staring at him, gobsmacked. “He’s–”

“Yeah.” Tango managed a watery smile, his hands curling into fists in his pockets. He could feel warmth crackling along his scalp and in his palms, flames he couldn’t quite tamp down attempting to make themselves known. But he held them back as best he could. “I saw it, by his house. It’s only half-built and he said he knows what it’s meant to look like, it’s just - ah - ‘fuzzy’.” He made air quotes with one hand.

Impulse was listening intently, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Does he remember–”

“I don’t think he remembers much,” Tango cut him off quickly. He sniffed and shrugged and kicked at a stone on the path, feeling antsy and unsettled. He gave in to his need to fidget by starting off down the pathway, not going far but unable to stay put any longer. His free hand fiddled with the clasps on his robe and his tail whipped sharply from beneath its hem, casting dashes of blue light out behind him. “He doesn’t remember me. But - I dunno. Maybe something’s still in there? He invited me to stay in Tumble Town…he asked me if I wanted to help him finish the ranch.”

“He did?” Impulse prodded, and Tango could hear the smile in his words without even looking his way. His heavy footfalls trailed behind Tango, keeping up with his meandering. “Tango, that’s - that’s a good sign, isn’t it? It means there’s hope! Those memories aren’t gone.”

“Yeah…” Tango smiled weakly. “Yeah, I know.”

His Jimmy was in there somewhere. He knew that. But he couldn’t help that lingering doubt in the back of his mind, the little voice whispering what if, that made Tango’s chest feel tight any time he let himself listen to it. His smile faded as he pictured Jimmy - this Jimmy - smiling cordially at him by the rift, in the train tunnel, in the shadow of the half-built ranch. Polite and friendly and kind, but a stranger. No familiarity in his eyes and no recognition when Tango hugged him ‘hello’.

And ‘Don’t be a stranger!’ without even knowing how impactful that little phrase really was.

(Tango should have given him more than just a sweatshirt back when Jimmy still remembered how much they meant to each other. He should have said something more before the chance was taken from him. He should have.)

(He didn’t.)

Tango drifted off to the left of the rough stone brick path, trailing a hand along the wooden fencing lining a little watery farm plot full of sea pickles. What was the likelihood of Jimmy ever remembering him at all? His blaze core flared and he sucked down a breath, shakily taking the gifted witch hat from his head and shoving it unceremoniously into his inventory. He raked shaking fingers through his hair in an attempt to alleviate any flames that were spiking there, though he knew it would do little good. He swallowed thickly and turned his back on Impulse, gripping the fence with both hands and leaning on it slightly for some sort of stability.

“...it’s just weird being near him when he doesn’t know me,” he breathed, his head bowed and his heart aching. “I’d make a joke or - or smile, or something, and he’d–” He shivered. “It’s almost the same. But something’s missing. It’s - void, Impy, it’s - he’s almost, almost the same person. I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”

“Well…it means he’s still him,” Impulse spoke up, gentle and thoughtful and even. “Even if he’s - you know - missing some parts. He’s still your soulmate.”

‘He’s not’, Tango almost snipped, but ‘He is’ was fighting just as hard to be said. He was his Jimmy, but he wasn’t. He was both. He was neither. He was - he was–

“It’s Jimmy,” Impulse said, coming up beside Tango and leaning back against the fence. “Your Jimmy. And maybe - well, maybe Jimmy doesn’t remember that right now, but he will. You said he’d been building the ranch. That’s - Tango, that means it’s in there somewhere. He’ll remember. If he loved you half as much as you love him–”

“He didn’t know.”

The confession left Tango on a wavering whisper, his grip tightening on the fence where he’d been clutching the worn wood. His chest was tight and hot and he could taste sulfur on his tongue.

“...what?” The fence creaked slightly as Impulse turned, leaning further so he could try to catch Tango’s eye. “What was that?”

“I–” Tango swallowed thickly and shook his head. “Yeah, I love him, you know I love him, but…Jimmy never knew that.”

Impulse frowned, confused, his brow furrowing. Tango’s jaw went tense under his scrutinizing stare.

“What are you talking about?” Impulse murmured, shaking his head slowly. “Tango - I saw how you two were back in Double Life. You told me when he kissed you for the first time. You two were joined at the hip. I’d never seen you happier. I saw how hard it was for you two to say goodbye after the game. Why wouldn’t he - Tango, of course Jimmy knew–”

Impulse’s warm and familiar hand fell on Tango’s shoulder and he shook him off, rounding on him with smoke slipping past his teeth and a self-deprecating scowl on his lips.

“I never told him!” he snapped.

Impulse flinched and went wide-eyed, his confusion palpable, and Tango felt flames flare to life through his hair. He snarled, running a hand through them, trying to tame them and failing miserably.

“Yes, I’ve been in love with him since Double Life, but Jimmy never knew that because I never told him!” His tail lashed at the air behind him and he was only partially aware of the rapid rise and fall of his chest with each quickened breath he took. “I realized it after Jimmy fell from the Velvet Keep. We both woke up on red, and he was right there, and he was so broken up about it - and - he was just–” Tango shook his head, not really seeing what was in front of him, too focussed on the memory. “...he was more worried about me than about himself, even though he was the one who’d died. He kept apologizing and he–”

Jimmy had looked so distraught. He didn’t care that he’d died, not really…or if he did, it paled in comparison to how sorry he was to have taken Tango down with him. But Tango didn’t blame him at all. Not one bit. And yet Jimmy had apologized anyway, and they’d been sitting close on the bed, face to face, Jimmy cocooning them both in his wings, and he’d looked up with big, sad, shining eyes, and - and they’d been red. So, so red. And for a moment Tango had been sure he’d never seen anything more endearing in his life. And–

“–and I should’ve - I should’ve said something, I–”

Tango’s breath hitched and he sucked down a few deep, desperate breaths, the crackling sounds of an aggravated blaze coming through in his heightened state. He staggered back a step.

“I - void, I almost told him. More than once.” There were hands on his shoulders, grounding him, trying to center him, but he was already spiraling. “I got so close, so many times. I did. I did. I was gonna - before he left, but I couldn’t, and then–”

He couldn’t breathe.

“Tango, buddy, hey. Hey.”

Tango reached out with floundering hands, scrabbling fingers seeking purchase against the rough material of Impulse’s sleeves and arm bracers. He hiccupped, his chest heaving and his vision blurred with what he now realized were tears. When had he even started crying…?

“C’mon man, I’ve got you. Alright? C’mere.”

Impulse reeled him in gently, all but smothering him in a warm bear hug, not even bothered by the hot blue flames licking across Tango’s hair. Not for the first time, Tango was grateful to have a demon for a best friend. He clung to Impulse’s vest and forced himself to breathe, harsh blazeborn wheezes escaping him as he struggled.

Gods, he was a mess. But he had been holding up a front all day. After everything that had happened in the last fourteen hours, maybe he deserved a bit of a breakdown.

“We’re gonna fix this,” Impulse told him, and Tango could feel the rumble of his voice in his chest where Tango was still hiding his face. It was soothing, in a way. Familiar. “Grian and Xisuma are on it, and they’ve even got Fwhip and Pixl on board. And Joe too…and you. There’s a whole team of admins working together to fix this. We’ll figure it out.”

Yeah. Yeah.

He just had to remind himself of that the next time he let that little voice get the best of him.

“...I still wish I’d said something,” Tango said hoarsely. He half-crumpled in Impulse’s arms. He let out a wet, self-deprecating chuckle, his words unsteady. “Void…for a guy who can talk a mile a minute about redstone, somehow three little words feel so much harder to say.”

“They’re important words,” Impulse told him. They were. Impulse let his arms loosen after a long moment, stepping back so he could get a good look at his pyre brother. “...are you gonna be okay?” A beat, a blink. “Or, uh…okay enough? Stable?”

Tango snorted humorlessly, exhaustion settling into his bones as his core finally began to return to a semi-normal temperature.

“I’m in love with a guy who doesn’t even know who I am anymore,” he said flatly, achingly. “I’m as okay as I can be, given the circumstances.”

“Oh, Tango…

Impulse’s head shot up and Tango jolted, Grian’s voice startling him more than it had any right to. He hadn’t even heard anyone else approach. When he turned to glance back over his shoulder, he spotted an entire group lingering near the little house by the nether portal, the collection of admins and players that Tango had come here to meet in the first place. Xisuma and Joe were there, and so was Scar, along with both Fwhip and Pixl…just like Tango had been expecting. They seemed to be blessedly out of hearing range, so even if they had seen Tango’s breakdown, it was unlikely they’d heard much - if any - of the content of it.

Minor miracles.

Grian, though, had separated himself from the rest and was a few paces away…and judging by the pained expression on his face he had been there for longer than Tango probably would have liked.

Tango cleared his throat.

“How, uh…how much did you hear?”

Grian’s wings drooped against his back and he tugged at the cuff of his sweater sleeve.

“Enough.” The feathers around his ears were pinned back against his head, a mannerism Tango was more than familiar with thanks to living with an avian for the entirety of Double Life. “I didn’t - I never knew–” He cut himself off, his lips twitching into a frown. “Were you and Jimmy…”

“Together? Dating?” Tango mumbled, still not sure what word to put to it even after the literal months since he and Jimmy had become an item. He nodded jerkily, and Grian let out a quiet, saddened little chirp.

“I didn’t know,” he breathed. “I’m - I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Of course they were,” Scar chimed in, suddenly appearing at Grian’s side. He was leaning heavily on his cane, one he hadn’t had out the last time Tango saw him. “They were like two little lovebirds, being all twitterpated on the ranch while the rest of us were waging war on each other.”

Grian swallowed and crossed the small gap still dividing him from Tango. He looked as though he wanted to reach out, but he hesitated at the last second, instead returning to fiddling with his cuffs.

“We’ll get him back, I promise you,” he said, and his words held a weight to them that made Tango want to believe him. “I’m not losing my brother, and I’m not letting you lose your soulmate.”

There was an ache there, a mutual sadness and a heartfelt understanding. He understood.

“I guess we’d better get to that meeting then,” Tango told him, tugging on a smile that was only sixty percent genuine. But, hels, sixty percent was better than nothing at all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The tavern Fwhip led them to was in an area of Gobland that was busier than the rest. It felt more like a city, like a central district, with shops and businesses and homes mingled together in a vibrant pallet of colors and life. The Drip - that’s what the sign said it was called - was a cool-looking bar that Tango probably would have appreciated the style of more if he wasn’t so focused on the problem at hand. A few lingering goblins had been inhabiting the space when they had arrived, but with only a few murmured words from Fwhip, the entire place had cleared out rather quickly.

Now the group had settled themselves around a table and the bartender - the sole goblin still lingering in the building - was making short order of what few drinks people had asked for. While Tango had been tempted to get something to take the edge off, he also knew he wouldn’t be much use to Jimmy if he wasn’t able to contribute to the conversation. So…sober it was. That wasn’t to say he was doing a very good job of paying attention. Grian had explained some of the situation to Fwhip and Pixl already–

“...I know it sounds unbelievable, but I’m very serious. We know many of you from outside of Empires. Scott, Joel, and Jimmy have participated in a game of mine before, multiple times. Scott’s the organizer for the Minecraft Championship, and Gem - you know Gem, right? - she’s also a member of Hermitcraft…”

–but really, when most of it was a repeat of what he already knew, and with worry for his soulmate still lingering on his mind, it was hard to keep himself focussed. His knee bounced impatiently under the table and his boot heel caught the footrest of his chair every so often, and he’d caught himself flicking his tail impatiently on more than one occasion.

Impulse could clearly tell he was getting antsy because every so often a heavy shoulder would lean against Tango’s, a gentle physical distraction, and he’d remind himself to settle down.

But then–

“I don’t know how much any of you might remember,” Grian said, a quiet barely-restrained desperation leaking into his words, “but I know Jimmy remembers a little bit. He remembered my name, and he remembered that my wings were a different color once. He…” Grian took a breath. “...he’s my brother, and we’ve been through a lot together, so maybe that’s why he remembers even a scrap about me. But that’s something.”

“He remembers the ranch,” Tango spoke up, his words hoarse and quiet.

Grian dragged his attention to Tango, as did everyone else at the table.

“Does he?” Grian asked, hopeful, and Tango nodded.

“Sort of. He’s building it in Tumble Town. Next to his house.”

Fwhip’s ears flicked forward and his eyebrows rose.

“That framework by the cliffside?” he asked. “The one that’s just an outline?”

“Yeah.” Tango summoned his communicator, ignoring the flashing CONNECTION ERROR warning that it had been giving him since arriving through the rift. He tabbed over to his photos and flicked back a few months, back before his recent work on Decked Out to the small collection he was far too familiar with by now. Among them was a photo of himself and Jimmy in front of the newly-finished ranch, Tango having been strong-armed into taking it by his all-too-proud soulmate. Jimmy had an arm slung around Tango’s shoulders and his grin was blinding, bright and warm beside Tango’s sheepish and flush-faced little smile.

It was one of Tango’s favorite pictures.

Tango set his comm on the table and slid it past Impulse to Fwhip, who stared at the photo on its screen with widening eyes.

“That’s it,” he muttered. “That’s what he’s been building. I’ve seen his build so many times…”

Fwhip trailed off, his gaze lingering on the image. Tango wasn’t sure what he was seeing there, but something must have caught his attention. The goblin’s expression softened and became melancholy all at once, something unreadable lingering behind his eyes. It lasted for only a moment or two before he sighed and pushed Tango’s communicator back across the table.

“So - you mean all of us have forgotten things? All of us have some kind of - what - amnesia?”

“Basically,” Grian told him.

“What about Gem?” Impulse spoke up, and when Tango looked over there was a frown creasing his brow and pulling down the corners of his mouth between his beard. Grian mimicked his expression, his wings fluttering behind him.

“What about her?”

“She’s acting really odd.”

More of the table gave him their attention, Fwhip more than the rest.

“Whaddaya mean by ‘odd’?” Xisuma asked, leaning forward and steepling his fingers in front of him. “I didn’t see her much today.”

“Well, she was kind of all over the place,” Scar said, and Impulse nodded with an affirming hum.

“Yeah, that,” he agreed. “And every time I saw her, she seemed to flip between tagging along with me and Pearl, and pretending she had no idea who we were.”

“And the random costume changes,” Tango muttered, which Impulse nodded along with.

“That too.”

“How do you know Gem again?” Fwhip asked, squinting at them with a strange look on his face.

“She’s a member of our server,” Xisuma told him. “She’s been with us for a season and a half by now, and she’s a wonderful builder and a wonderful friend.”

“She’s been with you?” Fwhip pressed, confusion in his expression. “Except for recently, you mean.”

Now it was Impulse’s turn to look confused, and Tango was right there with him.

“Nooo…?” Impulse said slowly. “She’s…my neighbor? I see her every other day. She was with us when we came through the rift.”

“That’s not possible.” Pixl’s voice drew their attention, his brow furrowed. “She lives here, in Dawn. She’s the princess of that kingdom. And we already established that nobody is capable of leaving the server.”

Impulse chuckled weakly, confused, shaking his head.

“That’s–”

“How long do you remember her being here?” Grian asked pointedly. “Specifically.”

“As long as any of us,” Pixl told him. “Since the founding of our empires.”

Impulse shot Tango a look, perplexed and tight around the eyes.

“But…she’s been on Hermitcraft,” he said. “Regularly. I’d even say she’s been on more than usual the last few weeks.”

Grian took a breath and a beat of silence passed with him staring off across the table, not looking at anything in particular. Just…thinking. He was tugging at his sweater cuffs again, his brow pinched. Without any preamble or a single spoken word, Scar shifted closer, resting his hand against Grian’s back just below his wing joints. He leaned in to press a quick kiss into his soulmate’s hair and Grian softened, much of the tension draining from his shoulders and too-stiff wings.

“...I need more information,” he muttered finally, and Xisuma nodded beside him. “We should talk to Gem tomorrow.”

“What about False?” This time, the question arose from Joe Hills, who had been sitting in relative silence through most of the conversation. “Isn’t she also a member of both servers?”

“Void, she is,” Xisuma muttered. “And she came through the rift with us as well…has anyone seen much of her today?”

“A little,” said Grian lowly. “At Sanctuary.”

“She was at Shelby’s place not long after we first got separated,” Tango added, followed by Impulse saying,

“And at Dawn.” He winced. “I was a bit too focused on how weird Gem was acting though, so I don’t really remember what False was getting up to.”

Grian chewed his lip thoughtfully, squinting at nothing.

“We’ll need to talk to them both then,” he mused. He nodded, slowly at first, then a little more decisively. “Right…right. Okay. Fwhip.”

One of Fwhip’s ears twitched and he tilted his head at Grian, who finally refocused his eyes back on the goblin. Grian looked dreadfully serious, something behind his eyes making him appear older and more burdened than he had any right to.

(Though Tango knew there was good reason for that. He may not have known all the details, but he knew enough of Grian’s history to know he had been through a lot. He had seen more than most Hermits probably had in their entire lifetime.)

“Fwhip, I’d like to ask permission for us to have access to your server code. OP status at least, if nothing else.”

“The server code?” Fwhip repeated, even as he pulled out his communicator. “You think it’s a server issue?”

“I’m sure of it,” Grian told him, the same time that Tango muttered, “We know it is.”

Pixl and Fwhip cast Tango a glance, and under their curious stares, he shrugged lopsidedly.

“The last time I saw Jimmy, he told me you guys were having connection and communications issues with the server. We had to time the portal just right to get him and Scott and Joel back to Empires after Double Life ended.” He folded his arms over his chest and sank back in his seat, his knee bouncing beneath the table again. “Back then I’d guessed it might’ve been a jammer, but this is way more than that. The connection just kept getting worse and worse until nobody could get through anymore, and now with the memory loss…”

Grian nodded with a wince.

“It was about that time I reached out to the Recap team and Noxcrew to see if they’d had better luck, but–” He shook his head, his wings fidgeting tensely against his back despite Scar's comforting presence at his side. “I dove into my rift experiments more steadily after that. If the hub couldn’t get through, then I’d hoped a bit of void magic would have a better chance.”

Xisuma landed a hand on Grian’s shoulder, his eyes crinkling into a smile behind the visor of his helmet.

“And you were right, my friend,” he said. “We got through.”

Grian huffed out a soft breath and flashed the other admin an appreciative look.

The chair between Tango and Xisuma creaked and Joe leaned forward, straightening his glasses slightly.

“Pixlriffs, you’re a man of record keeping and historical documentation,” he spoke up, drawing the man’s attention. “Would you say you also keep records of the daily goings on of the server?”

“I, er…” Pixl blinked at him, as though the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “Yes, actually. My focus is on ancient history more than anything else, but today’s events will one day be tomorrow’s history. I like to help future historians’ endeavors in any way I can.”

“Wiser words were never spoken,” Joe smiled. “Well if that’s the case, have you read back through any of your old journals from the start of the server?”

Understanding dawned behind Pixl’s eyes.

“Not recently, no. I don’t often go back once I've filled a book. I keep them all organized on a shelf back at my base and only ever keep the current copy on me.”

“Well perhaps that’s where we ought to start tomorrow mornin’,” Joe decided. “You an’ I can head over and check your old records, some other folks can find Gem and False, and anyone else around can get started on examining the server code to look for categorical anomalies.”

Grian, for one, looked more than a little relieved that they had a plan of action laid out before them. Tango imagined that was where a great deal of his current stress had been spawning from - having no starting point to tackle the much too daunting task that lay ahead of them. For not the first time, Tango was grateful to have Joe Hills as a member of their Hermit family.

“That sounds like a solid plan,” Xisuma said. “Thank you, Joe.”

“Here–” Fwhip summoned an admin screen to life before him, tabbing open a secondary window and an equally holographic keyboard. “Let’s see if I can get all your comms linked up to Empires so we can keep in touch. I might not have to add anyone to the whitelist if I do this right.”

“Wouldn’t having them on the whitelist be easier?” Pixl asked. He leaned sideways to peer at the screens. “It seems like the quicker option.”

“Unless being on the whitelist makes it easier for our memories to be affected the way yours have been,” Grian pointed out, and Fwhip nodded his agreement. “It would be nice if our rescue mission didn’t end in the loss of another dozen or so players to the effects of this glitch.”

Pixl blanched at the thought.

“...ah.”

The chatter of voices rose quietly around the table, Grian attempting to help Fwhip connect the Hermits to Empires through a sort of digital backdoor method while Pixl watched on with bright curiosity. Xisuma and Joe had their heads leaned together and were talking in low tones, and Scar was making a quiet request to the bartender for another drink while he drummed his fingers idly against the backrest of Grian’s chair.

Tango let out a low breath and sank further in his chair, dragging his hands over his face and letting his head fall backward against the wooden backrest.

“...are you going back to Tumble Town tomorrow?”

Impulse’s voice was a soft undertone, murmured in Tango’s direction in a way that wouldn’t draw outward attention. For that, Tango was grateful. At the mere mention of his soulmate’s empire his chest grew tight and he ground the heels of his palms against his eyes hard enough to see stars pop up in his vision. In lieu of an answer, he let out a grumbled blazeborn wheeze and a small puff of hot air, his hair flaring a briefly brighter blue. Beside him, Impulse huffed out a quiet chuckle.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

“I told him I’d come back,” Tango managed. He let his hands fall away from his face and let his head loll sideways to look up at Impulse. His best friend was watching him, his beard crinkled into a knowing little smile. “Am I stupid for wanting to, even when it kind of hurts?”

Impulse hummed thoughtfully and shook his head.

“Nah, not stupid. A bit self-destructive, maybe, but you’re not doing it because you want it to hurt. You just miss him.”

“Yeah…” Tango went quiet for a long moment, doing his best to ignore the ache behind his eyes. “I think the alternative is worse.”

“What, not seeing him at all?”

Tango nodded jerkily, the fur of his hood tickling his cheek slightly. He ducked down against it, half-hiding in the material, just…thinking. Then he groaned and slumped forward onto the table, tugging his hood up over his head and dropping his forehead onto folded arms. The glow of his hair shone through his eyelids slightly in the new darkness. For a few blissful moments he was left in a dome of semi-quiet, the outside world muffled by the thick material of his robes and the protective barrier of his arms. For a few blissful moments he could pretend he’d just fallen asleep at his workstation in Decked Out and this entire day had been nothing but a horrible dream brought about by his lack of a regular sleep schedule. Or any sleep at all, really.

Then someone rapped gently on the table beside his folded arms and Tango lifted his head just enough to peer out from under the fur trim of his hood. Scar’s smiling face was ducked down to his level and Tango frowned, wondering what in the world Scar could want from him.

“Mind taking a walk with me, Mr. Tango of the Lovesick variety?”

Tango didn’t deign to comment on the awful nickname, scrunching up his nose in distaste…even as he (begrudgingly) admitted that it was a horribly accurate descriptor. Accuracy notwithstanding, he leveled Scar with a squinting halfhearted glare and eyed him with suspicion.

“Where?”

“Oh, just outside!” Scar’s face vanished from the small crack between the table and Tango’s hood. “I think we could both do with some air. Waddaya say?”

Tango’s first instinct was to assume Scar’s request wasn’t quite as innocent as it seemed on the surface. After all, the man was a grifter, and everyone knew it. No comment he made with that tone of voice could be taken at face value.

But…on the other hand, getting out of the tavern and away from the chatter of the group sounded like a wonderful offer.

Tango dragged himself upright and scrubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t bother knocking back his hood as he stood up, opting instead to shove his fists in his pockets and flash Scar a weary smile. Scar, on the other hand, looked chipper as ever as he grinned brilliantly at his much more melancholy friend.

“Come, come!” he urged, hooking an arm through Tango’s and leading him away toward the door. “I want to take a look at the architecture before we all turn in for the night.”

The architecture. Right. It was a very Scar thing to say, to be sure, but Tango could sense an ulterior motive from a chunk away.

Tango allowed himself one last glance over his shoulder as they left. Nobody but Impulse seemed to have noticed his and Scar’s departure. Grian was still as fixated as ever on the wall of server code Fwhip had pulled up for him, and Joe had taken out a book and quill and was scribbling rapidly in its pages. In Tango’s absence, Impulse had shifted closer to Fwhip to try and get another set of eyes on the coding the others were examining…though he must have felt Tango’s eyes on him because he turned around at the last second to offer his pyre brother a small supportive smile. Tango barely managed a forced one of his own before Scar was dragging him out into the street.

The damp chill of the cavern air was more refreshing than Tango had expected it to be once he and Scar set foot outside. He could taste a burnt metallic tang in the air that he could only assume was coming from the armory next door, and there was a layer of mustiness that wasn’t out of place in a city built so far underground.

Scar tugged him along, away from the tavern, his eyes dancing from building to building with an air of knowledgeable curiosity that had Tango wondering if the man was already collecting pieces of decor in the back of his mind for a future construction project. Goodness knows Tango often did the same when mentally dissecting other players’ redstone contraptions. They didn’t walk very far, merely taking a short stroll around their little corner of the city block, and then Scar finally broke the simple silence that had taken over the air around them.

“You know Tango,” he said, and Tango could already hear that familiar sly cordiality that often accompanied a Scar-certified scheme, “I was talkin’ to Fwhip for a while on our way over here. I heard some interesting things about this empire of his.”

“Is that right?” Tango asked, wondering where this was going.

“Yes, yes!” Scar grinned. “It’s actually built on the edge of an ancient city, if you’d believe it. I don’t know if that’s a brave idea or a very silly one, but I sure wouldn’t try it myself. Those wardens scare me too much.”

Tango snorted, a small smile cracking on his face.

“Naaah,” he drawled. “Wardens aren’t so bad, you’ve just gotta be nice to ‘em. They’re like ravagers. A bit murdery when you first meet ‘em, but once they get used to you they’re super friendly. They’re big ol’ teddy bears, really.”

Scar pretended to be stunned, affronted, his jaw dropping and a shocked sound leaving him.

“Not all of us are monster wranglers!” he protested. “I’ll have you know, I died about a hundred times trying to get that ravager into Locked Out.”

Tango snickered.

“Aww, come on! Ravagers are just big dumb chompy cows. They’re friendly! Just - get on their good side first.”

“Well, I don’t believe ravagers even have a good side,” Scar grumbled, “but the next time one tries to kill me, I’ll let you know if I can find it.”

At that, Tango cackled, letting out a barking laugh and allowing his tail to loosen from where it had become tightly coiled around his leg. It flicked out lazily from beneath the hem of his coat, shifting the heavy fabric. Tango patted Scar’s arm lightly where it was still looped through his.

“I’m guessing you won’t be staying in Gobland while we’re here?” he asked, teasing. “If you’re not a fan of wardens, then…I meeeaaan…”

“Noooo, no, no! Absolutely not,” Scar confirmed immediately. “Most people won’t be, as far as I heard. I think Grian even has plans to build a Hermit base near the rift.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “But I, on the other hand, have my sights set on Trouble Town.”

…what?

“...Tumble Town?” Tango corrected slowly, curiosity getting the best of him as he swallowed back the lump in his throat that arose upon hearing the empire’s name. “Really?”

“Oh, sure, sure!” He led Tango out of the street and up onto the pathway on the other side, leaning on him for a moment so he could crane his neck up to examine the trim on a building they passed. “Well the Sheriff offered me the chance to become his Deputy! I’m not about to turn that down.” He shot Tango a brilliant grin. “And it’s a wild west empire. What’s not to love?”

Scar was watching him expectantly, so Tango pulled on a smile, huffing out a breath.

“Yeah…” he murmured. “It’s pretty amazing. Jimmy built almost all of it himself.”

It was amazing, he couldn’t lie. For someone who had claimed to “not be a builder” during Double Life, Jimmy had proven his own claim wrong a hundred times over with the existence of his empire alone. He had created an entire community there, buildings that looked natural in their environment and helped to bring the western town and the surrounding mesa to life. It wasn’t as colorful as Sanctuary or as grand as what little of Joel’s empire Tango’d been able to see during the few seconds he’d let himself linger there, but it was homely. It was welcoming and warm and had that flair of homespun comfort that was often associated with handmade blankets and home-cooked meals.

Tango was proud of his soulmate, and he was only a little upset he hadn’t been able to say it properly earlier for fear of coming across as more friendly than a stranger should. But that was alright. He’d just have to save it for when Jimmy finally got his memories back, wouldn’t he?

There was a moment of quiet, then Scar let Tango’s arm go in favor of sinking carefully onto a low stone wall built along the front of an unmarked building. He took a breath, his fingers drumming idly along the handle of his cane.

“You know, Fwhip also mentioned that he’s looking for a redstoner.”

…and there it was. The other shoe.

Tango cast Scar a sideways glance from beneath his hood, but the man wasn’t looking in Tango’s direction. He was still admiring the trim and rooflines of a building across the street, paying little mind to the few goblins still loitering around the square. With a resigned huff, Tango dropped onto the wall beside Scar.

“A redstoner, huh?” he asked flatly, only barely playing along with Scar’s game. “You should tell Bdubs. He’d be thrilled to help.”

He didn’t have to look Scar’s way to feel the other Hermit’s eyes on him.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll already have his hands full with Etho,” Scar said. He laughed quietly to himself. “Nooo, no, I was actually going to suggest you should take the job.”

Despite having been expecting it, Tango grimaced at the suggestion.

“I can’t,” he muttered. “I already promised Jimmy I’d help him with building the ranch, and I’d rather spend any free time trying to help fix this glitch–”

“Tango, Tango, Tango,” Scar cut him off. “If you force yourself to stay this close to the issue twenty-four-seven, you’re gonna go insane! Trust me, you should let yourself take a break sometimes. Heck, when I get too stuck in my own head, I like to do some building or start sketching up a new design, and it works wonders.” He leaned sideways to bump shoulders with Tango, a grin on his face. “You’re a redstone guy, right? So take the job! Do some redstone! Take your mind off of things once in a while! It’ll be good for you!”

Tango chewed his lip and stared out across the uneven stone street, a faint blue glow emanating from beneath his hood. He folded his arms over his chest and his tail wound its way around his waist, and he found himself tempted to let his blaze rods free from the confines of code he often kept them hidden away in.

Maybe Scar had a point. Tango had known, in accepting Jimmy’s invitation to stay in Tumble Town, that he was setting himself up for heartache. He already knew how hard it was going to be to stick around his soulmate under the current circumstances. He had all but resigned himself to his fate up until now, willing to endure anything if it meant spending even a second more time with Jimmy, but…well. His knee began bouncing again and he dug his fingers into the sleeves of his robes.

It was unrealistic. Unsustainable. Nobody knew how long it would take to undo the damage of whatever bug had gotten into the code of Empires, and for all that Tango wanted to keep a close eye on his amnesiac partner, he also knew he’d be of little use to his fellow admins if he was mentally and emotionally compromised on a daily basis.

A hand came to rest on his upper arm, drawing Tango’s attention back to Scar, whose bombastic grin had lessened into something soft and understanding.

“You don’t have to avoid him completely,” he reminded Tango, his voice low and even and almost comforting. “He’s your soulmate. I know how that goes. I’m just sayin’ you should give yourself a breather sometimes. We all need one, once in a while.”

Scar drummed his fingers against the handle of his cane pointedly and Tango gave him a wry smile.

“From the mouth of an expert,” he quipped, and Scar grinned.

“Ohhh, I wouldn’t say expert,” he teased right back. “Just someone with experience.”

Scar pulled away and got to his feet with some effort, leaning more heavily on his cane than he had been before and sighing.

“Welp, I’d love to keep chit-chattin’, but I think Grian’s looking for me.”

Tango glanced around with a frown. The streets were almost completely empty by now aside from himself, Scar, and a few lingering goblins. The familiar ambiance of an expansive cavern lingered in the air - quiet echoed bat squeaks and the resonating drip of stalactites and the sound of distant clattering pebbles - and it had been the same for as long as he and Scar had been out here. Even his finer blazeborn hearing wasn’t picking up anything different, no change in the environment around them, and yet–

The Tavern door swung open across the street, familiar macaw-colored feathers catching Tango’s eye, and he raised an eyebrow. Speak of the devil…maybe Scar could sense him coming. Maybe it was a vex thing.

“Tango?” Scar said with a smile, “Just think about it.”

Then he left Tango to his thoughts, carefully making his way across the cobbled street and being met halfway by a much more energetic Grian. The avian was flitting about his soulmate, his wings shifting constantly, and he made a sweeping gesture back toward the tavern, toward Scar, then back the way they had come on their trip down here in the first place. Then Scar laughed and grinned and said something that Tango could only assume was charming, as Grian instantly softened and rolled his eyes.

Tango snorted to himself, a tiny wry smile easing its way onto his face. For all the chaos Scar and Grian wrought upon each other on a near-daily basis, it never seemed to change how much they cared for one another. It was like a constant of the universe. Doc would always find a way to break the laws of physics. Bdubs would always gravitate toward Etho. Mumbo’s redstone would always cause lag. Grian and Scar would always be soulmates, no matter the server.

Jimmy would always be his soulmate, no matter the server.

Tango’s smile faded slightly as he watched them leave, Scar settling an arm over Grian’s shoulders and Grian chattering endlessly to him while he gestured toward a building not too far from the tavern. Tango could only assume it was an inn of some kind, based on the signage and architecture.

He sighed. He could still feel a crackle of flames at his scalp.

“Just think about it.”

Scar wasn’t wrong, Tango couldn’t deny it. Getting away from all the mental stress and distracting himself with redstone once in a while wasn’t the worst idea in the world. And seeing as the job itself was posted for by Fwhip, the admin of the server, at the very least Tango knew he’d be nearby if something important happened with the server code.

Maybe he’d take the job. Maybe.

A few more people spilled out of the tavern, Xisuma and Joe lingering outside the door with Impulse to chat. Pixl and Fwhip were still talking amongst themselves as well, their heads close and their voices low…though rather than moving toward the inn like Grian and Scar had, their path was bringing them closer to Tango and in the general direction of the route they had taken from the nether portal.

Perhaps Pixl planned on returning home for the night.

Their footsteps carried them past Tango’s seat on the wall, and it was only then that he began to overhear what was being said.

“...should bring Scott in on this,” Fwhip was saying. “Grian said he’s got a lot of admin experience–”

“Except he doesn’t remember it,” Pixl said. He shook his head, his brow furrowed. “If this amnesia issue is server-wide then he only remembers living here with you as the sole admin, just as I do.”

Fwhip swore softly and frowned.

“Right. Dammit–”

He stopped in his tracks to glance backward toward the tavern. One of his massive, batlike ears twitched, his tail flicked irritably, and then he sighed.

“Dammit. Okay. The less people the better, then…” Fwhip turned back around, glanced in the other direction, and his large eyes fell on Tango. “Oh - hey, I was wondering where you’d gone.”

Tango forced a smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to just poof out on ya.” He chuckled weakly and jerked a thumb at the surrounding streets and buildings. “Scar dragged me out for a self-tour. You’ve got a nice empire here, man.”

Fwhip lit up.

“Thanks!” He grinned, sharp goblin teeth on full display. Then he eyed Tango curiously, his ears perking up and his head cocking to the side. “Wait - aren’t you the one Scar said was into redstone?”

Tango’s smile went tight and he withheld a groan. Of course. Of course Scar would’ve had a backup plan for this scheming. Tango should have expected something like this.

(He had to remind himself that, for all of Scar’s trickery, it was coming from a place of care and compassion. Scar was only trying to be a good friend.)

“Yeah, that’s me.” Tango got to his feet and finally flicked his hood backward off his head, the heat that had been captured under it escaping into the damp subterranean air. “...he was telling me something about a redstone job you had for me…?”

“For anyone who wants it, really,” Fwhip shrugged. “I just need someone who can handle doing some wonky redstone for me.”

At that, Tango’s expression lit up. Ohhhh…oh, he could see why Scar had thought of him.

“Oh, I can do wonky,” he said, a genuine smile coming to life on his face, one that quickly shifted into a smirk at Fwhip’s excited expression. “Whatcha got in mind?”

By the time Impulse found him, Fwhip and Pixl had long since left, and Tango was staring up at the cavern ceiling with about half a dozen different ideas bouncing around in his head. He wasn’t planning on doing anything tonight - or even for the next few days, really - but he found himself silently thanking Scar for knowing him so well. Even if he came by once a week to help Fwhip with his minecart idea, those brief moments of respite amidst the chaos and stress would help him reset when he needed it most.

“Hey,” Impulse said, strolling up to him. He followed Tango’s gaze toward the ceiling and squinted. “Whatcha lookin’ it?”

“Mmm…nothing yet,” Tango mused. He shook half-formed redstone plans from his mind and turned to offer Impulse a tired grin. “Scar hornswoggled me. He got me good.”

A knowing smile slowly spread across Impulse’s face, accompanied by a curious furrow of his brows.

“Oh?” he asked, chuckling. “What’d he do?”

“He got me to accept a job from Fwhip to keep my mind off of things.”

“Did he?” Impulse asked, brightening. “What kind of job?”

Tango snorted.

“What else?” His grin turned lopsided. “He got me in on some redstone action.”

Impulse let out a laugh.

“Oh, of course!” He elbowed Tango lightly, and Tango shoved him back. “It’s your kryptonite. Of course you said yes.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Tango drawled, stepping off the curb into the street and traipsing his way toward the inn he’d seen Xisuma and Joe vanish into not too long ago. “Like you wouldn’t be saying yes just as quickly.”

Of course, he didn’t say that it had taken some serious consideration and some meddling from Scar to get him to even say yes in the first place, but…details.

“Oh, I would!” Impulse admitted, and Tango could hear the hurried sound of his heavy boots on cobble as he worked to catch up with Tango. He was quick to fall into step beside him the moment he’d reached Tango’s side. “Hey…I’m proud of you for saying yes.”

Tango’s steps stuttered and he glanced sideways at Impulse, who wasn’t even looking his way.

“...why?”

Impulse shrugged, his broad shoulders shifting upward and the belt beneath his vest chinking slightly.

“‘Cause you’d probably rather be with Jimmy right now,” he said, like the plainest thing in the world. “Heck, you’d probably rather be with Jimmy most days we’ll be here. But - I mean I told you not to torture yourself. I told you to be careful. And you are.”

Tango blinked a few times, his pace slowing ever so slightly and his jaw tensing.

“...not that careful,” he admitted bitterly, the memory of Jimmy looking concerned while Tango stared wistfully up at his unfinished build coming to the forefront. “I still said I’d help him build the ranch. I said I’d live there. The ranch, Impy-”

“You did,” Impulse admitted, and his expression turned a little pained. “And that probably wasn’t the smartest. But you also committed to something that’ll give you space when you need it. Right?” He stopped just before the door to the inn, his smile strained but still genuine beneath it all. “I’m proud of you for that.”

Tango swallowed and hunched his shoulders, his hands finding their way back to his pockets and the fur of his hood tickling his ears. He found a bit of lint with his fingertips and toyed with it while he fidgeted on the stoop.

“...it’s not much.”

“It’s something though.”

And…yeah. Yeah, he supposed it was.

“Fwhip said we can take any empty rooms for the night,” Impulse said after a moment, shouldering open the door and bypassing the empty front room to stare up the stairs. “Come talk to me before you go to Tumble Town tomorrow, okay?”

Tango gave a sharp, jerky sort of nod, and his smile didn’t feel quite as reassuring as he was trying to make it out to be. All the same, Impulse took it at face value, and he gave Tango one last one-armed hug before making his way upstairs.

Later, when Tango had found an empty room and removed his coat, when he stood in his tunic and trousers and bootless socks, when he stood at the open window and shivered in the chilly cavern air, he reminded himself that even accepting the help Scar had forcibly offered was a step in the right direction. It was good. It was no small feat to admit when he needed help at all, and saying yes to Fwhip’s job offer was as close as he was probably gonna come to admitting it in the first place. (To anyone besides Impulse, at least.)

The air was too still and too damp and too cold to be comfortable, even compared to the freezing environment of Decked Out that Tango had become so accustomed to. It was just too different. Too different from the dry, crisp, frigid atmosphere of the dungeons…too different from the warm, sweet air Tango remembered from Double Life.

More surprisingly, he found himself longing for the hot dry sun and sand-filled boots and sharp winds, a place he had no reason to call familiar…but somehow it still called to him. He was sure it had more to do with the person who lived there than the place itself. He was the home Tango was missing, even if the mesa surely wasn’t.

But he’d see Jimmy tomorrow, he reminded himself. His next visit was only one night’s sleep away.

(He knew he wouldn’t see his soulmate for a very, very long time.)

Tango took a slow, measured breath and ignored the crackling warmth in his chest. The air on his tongue tasted like sulfur.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[A/N: So um. I'm sorry…? ^^;;; Good news: This is most likely the worst it'll ever get in this story. This is the low point. It's only uphill from here (mostly) and since the next chapter will most likely be from Jimmy's POV, it'll be MUCH fluffier! :3

…also this chapter ended up at 15.5k words, which DOUBLED THE LENGTH OF THE ENTIRE FIC. AGAIN. How?!? HOW do I keep doing this to myself??? I just - slams head on desk - I need a more sane brain. Honestly.

BUT in all seriousness, for as long as it took to write this, I am INSANELY proud of the outcome! Thank you to multiple members of the Hermitshipping Big Bang server for helping me with beta reading, and thank YOU for your patience! I hope it was worth the wait! We got to see Impulse being a GREAT friend, and Scar being a good one as well in his own way. And Grian too…I mean, a friend of mine said they were surprised he didn't know Tango and Jimmy were an item during Double Life, but Grian didn't really interact with the ranchers as much as he did with others, and I like to imagine that Tango and Jimmy didn't exactly indulge in much PDA when they were actively roleplaying for the game lol. That was kept (mostly) behind the doors of the ranch. 😋 Grian somehow COMPLETELY missed his little brother getting a boyfriend in the midst of his death game lol. (I suppose the Flower Husbands had a much more noticeable relationship though, so maybe he just never assumed anything was happening since the Ranchers were more low-key with their affections.)

ALSO I HOPE I PORTRAYED FWHIP AND PIXL WELL ENOUGH. I've seen SOME Empires stuff, but my knowledge is a bit lacking so I just - well, fingers crossed, basically lol. Hopefully what I have seen has helped me do them both justice to some degree!

And if you'd like me to go back and add other inspiration songs to earlier chapters, let me know. I have a MASSIVE chronological playlist for this story, and the main reason I won't be sharing it in full is because some future songs may be a bit spoilery hah. Sooo revealing them as we go seemed like a fun idea! I hope y'all find some good music to add to your own playlist in here!]

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#Team Rancher #Solidaritek #Trafficblr #HC x Empires #Pixiemage Writes #There's Not a Word Yet #TNaWY AU #TangoTek #The Rift #Empires S2 #Hermitcraft S9 #SolidarityGaming #Jimmy Solidarity #Traffic Shipping #Trafficshipping #Double Life SMP #Team Rancher Fanfiction

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transmorolians · 4 months ago

Text

parappa 2 details you may or may not have noticed:

opening cutscene:

a truck with joe chin's likeness is crushed by the monster in the movie theatre dream sequence.

the plane seen in the movie is the same plane seen in stage 7's opening cutscene—which parappa's dad built.

in the movie theatre, you can see (alongside the main characters) the bullies from parappa 1 and um jammer lammy, joe chin, kotamanegi (name means something like "onion kid"), rodney greenblat('s self-insert), and the random visitors introduced in stage 3's opening cutscene.

in parappa's room, he has a bone-themed bed, and bone-themed wallpaper. on the walls, he has posters for "pony pony love house", the nba ([usamerican] national basketball association, but it's written as "nca"), the fruites dojo (with the poster bearing onion-sensei's likeness), the j-league (japanese professional football [soccer] league, but it's written as "j-leacue"), and a poster with incomprehensible text that i can't understand no matter what. his desk has a photo of sunny funny, a dog-themed phone, an alarm clock reading "07:01", a green box labelled "wipe out" on the spine (may be a reference to the playstation racing game, wipeout?), and a book with the text "ryo go-go" on the cover. next to his desk, he has a trash can and a small basketball hoop.

some of the noodle cups, and the boxes they come in, are labelled "beard noodles". the other containers are just labelled "noodle".

the scratch-offs read "super scratch", "noodle products", and "get! 100years supply". i can't read what the scratchy part reads, but it says something about noodles.

there are pictures depicting parappa and his dad in front of many, many cups of noodles, and some boxes of noodles.

parappa's father serves him noodles with lettuce, cucumber, and tomato; noodles with milk and cereal; noodles with what i assume is red onion and celery; noodles with cheese hamburg steak; normal spaghetti and meatballs (noodles obligatory); noodles with strawberry shortcake; noodles in a sandwich; noodles with chicken legs; noodles with a sundae; and noodles in a carton of milk. oh, and of course, the monstrosity bowl with an entire fish, a donut, a hot dog (with ketchup and mustard), flan, and two pieces of cucumber.

the tv in the background contains a joe chin advertisement, with text reading "it is you about a gorgeous life.", "joe chin company"

sunny serves parappa and pj the same monstrous things parappa's dad served him.

stage 1

in the town, you can see Sweety Cakes (the cake store where parappa got a cake in the cutscene before stage 4 in the first game), Fruites Dojo (onion-sensei's dojo, of course), U-Drive University (the driving school where parappa was tested for his driver's license in stage 2 of the first game—though the test was on the open roads), a building with the text "no wait" "eay", a bookstore shaped like an open book, the movie theatre, the flea market… and, of course, beard burgers.

in the cutscene, rodney greenblat's self-insert drives by twice.

from outside, the beard burgers menu reads "big beef burger", "big beef burger giant", "big beef burger giant with cheese", "big fried potatoes", and "smoothie - orange or spinach".

the many patrons of the restaurant are eating noodles from plates, fries containers, and drink cups.

joe chin's limo no longer has vinyl panther seats.

there is a sign that reads "we've been cooking beef the same way for over 500 years! beard burger 1501 – 2001"

the other patrons of the restaurant are very scared of the beard burger master's ghost—hiding behind the tables and sneaking towards the door to get away from the ghost. even pj and parappa are scared, but they chill out when they realise the ghost is gonna teach them how to make burgers.

the kitchen's wallpaper is cow-themed.

the sign in the back of the kitchen reads "more meat means more beef"

the beard burger master's soon, colonel noodles, appears holding the noodliser when you mess up.

the ketchup bottles, mustard bottles, salt&pepper shakers, flour/sugar/to-go bags, trays, mugs, and mop are all modelled in the beard burger master's likeness (and so is the rest of the kitchen equipment, but those are easier to see)

the beard burger master has some very funny ad-libs you might not hear if you aren't paying attention. after saying "toast the buns", he will say "my buns are very toasty". when he says "melt the cheese", he goes "ow!" parappa is holding back laughter in his lines after these certain ad-libs. he also says "serve the drinks—serve them", "french the fries—french them". as well as other things such as "mm yeah, come on". you know, usual ad-lib stuff. "you gotta, you gotta" "yes, yes, very nice" "you know? you're doing good now"

stage 2

the movie theatre is playing "jet baby: the movie"

the truck with joe chin's likeness drives by.

colonel noodles serves parappa and pj soft-serve vanilla ice cream.

a "hot gas" truck drives by.

joe chin also drives by, in his limo, and waves to rodney's self-insert.

the bullies from parappa 1 and um jammer lammy are seen exiting the movie theatre.

the news show is titled "rodney world news 20".

the joe chin advertisement, with text reading "it is you about a gorgeous life.", "joe chin company", can be seen on the tv screen for a brief moment before the camera changes, and then for a bit after parappa and pj enter parappa's house.

when performing the commands "love with rose", parappa pulls out a bouquet of roses, whilst pj pulls out a plate with sliced meat and what i assume is tomatoes and basil as garnish.

stage 3

pj is the only one who notices when the shrink ray shrinks parappa and sunny's dads, looking back after they're shrunk once again.

when lammy, katy, and masan enter parappa's house, you can hear muffled voices saying "it's milkcan!" the same voices also say a bunch of other stuff i can't understand.

when the shrimp enters the house, it says "ebi san", which means "mr shrimp"? "i'm mr shrimp"?

you can see parappa come out of a red house with a green roof, purple driveway with a white car. the property has a brown fence around it, but it also has another chainlink fence inside with a red gate, around a dog bowl-themed pool.

the houses nearby are a square, bear-themed house, and a rounded squared-shaped fishbowl-themed house.

stage 4

you can see the "tape deck" noodliser in the cutscene.

the soldiers in the "special force" appear to be wearing cooking pot lids, and holding six-stringed banjoes with bayonets.

pj (understandably) doesn't really like being picked up and carried by the back of his neck…

the building next to the rocket in parappa's daydream sequence has the crest of the noodle syndicate on its side.

poor pj looks miserable… :(

the jump rope machines resemble a frog with a rainbow mohawk, and a brunette woman with a red dress.

pj is also jumping rope! and he's still miserable.

during the "i gotta do this every single day" lyric of the rock climbing section, you can see pj struggling his way up.

you can see pj climb up to the top of the rock wall… and immediately fall off when trying to stand up.

stage 5

pj is overjoyed when he realises he accidentally sent a giant barbell flying at one of the bullies from the first few games.

we can see many stores, such as "sandwich heaven", "fruit lovers", "big bagel", "chicken chic", "cheeze queen", "cafe rodney", "sushi beast", "tofu tub", as well as the sign for the hair salon.

you can see the "tape deck" noodliser on the counter.

for some reason, the "hostages" don't have the noodle syndicate seat buckles (explaining why they can't just leave) in the cutscene, but they do in the stage.

parappa's car in the daydream sequence more resembles his dad's car from before he crashes it in the first game than the car he buys afterwards. and though the license plate cannot be seen in the cutscene, it reads "popscar" ("pop's car"), implying it's a repaired version of parappa's dad's car.

parappa switches between scissors, a shaving razor, a comb/brush, a lamp thing, shampoo bottle, and blow dryer.

parappa uses a cabinet with wheels and the claw thing as improvised stools (he wouldn't be able to reach the hostages' hair otherwise). when he has to wash and rinse lammy's hair, the floor also rises up for him.

stage 6

the basement room has the same shelf and desk from the living room, two unfinished denoodlisers, a dozen boxes of noodles, two boxes of pet stones, and exercise bike without the pedals, two dozen nondescript boxes, a stepladder, and a bucket hanging from the ceiling.

after clearing the stage, you can see pj sitting at the desk in the background… presumably eating noodles.

stage 7

katy kat's cellphone has a charm depicting parappa and pj holding a giant ice cream cone, with four scoops of varying flavours.

as the anti-noodle bicycle is, well, a bicycle, lammy is standing on the back pegs of it, holding into katy for dear life. poor lammy

when the stage begins, pj disappears.

colonel noodles and parappa eat with a three-pronged fork.

the "fruit in a basket" consists of an apple, an orange, and a bunch of three bananas.

when colonel noodles places noodle-filed shrimp sushi and a burger, the takes off the shrimps and the bun and the rest of the burger's toppings to prove his point.

when colonel noodles says "noodles", the letters are made of noodles. when parappa says "cookies", the letters are made of chocolate-chip cookies.

cherry pie.

the splash of water knocks the glasses/mask off of colonel noodles' face, and the noodle plate from his hands. you can also see a bucket drop from the ceiling and roll off-screen.

in the thought bubbles, the following foods appear: corn bread, baked potato, onigiri (rice balls), cinnamon roll, cream horn, and. i honestly can't tell what that one pastry is.

stage 8

when sunny runs up to parappa and colonel noodles, she is holding an "afro catalog".

ending

behind u-drive university, you can see a the bear-themed house from before, as well as a cat-themed house, an ambiguously-shaped house, and a house with a joe chin's face on top.

pj, masan, and the bullies are walking by the movie theatre. joe chin passes by in his limo again

joe chin is walking by "chicken chic" with katy and lammy.

hairdresser octopus is being interviewed outside of his salon.

#long post #parappa the rapper

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fordarkisthesuede · 1 year ago

Text

Fangs of Ourorboros - Chapter 1 - Ghosts of the Past

Good evening from the east coast! 🌇 I've brought you a proper chapter for you to chew on! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Last time:

Batman was playing a strange murder-mystery game with Joker when an explosion interrupted his investigation...

Rocky Hopper: employed part-time in Xotic Construction, living in a two-bedroom apartment in midtown with a wife and two children. His criminal record showed he was a three-time parolee by the age of thirty-six for armed robbery, assault, DUI, and theft. No known association to any Gotham-based gang. An unremarkable small-time criminal Batman previously noted for rubbing shoulders with Oswald Cobblepot during his time in Gotham two years ago, before The Penguin was taken into custody.

To anyone else, such a fact was a mere blip on the radar. But to Bruce - to Batman - it was a flashing yellow mark on the edge of his mind.

Richard Hartright. Vicki Vale. Penguin. One string leading to another on a cork board collage with a muddled picture of why.

The GCPD touted BlackGate Penitentiary as a fortress; a prime example of modern security in spite of the building’s age.

Heh. Not for Batman. The nighttime security were like any other lookout team, conversing on their radios or over their shoulders while paying mild attention to their surroundings.

It was practically a cake walk. Bruce grappled up to the roof and rolled over the railing with barely a swish of his cape. The guard by the rooftop door jabbered about the Knights’ chances in the league this year over the two-way as Bruce crept behind him and squirted all-purpose oil between the crack in the door where the hinges should be.

The door opened silently, and Bruce slipped in, breathing in the familiar smell of dusty hallways as he walked on the edges of his feet down the concrete steps.

Oswald would be in the C Block. It took no time to get down to the third floor. Even less time to find the section, painted in chunky white letters on the floor and wall as if the heavy metal door to the place was easy to miss.

The security lock was a simple hand scanner, meant to use the layout and size of the hand instead of a key or passcode. Bruce pulled out the luminous spray normally reserved for crime scenes and sprayed the scan bed. The Batsuit’s gauntlets scanned the imprint, and with a few taps on the key generator Tiffany had perfected last year, all he had to do was place his hand over the sensor and wait while for the lights to turn green.

The bolt lock slid open with a sudden thunk, and Bruce slipped into Cell Block C.

Three stories of prison cells stretched open before him, smelling like a public bathroom in the Narrows. He could see each barred door had two beds embedded into the walls, with only just enough room for two people to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, bringing to mind a twisted shoebox diorama.

One long catwalk weaved throughout the place, spotted with rust and bits of peeling paint. The rush of air as he whizzed past rows of metal bars was only slightly satisfactory when he was still wincing at the slight sound of the metal clang of the grapple teeth hitting the railing.

The cell door was easy to unlock - all the doors were connected to an online grid for routine automatic unlocking, but had a manual override to use a physical key. A simple signal jammer was all that was needed to fool the cell into thinking it lost connection to the controller and let Bruce pick the lock.

Despite the cowl, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. He was being watched, but he wasn’t sure by who. At the very least, he knew an alarm hadn’t been tripped; his radio tuner wasn’t picking up any calls to action inside the prison…

The lock opened with too loud of a cha-clink. Oswald stirred.

The upper bunk was empty, despite the rumpled sheets. At least Bruce wouldn’t have to worry about potentially fighting off two prisoners at once.

Bruce chose to stay away from the cot to speak; there was no need to overstep and put either of them in harm’s way yet. He kicked the cot’s mattress instead to get attention.

Oswald jerked upward with a garbled sort of shout, flinching to press his back against the wall.

The direct approach was best. “Why did you want to destroy Richard Hartright’s files?”

Oswald glared at him, shoulders sagging as he relaxed into a sitting position. “Should’ve known you’d sneak your sorry-winged ass in here to give me the business one of these days. Or did the Commissioner give you your own Bat-pass?”

“I know Rocky Hopper worked for you,” Bruce said flatly, “The bomb he was setting in Hartright’s filing cabinet went off early. He’s dead.”

Oswald’s eyebrow rose a fraction, eyes widening in a sort of surprise that he was trying and failing to suppress. “Plenty of people worked for me,” he said with practiced casualty, casting a look at the cell door and waving away the issue. “I don’t care what they do with their spare time nowadays.”

Bruce had enough. He grabbed Oswald by the collar and hoisted him up to be more on his level. “I don’t play games,” he growled out, “You worked for Vicki Vale - you knew Richard was one of her sources during her time at the Gazette. One of your affiliates blew up his office with enough C4 to kill him. Why were you after him?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the detective,” Oswald scowled.

Bruce punched him hard in the jaw, holding him up so he didn’t fall back into the wall. “What did he have that you didn’t want getting out?”

“You can’t hurt me in a way that matters,” Oswald scowled in disgust, “You think I don’t see this every day in this hellhole?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. A clanging noise came from outside the cell.

“SHUT UP or I’m going to come over there and chew your FACE off, Penguin!” came a gravelly hiss of a voice from a nearby cell. “SOME of us are trying to SLEEP!”

“Your neighbor sounds mad,” Bruce taunted, “Tell me what I want to know and maybe I won’t wake up the whole block.”

Bruce tossed him to the floor, only too late feeling his cape pull along with the motion. His shoulder smacked into the wall as Oswald skittered out the open door.

He chased after him, boots clanging on the metal of the catwalk, priming a bat-bola to throw. Oswald barely reached the staircase when the weighted rope whipped through the air and wrapped itself around the man’s calves in the nick of time.

Oswald hit the floor with a loud, reverberating thunk. Bruce was able to grab an arm and pin it around his back as he leaned over him, out of arm’s reach.

“You bastard, you’re no different from the pigs that run this place!” Oswald spat, voice echoing around the cell block.

“Why did Richard pose a threat to you?” Batman asked again, feeling more eyes on him. He could see several prisoners had risen in their beds. One was already pressed against the bars of the cell for a better look. He pulled on the arm he was holding, just enough to hurt.

“Because he’s just like your lot,” Oswald grunted, “Sticks his nose in where it doesn’t belong. Vicki’s worth ten of him.”

Bruce’s brain buzzed, trying to parse through what information he had. The private detective’s only link to Oswald was through Vicki Vale; he had nothing to do with Penguin’s crew, before or after his arrest, that Bruce knew of. The mention of Penguin’s old leader in the present tense was jarring. “Vicki Vale’s been dead for two years.”

Penguin gave a light wheeze of a chuckle. “Killed her yourself, did you?” he taunted, “Buried her in a shallow grave with the last rites? They never did find a body in all that rubble, did they?”

Bruce had seen the rocks fall as he guided Alfred out of the underground catacomb. He’d doubled back later, on the off chance he could find her, and found the chamber practically blocked off by the collapse. There were no other tunnels, no secret rooms, no pockets she could have climbed out of. He’d checked.

But it bothered him all the same.

He could hear the inmates start to blabber and howl as he dragged Oswald ‘The Penguin’ Cobblepot back to his cell by his feet.

Body slam him next! Body slaaam!

Not so tough now, are ya Peng’? Ha ha, oh man!

Fuck you! Fuck you, you hear me, Bat? Fuck you!

Let me out - I’ll drag your ass around the block, Bat!

Come on, Penguin, get up and grab him-!

You think you’re so tough, you’re nothing without that fuckin’ armor!

He ignored it all, leaving Oz to nurse his wounds on the floor of his cell, winding the bola back up after he slammed the door behind him.

Deep down, he knew getting information out of Oz was a longshot to begin with. Any more questions would be met with more stubborn non-answers. He would have to check Oz’ mail, visitors, cell-mates, anything he could have used to send out the message to his cronies.

He leapt up and over the railing to glide back down to the first floor, feeling the eyes of awakened prisoners all around.

“Hey, Batman” a smooth, familiar voice called from his right. “You got a taste for beating up bird-dudes or what? I’d think you know he doesn’t like to talk about work.”

Bruce barely gave Roman Sionis and his cocky little smirk a second glance.

“I could tell you what he was up to,” Roman added.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Bruce ignored the cacophony of noise as he left the way he came in, the sound of the hinge on the metal door far more noticeable now that he was in a hurry to leave. “I doubt it,” Bruce muttered.

🜁

The bare facts stared out at him through black and white scans and data retrievals on the Batcomputer’s oversized screens.

Rocky Hopper communicated strictly through text messages. Simple instructions of picking up the bomb and a key from a contact he’d meet on the street, dropping it off in Detective Hartright’s office, and flicking the switch to let the countdown start. Said contact was never named, explained as being able to recognize Rocky on sight.

Oswald Cobblepot’s outgoing mail took a long time to be scanned and approved, up until a few months ago. Most likely he or someone who worked for him was paying off one of the officers in charge of the mail room. At first, the letters used an easy code of the first letter in each sentence spelling out a short command. Silence person, pick up this, sell that, mostly to one Cameron Van Cleer. As far as Bruce could tell, Cameron was one of Oz’ one-time cronies that - judging by the social media profile Bruce had gathered - had sympathies to the Children of Arkham. Oz must have entrusted them with a financial account, judging by shorthand instructions to buy and sell actual stock as well. No mention of Detective Hartright.

All of this would be easily digested, if it weren’t for the last line in the last letter to Cameron: Our fair lady will be reaching out to you.

The incoming mail told a similar story of back-and-forth mob work disguised as friendly exchanges. And then there were the others. Arriving every week or two, short and to the point, like telegrams more than anything.

I know you must be surprised to hear from me. I know I’ve been away a long time, but I’ve kept a close eye on things. I can see things haven’t changed since I left… Wayne Enterprises is still standing, to my surprise. But I can see our friends aren’t all gone. Can I still count you as a friend, even though it’s been so long? -Your fair lady

Then, two weeks later:

I’m glad we’re still friends after all this time. I have so many things I’d like to share with you! Do you remember Julian Day ? He had a whole article in the Gazette on page 4! -Your fair lady

Bruce checked the date against the Gazette’s webpage. Julian Day was noted for causing a car crash that ended in his death and the destruction of a popular corner restaurant. The coroner’s report Bruce pulled up noted no street drugs in his system. One patron said they thought they saw someone else exit from the backseat of the vehicle, but no other person was found on CCTV.

And then the last letter, dated a week ago:

We need to catch up in person. I’ve got a little place downtown above the Iceberg Lounge. (I heard Roman Sionis tried to buy it once!) I’d love for you to visit… Drop me a line when you can. -Your fair lady

Bruce felt the impossible gnaw at him. But the strings he had were so easily put together. Oswald had been corresponding with Lady Arkham, despite the fact that Vicki Vale was buried under the rubble of Arkham’s underground catacombs.

She was dead.

Had to be.

He’d checked.

They never did find a body in all that rubble, did they?

Bruce tried to breathe steadily into his hands. His elbows were sore from the near-constant perch on the metal console as he read and re-read. He sank further to rest his forehead on his arms, breathing in the cave air as he tried to focus.

He saw that pile of rubble in his mind’s eye. Broken stone bricks were piled high in a seemingly endless mountain in the cool, musty darkness below Arkham. He moved through it, stepping on only the largest, sturdiest pieces to prevent an avalanche. Bruce climbed over a fallen column. The snakes winding around the stone seemed to shift in the light.

Even in the basement, he could feel the pull of the asylum on his psyche. The toxic energy that seeped into walls from years of madness and undoubtable abuse stirred down there like dust, swirling at his feet and seeming to stick to the edges of his cape. He tried to ignore it as he walked over the broken stone to the spot he saw Vicki last.

The opening she had tried to get to was completely sealed now. There was nothing but dead ends among long-dead bodies everywhere else underground.

He could see the top of the air-pulse weapon Lady Arkham had wielded sticking out between two stones. He reached down and pulled, straining against the rock until they started to tumble away; the weapon pulled free as if it were Excalibur, almost making him fall back.

His drone was too large to send into the fresh gap. He stooped down to shine his light into the crevice, dust swirling up to meet him and cover him in Arkham before could glimpse the gloved hand reaching up to snatch his cape, jerking his shoulder, trying to pull him down deeper into-

Bruce snapped awake, jolting in his seat. When had he fallen asleep…?

“Morning, honey-buns,” John greeted from behind, placing a cup of coffee next to Bruce’s elbow, “Rough night?”

Bruce watched a freshly dressed John lean his hip against the massive desk, taking a sip from his silly ‘clown juice’ mug with an expectant stare. He felt his mood sink upon realizing he hadn’t seen him since last night. He’d seemed surprised at the explosion interrupting the odd murder-game he’d made, but… He looked awfully casual right now, if not a little mad.

“I mean, I assume,” John added, squinting accusingly at Bruce, “you forgot to text me what happened.”

Ah. That explained the mood. “It was pretty long,” Bruce answered, his mouth tasting like old beef jerky. “I didn’t even know I fell asleep.”

“I could tell,” John teased with a snide little smirk, moving to sit on the flat surface so he could swing his feet in the air. “I haven’t seen you fall asleep in the suit before.”

The square cut of emerald and tiny amethysts on either side winked at Bruce from John’s ring finger, bringing Bruce back into the reality of the present. He pushed the thoughts of John’s involvement away, choosing to trust his fiancé and figuring that his mood was entirely due to Bruce keeping him in the dark. He finally gave into the urge to let his gloved fingers rest softly on the plum-purple corduroy covering John’s thigh. “That’s because someone keeps goading me out of it.”

John giggled, looking pleased. “If you weren’t so shy about mixing the other halves of our lives together, I wouldn’t have to.”

Bruce could feel the little smile in the corner of his mouth quirking up as John’s hand covered his. He relented in finally taking in some of the steaming caffeine John had brought him. The smooth bitter heat steeped into his chest, bringing him partially back to life.

“Soooo…Penguin, huh?” John craned his neck up to the monitor behind him, taking Bruce a little off guard. “Was he playing ‘Emperor’ in prison, or is it just another concrete jungle?”

Truthfully, Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of Oz’ predicament. “Hard to say,” he said, “He got out of the cell for a few minutes, but some of the prisoners had no problem with me fighting him. His neighbor certainly didn’t care about who he was talking to.”

“Could just be all that testosterone and sleep deprivation crammed in those two-by-fours,” John commented knowingly, legs moving steadily in the air, “Any fight gets ‘em all riled up! As you well know,” he said with a sly little grin.

Bruce remembered Zaaz’s fight with the orderly back in Arkham all too well. The orderly survived, but Bruce had felt the guilt of leaving him to fend for himself while he made the all-important call compound and sit in him for a long time.

“Could be.”

“Those little letters sure are interesting, aren’t they? I’m guessing you didn’t find the replies.”

Bruce leaned back in the chair, looking at the whole picture again. “No. He must have had an in-between deliver them. I know he must have had someone in the mailroom on his payroll.” He stared at the offending final letter, pulled up square among the rest. “That last one bothers me.”

“Right? It’s hard to picture The Penguin meeting up with a zombie in a club! Ha ha ha haa! Ah, doesn’t that sound like a bad horror flick?”

Such a silly thing to say should have quelled the thought still pecking at the back of his skull. It only left a bad taste in his mouth. Coffee wasn’t washing it away.

The smile slipped from John’s face. “...she is dead, isn’t she? I remember that pile of rubble looked pretty big on T.V…”

For a moment, Bruce thought about shrugging it off with silence. Or just saying that Oz mentioning her couldn’t be a coincidence. But John had asked the question that kept casting shadows over everything else. And if there was anyone else who could look at those, it was John. “I never found her body,” he answered, staring hard at the digitized letter, “No one did.”

“Sooo…there’s a slim chance she’s back in Gotham, then,” John said with a squint, pinching his index finger and thumb together in front of Bruce’s face, the emerald on his ring glinting, “I mean, IF we put aside the fact she was likely heavily injured and would have to hitch a ride back to the city, where everyone definitely recognizes her, AFTER getting out of the secret underground chamber and swimming back to Gotham from the island.”

It was the kind of thing he’d hear from him across the visiting table at Arkham. He wanted to believe him. “It’s still a chance,” he said, unable to shake the feeling he was missing something important, “If it’s not her, then someone’s going out of their way to convince us it is.”

“There is another possibility.” John paused to take a loud slurp from his mug. “He’s trying to throw you off your rhythm.”

“To what end?”

“Who says there has to be an end?” John shrugged, a smile on the corners of his cherry-red mouth, “If I was really mad at you - like, ree-ally mad - ‘you betrayed me’ mad - I’d do it just to mess with you.”

Even now that they were engaged, he found himself not doubting that at all. John sometimes enjoyed needling him for little to no reason other than getting a reaction. Maybe, if John were different… If their lives had gone differently, then…

He swallowed the dark thought down with coffee and a non-committal hum as the cell phone left on the console buzzed. Once, twice, and on the third Bruce finally deigned to answer.

“Morning, Iman.”

“Bruce,” came Iman’s no-nonsense voice, “you need to get down to the office.”

“I wasn’t exactly planning on playing hooky,” Bruce said dryly.

“A few of my old colleagues are here,” Iman replied, her tone sharp and stable, “talking to our security team. They’re going to have a conference call with a few of our other branches. And I have a feeling they’ll want to talk to you personally.”

“Great. That’s all I need.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt he needed to know: “What are you doing there so early, anyway?”

A slight pause. “I wanted to catch the Quick ‘Fast truck again,” she answered sheepishly, “I figured I would just come in and get some work done afterward.”

Ah. The early bird catches the pancake-burger, Bruce thought to himself. “Right. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“Be careful,” she added, “they’ll likely put a tail on you after they talk with you here, but they might have one already watching the house.” A beat passed as he considered the small frame of time he might have unobserved. “I’ve gotta run. Any longer in here and they’ll suspect I’m talking to you.”

John set his mug down by the fabric flowers he’d made Bruce while he was still in Arkham. “Bad news? Let me guess – our latest wedding planner’s gone rogue.”

“No. Worse than that.”

“Good; Kimberly might not have much going for her, but after the last two…”

“John.”

John mimed zipping his mouth shut.

“The Agency is back in town. Some of them are waiting for me at the office.”

“The Agency?” Tiffany piped up from behind, “What do they want?”

“I don’t know yet,” Bruce said over his shoulder, “but considering they aren’t coming to the house, and are conversing with Wayne Enterprises’ entire security team, I’d say they’re waiting for someone to come in or out of one of our buildings.”

John was worrying the corner of his bottom lip as he looked at the steel floor, eyes darting over the squares like they held all the paths such a situation could go.

“John,” he said as gently as possible, putting a hand on his shoulder, “you don’t have to go to work if you don’t want to. I can talk to your social worker-”

“No!” he said suddenly, snatching hold of Bruce’s arm. He seemed to realize how frantic he seemed, because he quickly covered it by giving the armor plating a couple of pats and trying for a smile. “No. I’ll go. I shouldn’t…” The smile wavered. “I don’t want to be alone here,” he muttered honestly.

“We’re going to have to get you to work early, then. It’s that or dropping you off at St. Dymphna’s…”

Tiffany was already taking over the console, pulling up the 3D-generated image of the bomb. “Have you looked through this?”

“Not quite.”

Tiffany pulled away the layers of it, eyes traveling over the interior. The drone cameras had taken the pictures of the pieces, and Bruce and the BatComputer worked together to piece it back like a three-dimensional puzzle. He didn’t pay as much attention to its construction as he should have; he had been combing over Oz’ mail not long before and thinking about any other possible explanation than the one that kept popping up.

“So, you missed the partial left behind?” Sure enough, a partial print of what might have been from the middle or index finger was barely visible on one of the inner slices of metal, somehow not entirely burned off. If Bruce hadn’t been present for the explosion, he wouldn’t wonder if it was somehow planted for him.

Tiffany was already running a cross-check on the criminal database with one of her shortcut commands. “That’s not like you.” She squinted at him with a tilt of her head. “Are you okay?”

“I think the lure of the criminal chase was clearly too much last night; he fell asleep down here,” John excused for him.

Tiffany pulled a face. “I hope that’s not a euphemism for something.”

“He means I was distracted by case details,” Bruce butted in, “And I did fall asleep. But more importantly-”

“You need to go,” Tiffany and John said in unison.

John pointed at Tiffany in delight. “Ooh-hoo, jinx!”

“I can easily look into this,” Tiffany pointed to the rapidly growing list of names, “and still be on time.”

“And I’ll help!” John gestured to himself importantly, “Four eyes are better than two! Um, as long as you don’t mind driving me to work on your way,” John added, casting Tiffany a friendly look.

Tiffany pursed her lips in mock-thought. “Hmm… Alright. But only because I know I’m getting a seat of honor at your guys’ wedding. And this is a huge list.”

Bruce felt the usual itch to just take the important work with him. He knew he could only look at it at red lights, and knew he’d be thinking about it nonstop until he reached his office. But with the Agency back in town and speaking with his security team of all things, the sense of dread he’d felt last night was building higher.

Something was going to happen.

And for once, Bruce felt that he shouldn’t try to go it alone.

“I expect to see you,” he pointed to Tiffany, “in the engineering offices by 9 A.M. sharp. I want a brief in my office at 9:30.” Tiffany seemed to stand a little straighter, and the smile on the edges of her mouth became more pronounced.

“And you,” he directed at John, who was already looking bright-eyed, “better be at All Stitched Up Alterations by 8:30. And you’re going to stay there for your whole shift, go back to St. Dymphna’s with the others, and wait until I pick you up at 5:30.”

“Sheesh, I leave early one time to follow a lead for your case, and you act like I’m some delinquent,” John poked with a toothy grin. “I’d make a joke about detention with you if Tiffy wasn’t here.”

Tiffany wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, please don’t.”

John giggled at her as he brushed off his pants like he’d gotten them dirty just by sitting. “Okay, Bruce, I promise I’ll be good,” he half-sang, “but I better be updated during the day this time.”

John looped his arms around Bruce’s neck and leaned in to kiss his cheek, but his lips didn’t make contact.

“Don’t think any of this stops our game, Bruce,” John whispered in a low voice, the corner of his smiling mouth brushing over the fine hairs. Bruce wasn’t sure if it was the words or the soft movement that made the spike of heat in his gut. John’s lips barely brushed his skin in a soft peck. “Don’t make me sleep alone.”

Bruce felt John’s nails dig slightly into his back with the last word, and then John pulled himself away like nothing happened. “Have a good day!” he added brightly. “Uh, you know, as much as you can.”

His heart thudded with the small rush of adrenaline at the threat still burning against his ear. It was unreasonable to try and play this…murder-game Joker had established while Bruce and Batman had enough on their plates.

“I’ll be waiting,” John added, tilting his head to look at Bruce through his lashes with a challenging sort of smirk. The kind normally reserved for when he was moments away from being bound and on his knees.

Bruce reminded himself that this unreasonable, manipulative, handsome sneak of a man was who he was choosing to marry. He wouldn’t promise him anything; he couldn’t. But he wouldn’t deny him, either. If he was this hell-bent on playing, it was clearly important to him.

“I’ll…try.” Bruce heard the cape of his suit swish across the metal tiles as he made his way to the elevator.

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

Author Notes: Finally, we're at our proper start, having returned to the classic TellTale formula! The Whole Nine Yards sure was a nice romantic break in the series, but things can't stay that way forever. (If you hadn't read it, no worries, I'll summarize for you: Bruce and John talked about their feelings and further built their relationship, boinked a lot, Alfred left again, and Bruce spontaneously proposed to John on a romantic sunset-lit beach.) I'm sure you realize that our return to base means "choices" have an impact again - for example, if you romanced Selina throughout and only befriended John, it would be her waking Bruce but John butting his way in partway to deliver his last whispered lines with a hug…minus the threat of sending Bruce to the couch, of course. Selina would then stick around to help next chapter as well, but only so far. A villainous Joker would have had made a real crime scene for our prologue and thus made his game a lot more pressing of an issue and a way more reasonable excuse to follow up on it. (No matter who he romances, Bats can't stay away from Joker's ploys.)

Y'all know by now that I love jokes in my work as much as I love making clues. Penguin's dead goon, Rocky Hopper, is both! The name comes from the rockhopper penguin, which is famous for it's bushy "brows", weird spikey mullet-like "haircut", and red eyes. We also have a callback to Season 4, The Tolls of Justice, with Iman's excuse for showing up to work early - Quick 'Fast (like "quick breakfast"), the mysterious food truck that eludes John and home of his coveted Pancake Burger! Apparently, Iman tried it and liked it enough to chase after it. Somewhere, in the recesses of my brain, there's a short story taking place before this where Iman and John hunt down the truck together… But that's for another day.

Next time, we'll see things from a certain bird-girl's point of view. After all, her choices matter as much as the rest, and she really doesn't get enough love around here. Until then...thank you, as always, for joining me on this journey! (●´□`)♡

#fangs of ouroboros #telltale batman #batman the telltale series #telltale batjokes #juce #the perseverance project #oswald cobblepot #bruce wayne #john doe #iman avesta #tiffany fox #vicki vale #lady arkham #the penguin #yes that is an alchemical symbol for a spacer #hmm I wonder who Penguin's neighbor is?

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ask-a-w · 7 months ago

Text

Absent Mind Chapter 4: A Lengthy Conversation

AO3

FF.net

Previous chapter: Chapter 3 - Day By Day

Next chapter: Chapter 5 - Into The Unknown

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Time to take matters into her own hands since it had been a solid week with no news about Leon. After Ada was done consuming the last of the leftovers and washing up the dishes, the ex-operative decided it was time to do a little “field” work.

She opened a corner of her wardrobe where her old tactical outfits were stored. They were kept for mostly sentimental reasons… and for emergencies. Ada donned an all black outfit to blend in with the night. Weapons were minimal, just a small trusty Beretta and a knife. Not that she would use them but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

The gadgets on the other hand, packed a little more punch, considering that Hunnigan’s house might have some extra security features.

Once the necessary items were all loaded into her side packs, she bade her cats farewell with affectionate scratches on their heads, and left for Hunnigan’s.

Ada parked her vehicle a short distance away and using the cover of the night, she stuck to the shadows as she made her way over to the darkened house. The brunette wasn’t home yet.

Stopping at the fence, she crouched down, and pulled out a detector to read the frequencies on the screen. Just some standard alarms on the doors and windows.

It was nothing her jammer could not handle. The ex-spy activated it and within a few seconds, the alarms were out. But she wasn’t in the clear. Her hazel eyes peeked through the slits in the fence and she spotted the tell tale red lights of the security cameras located on the balcony.

Hacking took time and Ada opted for the old fashioned route of staying out of the camera’s line of sight. There was a blind spot between the fence and the kitchen window.

Seizing the opportunity, Ada leapt over the fence stealthily and rolled on the grass, towards the window. It was latched shut but she stuck a magnet on the glass and moved it, unlatching the window from the outside.

Ada was in the house within a few seconds and after locking the window, she heard a sharp bark and her heart stopped for a second. She held her breath as the sound of trotting footsteps grew louder followed by panting. A husky entered the kitchen and Ada bent down, cautiously sticking her hand out as the curious canine sniffed it.

“Remember me?”

The dog’s tail wagged eagerly from side to side and it licked her fingers. Before Leon and Ada adopted Ebony, they used to drop off Cobalt at Hunnigan’s for petsitting. Thank goodness the ginger feline was unperturbed by a dog and both got along well. The husky warmed up to strangers and was happy to see a long-lost “friend” again.

Ada pulled out a treat from her pocket and the husky ate it with relish. “Good dog,” she said soothingly as she went to make herself comfortable at the dining table while the dog followed her, setting itself down at her feet.

She deactivated the jammer and restarted the alarms in the house. Might as well keep the dwelling secure in the meantime, lest actual thieves broke in.

Now to wait for Ingrid Hunnigan.

---------

On Monday night Hunnigan left work late. She had messaged her contacts in the biowarfare industry to enquire if there was something occurring that might have taken Leon away but everyone assured her that they knew nothing of such a situation. Budding or otherwise.

Too tired to head home to cook, she ended up going out for dinner. A little Italian place she frequented where all the servers knew her by name along with her favourite dishes. It was owned by an elderly couple who treated everyone like their own family members.

Her worry for Leon failed to whet her appetite though and the owners of the restaurant asked if she was alright. Ingrid gave a white lie that she was feeling a little drained. The owner, in her own grandmotherly way, told Ingrid that she needed to take care of herself and gave some lasagna leftovers on the house.

Touched by the gesture, Hunnigan left a generous tip and carefully clutched the takeaway bag in her hand as she unlocked her car.

Driving home she found herself sitting in her driveway long after the car engine turned off. There was a muffled stillness as the air ceased to circulate. She grabbed the leftovers, her computer bag, jacket, and cellphone before exiting the car.

Her front door swung open, the darkness of the house yawning like a hungry maw. She didn’t bother to turn the lights on right away. Her heels came off as she stepped into the foyer, placing them off to the side.

Skadi must have been sleeping somewhere at the back of the house, she thought to herself, because she is usually here waiting for me.

To the left of the door was a small vanity. She deposited her keys and the leftovers there, then closed the door. Behind the door, shoved into a corner was a coat rack. She hung her jacket then dug through the pockets. Her identification badge, her work cell, keys to her office were all dropped into an elegant, glass bowl on the vanity.

She reached over to the far wall and flicked a switch, the yellow bulbs overhead immediately painting the foyer and living room in light. She stepped through and heard some light scratches coming from the kitchen.

“Skadi, you better not be trying to get into the pantry again.” Ingrid spoke in a mock-scolding manner.

She moved through the living room and stepped into the kitchen. She flicked another switch, and the fluorescent lights blinded her a moment when she felt her dog collide against her knee. Reflexively, Hunnigan ran a hand down Skadi’s head when her eyes detected the obsidian silhouette of a person. The island was between them, she held out her phone like a weapon and blinked a few times.

“What the hell?!”

---------

Ada must have counted the amount of stitches on the tablecloth at least ten times before she heard the key turning in the lock. She chose to remain still, allowing Hunnigan to settle down before she made her presence known.

Skadi’s ears pricked up when Hunnigan called out to her. The husky ran happily in a little circle as its nails lightly scratched against the wooden floor before it bounded up to her owner just as the lights were switched on. Ada was bemused when the bespectacled brunette swore out loud in a behaviour that was atypical of her.

“Good evening,” Ada said calmly with her hands folded together, ignoring the harmless cellphone that was thrust in her general direction. “Pardon me for the intrusion but please have a seat, we have important matters to discuss.”

Her hazel eyes watched the other woman’s movements carefully. She doubted Hunnigan was armed but it did not hurt to be cautious.

Ingrid’s heart was beating furiously in her chest, trying to reconcile the lost beats the fright caused. Her free hand was clasped to her chest, pushing air out in loud exhales, hedged with vocalization. Her phone was still held out in an accusatory manner before her eyes finally focused on the intruder’s face. Ada.

“What are you doing here–” her eyes darted to the windows, the doors. “How did you get in here?!”

She turned the phone towards herself, finger tapping the screen a few times. New alerts awaited her, a few emails and a reminder for a meeting she had in the morning but certainly nothing denoting that there had been a break in.

Her home had been completely outfitted with a state of the art security system. The sensors on the doors and windows were encrypted, safeguarding them from remote scrambling. Around the house were several, strategically placed cameras filming in infrared, ultraviolet and the visible spectrum. There was another set of motion activated sensors near the front and balcony doors.

Ingrid turned her attention to the dog, sitting quietly at her feet. “You had one job, Skadi.” The husky’s ears drooped slightly and it let out a soft whine.

If Leon wasn’t missing, Hunnigan’s rapid fire glances at Ada, the house, and her dog would have fit perfectly in some sort of comedy.

The question on how she got in almost made her laugh. Did Ingrid forget that she used to be a spy and getting into establishments stealthily was one of the necessary skills of the trade?

“Canines do possess the ability to recognize the scents of people they’ve met before,” Ada replied dryly as Skasi padded back to her and she reached under the table to give the husky a few pats on the head, conveniently ignoring Ingrid’s first question altogether.

“You’d think a guard dog would find it suspicious that a previous visitor was sneaking into my house while I wasn’t home and why are you sneaking into my house while I am not home, Ada– I mean, not that you sneaking into my house while I am home would be more acceptable or anything.” Ingrid expelled air quickly from her lungs, clearly frazzled.

Ada folded her arms once more, giving the other a grave look, “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

There was another brief staredown between both women before Ada spoke again.

“I don’t require the details of his assignment. Is he well and on this continent at all?”

Chances are, he wasn’t. The DSO had a tendency to deploy him all over the globe but there were still a handful of cases here and there on local soil that needed his expertise.

All Ada needed was just a clue on where her beloved blonde was. Maybe then she could rest easy. Or find him by herself.

Feeling a headache coming on, Ingrid laid her phone down on the table and took a few deep breaths. Inhale through her nose, breathe in until her lungs could hold no more. Hold. Hold just until her chest began to burn then release the air slowly from parted lips. An exercise she had begun working on since picking up yoga to deal with her stress.

“I told you before. Leon isn’t on a mission.” Her eyes rose to meet Ada’s. “But if you are here and still asking about it then it is safe to conclude that you have not been able to reach him either.”

She turned away from Leon’s wife, moving to a cabinet just above the sink. “Look, I know we have not seen eye to eye in the past and we still have our differences like how you broke into my house but that is besides the point.”

Ada’s temper nearly flared when the brunette once again insisted that Leon was not on a mission. The ex-spy was sorely tempted to toss his ring on the table to prove Hunnigan wrong but she reined in her emotions. It would be a shame to damage a perfectly good piece of jewellery.

But, there was something in Ingrid’s eyes that made her stop and listen. Sincerity, frustration, and desperation all rolled into one gaze. She kept silent and allowed the other woman to putter around the kitchen.

Ingrid retrieved two stemmed glasses within the cabinet before pulling out a bottle from the wine rack below the island. She quickly removed the foil seal and fished out a corkscrew from a nearby drawer. A few turns later, the cork lifted quickly from the bottle.

She poured the first glass just above a quarter full, then a second. Fingers hooked under each glass, Ingrid carried them over to the table, holding out one to Ada as she took a seat opposite her.

“We both care for Leon. If he had been sent on an assignment and I knew about it, I would let you know. Even if a gag order had been placed, I would have gotten word to you somehow and Leon would be the first person in line pushing me to do so. He wouldn’t want you worrying over him.”

Ada took the preoffered glass but she wasn’t in the mood to drink. Instead, she cradled it between both hands and stared at the effervescence on the surface of the liquid, processing what Ingrid said.

Her words did make sense though. She was a smart woman and had the capability to send an encrypted word to Ada no matter what even if her orders said otherwise.

Ada inhaled a deep breath and reached into her pocket to pull out Leon’s ring. She placed it on the table and began her explanation.

“Leon always leaves this behind whenever he’s sent away. Scared to lose it on the battlefield, I suppose.” She left out how they had a small ritual of having her slide the ring back on his finger whenever he came home.

Ingrid was nodding her head occasionally, absorbing everything Ada was saying. Her words painted an intimate picture, a side of Leon that Ingrid had never thought of before in such detail. Sipping at her wine, she found her mind working feverishly to piece together the fractured, isolated aspects of the greater mystery.

When Ada placed the ring on the table, Ingrid delicately picked it up, turning it over. Pinched between her index and thumb. It caught the fluorescent lights overhead, burnished and polished. She watched her reflection bend and stretch as if made of water.

“I hadn’t known about that. I knew he didn’t wear his ring and assumed it was something like that.” She had honestly always believed Leon liked to uphold his bachelor guise while in the field.

Ada then placed a watch beside the wedding ring.

“I ordered a set of watches after our wedding. In addition to other features, they come with a tracker that allows us to see where the other is anywhere in the world. A way for me to know if he’s safe without bothering anyone. We always wear them.”

The raven-haired woman sighed and finally took a sip of alcohol, allowing the sweet liquid coat her tongue. It was good.

“I never knew about the watch,” Hunnigan whispered as she polished off half of her glass. A heavy feeling swirled around her gut. It was fear mixed with liquor. She set the glass down on the table, the ring placed gently beside it. Her fingers found their way to the watch.

She examined it with intrigue and interest. The details were right up her alley so to speak. Her attention was brought first to the face. Digital numbers, military time. Current coordinates. Top of the line. What a pricey newlywed gift Ada had picked out. Her espionage days had clearly set her tastes– and form was just as important as fashion. Turning it over in her hands, Ingrid ran her thumb along the back.

It was beautiful, hand stamped initials of their names etched in the back. Probably a custom order or at most a very limited run of this specific make and model.

“Given that his ring is with me, it means he has been deployed.” Ada rasped coldly. “And it seems someone up in his chain of command knew about the tracker. They must have been desperate to keep his assignment off the grid from me and you.”

This was serious. If something happened to Leon, whoever was in charge will pay for it. Preferably via asphyxiation.

Ingrid could only shake her head as her brows knitted with frustration. “Officially, the DSO states that he’s attending a conference. You and I both know that’s not true. I don’t understand why anyone would give him an assignment– or how,” she took a sip of her drink. “Every mission, proposed or rejected goes through me first. Not just with Leon but every DSO agent. I can list off the whereabouts of every agent that has been deployed-”

She stopped herself before she divulged classified data to a civilian. “Leon has officially been grounded indefinitely too, at his request. I’ve not been his support agent since he became a trainer. I even made sure his successor passed with flying colours before we retired Leon from the field. All missions have been rerouted to Da-”

The brunette paused once more and cursed inwardly. She almost revealed more private information.

Ada merely continued to drink more of her wine, pretending that Ingrid did not attempt to commit a crime exposing state secrets. It was interesting that Sherry Birkin and Helena Harper weren’t spoken of at all. She was under the assumption that all three agents continued to work closely after China. The conference was an obvious lie that even a child could have seen through it.

However, the mention of Leon having his request honoured brought some comfort to her. Her wish of him leading a less exciting life was granted.

Ingrid stood and moved over to the island, grabbing her phone and opening up to the text messages. She turned the screen towards Ada. It contained message after message, including reminders of their upcoming meetings. All without response.

“I’ve sent him a dozen emails and even went by his office. He couldn’t be on a mission without me knowing about it,” her usual authoritative resonance in her voice slipped as she continued.

Was it Derek Simmons all over again? Corruption running through their department, a fissure right before her eyes that she missed. Hunnigan sank into her chair again.

“What do you propose we do?”

The idea that someone higher than her– than Leon, pulling strings with her agent sent a wave of righteous indignation through her.

Ada continued to gaze at the cellphone in front of her, glancing through the numerous unanswered messages. Leon might be a busy person but he always replied with a short text. Something was definitely wrong.

After a few quiet seconds, Ada broke out of her stupor. “You would have to keep digging on your end. There has to be another official document that states his whereabouts.”

Her own hands were tied. Hacking the DSO from the BSAA would be frowned upon and cause a lot of unnecessary drama. Ada drained the rest of her alcohol, “I will just have to hold on to a shred of optimism.”

She wasn’t one for waiting but sometimes that was all that could be done.

There was something quiet and sad in Ada’s words– or maybe it was just the way she delivered the final line. Defeated perhaps but even beyond that, a hint of desperation. It did nothing to calm Ingrid’s frayed nerves. Bustling just behind her eyes, below her skin.

She considered her next course of action for a moment. Trying to decide where the next place to look would be. Helena might work. “I’m going to ask Helena. She is stateside right now and could weed out more info.”

Hunnigan was in the midst of drafting a text when her phone chimed loudly. She read over the incoming message. No sooner had she finished reading it that her phone began to ring. An unknown number.

The brunette stood and stepped away from the table, heading over to the balcony doors. “Hunnigan here.”

Ada’s hazel eyes watched Ingrid as she read the text with a pensive look before it was interrupted by a phone call. When Leon’s handler headed outside, Ada had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Ingrid had no more than just turned the corner before she darted back into the house and spoke hurriedly.

“Someone just arrived at Havenwood hospital as a John Doe. They performed fingerprints and the results just flagged the DSO database. He’s got Leon’s prints.”

Within a span of a few seconds, Ada went through a roller coaster of emotions. First was dread, followed by relief before it was eventually replaced by confusion. Havenwood was just outside the capital.

“Why is he not in a DSO medical facility?”

It was bizarre how their finest agent was now labelled as a John Doe and at a hospital nowhere near his workplace. If the medical care rendered to her husband was inadequate, there would be hell to pay.

Ada got to her feet and gathered Leon’s belongings off the table. She was almost out the door when her phone rang from an unidentified number. Her finger slid across the screen to accept the call as she held the phone to her ear.

“Is this Mrs. Ada Kennedy, spouse of Mr. Leon Scott Kennedy?” A male voice spoke on the other end and sounded middle-aged.

“I am, who is this?” Ada furrowed her brows as she looked at Hunnigan.

“A representative from the DSO. As his next of kin, it is our responsibility to inform you that he has been injured and is now receiving treatment at the Neurosurgical ICU in Havenwood Hospital. We request that you keep this information to yourself and enter via the back entrance. Our staff will escort you when you get there.”

The call ended before Ada could fire off any snappy comebacks.

“I have been contacted by the DSO with Leon’s location… It seems I have to enter the hospital by the rear entrance. I need to leave.”

Without extending the invitation to Hunnigan even though she knew she should have, Ada practically bolted down the driveway and ran to her car.

#Ada stories #Aeon stories #Ada Wong #Leon Kennedy

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