#also don’t even get me started about Adam trying to shove Nate out of the way

[drakesroyalromance]

It has been a day and I cannot stop thinking about the symbolism of this for the Love Triangle. The Detective not wanting to hurt either Adam or Nate but hurting them both as a result, which just hurts her more

[weakzen]

Left on the detective’s desk, a single red rose and a note written in precise handwriting:

Alex,

What happened to you - you didn’t deserve it. You can be loved, if you let yourself.

Happy Valentine’s Day

(yolo experimental style; alex/mason, early established relationship, angst and fluff; no direct mention of abuse, just oblique circling and fatalistic thoughts; rated m for mason; also on AO3~)

Even though I didn't finish reading it, even though I hid it from sight, imprisoned it in darkness, cast it to the depths of the bottom drawer until the end of shift, when it would be possible to smuggle the thing into the break room recycle bin without risking Tina's eyes or interrogation, that stupid fucking note has somehow still managed to reach up through all those heavy files and twist my stomach into knots.

For hours.

Plucking my nerves hard enough to make my hands fucking shake too. Typos in every report, backspace key pulling overtime without pay. Not helped by eyes that won't stop stinging. Armpits that haven't fully dried either, along with a weird chill, shivers that persist despite the sweater and the cranked-up thermostat.

At least the rose is gone. Snuck it into the arrangement on Tina's desk, the one I get her every year.

It looks better surrounded by friends.

It was nice to see it on the desk this morning

(Can still smell it perfuming the air.)

And if I could get rid of my thoughts as easily, I would. Because after half a day of chasing them in circles, I still can't figure out who the fuck sent that goddamn note, who the fuck would write something like that—say shit like that, to me—who could possibly fucking think or know or say anything about that, or that I-I, that I—

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckingfuck.

That sickly feeling wrenches again, hard enough to jerk me forward over the desk, face buried in my hands while my breathing shudders into something unsteady and vaguely gasping.

Fuck.

It can't be Tina.

It can't.

It should be, but it can't.

The writing's not loopy enough to be hers, and it's not slanted enough to be Verda's, and the damn thing isn't covered in nearly enough heart stickers to be from Felix. We all should know. Nate's been sighing nonstop for the past week, scraping them off every available surface in the Warehouse—except for the lacy pink one Felix managed to sneak right between Adam's shoulders.

And the glittery red one I pressed covertly to Mason's ass.

(Maybe not so covertly. Found a few hearts stuck to my underwear later when I slipped outta my jeans, and the secrets of how the fuck he pulled that off are still locked behind his smirk.)

A smile tries to pull at my lips, but the tightness in my gut warps it crooked.

Another shuddery breath.

It can't be from Adam either. If he had something to say to me, he'd just say it, preferably after he finished laying me out on the mats, all sweaty and sucking down air from another session of his gentle ass-kicking. Nate, however, would write a note to me. Has written a note to me. Has written many notes to me and still not made a dent in that stack of expensive stationary, and although the card stock was silk cream, the pigment obsidian night, and the calligraphy swooping in almost a dead ringer, I know it can't be from Nate because he would never leave a rose with his words, not the ones meant for me.

But there isn't anyone else.

There's Mason

And it can't be from him.

It's not his handwriting, to start. I think. I'm pretty sure. I've never actually seen his writing, but I can't imagine it would be anything resembling neat or careful. It's gotta be complete chicken scratch. All cramped and illegible. He's left handed too, barely patient enough to sit through a stoplight, much less give ink the time to dry, so there'd be definitely be smears, and there weren't any smears. At all. Can't be him.

Not to mention he'd never do anything like this.

Don't know why he keeps coming to mind anyway. Just because we're…

Together

—for now.

Doesn't mean he'd ever say anything like that—

He already has

(He did. He said I deserved better and I believe him, but I don't, I can't.)

—only because he'd say differently if he knew.

If he really knew.

He'd say different and I'm not gonna fucking tell him and it doesn't fucking matter anyway, it doesn't. Shine's gonna wear off soon enough. Novelty, satisfied. Boredom, returning. And at least the conversation won't be awkward, just… blunt. To the point. A first for us both, in topic, if not style.

I've never been dumped before, at least not in a romantic sense.

Another breath. Another shuddery breath.

Wonder how it's gonna feel.

(It's gonna suck.)

No fucking shit.

If it can't last, why agree to it at all?

I rub hard at my eyes, grinding palms into sockets.

If it can't last, why not tell him anyway?

Because I already fucking know! Don't need to hear it from him, don't wanna hear it from—

If it can't last, why does it matter what he thinks?

“…Stupid fucking note.”

It was nice to see it on the desk this morning

(Someone took the time, wrote it, left it in here. Someone cares.)

Someone's playing a sick fucking joke, more like.

What if it's genuine?

I scoff ragged, squeezing fingers around the back of my neck.

(Tina cares. So does Verda. The whole team, so many others, I know, and I believe them all but I don't. I can't.)

What if you didn't deserve it?

I did. I stayed and I did. My fault. Fucking stupid, like he always said.

(All Mason ever speaks is care. In a thousand different ways of touch, in silence, in lingering looks, he cares.)

What if you can be loved?

What if you can?

A brittle laugh wheezes past my lips and shoots toward something hysterical, boosted by acid burn and cloying petals and that churning, churning tightness. My shoulders hunch high around my ears while the sound pitches even higher, lungs immolated and screaming along, nails digging, cutting crescents as I shake and curl tighter, smaller, compacting into stiffness hard enough to rival diamonds, every muscle verging on a cramp and my throat is stinging and my eyes are on fire, hot, wet, and the door is closed, the blinds shut, and maybe I could just— this time— if I stayed quiet, I could—

I could—

But I don't.

I swallow once, twice, suck down, blink it away, then snap upright and get back to work. There's too much shit, not enough time.

Never enough time, not for that.

For you

(Remember to eat lunch.)

I don't.

I don't really remember talking to anyone either. Or finishing paperwork. Answering email. Clearing the inbox backlog, digital and otherwise, but the stack depletes, the numbers go down, Tina gives me shit from the doorway, and soon the peripheral lights tick off overhead in the foyer, a mop bucket rattles its rounds, darkness crept into my office at some point for a visit and now it's here to stay, just its quiet company along with the monitor blasting eye strain, clacking keys, tight shoulders, a headache, and then—

A familiar ass plops down on my desk and scares the shit out of me.

I jerk back in the chair, wheels rolling, hand over heart to keep it from pounding free and Mason looms above it all, bathed in harsh blues, deep shadows, a deeper frown, and eyes that refuse to obey the rules of any ambient illumination.

Right now? They're crinkled soft, even as they scrutinize.

He looks… worried.

When did he even open my door?

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“…Yeah,” I mutter. A lie, an obvious one, but I fight the urge to glance away and dare him to call me out anyway. “You need something, sunshine?”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “You're late.”

“For what?”

We didn't make plans.

“Getting home.”

Fuck.

I sigh, slumping in the seat, and now I'm looking away, now I'm backing down, running a hand through my hair, mussing and tangling, just like he always does when he's uncertain.

And when the hell did I start doing that?

“Yeah, I'm still behind on shit from my vacation. I was gonna stay late tonight, try and catch up…” I explain, because Tina and I also didn't make plans this year.

(Because she's been marinating in smugness ever since I sighed and told her about the relationship. Because she dropped that shit-eating smirk earlier—that I remember, at least—dripping suggestion all over my office as she waggled her brows and winked and made obnoxious kissy faces until I shoved her out the door, but not before she told me to 'have lots of fun tonight, Alexandra.')

Sure.

“Sorry I didn't text. I… forgot.”

That tightness in my stomach does another loop, and I huff a quiet breath.

Stupid fucking note.

Mason folds his arms. “…The fuck is going on with you?”

Concern blunts the teeth of his words, not that there's any real bite. There never is, not with him, but I tense up anyway, expecting it, expecting to be ripped open.

Blood and pain.

I'd tense up no matter how he asked.

It's okay

(He's not Bobby.)

“Nothing,” I reply, folding my arms, eyes down, “just…”

It's okay

(He's not looking to hurt.)

Probably will anyway, but fuck it. I already know his answer.

Let's just get it over with.

“You didn't leave me a valentine earlier, did you?” My gaze snaps to his. “On my desk?”

Mason scoffs. “Why the hell would I do that?”

This time, it stabs instead of twists, higher up, somewhere in my chest. Something sharp instead of dull.

Disappointment? …Relief? I'm not sure.

Just that it stings.

And it's nighttime, so maybe he feels it too, and maybe that's why he unfolds his arms and shifts toward me, boot heel dangling by the bottom drawer while his voice drops to a softness that matches his accent. “What it say?”

“Nothing,” I repeat, even quieter than him. “Just someone fucking with me. It doesn't matter.”

It does

(Shouldn't lie, not to him. Don't need to. Don't want to, don't like it.)

Mason doesn't like it either, but he doesn't push it. Neither do I.

We look away from each other.

The office swelters around us, too stuffy, too small. Too silent and uncomfortable now to stay. I roll forward to save my work, then turn the computer off and Mason's already waiting for me by the door, a dark silhouette framed by distant fluorescent, my coat and bag hanging off his arms. He pulls me in while I put it all on, yanking me by lapels before abandoning them for the sweater on my lower back, the loose hair at my nape. His lips brush against mine in slow movements, soft nibbling, and he's whispering something to me with it all, with the strokes of his fingers and the circle of our chins, but I can't quite hear.

So ask

(He'll answer—and he won't lie.)

I swallow, then I do.

“…What kind of kiss was that?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs beneath my hands, breath tickling my face. “I want you to feel better.”

“Oh.”

A shadow flits behind his eyes.

“…And if he's still bothering you, I'm gonna break his fucking jaw again.”

I chuckle softly. “Pretty sure it wasn't him this time.”

“Good.” Mason nibbles another kiss, then smirks. “Might still do it anyway.”

That gets a laugh from both of us, one that sprawls into a pause, grey eyes locked to mine while our grins fade out and our breath catches on everything unspoken and nameless rushing in to take the space.

Honesty. It's what I try to speak. Trailing up from the emotional ooze, raw and sticky.

I hope he can fucking see it, hear it cry, but I wipe it off and whisper the words into shape anyway, cheeks flaming, just to be sure—

“I'm sorry, I just… I don't wanna talk about it now.”

—and he answers me with a brush of his mouth, with his tongue parting my lips, with the way he teases into me before licking deeper, the way he jerks our hips together then shoves, a knee between my thighs, my back into a wall, a door frame, a sharp corner, a low groan rumbling up his chest directly into mine and I hear it all this time, in his breathy panting at the edge of our kiss, the firmness in his fingers angling my face to his, the solid heat of his cock pressed hard against me, grinding slow while I cling tight and moan, I hear it all, but he sucks my lip in with a sharp inhale, rolls me around his mouth before releasing with a drag of teeth, and he murmurs it aloud anyway, just to be sure—

“I know, sweetheart. It's fine.”

—then he nips down hard, and it's hard not to smile, hard not to laugh, harder still not to nip that asshole right back, so I don't.

Hold back, that is.

Our lips are swollen and sore by the time the station door swings shut behind us.

[mrs-theirin]

understanding.

so uh this originally started as “hating rebecca hours”, then it was loving nate hours, and then suddenly at the last second it became.......mutually respecting adam hours??? so here we are. @magebastard this one’s for you <3

calliope langford x nate sewell / calliope & adam du mortain, 2585 words. mommy issues paired with getting to know your stuffy leader better (also on ao3 <3)

The apartment is quiet. 

Mind-numbingly quiet, actually.

“Stay home and enjoy yourself,” Tina had said, practically pushing Calliope out the door, a wide smile plastered on her face that said if you don’t go home right now I will end you. Even Verda came out from the lab to say goodbye, his gentle eyes hardened in a way that let her know there was no fighting him. 

She needs something to do. The apartment just isn’t the same without Farah’s laughter, Adam’s groans of distaste, the irritating clouds of Morgan’s smoke—which still lingers on everything she owns. Honestly, she’s going to take Morgan’s cigarettes and shove them somewhere unpleasant—and Nate’s warm, calming presence. She debates sending him a text, maybe asking him for coffee, but the idea leaves as quickly as it came. 

He’s probably busy. She’s sure he has more important things to do than—

Im bad at this texting thing. Coffee

Calliope laughs. Before she can respond, another text from Nate comes in.

That was supposed to be a question. I cant find the apostrophe or question mark. I would like to have coffee with you. 

Another text, separate from the last.

Now, if you can. I heard you were sent home from work and I know how much you like the pastries there.

Her heart races at the thought of Nate frantically typing away at his phone, confused but determined to send her a text. She must admit, it’s a hilarious image, and she laughs as she sends her response.

relax and look for the “123” on the left of the keyboard. you’ll find all your punctuation needs there. and yes, i’d love to go get coffee. meet me there?

Ah! Found it. Thank you. And no, I’m outside your apartment. 

Calliope straightens, deigning to push aside the curtain and peek out at the sidewalk. Sure enough, Nate stands awkwardly outside, staring down at his phone. His gaze flickers up as her hand makes the curtain dance, and he waves politely. She waves back. She mouths “be right there” and pulls away, cursing herself for looking outside in the first place. Did he just run here? Was he just outside her apartment when he sent the original text? Did he just assume she would say yes? 

She rushes to her bedroom, ripping the nicest—and hopefully subtle—thing she owns out of her closet and throws it on, stopping in front of the mirror to undo the messy bun she has her bright orange hair in and tussle it into something appropriate. She glances at the panicked look in her eyes, and tries to calm down. What is she freaking out for? It’s just Nate. 

I would fight through any form of technology if I knew you were on the other end.

Nate, who can make her face flush with just a few words. Nate, who towers over her, his warm brown eyes staring into her soul. Nate, who is patiently standing outside waiting to take her to coffee. She tries not to hold out too much hope that it’s a date.

“Hey!” she says when she finally makes it outside, unconsciously taking too large of a step and standing uncomfortably close to him, which she quickly rectifies by inching backwards. They both laugh nervously. “Did you—”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Nate rushes out, his face flushing. “It’s a beautiful day out.”

She accepts the obvious lie with a face full of heat. “Let’s go then.”

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

She loves the way he laughs. 

At Haley’s, he relaxes; his shoulders slouching, his gaze softening. He is no longer scanning every person on the street, trying to gauge if they’re a threat. He is talking and he is joking and he is smiling and he is laughing. And every time he throws his head back to laugh at some stupid sarcastic joke she makes, she melts. 

He sighs dreamily, then faces her with soft, kind eyes. “I really missed you, Calliope.”

Her heart thumps in her chest. “I missed you too. You could’ve called, you know.”

His smile fades. “I wasn’t allowed to. The Agency thought it was better if we just...left you alone for a while.”

“So I could recover?”

Nate turns away, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Before she can ask him to elaborate, she hears a familiar clack of heels behind her. Her body tenses. “Calliope,” her mother’s voice says, clear and professional, though surprised. She wasn’t expecting her daughter to be here. 

Calliope doesn’t even turn. Her hand clenches around her coffee and she clears her throat. “Rebecca.”

Something in her dies when she sees Rebecca take the seat next to her. It is crushed to ash as she turns to Nate, who is smiling kindly at Rebecca, ordering another pastry for her, inviting her to stay longer than Calliope prefers. Her mother hums gently. “Coffee date?” she asks, though there is something else in her voice. Something resentful. Something...cautious.

“And what if it was?” Calliope mumbles into her coffee, as Nate replies, “Oh no, just catching up.”

“You should be careful about how much time you spend in the open, Agent Sewell,” Rebecca offers, and it’s obvious why she’s saying it. Calliope begins to shake, as she always does around her mother, and washes her resentment down with her coffee. The warm liquid contrasts the coldness of her bitterness. 

It wasn’t always this way with Rebecca; there was a time where they laughed and smiled and shot each other with water guns. But eventually laughter dies out, smiles fade away, and water guns change to Glock 22s. Love changes to resentment. Dads die. 

She understands why secrets were kept. She hates that Rebecca doesn’t understand why she would be upset by the secrets that were kept. The way Rebecca’s eye twitches when Nate leans into Calliope is sign enough on its own. Can’t even be happy with the circumstances she has, apparently. 

“Of course,” Nate says, professional as always. “Understood.”

“Let the man...or, vamp, live,” Calliope retorts. “We’re just having coffee.”

Rebecca presses her lips together tightly. “Calliope. Do I need to remind you why you’ve been wearing turtlenecks for months?”

She chokes on her coffee, slamming the cup down on the counter, the paper crunching in her hand. Typical of her mother to remind her of trauma, trauma that deeply affects her, as if it’s just a statement she can throw out at any given moment, like a quick anecdote or conversation starter. How can one look at their daughter having her neck torn out by a killer vampire and think, “This will be good for future scoldings”? And her scoldings, well, of course they aren’t scoldings, they’re concerns. Worries from a concerned mother. A mother who was so concerned about her daughter that she left for years with no contact, leaving the local librarians to raise Calliope. 

Calliope tenses as she feels a hand on her shoulder, but deflates when she realizes what side the hand is on. Nate squeezes her shoulder affectionately, and she cannot thank him enough for being a rock. If Rebecca is the storm—cold, predictable, unrelenting—then Nate is the hearth; warm, welcoming, reassuring. He smiles softly at her. 

“Of course you don’t,” she finally speaks, subconsciously scratching at the scars. “But considering I’ll be working with the Agency again soon, getting coffee won’t matter much, will it? Or are you trying to say that I can only put myself at risk if I’m not having fun?”

Rebecca’s eyebrow twitches as she sighs. “I’m only trying to look out for you—”

“No, you aren’t.” Her voice is stern, but quiet. Don’t want to draw too much attention. That’s the way it’s always been, right?. “You’re looking out for yourself and your reputation as a ‘good mother’, but it’s all crap anyway. If you wanted to preserve that, you wouldn’t be begging me every 5 seconds to tell you you’re doing a good job.” 

“Calliope,” Nate gently warns, and she slowly shrugs his hand off of her shoulder. Now is not the time for another one of those sad, soulful looks he gives her when she argues with Rebecca. She doesn’t have the effort. 

Rebecca’s lips are thinned again, in that disappointed scowl Calliope’s seen so much of since this whole Agency business started. “Sweetheart,” she starts, and Calliope is already cringing away, already preparing herself for whatever pandering crap Rebecca is about to spew. “I want you to be safe.”

“But not happy, clearly.”

“Calliope Langford.” Rebecca’s voice is harsh, but it only manages to enrage Calliope more. Her mother isn’t stern often, usually grabbing for the ‘soft and meek’ route, but on the occasion she does show annoyance, it’s never a pleasant feeling. Not because it upsets Calliope, but because she knows it’s a ruse. If she holds out, her mother will give in, because they both know she can’t stand being the bad guy (despite making herself the bad guy in every single conversation they have). “This is dangerous business. I don’t want to see you hurt. I do love you, whether you believe me or not.”

Calliope stands abruptly, slapping a $20 bill on the counter. “Why don’t you concern yourself less with whether I believe you, and more with whether you believe yourself. Come on, Nate.”

She starts to walk away, but hesitates when Nate doesn’t immediately follow, out of his seat but hunched over, like a kicked, obedient puppy. A twinge of betrayal tugs at Calliope’s chest, but she waves it off, instead holding up her hand, exasperated. She leaves without another word. 

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

The phone rings.

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times. 

Calliope sighs in exasperation, about to hit the red ‘end call’ button, when the phone finally clicks, a stern, professional voice coming through as clear as day: “Special Agent Adam du Mortain. Is this something important?”

She rolls her eyes, unable to keep the smile off of her face. “It’s just me, Adam. You don’t have to answer the phone like that.”

“Is this something important,” he repeats, though this time it’s less of a question. 

She gives in. “I was wondering if you wanted to spar. You said you were...less than impressed with my combat skills, so why don’t you teach me?”

The line is silent for a moment, before Adam lets out a small huff. “Where?” 

She blinks. She hadn’t thought of that. “...Here?” she offers, uncertain.

He sighs heavily. “Open the door.” 

The call ends and she is rooted in place for a moment before she springs up from her couch, opening the door and peeking out. Adam is standing on her stairs, looming over her, and he raises a single eyebrow, making the action of entering her apartment. She steps aside and watches him analyze the living room. “Move the table,” he says.

“You’re the one with the super strength,” she jokes, closing the door behind her. “Can’t you do it?”

He glares at her. “Are you serious about training with me?”

She straightens under his gaze, nodding sharply. “Yes,” she responds, though it comes out like a nervous question.

“Then move the table. And slide the couch away too. We need plenty of room.”

She salutes him, tying her hair back into a high ponytail. “Can do!”

He groans. 

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

“Why didn’t you call one of the others?” Adam asks, crossing his arms and staring down at the panting, sweating Calliope, who is holding onto her knees for dear life.

“Oh, you know—” she says between heavy breaths. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

“Your form is poor.”

“Oh, I know!” she wheezes. “You actually told me that, a bunch of times, like two seconds ago.”

If she didn’t know any better, she can swear she sees a ghost of a smile threatening to appear on Adam’s lips, then it’s gone as quickly as it came. He regards her with complete and utter disappointment. “They would’ve been nicer.”

“Ah, but nice isn’t what I need. I need to learn how to fight.”

This time Adam does actually smile, though it’s still not quite a full smile, more like pride over seeing a lesson learned. He cocks his head to the side. “It could also be that you’re fighting with Nate.”

She hesitates for a moment before scoffing. “I’m not fighting with Nate. Fighting would require words, of which there were none.”

Her two seconds of hesitation were enough for Adam, because he nods his head sharply, and scowls. “Figure it out. I don’t want you two at odds next time we’re all together.”

“Why?” Calliope drags the table back to its original spot, collapsing on the couch with a heave. “I thought I was a distraction.”

He joins her on the couch, his posture as formal as ever, the distance an obvious sign of something. “You are a distraction. But you’re more of a distraction when Nate is running through his mind trying to make up a list of ways he can make it up to you.”

“Make what up to me?”

“You’d have to tell me that.”

The two stare at each other before Calliope sighs, smiling. “Thank you for coming over. You didn’t have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t wish to,” he simply says, and she rolls her eyes.

“Loosen up a little sometime, huh? I think it would do you good.”

“Then you and I will have to have differing opinions.”

A knock sounds at the door, and Calliope starts to stand, but Adam takes the lead instead, gesturing for her to stay put. She doesn’t put up a fight, after all, her body is aching and all she really wants is a nap right now, maybe a 3 day slumber. When the door opens, she strains her ears to hear the soft mumbles of whoever is at the door. Adam’s voice is strong, and overshadows the meeker, much quieter voice of the person—no, woman, that’s a woman’s voice—standing at the door. A few more minutes pass until Calliope finally hears Adam say, “I think you should leave,” and shuts the door. When he returns, she gives him a curious smile. 

“Who was that?” she asks, and he shakes his head. 

“No one important. It’s late, I should leave. Goodnight, Detective Langford.”

She stops him before he can zip out. “Adam, honestly. You can call me Calliope. I promise you won’t implode.”

He hesitates, gears in his head clearly turning, then gives in, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “Goodnight, Calliope. You did well.”

“You’re lying to me!” she calls after him, and he says nothing as the door shuts behind him. She lets out a soft, incredulous laugh. Well, at least one good thing happened today. 

She heads to the light switch, peeking out of the window just for a second to try to catch a glimpse of the woman Adam had sent away. Her heart drops into her feet as she sees the car she knows too well. Rebecca sits in her car, taking a deep breath, and eventually starts it up and drives away, shaking her head. Calliope is frozen at the window. 

It was Rebecca at the door. Rebecca, who Adam...turned away? Told to leave?

She takes a moment to suck in a deep breath, letting out a loud sigh. Huh, she thinks, turning off the light and heading to her shower, eager to wash off the grime and sweat of training. Maybe he’s not so bad after all.

[haileyyanneupton]

❄ small - one chicago au ❄

Hailey Upton and Adam Ruzek have been friends for as long as they can remember. When Hailey changes schools to be with Adam in her junior year, she’s introduced to a new group of people who feel strangely like home.

pairings: jay halstead x hailey upton adam ruzek x kim burgess kevin atwater x vanessa rojas kelly severide x stella kidd

warnings (chapter specific): swearing

masterlist | series masterlist

❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄

❄ four ❄

A little over a week had passed since Jay and Hailey had gone out for coffee and pancakes to work on their assignment, and each of them had decided that they would keep their poems a secret from each other until they had to present it to the class. Secretly, it was because Hailey hadn’t actually started the poem and had nothing to show him — meanwhile, Jay had already worked through at least half. It wasn’t a bad thing; she just hadn’t been able to find the right way to get it down on paper yet. Her plan was to keep collecting as much as she could about her literature partner; the group milkshake date seeming like a relatively good way to do so.

“Yo Upton, Rojas! Are you two coming, or are you just going to keep dragging your feet like slow pokes?” Stella called out to the two as they trailed a few steps behind her and Kim.

“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Vanessa rolled her eyes as she tutted. “Calm your farm, Kidd.”

Hailey only chuckled as the Stella and Vanessa both fought for the passenger seat of Kim’s car, Hailey not minding the back as she climbed in and waited for someone to accompany her. Eventually it ended up being Stella who called heads on a coin that came up tails, leaving her to take the seat beside the blonde.

The girls had all gone in Kim’s car while the guys went in Adam’s, all driving to the same place not too far from their school. It was a Wednesday afternoon and the upperclassmen had been given the afternoon off, allowing the group to finally go out as Adam had suggested a few weeks previously. Hailey’s mouth was already watering at the prospect of a banana milkshake — it was the only banana flavoured thing in the entire world that she liked. She had been buzzing with happiness all day as she awaited twelve o’clock to come; the second it did, she had almost launched herself out of her seat in pre-calculus.

The drive to the milkshake parlour was short, but nonetheless fun. With Fifth Harmony blaring from the radio (courtesy of Kim), the words to Dope were being shouted by all four girls as they pulled up in the parking lot, finding a space right beside Adam’s car as they all jumped out and raced inside where the boys had saved them all a table.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Kelly teased, earning a roll of the eyes from both Stella and Vanessa. "Took you all long enough. Did the car break down or something?"

"We were enjoying our drive here and listening to music, thank you very much."

"And?"

"And. . . we got stuck behind a railway crossing."

"Knew it," Kelly smirked, a mischievous look in his eye as the girls all headed to the counter to place their orders.

As Kim and Stella debated which flavour they would get, Hailey couldn’t help but notice the way that Vanessa was awkwardly hanging back in an empty space smack bang between the front counter and the table that the boys were sitting at. Everybody else seemed blind to it — but Hailey was perceptive. She could see the way that Vanessa studied her feet as if they were the most interesting things in the world, the way she tried to retreat without anybody noticing. Although Hailey didn’t know why, she wasn’t about to let it go unaddressed.

“Hey.” Hailey’s voice was only loud enough for Vanessa to hear as to took a step towards her. “You not getting a milkshake, V?”

Vanessa frowned ever so slightly, her eyes sad despite the fact that she tried not to let it show. “Nah. I — uh — I don’t really feel like one.”

Hailey knew that wasn’t the reason. There was something else. As she thought back over the day briefly to try and work out what could have upset her friend, it suddenly hit Hailey with as much force as a freight train. She felt almost dumb for not realising it sooner, her heart aching for Vanessa as she glanced back over at the girl.

“You can’t —“

Vanessa silenced the girl with a small nod — one that begged her not to go on about the matter. Vanessa couldn’t afford it.

Before Hailey’s brothers had moved out and gotten jobs, her family had been in a similar situation. Obviously it wasn’t the same — Hailey had never been bounced around foster homes — but regardless, the Upton’s were living paycheck to paycheck. Hand me down clothes were all Hailey knew, whether it be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt from her brother or a Spiderman hoodie from Adam, she was always dressed up in somebody else’s leftovers. She didn’t mind too much about that part, but she could remember the first time that she went to school without lunch. She remembered the first time, the second time, even the third time — after that, it all just blurred together. It all just became the usual for Hailey who at the time, was still in third grade in elementary school. As she grew older, things got even just the slightest bit easier — Adam’s parents would always put an extra sandwich in their son’s lunchbox for Hailey, or they’d send both children with a ten dollar bill to pay for a hot lunch if they wanted. When her brother Nate moved out — he had always been there for his youngest and only sister — things changed for the better, financially. He was making good money as a mechanic. He could afford to pay for Hailey’s tuition at a fancy private school, he could send a hundred dollars or so to Anne to cover the groceries; he even started sending Hailey money so that she could buy herself what she could afford to be a teenager. Was it a lot? No. But did it make the difference? Absolutely.

Glancing down at her wallet, Hailey spied the two twenty dollar bills she had shoved in there that morning before leaving for school, the green paper sitting untouched until she took one into her hand, closing her fingers around it so that nobody else could see it. In one swift movement, her hand dropped down to her side and her fingers became interlaced with Vanessa’s as she sneakily and subtly transferred the money from her hand to the brunette’s, leaving the girl with wide eyes as she snapped her head around to face Hailey.

“I-I. . . You didn’t have to —“

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.”

The small smile on Vanessa’s face dropped for a second as she looked Hailey dead in the eye. “I’m not a charity case you know. I just. . .”

Her voice trailed off as Hailey squeezed her friends hand lightly.

“I know that, V. I know. And I’m not treating you like one. I’m lucky enough to have people look out for me and lighten the load when I need it — you deserve that too.”

“But I’m not going to be able to pay you back Hailey — you know that right? I don’t have a job and I can’t —“

“Vanessa, that’s not what this is. I don’t want you to pay me back. I just know what it’s like to feel like you’re missing out because of something so shallow as money, and now that I’m in a position where I can make your day a little better, I’d like to do so. God knows you’ve done plenty for me since I showed up.”

“I gave you an apple slice, dude!”

“It’s more than that,” Hailey chuckled lightly, her lips curling upwards as she saw Vanessa stare down at the twenty dollar bill with sparkling eyes. “Besides — you do not want to miss out on one of these milkshakes. They’re literally to die for. I would run through the fiery pits of hell, being tortured by satan himself to get one of these milkshakes.”

Vanessa shot the girl a lopsided smirk. “I dunno, Hails — walking up to the counter sounds like a lot less effort.”

Hailey only rolled her eyes with a grin as Kim and Stella finally stepped away, allowing the two other girls to order their drinks before returning back to the table where they would be bought out to them. Hailey took her usual seat between Vanessa and Jay (even when they weren’t in the art room, apparently their seating arrangement still stayed the same). As their milkshakes began coming out, Jay smirked in Hailey’s direction as she took her first sip of the banana flavoured beverage.

“What?” Hailey quizzed, arching a brow as she crossed her arms across her chest expectantly. “There a problem?”

“No. Just . . . observing.”

“You’re observing my milkshake drinking habits?”

“I’m observing your reaction to ordering the most basic drink on the menu.”

Hailey scoffed, openly laughing in the boy’s face as she turned to face him. “That’s rich coming from you, Halstead. You’re about as basic as they come.”

Jay only chuckled with a shake of his head as Kelly cleared his throat dramatically, calling for the attention to be bought upon him. Stella groaned from his left, her forehead resting against the table. Hailey let a small smile of amusement cross her lips; Stella wasn’t normally one to be embarrassed by Kelly’s antics. In fact, normally she joined in — but today, it was different.

“I have an announcement,” Kelly proclaimed, tapping the end of his fingernail upon his milkshake — Hailey thought he looked like a dork, but she also knew he gave absolutely no fucks. “You all must listen very, very closely!”

“Alright, alright, man. We’re listening. Out with it already!”

Kelly shot a lighthearted glare over at Adam who wore a grin in response.

“After much deliberation, there has been a mutual confession between the wonderful, amazing, beautiful, talented, badass —“ Kelly paused for a second to dodge Stella’s fist which was heading straight towards his groin. “— incredibly intimidating Stella Kidd and I. We — uh — we’re. . . “

“What this dumbass is trying to say is that we’re together.” Stella interrupted Kelly as she lifted her head up from the table ever so slightly, her chin resting upon her hands as everybody else broke out into a grin. “I told him we should tell you guys today, but I didn’t expect for him to make it into some kind of theatrical fucking performance.”

“You should have known better then that, Stell. It’s Kelly we’re talking about. King of Dramatics.”

“Yeah, I’m realising that now.”

Hailey was happy for the new couple, but she wasn’t as invested as she could see everybody else was. Apparently, Stella and Kelly had been making heart eyes at each other since freshman year, the rest of the group waiting for one of them to make a move on the other. Hailey knew there was something between them but figured that they were probably just close like she and Adam were — she couldn’t even begin to count how many times people had assumed that she and the boy she had grown up with were dating. Nonetheless, it became evident that Kelly and Stella were much more comfortable with their secret coming out; their hands fell into each other’s as they laughed alongside one another.

Sitting and watching, observing if you will, something suddenly became very apparent to the girl. It was one of those things that once she saw it, she couldn’t un-see it — the sight bought a small, fond smile to her lips as she stayed silent, simply watching. Well, she was — until Jay interrupted her thoughts.

“What are you staring at?” Jay asked, a small smirk on his face as Hailey leaned back slightly so that she could speak only just loud enough for the boy to hear.

“Do you see what I see?”

“Uhhh . . . ” Jay furrowed his brows slightly as Hailey let out a chuckle, shaking her head.

Without realising it, Hailey inched her way closer to Jay as she pressed her back against the cushioned booth they were in, her shoulder brushing against Jay’s as she grew even quieter. The freckled boy hadn’t seemed to notice either, despite the fact that they were practically sitting on top of each other at that point.

“Look at them all,” Hailey couldn’t help but let out a small snort as one hand rested against her thigh, the other holding her banana milkshake close to her chest. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier.”

“I still have no clue what we’re talking about here, Hailey. Give me something to go off of.”

“Right, right,” Hailey grinned up at Jay sheepishly. “So there’s Kelly and there’s Stella. Totally head over heels for each other, yeah?”

Jay nodded soundlessly, a puzzled expression still plastered upon his features.

“Then there’s Vanessa and Kevin. Now I don’t think they realise it just yet, but they’re totally going to be a thing.”

The boy’s eyes widened in realisation. “Holy shit.”

“Wait, just — just wait . . . ” Hailey held up a finger. “Now — look at Adam and Kim.”

If it were at all possible, Jay’s eyes grew even more as he too became fixated on the scene in front of them, the evidence now slapping him in the face. His mouth hung open wide as the corners of his lips turned upwards into a smile.

“I smell a bet coming on.”

Hailey grinned widely once again, a mischievous look on her face as her and Jay’s eyes locked. “You’re on, Halstead.”

“Twenty bucks says Burgess and Ruzek will get together by the end of the year.”

“Please,” Hailey scoffed lightly, folding her arms over one another before taking a sip of her milkshake. “Thirty says they’ll be together by the end of the month.”

“Ah, so you’re a risktaker.” Jay’s trademark smirk met Hailey’s gaze. “I’ll make sure to make a note of that for my poem.”

“Not a risktaker, per say — I just know Adam is an impatient, idiotic dumbass who can’t help himself.”

The mention of Adam’s name caused the boy in question to snap his head over to the blonde, a scowl etched into his features as he shot a playful glare over at the girl, Hailey not backing down from her words even the slightest bit. Before she knew it, everybody was back to their own conversations with people jumping in and out where they wanted to, leaving Hailey to do what she did best — observe. It wasn’t like there was something she was looking for or trying to understand; Hailey had just always been the kind of person who would sit and listen rather than interject herself into the conversation. She found that she learned a lot more that way — people would often tell you their darkest secrets if you let them do the talking.

She would never admit it, but somehow, her eyes kept finding their way to Jay as if his face was a magnet and they were calling her. She studied every part of him closely, taking note of how the corners of his eyes creased when he laughed, counting the freckles that looked as though they had been methodically scattered across his skin in the most perfect way.  Hailey noticed his little quirks and even jotted a few of them down in the notes app of her phone, like how he tilted his head slightly when he didn’t understand something or was asking a question or the way he would run his tongue his bottom lip when he was thinking of something. Every little thing that made him unique soon compiled into an extensive list that Hailey had saved to her notes, ready to use when she eventually found the right way to complete her own literature assignment.

It wasn’t long before everybody packed back into the two cars, this time the order being switched up and mixed around. Hailey had gone in Adam’s car, because, well — duh — meanwhile, Vanessa switched places with Kelly and Kevin who lived closer to Kim and Stella anyway. While Jay and Adam talked each other’s ears off, Hailey was sat in the back seat with Vanessa who looked absolutely wrecked from their day.

“You look exhausted, you poor thing,” Hailey smiled halfheartedly over at the girl.

“Yeah, I am.” Vanessa yawned tiredly. “I was up half the night studying for that precalc test we have.”

“You’re like, the smartest one in the entire class, dude,” Hailey said, looking at her friend with an incredulous look. “You don’t even need to study!"

“Still doesn’t hurt to make sure I know what I need to know. And to make sure I know that I know what I know so that I can make sure you know what I know.”

“I think I just had an aneurysm trying to understand that.”

Vanessa grinned. “You’re welcome.”

The two girls shared a laugh as Vanessa leaned her up against the headrest behind her. Turning to Hailey slowly, the girl wore a small and gratuitous smile as her hand fell into the blonde haired girl’s hand, earning back her attention with the small yet simple gesture. Vanessa was a very physical person — she loved hugs, she loved holding hands with her friends to show them her love and appreciation — Hailey, however new to the group she was, was no exception.

“Hailey. . . I hope you know how much what you did today meant to me.” Vanessa began, her accent coating her words as her eyes fell to her lap. “I got moved to another foster home on Monday and. . . I know it sounds stupid, but asking for money before the first cheque from the state comes in is a big no no if I want to stay somewhere for longer than half a week."

Vanessa’s voice was low and quiet, only loud enough for the blonde sitting beside her to hear as Hailey’s heart squeezed tightly. She hadn’t missed the giant smile on Vanessa’s face as she was handed her Oreo milkshake, or the way her her mood had completely brightened in giddy, goofy happiness as she bounced around and made fun of Kevin. Hailey, despite her tough exterior, would secretly do anything to make the people she cared about smile. Absolutely anything. Without ever second guessing herself.

“I didn’t want you to be left out.” Hailey’s response was at a matching volume. “Feeling like the outsider all of the time. . . It’s not fun. I get that. That’s why I’m so endlessly grateful to have made such good friends here.”

“You? The outsider? That’s hard to imagine.”

“Three words, V. Three words.”

“Hm?”

“Private girls school.”

“. . . Yeah, say no more."

Everything that Hailey had said was the truth. She knew what it was like to be the outsider, she knew what it was like to feel like the ground beneath you was always shaking and about to give out on you no matter what you did. No amount of duct tape would hold it together, and given the fact that Vanessa had just had to uproot her life — again — Hailey could sympathise with what she was going through despite the fact that she would thankfully never understand it fully.

Hailey sighed lightly as she gave Vanessa’s hand a small squeeze. “I wish you could live with me.”

“Can I?”

Though Vanessa was clearly joking, as seen by the smile playing at her lips and her humorous tone, Hailey really did wish she could bring Vanessa to live with her — perhaps just not at her house. With her father. And her mother, who was always excusing the former’s behaviour. Always.

“I’m not sure you’d like it very much at my house.” The blue eyed girl let out an exhale as she spoke. “There’s a reason I spend so much time at Adam’s house.”

“I get it.” Vanessa’s eyes held sympathy towards Hailey. “But hey. . . we’ve got each other, right? We’ve got these two doofuses in the front seat, we’ve got Stella and Kim and Kelly and Kev. And one day we can all run away together and forge a home in the woods using our very minimal survival skills that would definitely not suffice to stop us getting eaten by a bear or something.”

At the sound of Vanessa addressing him and Jay, Adam turned around from the driver’s seat as he pulled up at a stoplight before directing his words to the girls in the back seat.

“Hey! I was a Cub Scout when I was younger, you know! ” He said, his chest puffing out ever so slightly in pride. "We’d be just fine in the woods."

“Adam, shut the hell up,” Hailey laughed as she looked at him incredulously, rolling her eyes at the boy. “You did Cub Scouts for two months and then you quit when you couldn’t get a single badge because they required you actually putting work into them. All you wanted to do was sit there with a juice box and a cookie.”

“Says the one who got kicked out of Girl Scouts for threatening to set a girl’s hair on fire!”

“She deserved it.”

“She was traumatised!”

“Good. I don’t like her. She tried to steal my backpack."

“It was ten years ago, Hailey.”

“It was my favourite backpack!"

❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄

aaaaaa! I apologise if this isn’t great I really struggled trying to write this one I don’t even know why 😂

thank you so much to @ruzek-halstead for proofreading! after writing this for so long I definitely lost the ability to do so, so marcia — you’re a literal lifesaver 🥰

tag list: @ruzek-halstead @lissethsrojas @sammywiths @butterflies44 @upsteadheart @shawnscheeks @puckluck28 @karihighman @thetwit @azu1ang3188 @juu-series @justanotheronechicagofan @stinaax @stayupton @fullwattpadmusictree @anna-justice

ps: if anybody ever wants to be added to the tag list, just let me know! it’s so easily done!

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 3 ♫ “Can You Dig It?” [ 3.07 ]

CREATED BY Esther (waterstribe) & Maggie (quincywillows) || Official Page || AO3

STAYIN’ ALIVE – After an unfortunate accident, the A class finds themselves working double time to fund their showdown performance. Charlie struggles to balance the past and the present, and Maya makes a desperate move. Farkle receives news that changes his life forever.

70 Minutes (33K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← The Comfort Zone ] [ S3 Synopsis ] [ Moment of Truth → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

EXT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Music plays over the sound system, setting a comfortable and fun scene while most of the A class works together on the auditorium stage. The performers are working through showdown choreography or helping put the finishing touches on set pieces for the production, while the techies are split between those set pieces, the beginning of structures for their upcoming winter musical, and tweaking the lights. JEFF MONROE is up on the catwalk out of sight, NATE MARTINEZ perched on top of a scaffolding and passing him requested tools. DAVE WILLIAMS is balancing on a ladder against the scaffolding, helping hand things to Nate from below.

MAYA HART has taken over as dance captain, shouting commands at her classmates still running through steps. ZAY BABINEAUX watches from on top of the major set piece they’re building at center stage for the musical, unimpressed and maybe a bit envious. His injured left leg is now in a boot, wheelchair gone.

The conversation varies, from the impending showdown finals to college application deadlines. Everything is coming down the pipeline at record speed, right towards them, and they have to juggle it all at once. RILEY MATTHEWS glances around and asks where Jade is, which ISADORA DE LA CRUZ answers.

Isadora: She’s been locked up in the costume loft basically since last week. The deadline for her conservatory and apprenticeship programs is closing in, so she’s been working basically non-stop.

Maya: How does she not have enough samples already? Hasn’t she made everything we’ve ever worn in this school for the last three years?

A fair question, but it doesn’t get addressed. They’re all distracted by a new song coming on shuffle, playing loudly over the speakers.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Boogie Wonderland” as performed by Earth, Wind & Fire || Instrumental

Although the track is an undeniable bop, the assembled A class seniors don’t seem impressed. They all quickly pipe up to complain, calling for someone to skip it.

Darby: Where’s Jeff? Jeff! Hit skip!

Jeff, from above: A little busy right now!

Maya: Well someone better go change it!

Haley: And risk getting killed by Lucas because we dared enter the booth? No thanks.

Maya: Fair point. Riley, go change it.

Riley, in the midst of rolling paint on a set piece, raises her free arm in a shrug. Also a little busy. Zay shakes his head.

Zay: What is wrong with all of you? None of you have taste. Disco is classic. You should respect the excellence that came before you.

Maya: Sorry I’m not still living in the 20th century. It’s 2020, Zayby. Disco is dead.

Zay: You absolutely disgust me. If my foot wasn’t booted --

NIGEL CHEY finally relents amidst all their complaints, claiming he’ll risk his life to go change it if it will get them all to shut up.

For now, though, the boogie wonderland is ongoing. FARKLE MINKUS uses the opportunity to pick on Isadora, loosely disco grooving around her and trying to poke her into joining him. She laughs but tells him to cut it out, and when he gets too close, she playfully shoves him away.

Only she’s stronger than she looks, and he’s a beanpole, so she overshoots and pushes him a bit too hard. Farkle goes stumbling backwards -- right into the ladder that’s holding up Dave. Isadora yanks Farkle back just as the ladder falls out from under Dave, just missing Nigel, clattering to the stage next to them and creating a dent.

Dance! Boogie wonderland!

A bunch of the seniors cry out, scrambling away, now watching in horror as Dave dangles from the side of the scaffolding a dozen or so feet above the ground. He almost loses his grip, seconds from falling, and Maya screams. She backs away frantically and knocks into a paint can, spilling metallic silver paint all over their perfectly crisp black stage and splattering CLARISSA CRUZ, DARBY WINTERS, and SARAH CARLSON.

Ah! Ah! Dance!

Jeff and a couple of performers start shouting directives at Dave, trying to save him from a nasty fall off the scaffolding. Nate tries to pull him up, but it’s no use -- Dave is the giant after all, and Nate’s guns aren’t that swoll. Riley hides behind her hands, peeking through her fingers and unable to look away.

Riley: Oh my God, he’s gonna die.

Isadora takes over directing from below, instructing Dave to change trajectory and aim for the curtains to orient himself. Jeff objects to that, citing the integrity of the curtain pulley system, but he’s shouted down by the performers jumping on Isadora’s suggestion. Suddenly, everyone is yelling at Dave to go for the curtains, so that’s what he does.

Jeff: No, don’t -- !

All… the… love in the world can’t be gone!

Dave manages to latch onto the main curtain -- but it’s all downhill from there. That curtain is about as useless as Nate, and the pulley system holding it upright can only sustain so much weight (curtains are a lot heavier than they look). So the moment Dave latches on, it buckles underneath him, and seconds later the whole thing comes down in a spectacular show of destruction.

The A class scatters to avoid it, ducking down and covering their heads. Clarissa pulls HALEY FISHER down behind a set piece with her for cover; Farkle yanks Isadora out of the way and shields her behind him. Zay screws his eyes shut and hides behind his knee, thankfully a safe distance away. Then the dust settles, stunned silence giving way to the continuing groovy sounds of Earth, Wind, & Fire.

Riley pokes her head out from behind the set piece she was painting first, eyeing the heap of curtains and rods on the dented stage floor. She swallows.

Riley: … Dave?

For a moment, nothing but tense silence… from above, Nate releases a gasp.

Nate: Holy shit, we’ve killed him.

Then Dave emerges, pushing some dense drapery off of him and pushing himself into a sitting position. He seems dazed, but otherwise uninjured.

Jeff: Oh, thank God.

Isadora: Dave… you good buddy?

Dave blinks, then offers a thumbs up. Everyone releases a sigh of relief… just as SHAWN HUNTER and HARPER BURGESS enter into the scene of chaos, having rushed in after hearing the commotion from down the hall. In the opposite wings, LUCAS JAMES FRIAR returns with DYLAN ORLANDO and ASHER GARCIA, all of whom stop dead in their tracks when they set their eyes on the disaster they’ve stumbled into. Asher’s jaw drops open; Dylan drops the toolbox he was carrying.

Whoopsie. Boogie wonderland…

From his perch atop the set piece, Zay breaks the silence, shaking his head.

Zay: Shoulda never dissed disco.

Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

JACK HUNTER is seated at his desk, working to maintain a neutral composure as HARRISON YANCY paces his office. He’s haughty and on offense, demanding to know what happened with the auditorium and grilling Jack for details. Of all the things he planned to tangle with at Adams, vandalism and destruction of school property was not at the top of the list.

Yancy: But, then, I suppose I should’ve anticipated such a turn of events. Considering you’ve struggled with reining in destruction before, and insisted so vehemently on keeping problematic entities in your student roll -- and now they’re student leadership, in fact!

Jack: He had nothing to do with this. Lucas wasn’t even in the auditorium when it happened --

Yancy: How convenient for him.

Jack: And it was an accident. No ill intent involved. It was an accident, and all of the damage is repairable. The curtains can be fixed and replaced, the dents in the stage can be filled, and the spilled paint can be removed or painted over in turn. I think we should be more concerned with the lucky reality that no one was hurt.

Yancy: [ ignoring that point ] The damage is repairable, yes, but it won’t be free. And I certainly won’t approve its reparation on the school’s dime.

Jack points out that such a decision isn’t his to make -- he’s still the principal of Adams. And that’s true enough, but as Yancy effortlessly counters, he remains under close watch. That’s the reason Yancy is present in the first place. Every decision Jack makes is under scrutiny, and a figurative nod of approval from him matters. Jack must be wise enough to realize that.

Jack, begrudgingly: So what, then?

Yancy: So, it seems to me that the A class will have to proffer the money to pay for the damages on their own.

Jack: That’s ridiculous. They’re students, not entrepreneurs. And they’re already scrambling to raise money for their showdown performance, not to mention ways to bolster their scholarship initiative since you voted to deny them funding at the board level.

Yancy: Then they must be experts at it. What’s one more money-making effort? At least it’s teaching them meaningful life skills -- budgeting, consequences, the value of a dollar. All very sensible lessons to learn… something you used to complain this institution lacked at the same time you were decrying the actions of students you now fruitlessly defend, if I recall correctly.

Well, you got him there, Yancy. Jack deflates, knowing there’s no logical path out of this. Yancy has him cornered, and the more he invites reminders about how he used to be or the ways he’s already fumbled, the graver his prospects grow. Yancy emphasizes this as he makes his exit.

Yancy: We at the board used to hold you in high esteem, Jackson. We saw great things in your future. Now, with all these foolish mistakes... let’s hope that all your promise hasn’t dissolved with the Hunter I used to know.

The threat is buried deep beneath the thinly-veiled condescension, hidden in a simple choice of plural. Mistakes. This battle is just one in a long, growing list Yancy is keeping against him.

Like he could ever forget it. Jack releases a heavy sigh after Yancy leaves his office, slouching in his chair.

Lucas, pre-lap: I shouldn’t be surprised. This might as well happen.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Riley listens attentively as Lucas paces the booth, busying himself with gathering stuff for class for the sake of moving. Although his tone is sarcastic and indifferent, the weight of his words indicates he’s far from it.

Lucas: It’s not like I don’t already have enough to focus on, between the usual bullshit and the fundraising for showdown -- a showdown that we have to win if we want any chance of the scholarship thing actually taking off. That on top of the college applications I wasn’t planning on doing three months ago but now have to make really good, because suddenly I have dreams or whatever, even though I’m basically the most rejectable candidate on the east coast.

Riley: Okay, you know that’s not true.

Lucas: Fine. Most rejectable candidate in the greater Manhattan area.

Riley: You literally won an election.

Lucas: And the world is still wondering how and why.

Riley rolls her eyes, but she is sympathetic. She agrees that the stage accident was definitely an unexpected speed bump on everything they’ve got going on, but they’ll figure out how to handle it. There’s no way it’s going to be entirely on them, anyway, and they don’t even know how much damage was actually done yet.

She takes the opportunity to broach another topic, though, easing into a deeper conversation about college. She asks how his applications are going, which he claims are fine, in spite of the stress surrounding it.

Lucas: The only stuff I’ve got left are recommendations and personal essays. And I know I’m fucked on the recs considering you’re supposed to ask for those months in advance, and I know no one impressive, least of all who would sing my praises.

Riley: You could always ask my dad for a recommendation. I’m sure he’d have glowing things to say. Instant acceptance, I bet.

Lucas, flatly: You are hilarious. It’s no mystery how you managed to reel me in.

Riley: Well, that and my effortless charm and insanely dazzling visage.

Lucas gives her a look, but to be fair, he doesn’t argue her on it. She simply beams in response, sliding closer to him and halting his pacing by taking his hands.

Lucas: Honestly, I’m not really stuck on the recommendations. I think I’m going to ask Joe for one, because he can at least speak to my work ethic or whatever, and the other… I mean, it’s whatever. I’ll figure it out.

Riley: But…?

Lucas: But… I don’t know. With the rest of the app…

It’s clear there’s something else he’s really stuck on. Riley starts to offer him advice, or maybe just encouragement, but they’re interrupted by a knock on the booth door. Jeff appears moments later at the stairs.

Jeff: Class is starting. Judgment day is upon us.

Lucas and Riley share an apprehensive look, then follow the lighting technician out of the booth.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Harper, Shawn, and ERIC MATTHEWS are on the stage, assessing the damage while the A class gathers in the front and center section. The destroyed curtain has been removed, the pock marks in the stage even more visible in its absence.

ANGELA MOORE emerges from the wings, Janitor HARLEY KEINER in tow. She’s just barely starting to show her pregnancy, but the flowy tops she’s wearing now conceal it fairly well.

Harley: Old curtain’s out back. Trash company will be by this afternoon to take it away.

Angela: I have to say, I picked a great day to stop by and visit. Never a dull moment.

Harper: Girl, tell me about it.

Angela laughs knowingly. Been there, queen. Eric and Shawn turn their attention to the seniors, coming towards the front of the stage.

Eric: Who wants to explain what exactly happened?

A whole bunch of them immediately launch into retellings, talking over each other and definitely exaggerating elements of the story. The camera jumps around to each of them, catching snippets of their perspective.

Sarah: If Jeff had just changed the song --

Jeff: I was in the catwalk!

Nate: So Jeff’s up in the catwalk, and Dave is handing me shit -- I mean, uh, stuff -- on the scaffolding --

Darby: Isadora pushed Farkle --

Isadora: I lightly nudged Farkle --

Maya: Farkle is like a house of cards and all it takes is a little wind to knock him over, so he goes flying into the ladder --

Clarissa: Paint splatters --

Yindra: The ladder goes crashing down and nearly takes off Nigel’s head --

Jade: Oh my God, what?

Nigel, pointedly: No, it did not. [ softer, to Jade ] No, it didn’t.

Yindra: It did.

Haley: Not like the curtains almost took out Dave!

Yogi: This class is a circus act.

Eric holds up a hand to halt them all, waving them down. He can’t figure out what any of them are saying when they all talk at once, so he asks for a volunteer to give the rundown. A few hands up go up, but Eric wisely selects Zay.

He pulls himself to his feet, gingerly, for the effect. Then he clears his throat, speaking plainly and matter-of-fact.

Zay: Farkle got knocked into the ladder. Ladder falls, dents stage. Dave almost falls, Nate is no help --

Nate: Whoa, okay then. Hater.

Zay: Maya stumbles back and knocks silver paint can over. Performers tell Dave to grab curtain, Jeff objects --

Jeff: Justice. Thank you.

Zay: Dave does anyway, whole thing comes down. Also, no one in this class has taste and for that they evoked the wrath of God. But apparently God can’t kill Dave Williams.

Dylan: So metal.

Eric: Thank you, Zay.

Zay does a pithy salute, lowering back into his seat. Harper goes on to explain the total damages done by the incident as well as relay the total cost of the repairs -- without saying a definitive sum, suffice to say it’s not cheap.

The A class immediately breaks into chatter again, trying to divert blame off themselves. Shawn notices one student doesn’t seem particularly vexed -- in fact, he appears to be laughing to himself behind his hand.

Shawn: I’m sorry, Friar, do you find this funny?

Lucas: What? Oh, no, no. Very serious business. [ clearing his throat ] It’s just… it’s so nice to not be the one responsible for once.

The performers immediately boo him. He simply smiles. CHAI FRESCO is the one who manages to redirect the conversation.

Chai: What exactly is he doing here?

All eyes turn to Janitor Harley, who stands sheepishly next to the faculty. Harper says she’s glad Chai asked, claiming that if anyone deserves an apology for what they did today, it would be him. He puts a lot of effort and care into maintaining their sacred space, this auditorium, and the damage done today walks all over that.

Darby: It really was an accident.

Harley: No hard feelings, Miss Winters. Mighty nice as it was for Harper and Shawn to invite me here, rest assured I know there was no ill intent or disrespect. And I can assure you that with the time and proper resources, we will return this stage to tip-top shape in no time.

Maya: Lovely. Problem solved then, no?

Eric: Not quite. You do still have an assignment to attend to, especially as it’s your last major one before finals.

Harper: Since it is a weird time in the calendar and we don’t want to barrel another assignment next week right before showdown, Shawn and I agreed that this assignment would be a two-week stretch, and ideally lower stakes.

Shawn: Even better now, considering how you all just doubled pressure on your own.

Harper: And since you’ve also in turn given Harley more pressure and work to attend to in this time, we thought it only fair that he decide your focus for the project.

With that, they pass the floor over to Harley again to make his declaration. The performers don’t seem all that unnerved -- it’s Harley Keiner. What’s the worst he could do? Clean-up anthems? He clears his throat, clasping his biker-gloved hands together.

Harley: When I’m in a particularly rough spot, or working through a grueling task, I have always found that a little music can really liven the task.

Yogi: [ under his breath ] Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere…

Harley: But nothing gets me more fired up, ready to take on a challenge or dance to the beat, than some classic tunes from my early youth. And I’ll tell you kids, no one knew music better than the radio hits of my day.

Slowly, the possibility begins to dawn on the A class what decree awaits them. Dylan is counting backwards on his fingers, trying to calculate just how old Harley actually is, but Asher next to him has beaten him to it.

Asher: Oh no.

Harley: Ladies and gentleboys, we’ll be taking it back to the ‘70s this week for your musical assignments.

Dun dun dun. The A class expresses their obvious disdain. Well, all except Zay, who cracks a smug grin.

Zay: Heh heh… karma.

There’s only more grim news. Considering the stage is going to be undergoing repairs thanks to all this, they’re all essentially ousted from the auditorium for the time being. No sense practicing or rehearsing in a space that’s going to be under construction. JADE BEAMON sits up straighter, shooting her hand in the air.

Jade: We can still access the lofts, right? Like, I can get in the costume loft --

Eric: Yes, all the technical spaces, as well as the dressing rooms, are still fair game. But stay away from the stage.

Harper: And you might not get much work done when they’re doing things like drilling and hammering, so be forewarned.

Haunting… Jade hides in her hands, already stressed. Nigel tentatively pats her on the shoulder.

So yeah, all in all, some unideal circumstances right before some of the most important events of their high school career.

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

Maya is in surprisingly good spirits in spite of the financial issues confronting the class, preening and showing off Valerie’s faux fur coat. She wears it effortlessly, entertaining Darby, Sarah, and a crop of underclassmen at a table as she shares the tale of her and Valerie’s instant starlit bond. When Darby reaches out to feel the coat, Maya quickly smacks her hand away.

Maya: You’re welcome and encouraged to look, but no touchie. Golden diva rule.

A couple of tables over, Riley and Isadora watch her showboating with amusement. Riley claims it was really generous of Isadora to give her the coat, but she shrugs it off.

Isadora: Seriously, she’s way more at home in it than I would ever be. Can you ever see me pulling that off?

Riley: I think you can deliver any design you endeavor, you know that. [ off her raised eyebrow ] But yeah, a bit out of your element. Ironically, maybe.

Isadora: Even that’s a stretch. But it really wasn’t a hard decision. As much as it inflates her ego, my mom did see something in her. Maya can use it as a bragging tool all she wants, and people probably won’t believe her because of it, but they probably would be in cahoots if Val were still here. [ a beat ] A lot of things were going to happen if she were here.

Oof. Riley senses the gloom impending, searching for a quick change of subject. She asks if Isadora found anything else cool in the boxes from the estate.

Isadora pauses, mouth parted open. The answer is plenty -- including the mystery hidden way deep down underneath everything else. But for whatever reason, she hesitates explaining what she found.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to respond anyway. Dylan swoops into their conversation, dropping down into the seat next to Riley and smacking a piece of paper onto the table. It’s a flyer for scheme one of their fundraising efforts: a community dance, now officially ‘70s themed. Isadora turns it around to get a better look at the very bright poster.

Dylan: Hot off the presses, ladies. Another instant classic from the one and only ambassador of public relational fun and enthusiasm, comma right hand advisor, comma prime minister of the techies and secretary of kissing, mainly to the secretary and official marketing and communications director for the Friar administration.

Isadora: Colorful…

Dylan: Shout-out to Harley for basically choosing our theme for us. We’d been sitting on it for ages because Asher and Maya kept fighting over it.

Isadora: Really? What theme ideas could possibly be worth scrapping over?

Dylan: Nothing. Neither of them actually had an idea. I think they just automatically hate anything that comes out of the others’ mouth.

Isadora: Wow, just like a real body politic.

Riley excitedly swipes the flyer, praising Dylan for his enthusiastic design. She snaps a picture of it on her phone and explains she’s texting it to Charlie.

Riley: I’m so pumped for this. Disco isn’t my favorite thing, but it is fun.

Dylan: Bouncy.

Isadora: Jaunty.

Dylan: Ooh, thesaurus bonus.

Dylan and Isadora exchange a quick high five. Riley beams at them, then continues.

Riley: Besides, with how extremely crazy everything is right now between college apps and showdown and now this fundraising debacle, I think it’ll give all of us some much-needed serotonin. A nice evening of… disco dopamine.

Dylan: Oh, you know you just wanna see Lucas in some sick bellbottoms.

Isadora: [ with a gag ] God… please, I’m sitting right here...

Riley shoves Dylan playfully, then reiterates the point. It will be fun. A nice, well-deserved stress reliever after working their asses off these next couple weeks.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

And boy howdy, that could not be truer for Jade. She is in full frenzy mode, skipping lunch and hunkered down in the costume loft to work. It seems like she’s been there for days, her space under the loft essentially a nest of costuming supplies, her belongings, and discarded snack containers. Her hair is a mess of tangles falling half out of a ponytail, three different tape measures are draped around her neck like graduation cords, and she’s wearing an old button up paint smock about 3 sizes too large that only exacerbates the crazed hermit energy.

Asher and Jeff listen as she multitasks on cataloguing some of her projects and marks another in progress on the table in front of her, the former visibly disconcerted by Jade’s general state of being while the latter seems mainly tickled. She speaks around a pin caught between her lips as she explains the reason for the chaos -- college applications are due right around the corner, as are apprenticeship applications, and she needs to have all her portfolio pieces in perfect condition before she hits that submit button.

Asher: Again, I know this is hypocritical coming from me, but girl you need to relax.

Jade snaps her head up to glare at him, even scarier with that pin in her mouth. She removes it to stick something down while Jeff asks her what she has left to do. Apparently, she’s just about done after days of relentless work, so she’s on her last application assignment now: pick a decade and create a sampling of as many unique -- but historically accurate -- costumes as possible in her designer’s mind.

Jade: Luckily, Janitor Harley did me the favor of having to pick a decade. If we’re doing ‘70s stuff this week anyway, then we’ll probably need costumes, so I can knock out two birds with one stone.

Jeff: I don’t know if I’d say need…

Asher: Yeah, with the auditorium boarded up for the time being I doubt we’ll be doing any major productions.

Jade: With Maya and Farkle, you can never be too careful.

Case in point, she is way too swamped to even think about the fundraising bullshit. She feels bad, but there’s no way she can split her time. Jeff and Asher assure her it’s no big deal.

Jeff: I think the performers will let you off the hook considering you’ve made… every single costume they’ve ever worn since freshman year.

Asher: Least they could do.

Jeff: Yeah. You deserve a week off!

Jeff’s turn to receive the Jade Beamon death glare. He clears his throat, scratching his ear.

Jeff: Well, you know… not for you, but...

Jade stabs the pin cushion pointedly.

Zay, pre-lap: I guess if my clear eternal damnation is good for anything, it gets me out of fundraising to fix another problem caused by Farkle and the Pips.

INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

Zay and Nigel are taking their lunch in the boys dressing room, both on their laptops while they eat. They’re working on finalizing college application stuff, Zay sitting on the counter with his injured foot propped up while Nigel is leaning against the mirrors on the floor.

Nigel: Guess it’s worth it then.

Zay: Ha ha, so funny. If I could afford to move, I would kill you for being such a damn comedian.

Nigel: I’m more of a tragedies man myself. [ a beat ] What are you planning to do, exactly? For the applications.

Zay: [ with a sigh ] Just putting the pieces together and hoping for the best. Thank fuck I recorded a couple runs of my routine when I was going through my obsessive drills at the start of the year.

Nigel: Glad Diva Zay was good for something.

Zay: They’re not as polished as I want, but they’ll do. Not like I have any other options. I’m just going to convince myself via self-hypnosis that they’ll see the rough edges as loose, natural charm. Between that and other samples I have from shows and recitals and West Side Story, all I can do is hope that’s enough. And if I get far enough to book an audition… I’ll be better by then.

He says it like a guarantee -- he can’t consider the alternative. Nigel isn’t sure how to respond, but he’s spared from figuring it out as they’re interrupted by YINDRA AMINO entering with a few showdown costumes to replace on the rack. All of them freeze as they glance at one another, Yindra and Zay holding one another’s gaze for a few moments longer. Then Yindra brushes past the awkwardness, shrugging and focusing on the costume rack.

Yindra: No need to go on defense, boys. I’m only here on business.

She keeps her eyes on her task. Nigel picks up the conversational slack, explaining that they were discussing their college applications. He asks how Yindra is doing in plotting her college plans, as last they talked she didn’t have much set in stone.

Yindra, matter-of-fact: I’ll be applying to a couple of schools as a safety net, but my main trajectory remains Los Angeles. The current plan right now is to skip over the bureaucracy of academics I don’t care about and go out there to start striking while the iron is hot. Talent speaks for itself.

Nigel, ever the pragmatist, still seems uneasy about such a plan, but it’s Zay who beats him to the punch. He breaks the silence between him and Yindra with a snort, tone teasing but friendly.

Zay: Straight to Los Angeles with no foundation? Now that’s just asking for trouble, and that’s coming from a diva like me. Haven’t you seen Fame?

Maybe that kind of friendly fire passes when they’re on good terms, but it falls flat now. Yindra stiffens her shoulders, giving Zay a diva glare of her own.

Yindra: [ without looking at him ] Nigel, will you please inform Zay that despite what his superiority complex might think, I’m not an idiot?

Nigel: Oh, um --

Zay: Come on, Yindra. I didn’t mean it like that.

Yindra: And Zay might find it interesting to know that my dad is considering moving to Los Angeles as well, if I plan to be out there, so I don’t see how I’m swinging with no foundation. And I’ll be using the money that we would’ve wasted on tuition for studio time to record a demo, so there is in fact a method behind the madness. Just because I’m not following the same musty, beaten path as everyone else doesn’t mean I’m not on any path at all. [ haughtily ] And even in spite of his broke attitude, I wish him all the best with his less-than-ideal circumstances. Least of all this week -- I’m sure not being able to show off while he discos is simply killing him. Thanks for letting him know, Nigel.

Nigel: … you’re welcome...

With that, Yindra spins on her heel and exits. Zay rolls his eyes, but it’s clear that the state of their friendship is really bothering him. Nigel awkwardly attempts to move past it, commenting that the two of them are about as dramatic as a Shakespearean comedy of errors before coming back to Yindra’s closing point.

Nigel: It’s a shame about this assignment though. You’re probably the only one in our class who could truly thrive this week.

Zay smiles half-heartedly, both of them focusing back on their computers. After a moment, his smile dims.

Zay: Didn’t use to be…

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - HALLWAY - DAY

CHARLIE GARDNER is at his locker, reading the texts from Riley. He pulls up the photo of the flyer for the dance fundraiser, boasting the disco theme for the end of the semester in all its groovy glory.

Yes, it is a tragedy that Charlie isn’t there to participate. Another disco gay, barred from the dance floor. It’s clear from his expression that he’s bummed about it.

He’s only pulled out of his fugue when EVAN SCOTT approaches. He pats him on the shoulder as he passes and asks if he’s ready for rehearsal. With senior showdown finals so close around the corner, Brandon is going to be drilling them more than ever. Now it’s game time for real.

Charlie nods, putting his phone away and shutting his locker to follow him. But that melancholy still lingers in his features.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

But he’s not the only one grappling with an unideal situation. Lucas is the king of that, settled in his usual chair across from Jack, only this time he’s not alone. Maya has been called in with him, the two of them waiting uncertainly as Jack prepares to share why he brought them in.

And the reason for his apprehension is obvious once he says it. He finally breaks the news to them that the school board declined to fund their scholarship initiative -- and that’s not even the worst part.

Maya: Nothing? 

Lucas: They’re not going to contribute anything?

Jack: I know, it’s disappointing. To be honest, I was anticipating at least a partial donation, but for whatever reason it was shot down wholesale. It was close, though.

Maya: Well. That’s just lovely. Could the state of the AAA union get any more despicable?

Jack: To put it simply? Yes.

Uh oh. Jack reluctantly informs them of the other bomb blowing up their administration -- that Yancy has insisted they pay for the damages to the auditorium since their class caused it. Both Lucas and Maya erupt in complaints, the latter literally leaping out of her chair and launching into a frantic pace behind it. She fans herself, taking deep breaths.

Maya: Okay. This is fine. No money, no problems. It’s fine. It’s fine!

Jack: … Miss Hart?

Maya stops behind her vacated seat, gripping the back of it. She takes in a deep breath, holds it, and releases it theatrically. Then she opens her eyes, plastering on her winning star smile.

Maya: It’s okay. Yes, everything is fine. The situation is unideal, in a word --

Lucas: More like bullshit.

Maya: Also a word. But money and I have been tussling my whole career. It won’t be getting the best of me now. We’ll come up with another way to fundraise alongside the dance social and then we will win showdown and absolutely everything will work out exactly how I want it to. It always does.

Jack: That so?

Maya: Thanks to the two powers that be, Principal Hunter -- star and will. And I’ve got both in spades. [ another breath ] Okay, damage control. Need new ideas. Gotta pool resources… brainstorm. I need to brainstorm. I’m thinking… I’m scheming...

Maya hums, entering zen diva mode as she gathers her things. She backs out of the office and assures Lucas she’ll update him as soon as she’s figured out their second moneymaker. Once she’s gone, Lucas and Jack wait a moment to let the Maya pheromones dissipate before continuing the conversation.

Jack: Say what you will about her, can’t pretend she doesn’t have moxie. An interesting choice to partner with you.

Lucas: Believe it or not -- and I’ll deny it if you tell anyone -- I think she’s the best second-in-command I could’ve picked. Somehow her brand of insanity is just right for the Minesweeper that is Triple A student government.

Hard to argue with that. Jack apologizes again for the fact that so much seems to be piling on him at once. He really did think they would get more help from the board… but they’ll keep marching on regardless. The initiative is worth fighting for, and besides, their fundraisers could really outsell their expectations. Especially with a theme like disco, their dance will probably be a smashing success. Lucas can’t help but smirk.

Lucas: Yeah, you’d know all about that, huh? Bet you were just a disco king back in your day.

Jack, flatly: How old do you think I am to have been discoing in the ‘70s?

Cheekiness notwithstanding, the prospects seem good. Not all hope is lost. Jack switches gears, checking in with how Lucas is doing on his applications with deadlines fast approaching. Lucas gives the same general response he gave Riley, tiptoeing around the challenge of the essay component and focusing on the fact that he might get it done at all. Now that it’s so close, it feels more and more daunting… not to mention all the other pressure that seems to be landing on top of him right at the same time.

Jack hears that, and dismisses Lucas so he has time to go deal with all those pressures. Before he walks out, Lucas pauses and turns back for one more thing. He struggles to articulate it since asking for any sort of help feels like specialized torture, but he manages to ask if Jack would be willing to write him a letter of recommendation for the applications. The request surprises Jack, which Lucas reads as discomfort.

Lucas: I know it’s like, pretty last minute and stuff. And there probably isn’t a lot to say about me, so it’ll take some work to throw something compelling together. I should’ve asked sooner, or like, bothered someone else. So I totally get it if you don’t have time or have too much to do or just, you know, don’t want to --

Jack is far from opposed, though. In fact, he’s touched by the request, expression softening to a smile.

Jack: Lucas. [ waiting for him to quiet ] I’d be happy to write one for you. It’s no problem at all.

Lucas: … okay. Cool. Um, thanks.

Jack: You’re quite welcome.

Lucas: I’ll send over the links and stuff later. Today. Later today. So it’s not any later.

Jack: Whatever works for you.

Lucas: Okay… okay. Cool.

Any more bashful vulnerability and Lucas just might implode. He mutters one more quick thanks and scampers away, Jack holding back his amusement long enough to spare Lucas further embarrassment. He chuckles to himself as he shifts back to his work, shaking his head.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Surrounded by various textbooks and scripts and with her laptop propped in front of her, Isadora sits on her bed. A half-finished essay about how the horror genre has developed over the years is open on her screen, but has been entirely abandoned in favor of the mysterious letter Valerie had in her belongings. Isadora holds several handwritten pages, eyebrows furrowed as she reads her mother’s words. She moves the first page to the side, and we catch a glimpse of Val’s loopy handwriting:

Dearest Zachary,

How lovely it is to hear from an old friend! I’m so glad that you’re doing well. Send my well wishes to that darling wife of yours.

To answer your question, I wasn’t entirely sure of who Isadora’s father was when I discovered I was pregnant -- as you well know, I often got rather drunk back then, so couldn’t be entirely sure of all my actions. However, upon reflection, I have come to the same conclusion as you.

Well, damn. Heavy stuff, even if somewhat rose-tinted through Valerie’s flowery language. Isadora bites her lip as she continues reading, clearly conflicted about this sudden revelation. 

Eric, off-screen: Dinner’s ready!

Isadora doesn’t seem to hear Eric’s yell, so after a moment, Eric comes to her room to tell her directly. She still doesn’t look up from the letter, peaking Eric’s interest. 

Eric: What are you reading?

Isadora: Hm? Oh, nothing.

She folds up the papers and shoves them under one of her notebooks nearby, giving Eric a small forced smile. He narrows his eyes at her, jokingly suspicious, which Isadora laughs off. She hops off her bed and asks what’s for dinner, successfully distracting him.

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - DAY

Farkle is meeting with DR. MICHELLE HAN, assembled in their usual positions with her in her arm chair and him sprawled across the couch. He’s relaying the drama of the week and his unfortunate instrumental role in all the destruction, though at least this time it was far from intentional. But it’s clear he feels guilty about it, and he admits that his uncanny knack for making things worse is definitely not helping him combat those low moods that seem to creep up on him out of nowhere.

Dr. Han perks up at this, taking the opportunity to gear the conversation. She gently asks if they could discuss that further for a bit, his experience with the high and low moods. Everybody has off days, of course, but based on their previous discussions, she’s interested to hear more about how Farkle describes these different emotional states and the other factors that come with it.

It’s not hard to get Farkle to talk. He obliges without hesitation, launching into details about how it feels when he’s feeling especially frenzied -- sort of the opposite of what he’s dancing around now, but such a vivid experience when he’s in it that he remembers the sensation and always can vibe when it’s coming on. Dr. Han listens carefully, flipping to a clean page in her notepad to jot down his thoughts.

Farkle doesn’t think anything of it, but it seems like Dr. Han might be onto something more than just the typical one-on-one chat. A pronounced clapping counts us in...

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - DAY

BRANDON RIVAS is clapping along to the downbeat while the Havies run through their showdown routine, the instrumental from How to Succeed playing on the speakers. He’s keeping a watchful eye on his classmates while they run through the choreography, shouting out when someone is off a beat or not sharp enough on the steps.

Charlie is definitely one of those people. He’s a couple of steps behind today, mind elsewhere, and when he accidentally bumps into BILLY ROSS he receives a glare in response. What’s the matter with you, man?

Brandon: Come on, Gardner! This is your choreography!

Fair point, Brandon. Charlie tries to get back on track, but lucky for him he’s far from the only one struggling this week. DWEEZIL HOWARD is out of step too, and his mistakes reverberate way more as he accidentally sends half the boys into a wave of near stumbles. Brandon yells for everyone to stop, shaking his head as Evan jogs to pause the music.

Brandon: This is not the time to get soft, guys. Showdown is right around the corner.

Havie: So what? It’s not like Adams is any competition. Six years of success speak for themselves.

Brandon: And complacency is the first step in breaking that streak. You want to be credited when that takes us down? [ off his head shake ] So, what’s going on? Is there some contagious case of vertigo going around that makes you all unable to balance on your own two feet?

Charlie chews his lip, shying away from the disappointment. He’s not the only recipient, but he knows he doesn’t have a good excuse -- and certainly not one Brandon would want to hear. But Dweezil answers first anyway, much more visibly frazzled than him.

Dweezil: I’m sorry, Brandon. I’m just really stressing about the MIT app.

Others murmur agreement, mentioning their own upcoming dream school deadlines and the pressure of finishing their applications. Charlie nods along as if that’s his problem too.

Brandon considers this for a long moment, scanning over his peers. He may have high expectations, but he’s not without compassion for his boys. He relents and expresses sympathy for everybody’s stress, claiming they can call it quits early today and cut down on afternoon rehearsals for the next few days while everyone is wrapping up applications.

The boys breathe a collective sigh of relief, thanking Brandon and starting to disperse. Brandon shouts after them to send those apps in fast and get ready to come back to work harder than ever -- they’re not going to slip and fall to AAA on his watch. Billy exchanges a handshake with him and suggests he take some time off to focus on himself, too, but Brandon shrugs this off.

Brandon: No, it’s fine. Think I’ll be able to make use of the time… might have to make some adjustments to the numbers anyway. [ quirking an eyebrow ] Make sure we’re the best we can possibly be.

For what it’s worth, the statement seems less than innocuous. It kind of feels like Brandon knows something we don’t, and based on Billy’s smug reaction, he’s in on it too. They exchange another fist bump before Billy heads out.

Charlie is one of the last to leave, pausing in packing up to check his phone. He’s got a surprising amount of texts on his lock screen, all from Daisy. He opens the thread, finding just under a dozen texts of her sharing live updates with him of an argument that apparently broke out between Rosie and Eleanor. Although her observations are characteristically dry and analytical -- a technical play-by-play rather than biased record -- the fact that she’s telling Charlie about it at all is a sign that she’s concerned about it. The final message she sent kind of sums up the looming stakes without saying so:

“Didn’t this happen with Bridgette?”

Either way, not good news. Charlie frowns. Before he figures out how to respond, Brandon startles him.

Brandon: All good, Charles?

Charlie: Uh, yeah. Yeah, just, you know. Lots on my mind. It was cool of you to give everyone a break right now.

Brandon: Well. [ with a shrug ] Nothing too serious going on with you, I hope. We need your talent to up our dance credentials -- I assume you realize by now how valuable you are to the team.

Charlie: Oh, well…

Brandon: Can’t afford to let anything distract us right now if we’re to come out victorious against Adams. [ a beat ] Least of all Adams itself… you know, it’s okay if you’re feeling conflicted…

Conflicted might be a bit strong -- although Charlie lives basically every day of his life conflicted -- but the notion that Brandon is even close to sensing what’s actually going on in his head sets him on edge. He clears his throat, frantically attempting to throw him off the trail.

Charlie: Oh, no. No. It’s um -- just family stuff. Stuff with my sisters.

Brandon: Ah… sibling nonsense. I get that. I’ve got two older brothers, and even though they’re not at home anymore it’s like I’m still carrying their baggage around.

Charlie: Big shoes to fill?

Brandon: Well, one was valedictorian and is starting his first year at Harvard Law, and the other is starting his third year in prison. So kind of high bars in either direction.

Well. No idea how to respond to that little fun fact. Brandon spares Charlie the awkwardness and lets him go, wishing him a good afternoon.

But pleasant as he is, it’s evident he doesn’t fully buy Charlie’s excuse.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Isadora is at the counter at Chubbies, discussing all of the impending stressors with Lucas during his shift. They’re especially mindful of how Lucas’s scholarship plan is now basically hinging solely on a victory at showdown, which is feeling more and more like a long shot. With Zay no longer able to bolster their performance, they’re short star power.

Isadora: And since Haverford has Charlie, who is basically his counterweight, suddenly the scales are tipped heavily in their favor. We’ll be lucky if we can create some Frankenstein performance around the gaping hole Zay leaves behind.

Lucas: Have you thought about stepping up in his place? Not that you’re anywhere near the level of dancer that he is, but you do purportedly have star power.

Isadora: Gee, thanks. I’m honestly shocked you’re suggesting this.

Lucas: Believe me, it hurts. But I’ve got stakes riding on this too, and I know you’re talented. Maybe you could help prop things back up so we’ve got at least a shot of winning.

Isadora: I don’t know… I mean, I know I performed the other week, but it was all about that assignment, you know? It was specifically because it was out of my comfort zone. [ a beat ] Though, why, I don’t even really know anymore…

She feels more confused about performing these days than averse, with all the grieving she’s done over Valerie, but confusion still feels dangerous. Probably safer to just stay on the sidelines… probably...

Speaking of dangerous tasks, Isadora shifts to college applications. She submitted her NYU film school application ages ago, and she’s got a couple of other things in the pipeline, but she’s much more interested in how Lucas is dealing with his. When he feeds her the same lines he’s been telling everyone else, she raises her eyebrows. Not buying it.

Leave it to Isadora to see right through him. Lucas sighs, relenting and explaining that the essays are killing him. It’s like, everything else he can scrape together, fake, pull off like he’s scraped through everything else in his life. But the personal statements…

Lucas: I hate writing about myself. Why should all of my potential rest on how well I can sell myself in some 500-word anecdote? As if that paints the complete picture. Not that I want that either -- the full picture isn’t pretty. How am I supposed to convince some strangers to take a chance on me when I don’t even believe it? If I had the choice whether or not to know myself, I wouldn’t.

Isadora: Wonder what that says about those of us who do choose to know you.

Lucas: And what am I going to say? Howdy, I’m a son of a bitch, please let me into your school and give me your money to do so? Great fucking deal.

Isadora rolls her eyes. She points out that although he doesn’t want to hear it, when it comes to  finances he knows she can help. Once the money from her inheritance fully comes through, she’ll have plenty that she doesn’t know what to do with. If she’s going to use it to help others -- especially those she cares about -- then helping him pursue his dreams is a non-issue. But, predictably, Lucas recoils at the suggestion.

Isadora: I swear, you are impossible. And you have such a weird hang-up about money.

Lucas: Yeah, views that you shared until about a month ago.

Isadora: Well, I’ve grown. I can see the nuances in money now and how it goes around. And I’m just saying that if you’ve got all these complexes around who has it and who can give it to you when you’re stuck on the bottom rung, then --

No doubt it’s a complicated series of complexes. As Isadora is settling into her rant, MISSY BRADFORD enters the diner. Lucas glances over Isadora’s shoulder and spots her, immediately clamming up.

Isadora: ...it’s what Reagan sold as trickle-down economics, but the thing is if you don’t give any money to the lowest income households from the get-go, then they never --

Lucas: Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ve got to go to the back.

Lucas retreats from the counter without waiting for permission, causing Isadora to scoff. She wasn’t finished! But he’s already gone, leaving her high and dry. But he also successfully avoided Missy, who steps up the counter for a pick-up order and is helped by another employee instead. She doesn’t acknowledge Isadora, who eyes her judgmentally from her stool.

As Missy collects her order and leaves -- glancing over her shoulder one last time for her usual Chubbies worker -- Dylan and Asher enter with Farkle. They join Isadora at the counter, asking where Lucas is. She shrugs, claiming he disappeared to deal with something.

Farkle: You ready to go? Is Maya here yet?

Isadora: Not yet. Figure she’ll be a bit late after the “atomic bomb” Jack dropped on her and Lucas -- her words, not mine.

Asher: What are you all up to?

Isadora: Since Farkle and I were technically responsible for the destruction in the auditorium --

Farkle: One could make the argument that I should have died last year.

Dylan: That would be a sick personal essay.

Isadora: We thought it was only fair that we put in the time to help Maya craft whatever last-minute fundraising effort we’re going to pull together to cover it.

As for Dylan and Asher, they were just stopping by to catch up with Lucas before going to practice their assignment for the week. Isadora commends Asher for performing again, considering it was so out of his comfort zone.

Farkle: Yeah, that’s not -- you’re not thinking of making that a habit, are you? Not asking for any reason, just curious. Not because you’re also a tenor. I’m just wondering.

Isadora: Smooth.

Asher: No, not planning to change career paths. Rest easy, Farkle. Just getting this out of the way sooner rather than later. [ nodding to Dylan ] It’s not as bad since we’re doing it together. And besides, can’t ignore the pull of the funk.

Dylan, wisely: Disco is for the gays.

Asher: Gotta pay our dues and get down with the boogie.

Far out, fellas! Isadora and Farkle wish them luck and head out together. Isadora asks Farkle how his therapy appointment went, and while his answer is unbothered, he definitely seems to be a little spacy this week. Isadora notices and considers asking him about it, but opts not to press further. They’ve got enough going on right now.

INT. GARDNER HOME - ROSIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

ROSIE GARDNER is huddled up in her bedroom, begrudgingly working on homework. She’s got Niall Horan playing, and the volume is turned up loud. It takes multiple knocks on her door before Rosie hears, shouting over the noise.

Rosie: Go away! I’m busy.

Charlie, from the hall: It’s me. Can we talk for a minute?

Rosie sighs, but gets up. She opens the door and spins back around to drop back into her seat at her desk, not bothering to greet him. But she let him in, which is more than anyone else has managed this evening.

Charlie blinks as the pop music assaults his ears. He gently closes the door behind him, raising his voice over Niall.

Charlie: Think you could turn Niall down for a second?

Rosie: Huh?

Charlie: Turn your boyfriend down so we can actually hear each other!

Rosie: Ugh. You’re so not funny.

And yet, she relents and lowers the volume. Charlie makes a show of shaking off the ringing in his ears, knocking his ear slightly.

Charlie: Just checking for significant damage. Need industrial strength noise-cancelling headphones to come in here. Like they wear when they guide airplanes onto the runway.

Rosie: You are so annoying. Did you want something, or?

Charlie explains that Daisy texted him that afternoon about a fight she apparently had with mom. She seemed pretty concerned, so he just wanted to check in. Is everything okay? Rosie rolls her eyes.

Rosie: It’s so whatever. Daisy is exaggerating.

Charlie: I don’t think Daisy is capable of exaggeration. We took all the drama genes, there wasn’t any left for her.

Rosie: Well, she is. Yeah, mom and I argued, but it’s like… it’s dumb, whatever. I don’t even care.

Charlie: You’re listening to your sad 1D playlist.

Rosie: I said I don’t care, Charlie. And I can listen to whatever I want whenever I want.

Charlie: Okay, well, can you at least tell me what it was about? Or what’s --

Rosie: Ugh. It was nothing! Can you mind your own business and leave me alone? I’m trying to work.

Yikes. Rosie has always had a little bit of early teen venom in her, but this feels like more than that. Charlie doesn’t want to just let it drop, but it’s more than obvious she will not be having any productive conversations right now.

Charlie: Okay. I’m only -- if you want to talk about anything, you know you can tell me. I’m here to listen. [ a beat ] Okay?

Rosie: [ not bothering to look at him ] Okay. Whatever. Thanks.

She turns Niall back up, effectively ending the talk. Charlie hangs around for a moment longer, words he wants to say on the tip of his tongue, but for now there’s nothing to be done. He reluctantly retreats, the ghost of the past looming over him.

INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Farkle, Maya and Isadora are spread out around Farkle’s bedroom as they brainstorm ideas for fundraising. Maya paces around, occasionally picking up little trinkets and inspecting them before putting them back down in the wrong place. Isadora, meanwhile, is laying down on Farkle’s bed on her back, her head hanging upside down off the side. Farkle has gathered a blanket around him as he sits at the other end of the bed. 

Maya: You need to add some meat to that stick of a body, Farkle. You can’t keep living like an orphan who’s freezing to death on the streets of Victorian London. 

Farkle: It’s not my fault I have a fast metabolism. You’re just jealous. 

Maya: Yes, I’m very jealous of the boy who looks like he’s dying of scurvy.

Isadora snorts in amusement, for which Farkle shoots a glare at her.

Maya: Go get us some snacks, orphan boy. We’ll fatten you up Hansel and Gretel style.

Farkle: This is offensive to orphans everywhere, I hope you know. 

Isadora: As the only orphan here, I’m not offended. Maya, you may continue your bullying.

Maya grins, but Isadora frowns as she realizes what she said. Technically, she isn’t an orphan, if her father is out there alive... despite rolling his eyes, Farkle does get up to get snacks, blanket still tightly wrapped around him.

Once she and Maya are alone, Isadora sits up straight and turns towards her, lips pursed in thought as she considers what she wants to say. 

Isadora: Do you know who your dad is?

Maya stops wandering around and looks at Isadora in surprise.

Maya: Where’d that come from?

Isadora: I don’t know. Just wondering about the orphan thing, I guess.

Maya: Izzy, that was just a joke. And directed towards Farkle. All jeers are reserved for our darling beanpole -- I’m not stupid enough to drag you.

Isadora: Appreciated. [ a beat ] I know nothing about my dad.

Maya: [ with a shrug ] I know my dad’s name and some basic facts about him, like his job, but nothing else. 

Isadora: Have you ever considered getting in touch with him? What if he’s out there somewhere? Mine or yours.

Maya: When I was younger I thought about it… but he abandoned me, so what’s the point? If he wanted me in his life, I would be. He knows who I am and how to contact me, but he hasn’t. Why waste my precious time and energy dealing with him when I already have my mom? She’s all I need.

Isadora nods, considering this. Her father situation is quite different to Maya’s, so not all that helpful. Regardless, it’s something to think about. Maya is pensive, too, mind now occupied by thoughts of Katy. Isadora notices her shift in mood.

Isadora: You miss her?

Maya: [ with a theatrical sigh ] Always. [ then, a bittersweet smile ] It’s okay, every artist has to have their tragic backstory. It’s good. Gives me personal agony to work through.

Isadora: … well, actually --

Before she can say anything further, Farkle returns with an armful of snacks. He tosses them at Maya and Isadora.

Farkle: Here you go, little piggies. Oink oink.

Maya: You can’t say that to us, we’re women.

Isadora: We could have you cancelled for that.

Maya: Besides, as the only poor one present, I reserve all rights to the word pig. [ eyeing them ] Capitalist swine…

Farkle: Yeah, speaking of lack of funding...

The conversation moves on, back to fundraising, but Maya gets out her phone to send Katy a quick message letting her know that she misses her.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Boogie Shoes” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Asher Garcia & Dylan Orlando

Kicking off the first official performance for the ‘70s theme, Asher launches us into number with an impressive opening note. He starts at the top of the stairs in the atrium, starting down the steps while singing towards Dylan, who’s waiting down below. When he sings “boy, to be with you is my favorite thing,” Dylan playfully points to himself and beams. They’re both dressed in modern-day approximations of disco garb -- colorful dress shirts, glossy vests with matching flare pants, funky patterned ascots.

And they’re setting the standard for what performances will be like without the usual stage of the auditorium. Their chosen location is the atrium, mostly empty as it’s during class hours, the rest of the A class scattered around the space to watch and provide back-up vocals (as well as their usual reactions and applause). Zay is particularly torn, clearly flipping between jealousy that he can’t be dancing and basically vibrating with the infectious groove.

In the case of Dylan and Asher, there is plenty to cheer for. They’re simply undeniably a joy to watch, especially with each other, and Dylan was right when he said disco is for the gays. They’ve got the night fever, full of energy and charm as they dance together. On the “woo!” during the bridge, Dylan lifts Asher in a funky little hop moment. And Asher’s vocal runs throughout are nothing to scoff at either.

It’s a smashing way to start the assignments off right!

INT. AAA - PRACTICE ROOM - DAY

As strong a showing as that little number was, the upbeat mood doesn’t last long. Stress dominates in the meeting between Maya, Yindra, Farkle, Jeff, and Isadora, who are deliberating on the current status of their showdown setlist. They’re attempting to analyze it and rework with the knowledge that Zay will not be able to participate, but it’s easier said than done.

Lack of focus doesn’t help matters. Farkle is noticeably zoned out, lost in his own head, and Maya has to snap at him to get him back at attention. This is not amateur hour! No time for spacing out, Farkle! He apologizes, but Isadora notices he still seems far away somehow.

The fervent discussion is immediately halted when Zay enters the studio, realizing they’ve all convened to work without him. He asks what gives.

Maya: It’s not personal, Zayby. But considering your current situation...

Zay: I’m still choreographer. Even if I’m not performing, I should be included in meetings. Especially if you’re talking about altering the routine.

Jeff: We’re not.

Farkle: At least, not right now.

Isadora, diplomatically: We just know that not being able to participate is difficult for you, so Riley suggested… we figured it would be better not to like… force you to deal with it. Or rub it in your face.

Maya: Exactly. See? We’re doing this for you.

How sweet. But Zay isn’t moved. He grows defensive, nodding along but dripping with sarcasm.

Zay: Great. Thanks. Well I guess if you need to drag me out of the recycling bin to comment on choreography, you all know how to reach me.

He storms out -- a bit unevenly on his boot -- leaving them awkwardly in his absence. Farkle clears his throat. The only who doesn’t seem uncomfortable is Maya, who shifts gears back to the matter at hand effortlessly. It’s just business, after all.

Maya: So star power --

INT. THRIFT SHOP - DAY

Riley is searching the racks for an outfit for the ‘70s dance, Charlie in tow. Every now and then, she’ll find a vintage shirt that’s his size and hold it up against his chest just on instinct, always on the lookout for her friends even if they’re not looking themselves.

Riley: It’s amazing how every color looks good on you. You should really consider branching out beyond neutrals and inoffensive shades of blue.

Tell us something we don’t know, Riles. Charlie brushes off her compliments, keeping his focus on the topic at hand while they shop. He’s seeking advice on how to handle arguing family members, since unfortunately, Riley has plenty of relevant experience with that. He’s had it in his family before with Bridgette, but he can’t remember much of it and honestly, one of the keys to their family dynamic is how most unpleasant things occur behind closed doors. Most of the time, they don’t even know when something is wrong with each other.

Riley: Do you have any more details? I feel like context would help.

Charlie: Nope. I only heard about it through Daisy, and when I tried to talk to Rosie, she wouldn’t budge.

Riley contemplates and admits she’s hesitant to try and give advice when the context is so vague and wide open, but ultimately the most important thing she thinks he could do is to continue being there for Rosie. He told her he was, and that’s the best he can do under the circumstances. If he actually witnesses another argument for himself, then that’s a different story.

Riley: But no matter what happens, try not to let yourself get caught in the middle of it. I mean, you should help where you can, but there’s nothing worse than trying to fix problems that aren’t yours and you can’t control. It’s between them, not you, and trying to mend it from the outside is only going to result in failure and frustration. You have to look out for your own well-being first. I wish someone had told me that before my parents fell apart.

Very important advice. Charlie thanks her and expresses sympathy for her messy parental situation again, but she shrugs it off and moves past it. Instead she finds another cute ‘70s material button down in classic sky blue, enthusiastically lifting it up to measure against Charlie.

Riley: Pair a blazer with this, and you’d be all set to boogie. Makes your eyes pop too… ugh, you’re so pretty it’s disgusting.

Charlie: I thought we were shopping for you, not me. I’m not the one who gets to disco.

Riley: Well, that’s not necessarily true. The fundraiser is open to everyone -- that’s the only way we’re going to make any profit, after all. And you know you’d be more than welcome.

Charlie: Yeah, maybe… with showdown so close and everything…

Riley: Charlie. [ holding his gaze ] You’re family. Forget showdown, forget east and west side. As long as I’m around, you fit. And I know for sure I’m not the only one who feels that way. Got it? Can you dig it?

Charlie, grateful: I can dig it.

Riley: Righteous. I’m serious though, what you should dig is this shirt.

As Riley shifts back to searching for her own look, they jump to chatting about college applications. Charlie asks how hers are going after she explains Lucas’s poorly concealed stress about them, and she claims they’re going fine.

Riley: I’m a pretty textbook candidate, all things considered, and my poor tragic backstory of being bullied out of school and divorced parents sure makes for great personal essay fodder.

Charlie: Kind of weird how they teach us to exploit our own trauma…

Riley: I’m definitely applying to Barnard, and I’ve decided I’m going to throw my hat in the ring for Tisch even though it’s basically the longest shot there is. Add in a handful of second choice picks and you get the idea. But honestly, I’m not all that pressed about it right now. I feel like it’s going to be way harder when acceptances and rejections come through and it’s all… real. I can throw any application out there I want and I don’t have to do anything about it. When I actually know what my options are… then it’ll be real. You know? When I actually have to decide what path I want to take. Because right now, I feel like I have no idea what I want that to be.

Charlie nods, agreeing wholeheartedly. He definitely knows the feeling of not having any idea what he wants the future to be… as the low hum of an unfamiliar instrument floats in…

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Amazing Grace” as performed by The Military Band of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards || Performed by Dave Williams

In what is probably the weirdest performance AMBITION has seen to date, Dave stands alone in front of the classroom and goes to town on the bagpipes. Yes, apparently, Dave Williams can play the bagpipes (though whether he plays them well is a whole other story). And he gives it his all on this immensely famous tune, bewildering his peers and rendering them speechless.

That being said, while they can’t find any words, that doesn’t stop the A class from reacting. The expressions range from confused to stunned to struggling to keep it together. Maya stares in disbelief and then scrunches her face, looking around to see if anyone else is seeing this. Zay and Nigel are on the verge of tears from stifling their laughter; Yogi is misty-eyed from sheer emotion at his best friend’s… powerful performance. Nate mouths trying to sing along to the screechy tones with an absolutely delighted grin, while Dylan emulates the patriotic vibe by standing and giving a salute. Asher shakes his head from next to him, also hiding laughter behind his hand.

When Dave finally concludes, releasing a big exhale, the room is filled with silence for a long moment. Yogi starts the applause that the others uncertainly mimic, until Isadora finally, bluntly breaks the silence.

Isadora: Okay, I’m just going to say it -- what the hell, Dave?

Dave: What? Is something wrong?

Sarah: Where the hell did this come from? Are you seriously damaged?

Yindra: Forget that. I’m dying to know when you learned to play the bagpipes. And why have you deprived us of it for so long?

Farkle: The assignment is ‘70s music. How did you end up on “Amazing Grace?”

Dave, baffled: I don’t get what the big deal is. I found the song on a ‘70s playlist on Spotify, I can show you. And I looked it up -- the fig Newton dude wrote the song in 1779.

Clarissa: Fig newton --

Zay: [ at his wits end trying not to laugh ] I can’t. I can’t --

Dave: 1779! So it’s from the ‘70s.

All, in unison: 1970s, Dave!

Dave: … WHAT?!

The class descends into hysterics. Harper attempts to thank Dave for an… interesting performance, if nothing else.

Harley: I found it quite spirited. Very much enjoyed.

Dave huffs, marching back to his desk. He drops his bagpipes on the desktop --

EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY

Which becomes a soapy sponge landing with a splat on the hood of a car, Haley working to scrub it clean. A few more quick shots help establish the setting -- Jeff and Darby untangling hoses; Riley and Chai filling up buckets of water; Asher ringing out a washcloth as far away from his body as he can stretch it, mildly disgusted.

Yes, Maya’s new fundraising scheme is in full swing -- a car wash! Cars are lining up for the A class to give a shining clean-up. Considering they threw the concept together in just a couple of days, it’s really not a shabby showing. Maya is praising her own quick thinking by the pay table, where they’re also selling baked goods. Zay is manning the cash box, since he can’t do much else.

Maya: I swear, sometimes my own mind amazes me. Never lets me down. And you can’t go wrong with a good old-fashioned classic.

Zay: Yeah, except car washes are usually in the summer. Not the dregs of autumn when we’re all going to get hypothermia.

Maya: It’s actually unseasonably warm today. And that’s the brilliance of it. Who else is doing a car wash in this weather economy? No competition, big bucks.

At least the weather is nice. With them out in their cotton shorts and tees to do all this work, Zay’s right to have reservations. But the sun is out, and the income has been steady thus far. Nate finishes off drying a car with Dylan, who has his hair pushed back with a tie-dye bandana.

Nate: You know, we should all just wet our shirts. That will get the girls and gays to come running.

Maya: [ into her bullhorn ] Don’t accelerate the hypothermia, Martinez. Keep it classy.

Nate: You’re turning down a million-dollar idea!

Maya waves him off, gesturing that he get back to work. And they all put it together real fast when another customer pulls up at the end of the line, EVELYN RAND emerging from her nice SUV and coming over to greet them. She commends them for their efficient set up.

Maya: That’s all thanks to me, Maya Penelope Hart. Vice President and overall go-getter. I’m the one that makes things happen.

Evelyn: And modest as they come, too.

Evelyn happily accepts Maya’s handshake, but she tosses a wink to Zay and Clarissa working the bake sale table. She claims she’s eager to help the cause, and she’s sure they’ll do an excellent job with her car. While she waits, she’s hoping to have a brief chat with Jack, so can she just leave her keys with them? She trusts them to move her vehicle twenty feet when it’s her turn.

Maya: Of course. We here in the A class pride ourselves on our care and attention. Your vehicle is safe with us.

Zay snorts, turning it into a cough. Evelyn hands over her keys pleasantly, waving to the rest of the kids working as she heads into the building. Maya spins the key ring on her finger for a moment, contemplating.

Maya: Can’t afford to screw this up. Gonna need someone extremely anal and annoyingly cautious to handle this one. [ into the bullhorn ] Garcia! Get your persnickety nonexistent ass over here!

Nigel arrives at that moment with a takeout bag in his hands. He tries to weave through the cars and avoid drill sergeant Maya as he heads towards the back entrance to the school, but unfortunately he’s not slick enough.

Maya: Chey! What do you think you’re doing? Cars are over here.

Nigel: Oh. Yes. Well, Jade’s holed up in the costume loft with all the projects she’s finishing…

Maya, unmoved: Uh huh.

Nigel: And I know she isn’t great about eating when she’s under this much stress, so I brought her some food to eat while she works. And I thought I’d go… give it to her… [ quickly ] okay, check you later.

He turns and speeds towards the entrance, making his swift escape. Riley saunters over to join them at the cash table, tilting her head fondly.

Riley: That’s so sweet.

Maya: Meh. A convenient excuse.

Zay: And how are you one to talk, Maya? You realize standing around shouting orders at everyone isn’t work.

Riley: Come on, Madam Vice President. Time to put in a little elbow grease.

Zay raises his eyebrows, accenting Riley’s challenge. Pride in jeopardy, Maya sniffs and relinquishes her bullhorn, placing it on the table. She spins and flips her ponytail over her shoulder, marching over to contribute to the cause. Riley and Zay exchange amused looks, while the boombox blasting the iconic opening hand claps takes over the soundscape...

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Car Wash” as performed by Rose Royce || Performed by Maya Hart (feat. AAA Seniors)

You all knew it was coming. The moment we started scrubbing those fenders, you should’ve seen it coming. Maya leads the A class in a funky rendition of the disco classic, swaying her hips and swinging her ponytail as they put in the hard work (though, somehow, Maya still manages to avoid most of the heavy lifting). She handles most of the verses, though Yindra also takes some of the spotlight with vocal runs. Nate perfects his slutdrop as he cleans tires.

In the midst of the grooving, the business is bumping. Interspersed amongst the performing we see Clarissa and Dylan charming patrons at the bake sale table, money changing hands, and Zay dutifully keeping track of everything as he mans the pay station.

On the last chorus, Maya has made her way onto a roof of one of the cars, Yindra, Haley, and Darby emulating her on the other cars they’re working on. The A class does some rad synced choreography to take the number home, Maya sliding down the front windshield and kicking up her leg before Farkle makes the finishing swipe of a washcloth across the hood.

Car wash! Zay deposits another payment into the cashbox, snapping it closed with a flourish.

Evelyn’s car is now closer to the front of the pack, and more business is still coming. Charlie makes his way over from the parking lot, waving to Riley as he makes his way over to the tables. Clarissa and Dylan greet him cheerfully, Riley and Maya jogging over from the line of cars. Zay doesn’t say anything, but offers a hesitant smile, which is better than nothing. Charlie mirrors it.

Clarissa comes out from behind the table to give him a hug, but warns him not to let Haley see him -- she’s soaked and will probably get him all damp. Charlie claims he didn’t plan to stay long, he just wanted to come by and see how things were going, as well drop off some baked goods they could sell that he and his sisters made. Dylan takes them happily. Maya asks where his car is and what kind of wash he wants, which Charlie awkwardly laughs off.

Charlie: I wouldn’t make you guys do that. But I can make a contribution --

Maya: Please, what do you think this is, a pity party? We don’t accept charity.

Zay: Yes we do.

Clarissa: We’ll take all the charity you’ve got.

Maya: This is a business, and we provide a service. So put your boring little sedan in line and turn your patronization into profit.

Riley: Maya, if he doesn’t want --

Charlie: You know what? Okay. [ raising his hands in surrender ] I’ll take whatever the easiest job is. Meet in the middle.

Fair enough. Maya relents, going back to shouting orders at others. Zay shows Charlie what their pricing options are, and though Charlie is going for the cheapest one, he overpays anyway.

Charlie: What Maya doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

Zay: Yeah, and it’ll probably save us.

They exchange something close to a conspiratorial wink. Riley senses that they’re actually communicating without imminent disaster, so she comes over to join them. Charlie asks how business is going -- it seems to be moving pretty swiftly. Riley is optimistic, claiming that between this and the dance -- which is garnering a lot of buzz on social media -- they may just cover their expenses yet. At mention of the dance, Riley makes a quip about how Charlie should’ve bought that shirt at the thrift shop to wear, which catches Zay’s attention.

Zay: You’re coming?

Charlie: Oh, no. No, I wasn’t, um… I hadn’t really thought about it.

Zay: Oh.

Charlie, shyly: … would it be okay if I did?

Zay meets his eyes, uncharacteristically timid. He doesn’t know what to say, because he honestly doesn’t know how he feels about the possibility. Things aren’t as tense as they were before, and they’ve managed to break some of the ice that’s frozen them in place, but it’s far from thawed. He doesn’t know if he wants it to be or not. It’s all confusing, and being put on the spot proves just how much.

He’s spared from answering when Isadora pipes up from the curb.

Isadora: Oh, fuck no.

Charlie jumps, turning to search for the problem. Zay leans around him to look too. The issue is not hard to identify.

The Haverford boys. A whole bunch of them, rolling up in their classy cars, totally filling up the back end of the car wash line. Billy honks obnoxiously in his, waving to the washers working further down the row.

Brandon hops out of his car, the rest of the boys following suit. He leads the saunter over to the tables, where Maya, Farkle, and Isadora rush to head them off. Charlie stares as they approach, obviously mortified that they’re here; Zay frowns, glancing at him suspiciously.

Maya: What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re blocking the line.

Dweezil: Blocking? Is that any way to speak to a customer?

Isadora: One we’re about to kick the hell out, yeah.

The congregation bristles, but Brandon holds up his hands -- both out of innocence and to signal his crew to halt. He remains smooth and unbothered as ever, calmly stating that they’re simply here to support the cause.

Brandon: It’s the least we could do, showing up for the less fortunate. We want showdown to be a fair fight, don’t we?

Maya: Oh, if that’s what you’re looking for, we can give you a fight.

[ Brandon raises his eyebrows, clearly amused by Maya’s sharp spunk. ]

Farkle: How did you all even hear about this?

Brandon: Why, I would think that’s obvious. Charles told us.

[ Many eyes throw to Charlie at once. He swallows, dipping his head. ]

Brandon: Well, technically, he told Evan, but I don’t see why he didn’t just share it with the boys. Evan was more than happy to pass the message along, though, and we all thought it was just a swell idea. Quaint, really.

Billy: Yeah, where’s the lemonade stand? You should jump on that hot market next.

But belittlement aside, they really are here to get their cars washed. That’s all. The A class can take it or leave it, but if they choose to turn away willing customers then that’s their prerogative.

Well… business is business. Maya forces a smile, keeping her diva daggers locked on Brandon as she instructs Isadora and Farkle to go start filling the buckets. Brandon holds her glare, evenly matched with his cool, subtle smirk.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack is enjoying a catch-up with Angela over coffee, in generally good spirits all things considered. As he says, it’s nice to take a moment to forget all of the stress and just chat with a good friend. Angela is touched, placing her hand on her chest. She claims if her visit will be good for anything then, that’s a great reason.

The two of them get on the topic of her pregnancy, and how she’s feeling about impending motherhood. She confides that Shawn is way more nervous about it than she is, but ultimately she feels okay about it. Pregnancy isn’t the most fun experience in the world, but she has always thought that a family would be part of her future. Considering she’s not getting any younger, it feels like the right time.

She asks if Jack ever thought about having kids, and he grows a bit more somber. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it… and to be honest, he figured if he did he’d beat Shawn to it, but clearly that wasn’t in his cards. And now here he is, coming off a failed serious relationship, already in his 40s…

Angela: It’s never too late, Jack. If it’s something you really want. I mean, hell, look at Eric! He skipped all the hard stuff, too.

Jack: I guess that is one way to look at Isadora’s tragic loss…

Angela: I’m just saying, never say never. You’re a great mentor, responsible and fair, and you care. You care a lot. If you chose to try, whether by yourself or with a partner, I think you’d be a great dad.

Maybe… it all just feels so out of the realm of possibility. Besides, he argues, he basically has 200 kids at any given time to take care of. It’s not the same, no, but he watches out for the Adams students as seriously as he would his own. And you know, sometimes…

Jack: Every once in a while, it kind of feels like they are.

It’s not hard to guess who he’s thinking about. Angela starts to question him further, thinking this is probably a meaningful discussion to have, but they’re interrupted by Evelyn knocking briskly on the door. She greets both of them cheerfully.

Evelyn: So nice to see you again, Angela! I do hope I’m not intruding on anything important -- I meant to come sooner, but I got caught up in a riveting chat with Mister Keiner. 

Jack: No, of course not.

Angela: In fact, I was just getting ready to head out, so I will get out of your hair.

Jack: I just wasn’t expecting you.

Evelyn: No need to rush, Angela. [ to Jack ] I’m just here to participate in that splendid car wash you’ve got out back. They’ve got a great little operation going, I have to say. And that Maya Hart -- talk about a firecracker.

Jack: Trust us, we’re quite familiar with her spark.

Angela bids both of them goodbye, promising Jack she’ll see him later. Once they’re alone, Evelyn commends Jack on inspiring his students to find creative ways to fund their financial endeavors. Especially given how their original proposal for the scholarships was voted down at the school board. In her opinion, she was hoping they’d at least contribute a portion -- she thought it was a nifty idea.

Jack: Yes, they weren’t thrilled to hear the decision either.

Evelyn: It’s disappointing, although hardly surprising considering the way Jefferson campaigned behind closed doors. He’s got a fairly influential stake in the voting bloc, unfortunately.

Jack: What? What do you mean?

Evelyn: Oh, Jack, I thought you already knew. It was an extremely close vote on the board to provide funding, but Jefferson tipped the scales against it. He and Yancy basically talked it down for days with colleagues before the actual tally.

Um, no, Jack did not know about that, and it obviously pisses him off. He’s speechless, trying to process the blatant partisan maneuvers being played against them within the inner workings of the board. Especially from someone who is now working within the walls of AAA. He knew Yancy didn’t like him, but this…

EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY

The Haverford boys are loitering while they wait for the A class to finish cleaning their cars, showing how completely unbothered they are to hang around and watch their competitors sweat. Charlie is also hovering to nervously keep an eye on things, staying with Clarissa at the baked goods table and nibbling on a sugar cookie.

From where he’s scrubbing Dweezil’s windshield dry, Nate glares at them derisively.

Nate: Rich pricks. I should smash this damn window…

Yogi: Easy, bulldog.

Dave: Just smile and wash, boys. Smile and wash.

Thankfully, they’re efficient, and it doesn’t take them long to grit their teeth through the work. Maya slaps her washcloth against Brandon’s hood, declaring it finished, then marches her way back over to where he’s slouched against a lamp pole near the pay table.

Maya: Alright, knock-off Warblers, your cars are done.

Evan: Warblers?

Dweezil: From Glee.

Billy: Ha! She thinks we watched Glee.

Bottom line is, their business here is done, so they can roll their asses out. Maya essentially shoos them, but Zay pipes up from the pay table.

Zay: Um, they can’t go yet. They’ve still got a tab to settle.

Maya: They didn’t pay upfront?

Billy: Well, couldn’t very well do that. Why would we pay you before we get any proof that you’re going to do a good job? It’s simply smart shopping.

Clarissa: Well, the job is done now. So you can pay up.

Brandon: Ooh… see, I think there might’ve been a misunderstanding here.

Charlie tenses, sensing impending doom. He steps out from behind the table in case he needs to mediate, just as Isadora and Farkle march back over with their buckets and rags to see what the hold up is. They’ve got other potential customers waiting.

Brandon: Another smart business practice is to agree on the terms and conditions before you make a deal. Now, we always knew our payment was going to be contingent on the quality of the work. Sure, Babineaux here laid out the pricing for us, but we didn’t get anything in writing. You didn’t get our John Hancocks signing off on it.

Zay: You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Charlie, nervously: Come on, guys --

Maya: So you mean to tell me that we just spent the better part of an hour scrubbing your ungrateful little shits until they shined, and blocking other well-intentioned customers from coming in the meantime, only for you to stiff us at checkout?

Dweezil: At least we made you look busy.

Billy: Yeah, consider it practice. We know you could use all of that you can get.

Brandon: [ with a shrug ] Should’ve gotten it in writing.

Isadora: Yeah? Well how about you fucking get this --

She and Farkle snap first, lifting their buckets and sloshing them directly at Brandon. It catches him off-guard, totally dousing him in sudsy water.

Charlie: Oh no.

Riley, from the curb: Oh no.

Billy: Oh, hell no!

Hit the queen bee, feel the sting of the workers! The Havies immediately fire back, grabbing whatever they can get their hands on -- hoses, abandoned buckets -- and lobbing it back at Isadora and Farkle.

And with that, it’s a full-on brawl. Water and soap flying in every direction, the other Havies and Adams seniors launching into the battle without hesitation. Maya shrieks as she’s soaked, shouting for her classmates to take the Havies out. Zay salvages the cash box and dives under the table, taking cover.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack is still searching for what to say in response to the bombshell information Evelyn dropped, but Harley leaps in the doorway and gets both their attention.

Harley: Major problem at the car wash. It’s completely devolved.

Jack exchanges a quick look with Evelyn, then jumps up from his chair.

EXT. AAA - REAR PARKING LOT - DAY

Jack and Harley emerge as the water fight is in full swing, and basically everyone is dripping in soap water. Jack takes control and marches into the fray, stepping into authoritarian mode and demanding that all of the nonsense cease. The Adams students drop their weapons immediately, not daring to get even a drop on their principal.

Though he doesn’t command the same respect with the Haverford boys, they don’t push it any further. They got what they came for, managing to derail the car wash and pull a fast one on the A class. They cackle with laughter as they sprint back to their cars, piling inside in record time and peeling out of the parking lot.

Brandon’s car is one of the last to leave, catching the eye of Maya, Zay, and Charlie through the passenger window. He smirks and tosses a wink in their direction, but it’s impossible to say who it was meant for. Maybe all of them.

None of them look especially pleased either way. Maya shoots a death glare at Charlie, even though he arguably got the worst of it, completely drenched from head to toe. If he was in on the whole thing, he looks pretty miserable about it.

Break 1.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Now in fresh, comfy clothes and bare faces, Riley, Isadora and Maya lounge around in Isa’s bedroom. Maya’s hair is up in a towel wrap, while Riley’s is down and in the process of drying, and Isadora’s is pulled back into a messy bun. Isadora is also wearing her glasses rather than usual contacts. With a stretch, Maya hops from the bed.

Maya: I never want to work like that ever again. I’m exhausted, in pain, and starving. Is this Hell?

Riley: You truly weren’t built for working class, were you?

Tell her about it! Maya disappears to raid Eric’s fridge, leaving Riley and Isadora free from her complaints. Isadora uses the opportunity to pick Riley’s brain. 

Isadora: What do you think our chances are in the showdown? Full disclosure. 

Riley: Full disclosure? Not great. [ with a sigh ] But we could still pull through. If we work hard enough, and come together to --

Isadora: I don’t need the full spiel, but thanks. I know how stressed Lucas and Maya are about it, and I’m considering -- considering is the key word here -- offering to perform. You know, if it would help.

Riley’s face lights up, but upon seeing Isadora’s level glare, tries to suppress her smile. She fails. 

Isadora: Don’t look at me. Forget I said anything. 

Riley: Aw, come on. I’m happy you’re thinking about it yourself instead of, like, being peer pressured by Maya or something. 

Isadora: She’s very nearly at her breaking point, I can tell. Every day her will to just let me be is deteriorating bit by bit. 

Riley: I think… not to get too Uncle Eric here, but I feel like because you keep thinking of performing as doing it in front of an audience, like being judged, it’s holding you back. You should just do it for the joy of it. Why were you drawn to performing in the first place? 

Isadora, reluctantly: … because it was fun...

Riley: Exactly! Because it’s fun. You have to have fun with it.

In fact… Riley brightens with an idea, reaching for her phone and searching for a song.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Lady Marmalade” as performed by LaBelle || Performed by Riley Matthews, Maya Hart & Isadora De La Cruz

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

As the bass and keys begin, Riley stands up on Isadora’s bed, pulling her up with her. Riley sings the initial “hey sister, go sister” to Isadora, who stands awkwardly in the middle of the bed, not looking all that impressed.

In the first verse, Maya walks into the room with her haul from the kitchen. Her mouth opens when she sees Riley singing. 

Maya: Are we doing this? Okay, we’re doing this.

She drops the snacks without a care, jumping onto the bed to join Riley -- just in time for the chorus. They move around Isadora as they belt out iconic vocals, trying to get her in the groove.

Maya takes on the second verse with Riley on the backing vocals. Although Isadora tries to remain stoic, she can’t help but begin to vibe with them. By the end of the next chorus, she’s singing along, too. In French, no less! But maybe let’s not look up the lyric translation…

In the instrumental break, the three girls get down from the bed and strut forwards towards the door. They pass through it one at a time, puffs of makeup and glitter blowing around them in slow-mo as they do.

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

This time, the temporary performance space is the lecture hall, which is an inspired choice since it actually has a pseudo-stage and lighting capabilities.

When they emerge onto the small stage, they’re in full glam. Hair glossy, makeup glowing, and outfits iconique. They each wear a skintight jumpsuit along with oversized faux fur coats. Riley’s getup is a white jumpsuit and yellow coat, Isadora’s is a blue jumpsuit and pink coat, and Maya’s is a pink jumpsuit and white coat. They strut to the front of the stage, spotlights on them.

Isadora takes charge of the next verse, confidently singing and dancing with her friends by her side. Riley and Maya come in towards the end, before all three complete the rest of the song together. It’s glamorous, it’s sultry, it’s powerful. Foxy, ladies!

We fade out of the performance to see the rest of the class and Harper as they applaud. Although the girls don’t look quite as glam out of the performance-dreamscape, they look just as badass. Lucas and Farkle in particular seem stunned by the performance.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Zay hands over the cash box from the car wash to Lucas.

Zay: Despite the carnage, the most important thing survived.

And, in spite of the disastrous end, it seems like they made good for their work. They raked in a pretty penny for all the scrubbing and washing -- it’s far from all that they need, but it should make a sizable dent in the auditorium accident debt. And that’s not nothing.

Lucas thanks Zay for his help and for watching the money, getting up to put it in a safe place in the booth. He claims he can’t do it until Zay leaves, though, since there are certain things only he should know about the booth. Zay rolls his eyes but obliges, throwing in an offhand comment about how weird he is before slowly making his way out.

As he’s heading down the steps, he passes by Missy, who is casually making her way up into the booth. Like she goes up there all the time, like it’s no big deal. She even greets Zay as they pass, which he uncertainly returns. He frowns at her over his shoulder as she heads on up, obviously confused by her presence.

As confidently as she enters, Lucas evidently wasn’t expecting her either. He jumps when she addresses him, moving away from wherever he stashed the car wash cash. When he realizes it’s her, his posture grows even more defensive.

Lucas: What are you doing in here?

Missy: Only what anyone would deem visiting this musty space worthy for. I’m looking for you.

Lucas: I don’t know if you missed the memo, but people don’t waltz in here whenever they want. No matter how privileged they are.

Missy laughs, allowing him the dig. Following their increasingly common rapport, back-and-forth that straddles the line between friendly fire and hostility depending on your lens. She maintains innocence as she waits for him to settle back in his usual chair, claiming she only wanted to discuss the current A class financial crisis.

Missy: I heard your little car wash wasn’t half-bad. Congratulations are in order. Though I don’t believe I heard much about you out there breaking a sweat to wash those vehicles...

Lucas: You can congratulate the rest of the class when you see them.

Missy: Shame. I’d think if we put you out there front and center, you might’ve garnered a greater profit.

Lucas: Please.

Missy: You shouldn’t undersell yourself, Lucas. It worked for Chubbies, did it not?

If her increased patronage is any indication, then technically, yes. But Lucas doesn’t seem keen to acknowledge that. She moves closer and hops onto the lighting booth table, crossing her glossy legs where they are in perfectly accessible view. In a place where Riley often sits. It just feels wrong. Lucas averts his gaze, looking down at the soundboard instead.

Missy: Anyway, as cute as the fundraising effort is, I don’t exactly see the point.

Lucas: Well, for those of us not in the 1%, there’s this annoying everyday thing we have to do called “acquiring money.” I’m sure that’s probably confusing for you --

Missy: I meant for Adams. Or for the A class, more specifically. I don’t see why you all should be out there sweating through manual labor… when you could just ask me for the money.

Oh. Well that’s… an interesting proposition. Lucas is surprised she’s even offering it, enough to lift his head again to meet her eyes.

Lucas: … it’s hundreds of dollars…

Missy, coolly: Drop in the bucket. [ looking him over ] Surely you would know that by now.

Lucas hesitates, contemplating. Missy observes him, watching for the chinks in his armor. Those rare moments when he’s not as aloof and disdainful as their banter leads her to believe.

Lucas: I don’t see why you would help when it does nothing to benefit you.

Missy: Isn’t helping the class helping me in the end? [ off his skeptical eyebrow raise ] And oh, they’ll find a way to pay us back somehow. Every debt gets paid eventually. Name on an auditorium seat, plaque outside the lecture hall. That’s the charity solution to everything, slapping your name on something. I’m sure daddy would love to have the Bradford name in gold somewhere in this heap considering the chilly reception Hunter gave us when all this started.

Missy found about a dozen unintentional trigger words to throw in that sentence to change Lucas’s tune. Whether the most credit can be given to the word “charity,” or invoking Jack in a negative light is debatable, but Lucas is suddenly even stonier than before. He clenches his jaw.

Missy, softer: It’s not like you haven’t already accepted donations from the Bradford fortune… and that’s lightened the load, hasn’t it? Nothing wrong with that. [ a beat ] And you and me… I wouldn’t call us friends, but we certainly have… our own thing here. Don’t we? We… mean something. To one another.

Lucas drops his gaze again, cornered. The very insinuation that they have a relationship in any capacity makes him uncomfortable… but then, it’s not wrong, is it? If he’s willingly taking her money, knowingly, then that does symbolize some sort of association. He can’t in good conscience deny it, not when her money is a big chunk of the reason his future is even possible. And she could take all the pressure off them, off him, in an instant… no more fundraising… no more sweating over showdown… scholarships guaranteed…

But his instincts are stronger than that. It’s too good to be true. Everything comes with a cost, and while he might be willing to risk that here and there for his own feeble endeavors, he’s not going to tie his legacy and the rest of the class to it. He returns her eye contact, resolute.

Lucas: If your family wants to donate to the cause, then by all means do. But I’m not asking you for anything. I don’t beg.

Well said and well meant! For what it’s worth, Missy doesn’t seem put off by the rejection. If anything, she seems impressed by his stubborn resistance, even if she knows damn well it’s full of contradictions. Impressed, and definitely stirred by that same fire that captivated her the first time they met during the school board trial. The tension in the air makes that loud and clear.

Missy: No, no you don’t, do you. All part of your… provocative charm.

Message received, it appears… some message, at least… Missy slips off the table and begins to make her exit, assuring Lucas that she understands his perspective. Some things are better kept quiet, and she gets his need to maintain appearances -- and his pride.

Missy: It’s our little secret. And I get where we stand. [ with a smirk ] I think we understand each other better than one might assume.

The mere notion makes Lucas a bit queasy, but he keeps his mouth shut. Missy bids him adieu and disappears down the steps, wishing the Slumdog President the best of luck with his continuing financial campaigning.

Even once she’s gone, Lucas can’t shake off the discomfort of her presence. He has to get up, walk it off, gathering his things and fleeing from the space -- one of the few he’s never felt the need to escape from before.

EXT. HAVERFORD PREP - COURTYARD - DAY

Charlie is having lunch with BRIDGETTE GARDNER, occupying their typical table in the grassy outdoor space. She listens attentively as he catches her up on all of the stuff with their sisters, Charlie clearly seeking counsel from the one person who has been on the other side of this potential falling out. Does she think he should be worried, based on her own experience?

Bridgette: And you haven’t seen any of this for yourself?

Charlie: No, at least not yet. But I don’t think that means much -- I had no idea most of this stuff was going on with you until it was already way too late. When I first saw you having arguments with mom, it was volcano level.

Bridgette: To be fair, you were what, 14? Even younger than that when it all started. But true. Our family is really good at concealing the ugly, and then pretending it doesn’t exist when the moment has passed.

Charlie: And this is coming from Daisy. You know she wouldn’t make things up just for the hell of it.

Bridgette: Also true. She sure is an unaffected little freak. [ a beat ] I say that with love. Every Gardner has to be fucked up one way or another.

Still, with so little firsthand information, it’s hard to say. She doesn’t think Charlie should tie himself in knots trying to problem-solve something he can’t see, but…

Bridgette: Look out for Rosie if you can. You know, keep an eye out. If history is going to repeat itself, and she’s following in my forsaken footsteps… I don’t want her to go through that. She shouldn’t have to go through what I went through. Not that I’m not fine now --

Charlie: Right.

Bridgette: But she’s not tough like I am. And I mean that in the best way possible. Rosie… she’s sensitive. Sweet. Her heart is right there on her sleeve, even if she tries to act like she’s all grit. [ softly ] Reminds me of another sibling I’ve got.

Charlie smiles, but underneath the kind words she’s confirming his concerns. If the stormy energy around Rosie does whip up into a hurricane, then it’s looking more and more likely to be an unavoidable disaster. History may just repeat itself -- and more brutally than before.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Rosie isn’t the only one in a tempestuous mood. Jade is in full-on crunch mode as her deadlines loom ever closer, and even though she’s been basically holed up in the costume loft at all hours she still feels miles from the finish line. She’s skipping lunch to wrap up a couple of last-minute additions to another piece of her portfolio, using Asher as her mannequin. Currently, he’s sporting a rather fancy, outlandishly patterned and bold blouse over his maroon polo. It looks like it could be a ‘70s dance shirt, or the wardrobe of a funky, flamboyant villain, or perhaps an especially stylish swashbuckling pirate… but it’s a Jade Beamon original, so it looks fantastic.

If only the job of mannequin was as fun as the clothes he’s modeling. Asher is gritting his teeth so hard they might crack, cringing every time Jade threads her needle through a piece of it or sticks a pin somewhere. She’s an expert, a professional, but given her stress level she’s missed the mark more than once the last couple of days.

Jade, snapping: If you didn’t wince every two seconds like a little baby, then maybe I would stick you less.

Asher: [ through his teeth ] The two dozen pin prick battle scars I have beg to differ!

Nigel picks that moment to enter, catching the tail-end of their sharp exchange and clocking the vibes immediately. He hesitates by the door, not sure whether he should come in and interrupt anymore or not, but Jade spots him before he can duck out. She immediately loses some of her unpleasantness, straightening up and clearing her throat.

Jade: Nigel.

Nigel: Um… hello. [ holding up lunch ] I know you’re working through lunch again, so I just thought I’d bring something by.

Jade: Oh, that’s… that’s nice. You don’t have to keep doing that.

Nigel: It’s all good. I like being able to help. It’s the least I could do, make sure you eat.

Asher: Someone should.

Jade: I’m still holding pins, Asher…

As if that wasn’t signal enough, Nigel bravely ventures the question of how costuming is going this afternoon. Jade claims it’s all fine, and Asher repeats her comment in a tone that makes it very clear he doesn’t agree. Sensing that the best friends might benefit from a break from one another, Nigel offers to hang around and be her stand-in for a while.

Jade: Really?

Asher, hopeful: Really?

Nigel: Sure. All I have to do is stand there and look pretty, right? Think I can manage that. You know, if I clear the costumer’s standards, of course.

Jade: No, no you -- of course. Of course you do. You’re more than -- obviously, you’re up to standard. I mean, above. I, um…

Asher can’t help but laugh, but he hides it behind a fake sneeze. Jade shoots him a glare, then states it would be preferable actually for him to take Asher’s place for now. It seems like Bird Bones agrees, hopping down from the step stool and carefully removing the fanciful top.

Asher: It’s for the best anyway. I’m supposed to be helping Dylan proofread his college essays. I want to check mine one more time too -- Jade says reading them over seven times is more than enough, but pot meet kettle.

Nigel: A Dylan Orlando personal essay, huh? I’d pay to see that.

Asher: I’m sure he’d let you read it for no charge. One of the applications he’s filling out had the prompt to “describe a work of art from the last century that surprised, inspired, or challenged you and in what way,” so he wrote a whole thesis statement on why Taylor Swift’s album Lover is the most important contribution to art, culture, and society since the invention of music.

Nigel: Wow.

Jade: Of course he did.

Asher: I’ll be genuinely surprised if it’s not a video essay on his vlog in like four months. But you know what, no admissions officer can say he doesn’t have enthusiasm.

True that! Asher makes his grateful exit, handing the piece over to Nigel and wishing him luck. Jade giggles nervously once they’re alone, Nigel smiling and asking if he should just put the shirt on and stand where Asher was. She confirms, avoiding her gaze by digging through her sewing kit until he’s all set and ready to be pinned and needled.

Nigel: I hope I’m doing your work justice.

Jade: You, um… it’s good. You’re good. Ha ha.

She nervously pushes some hair behind her ear, then steps closer to get back to work. If anything can overpower shyness, it’s the stress of an impending deadline upon which your entire future rests. Jade softly explains to Nigel what she’s doing as she does it, since he’s never been her model before, and reassures her that he’s not worried and she can do whatever.

Nigel: I trust you, Jade. You are the expert, after all.

Jade glances up at him, processing the compliment. The declaration of trust. The fact that they’re standing so close, that if he just stepped down off the stool they’d be close enough to… it’s a lot. Sophomore year Jade would probably have ran and hid by now, if not passed out.

But this is the present, and Jade has work to do. So she swallows her butterflies and focuses on her needlework.

Quiet settles over them for a minute, then Nigel speaks again, barely above a whisper.

Nigel: You’re incredible, you know that?

Jade: Huh?

Caught by surprise, Jade’s hand slips… and accidentally sticks Nigel with the needle. He winces and she immediately launches into apologies, retracting her hands to drop the needle and asking if he’s okay. He promises he’s fine, keeping her from spiraling over it by taking her hand so she can’t drift any further away in retreat.

Nigel: Really, I’m good.

Jade: … so you were saying?

Nigel: Yeah. I just wanted you to know… I hope you know how amazing you are. I know you’re super stressed about all this and what these schools and programs are going to think of you, but they’d be insane to reject you.

Jade: I don’t know if I’d go that far.

Nigel: I would. I mean, you’ve made basically every costume we’ve worn for the last three years -- which I know everyone keeps throwing back at you -- and they’re fantastic. Not just because they look good, which they always do, but they’re durable. No matter how gorgeous they look, they can withstand a lot. When we finish a production, they’re worn in, but it’s still as if they’re freshly stitched. That’s impressive. Trust me, I’ve been in enough local Shakespeare productions to say so. One time a piece of my tunic fell off in the middle of the first act.

Jade laughs, charmed by the story and calmed enough by his gentle tone to actually breathe. Nigel smiles at her, fond.

Nigel: You’re reliable. That’s the best thing a person can be, in my opinion. And you’re talented to the extreme, hard-working, humble… I mean, is there anything you can’t do?

Jade: [ with a snort ] Socialize.

The word slips out, and Jade is instantly embarrassed by it. She hides her blush in digging to grab her needles again, going back to work as an excuse not to elaborate.

Nigel: Seriously? You’ve never struck me as without company. With the techies --

Jade: Oh, yeah, that’s the height of engagement. Just me and a bunch of emotionally inept teenage boys plus Dora, getting up to the same old shenanigans. Every girl’s dream. [ with a sigh ] Don’t get me wrong, I love them. Especially Asher, he’s my best friend. And I’m not saying I’m like, a recluse or anything, I have friends, I just… I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m talking about this. Sorry.

Nigel: No worries. I don’t mind. But for what it’s worth, I don’t see you that way. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend. I know I am. [ a beat ] Or like, any kind of relationship…

Jade coughs, not prepared for that. She giggles compulsively again, frantically brushing off the thought as she focuses intently on pinning a piece of the fabric into place.

Jade: I haven’t… ha, I’m so busy, I… a relationship… I don’t have the time to even…

Though she can’t form a coherent sentence, Nigel gets the message. Not available right now. And he admittedly looks a bit disappointed, but he puts his acting credit to use and swiftly covers with another smile.

Nigel: Well, again. Anyone would be lucky. And in the meantime, I’m just happy to support you however I can. Even at risk of puncture wound.

Jade absorbs this, unable to hold back her shy smile. She murmurs a thank you, then hides by throwing all her attention to the task at hand.

But for Nigel, the only thing he can focus on is her. So incredible… and so close… as the easy bass line floats in…

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “How Deep Is Your Love” as performed by Bee Gees || Performed by Nigel Chey (feat. Dylan Orlando)

The lights are low and the set-up is simple, just Nigel on the stage with a microphone stand and sporting the finished product of one of Jade’s ‘70s costumes -- a glossy gold suit, styled like Saturday Night Fever, over a black silk shirt. He’s shimmering like a disco ball under the stage lights, reflecting the whimsical, dreamy quality of the number.

The only other person on the stage with him is Dylan, accompanying him on bass and providing back-up vocals. He’s dressed much simpler, dressed in black and wearing his custom-made Jade Beamon original suit jacket from junior prom. His hair is the ‘70s-ified element, swept up and combed back like John Travolta. While he happily lets Nigel hog the spotlight, he does take a moment in the performance to wink to Asher in the audience.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Intercut with the performance, we check back in with Nigel and Jade in the loft, doing a metaphorical dance of their own around each other as Jade costumes. There’s something surprisingly amorous about the set-up when it’s paired with the ballad. Jade remains oblivious, studiously sewing away, but the romantic tension is more than apparent, in Nigel’s expression and the smooth delivery of his vocals as he looks at her.

And you may not think I care for you When you know down inside that I really do…

INT. AAA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

While she’s good at avoiding him while at work, Jade can’t keep her eyes off Nigel during the performance. Clarissa, Haley, and Asher cast knowing glances at her, but she doesn’t pay them any attention. In the back seats, Nate, Dave, and Jeff sway along to the beat playfully.

Cause we're living in a world of fools Breaking us down when they all should let us be

Ultimately, though, even if certain truths remain unsaid, what can’t be denied is an excellent performance. Nigel brings it home with grace, understated as always but, in this case, pretty swoonworthy.

We belong to you and me…

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay is on the phone with Riley, the latter walking him through all of the bulletins from that day’s showdown discussion. He listens eagerly, living vicariously, but it’s obvious he’s also frustrated that he’s being excluded. He reminds Riley that they can call on him at any time to brainstorm on choreography or reevaluate concepts, but she gently waves him off by insisting she doesn’t want to put any additional pressure on him.

Zay: Well, to be honest, not being consulted kind of makes me feel more --

Riley: Oh, shoot, Maya’s here. She’s supposed to be meeting with Farkle after his therapist appointment this evening, so I’m sure she just has a bunch of notes she wants to Maya-splain to me first.

Zay: If she wants to get on speaker, then she could --

Riley: I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? And I’ll let you know if anything major happens. Love you!

Zay: But Riley --

She hangs up before he can get a word in, even a goodbye. He sighs and drops his phone on his bed, pulling his laptop back towards him. He has his applications webpage open, where he’s painstakingly attempting to piece together the final elements of his portfolio. It’s not in bad shape, but with the glooming reality of his booted foot and inability to make anything more, it doesn’t feel like enough. It feels like being trapped.

He grabs his phone again, obviously wanting to talk to someone about it. But he can’t talk to Riley -- he knows she’s busy. He can’t talk to Yindra. He can’t talk to Maya -- and nor would he want to, thank you very much.

Charlie…

He could talk to Charlie. God, he wants to talk to Charlie. And they’ve opened up the lines of communication again, haven’t they? Couldn’t it be easy, like it was before? All he has to do is say something… but he doesn’t know what that would be. It’s still confusing and twisted up inside him. And whatever happened with Haverford at the car wash is admittedly suspicious, though it just doesn’t feel right to think Charlie would do something like that.

Confusing. Complicated. Stuck. He’s stuck, stuck, stuck.

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Farkle plops down onto Dr. Han’s couch, releasing a dramatic sigh and telling her there’s much to discuss (as there usually is). He starts to rattle off about the showdown drama because of Zay’s injury and how he and Isadora dumped water on their greatest rival at the moment, but Dr. Han carefully interrupts. She explains that there’s actually something she wants to open this appointment with, something that she thinks it’s important to start exploring as soon as possible. Farkle is confused but intrigued, sitting upright and gesturing for her to go on.

She turns to her notes, pulling out a couple of prepared informational sheets and taking on a gentler, more professional tone. She explains that after their last few meetings, she thought a lot about some of the patterns Farkle had been mentioning in his recovery. She decided to follow her hunch and do a little more research, and she thinks she’s landed on what might be the root after conferring with his primary care physician.

Dr. Han: It’s my belief that you show all the clear symptoms of bipolar disorder.

It’s like all the air gets sucked out of the room. Farkle freezes, staring at her, but words stop making sense. She continues to explain how common it is for it to be misdiagnosed as depression, how now they can focus on proper treatment for his actual affliction, how it’s just as manageable with the right approach, but it’s like she’s talking underwater. Everything feels hazy, static, like Farkle is suddenly a thousand miles away.

Farkle: No. No, I -- I can’t be.

Dr. Han: I understand that an unexpected diagnosis can be intimidating. And bipolar disorder, like most mental conditions, is shrouded in a lot of misrepresentation and stigma. But with the right perspective --

Farkle: I’m not. I can’t… I have to go.

Farkle blankly gets to his feet, suddenly certain he has to get out of there. It’s like he’s underwater now too, like he can’t breathe. Dr. Han warns that he’s likely just having a strong reaction to the news, anxiety, but she assures him that the diagnosis does not change anything about him or his prospects. If anything, it will improve things, because now they can confront his reality with the right tools. And it will be safest for him to just relax here and process it during their session.

But no, Farkle can’t stay. He numbly repeats that he has to go, ignoring Dr. Han’s disagreement and stepping out of the office.

INT. THERAPIST’S BUILDING - HALLWAY - NIGHT

Farkle doesn’t stop until he’s fully out of her space, back in the endless office sprawl of a building like this. He waits a moment, dreading Dr. Han chasing after him and dragging him back in there, but she doesn’t come. He collapses back against the door, releasing a shaky exhale and screwing his eyes shut.

Bipolar. He’s bipolar.

A gentle piano begins to play, an iconic familiar riff while we stay close on Farkle’s face.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “All By Myself” as performed by Eric Carmen || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Zay Babineaux

Farkle takes the first lines of this legendary ode to isolation, singing them softly as the camera slowly eases away from him. The further away we pull, the more his sense of smallness grows, dwarfed by the hallway that seems to stretch on forever.

When I was young, I never needed anyone… those days are gone…

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay pushes off his mattress and rises to his feet, going a bit too fast at first out of habit and nearly stumbling on his bad ankle. He cringes, falling back on the edge of the bed to right himself. He huffs and hides his head in his hands, easing into the next lines.

Living alone, I think of all the friends I’ve known But when I dial the telephone, nobody’s home…

EXT. THERAPIST’S BUILDING - NIGHT

Farkle emerges onto the steps of the building in the financial district just in time to launch into the chorus. He carries on singing as he begins to make his way home, weaving through the streets and other passersby as if he’s invisible. Although he’s clearly emotional, it’s evident the information hit him hard, because he’s not at all at his usual level of verve.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay keeps it tamped down whenever it passes back to him as well, though his limitations are outside of his control. He spends his portion of the vocals at his window, leaning out to breath in the life and excitement of the city he loves that he feels so locked out of.

Whether within or without the city, for vastly different reasons, both Zay and Farkle are feeling the same ache.

INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT

Farkle makes it home in time for the piano solo, showing off his proficiency on the instrument lest we dared to forget. Then he and Zay harmonize on the final, showstopping chorus, delivering a whammy even when they’re not quite in top form.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay rounds out the number, stepping away from his window and shutting it forlornly.

INT. MINKUS HOME - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Maya is back to brainstorming in the Minkus home as promised, pacing in front of the moodboard they’ve been working off of for weeks. She’s avidly running through potential pitfalls to their showdown prospects, which seem to be piling up by the minute, while Farkle is seated on the edge of his bed. He’s stone-faced, truly lost in his own head now, and Maya doesn’t fail to notice. As she’s ticking off more items on their doomsday list, she halts and gives him an unimpressed glare.

Maya: … and an inattentive diva. [ snapping in his face ] Farkle! Earth to Farkle!

Farkle: What? Oh, sorry.

Maya: I swear, you have been exceptionally offbeat this week. Of all the times, too, naturally it would be our greatest time of crisis that your zany passion eludes us. Honestly, Farkle, where for art thou? Why have you abandoned me in our time of need?

Farkle: I’m bipolar.

Maya: Okay? And I’m a narcissist. Just because we use pretty words doesn’t change the state of the union, darling.

Farkle, shaky: No, like, I’m literally bipolar.

Maya pauses, actually looking at him. His tone convinces her that he’s not being cheeky, and his sallow expression drives it home. Her demeanor shifts instantly, dropping much of her diva arrogance.

Maya: What?

Farkle: I’m bipolar. I don’t know how many more times I can say it.

Maya: I heard you, I just -- when? How?

Farkle: My whole life, presumably. How, ask God for me.

Maya: Well… well, like, what does that mean? Like, so you’re bipolar, well, what does that mean for --

Farkle: I don’t know. I don’t know, my psychiatrist just told me. I didn’t… I didn’t do a great job of listening to what came after that.

Wow. Silence reigns as Maya attempts to process this new information. Farkle speaks again, even more uncharacteristically timid than before.

Farkle: I know this is bad timing. Just… with this, and everything at school, I don’t know how on top of it I can --

Maya: No, no, of course not. Shh. It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about all that. You need to focus on yourself. On this. Don’t worry about Triple A. I’ll handle it.

Farkle: But Maya --

Maya: I’ve got it. It’s okay.

She pats his shoulders reassuringly, then turns it into a hug. Farkle hesitates for a moment before returning the embrace, desperately leaning into the comfort. Maya remains stalwart for the both of them, features intense as her mind runs to problem-solve a million miles an hour. Based on the furrow of her brow, it seems she might already be onto something.

Maya: I’m going to handle it.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT  - NIGHT

Riley, Isadora and Eric sit around the dining table, chatting casually after finishing their meals. Eric looks between the two girls with a warm smile before offering to clear up. 

Riley: I’ll help.

Riley gets up to help Eric clean away the plates, but Isadora places a hand on Riley’s arm to stop her. Riley gives her a questioning look. 

Isadora: I actually… I have something I want to show you. In my room. [ to Eric ] If that’s okay? 

Eric: Of course, go ahead. I’m perfectly capable of filling up the dishwasher on my own.

Intrigued, Riley follows Isadora into her bedroom.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Isadora goes straight to her desk and opens up a notebook to reveal Valerie’s letter. She passes it to a confused Riley, who takes a moment to look over it. When she realizes what it is, she looks up at Isadora with wide eyes. 

Riley: Is this…? 

Isadora: [ with a nod ] A letter to my father. I found it in one of Val’s boxes. You’re the first person I’m telling so don’t… don’t tell Eric or anything. 

Riley: Oh, totally. Sure. [ a beat as she scans through the pages ] Why aren’t you telling him, though? 

Isadora: I don’t really know how I feel about it yet.

Riley guides Isadora to her bed, where they both sit. She collects her thoughts. 

Riley: Did you know anything about your dad before now? 

Isadora: No. I asked about him a few times, like ages ago, but Valerie always claimed she didn’t know who he was. I can’t tell if she was lying or not; I don’t even know when she wrote this. 

Riley: It seems like she didn’t really think about it until he wrote to her. And it definitely seems like he wants to be part of your life. [ a beat ] Do you want him in your life?

Isadora: I don’t know. I don’t even know what that would look like. My gut is screaming at me that it’ll end in disaster, like it always did with my mom, but at the same time… like, I’ve gotten by fine without a dad until now, but it does feel there’s a part of me missing. What if it’s him?

It’s clear that she’s been thinking it over a lot. Riley admits that she isn’t sure what she could say to help considering her complete lack of experience in this department, but suggests again that she should talk to Eric. 

Isadora: I’m scared to. 

Riley: What? Why?

Isadora: I don’t want him to think that he’s not enough for me. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t want to ruin it.

Riley places a hand on Isadora’s shoulder and offers a sympathetic smile. Isadora responds by resting her head on Riley’s shoulder, so Riley moves her arm to wrap around her. 

Riley: You know how much Eric cares for you. There’s nothing you could do to ruin it. You’re part of the Matthews family forever now, no matter who your father is and whether you meet him or not. 

Isadora: You’re my favorite cousin. 

Riley: I won’t tell Auggie you said that. And you’re my favorite cousin, too.

Riley plants a kiss on Isadora’s cheek with a ‘muah.’ Isadora pulls a face of disgust and escapes from her grasp as Riley giggles.

Isadora: Minus five cousin points. Auggie’s in the lead now. 

Riley: Nooo!

She chases after Isadora, trying to engulf her in a hug as both girls laugh.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Charlie is back from a late rehearsal for showdown, changing out of his Haverford uniform. He strips off his shirt and places it in the laundry hamper, checking how his clothes from the car wash are faring.

Still damp. At this rate, it feels like they’re never going to go back to normal.

Suddenly, the house below him erupts with sound, voices being raised in the kitchen downstairs. It goes without saying, but raised voices are almost non-existent in the Gardner household. Charlie freezes, listening intently until he recognizes exactly what he’s dreading -- a higher-pitched, defensive voice. Rosie’s voice.

He drops the wet clothes and reaches for the first top he can find -- which just happens to be an AAA sweatshirt -- and yanks it on as he rushes into the hall.

INT. GARDNER HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

This time, there’s no question as to whether there is a fight. Rosie and ELEANOR GARDNER are more heated than we’ve ever seen either of them onscreen, yelling at one another and cheeks flushed. Rosie is particularly loud, in near hysterics since she’s young, emotional, and also on defense; Eleanor maintains a cool, superior tone even as she raises her volume.

Charlie slides into the room right in the thick of it, jumping in the middle without hesitation and questioning what the heck is going on. When he can get them to acknowledge him, Eleanor actually seems pleased by his presence, openly welcoming him into the argument.

Eleanor: Oh, perfect, just what we needed. A second opinion. Rosamund, why don’t you tell your brother why you’re in trouble? Go on.

Rosie, on the other hand, is not receptive to Charlie joining the conversation. She loses a lot of her fire, shrinking back and face flushing in embarrassment. Eleanor scoffs, though it seems like this is exactly how she expected her to react.

Eleanor: What’s the matter? Are you suddenly shy? You sure were loud enough arguing back to me about it, and now you won’t tell Charlie?

Charlie: Can someone just tell me what’s going on?!

Eleanor: Gladly!

Eleanor pointedly places Rosie’s phone on the countertop, which she’s been holding the whole time. It’s open to an Instagram photo on an unfamiliar page, one of Rosie’s new friends at her gifted high school. It’s a series of photos from some hangout the freshmen were having, but the photo in question surprisingly features another familiar player -- a bunch of the freshmen are sitting around and laughing, and Rosie is grinning while sitting on the lap of URI MINKUS.

It’s pretty innocent, but the implications are enough. Eleanor relays the whole tale, how one of Rosie’s friends from Catholic school told their mom about the photo in her tagged images and the mother was kind enough to inform Eleanor about it. This is already after a discussion she had with Rosie over this boy when she saw them interacting in a less-than-acceptable manner after school when she picked her up. She thought they had cleared it all up, but apparently not, between this photo and the fact that the text messages between her and this Jewish boy are nothing if not flirtatious.

Rosie: You shouldn’t have even been going through my texts anyway!

Eleanor: Oh, shouldn’t I? I didn’t realize you were the authority now! Privacy is a privilege, Rosamund, and you’re continuing to prove that you haven’t earned it!

They continue to escalate again, Charlie bewildered as he slides the phone towards him to get a better look. The photo really is so… nothing, and the whole argument feels so blown out of proportion. But Charlie knows the patterns, he knows what Bridgette warned him about, and all of the shouting and conflict is making him lightheaded.

Charlie, weary: Stop arguing.

Eleanor: I knew we shouldn’t have let you go to the gifted school. I knew you’d be better off staying in the Catholic system.

Rosie: Then why did you let me go?!

Eleanor: Maybe I shouldn’t have! Maybe that’s the thing I shouldn’t have done! In fact, maybe I’ll have to put a call into the deans and see if they can’t transfer you back --

Rosie, mortified: Mom, no!

Charlie: Stop…

The room is starting to spin a little bit. Charlie braces himself against the countertop, screwing his eyes shut and trying to block out the yelling. But he can’t run from it. He can’t hide.

Rosie: Charlie got to go to a different school! He got to go somewhere new without you breathing down his neck!

Eleanor: Because Charlie is responsible enough to handle it! You don’t see him posting suggestive content, flirting shamelessly, making questionable decisions. I don’t need to monitor your brother because he doesn’t give me any reason to be concerned!

Oh, Eleanor, if only you knew… it’s being invoked and talked about in such a discordant way that acts as the final straw. Charlie tries to catch his breath, but it’s not coming back, and it’s like the whole world is slipping away from him…

If anything will stop an argument, passing out probably does the trick. Charlie stumbles and then collapses onto the tile floor, shocking both Eleanor and Rosie out of their anger. Rosie shrieks and rushes to his side.

Eleanor: Charlie?! Ambrose! [ rushing to the entryway ] Ambrose, Charlie’s -- come quickly! Hurry!

Charlie’s down, all right. Rosie rolls him onto his back, checking for obvious injury -- lucky he didn’t crack his head open or something -- and trying to rouse him. But he’s out like a light… all of the tension slowly fading away…

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - NIGHT

Meanwhile, Brandon is staying late at Haverford once again, only this time he’s not alone. He’s meeting with a mysterious figure, a HIPSTER 20-something man who is probably into photography or a wannabe filmmaker. But he’s clearly there on business, Brandon and the man speaking in hushed tones as they converse even though they’re the only ones around.

Brandon: And you’re sure you’ve got the whole thing? I’m not paying for poor quality or fractions.

Hipster: I’ve been doing this for six years. Think I know what I’m doing at this point. But yes, it’s all there. Professional quality. You’ll be able to see whatever you need to see.

Brandon deems this response satisfactory enough, nodding. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small wad of cash, trading it off with whatever object the hipster is offering. When they retract their hands, Brandon comes away with the secret item -- a flash drive.

He scrutinizes it idly while the hipster quickly counts the bills, then they exchange a nod, Brandon thanking him for his service. The hipster makes his exit, Brandon pacing for a bit on the stage and turning over the flash drive in his fingers. Whatever it is, he seems pretty satisfied to have it in his grasp.

He loses some of his easygoing confidence when he hears the auditorium doors open. He slips the flash drive into his blazer pocket and straightens up, narrowing his eyes to assess his new company. When he recognizes who it is, though, an intrigued smirk blooms across his face.

Brandon: Well, well, well. I have to say, this is an unexpected surprise.

Maya Hart. Dressed in one of her sharpest ensembles, Valerie’s fur coat giving her that extra oomph, matching Brandon’s cool sophistication effortlessly. She leisurely saunters her way down the aisle towards the stage, taking her sweet time.

Maya: So this is the fabled Haverford Prep. [ pursing her lips ] I have to say, I was anticipating greater grandeur.

Brandon: It’s hard when the indigent experience excellence for the first time. Never quite meets the expectations of their hapless daydreams… [ off her sneer ] Is there something I can do for you, Hart? Let alone at this late hour?

Maya: Don’t flatter yourself. It’s 8PM.

She’s made her way to the stage now, coming to stand opposite Brandon front and center. There’s a healthy distance between them, keeping them staunchly on opposing sides, but they regard each other with respect. Maya claims she just wanted to come have a little chat, clan leader to clan leader.

Brandon: That so? I thought Friar was your figurehead.

Maya: We both have our respective areas of expertise. I like to think of myself as the Cheney to his Bush. Conservative politics notwithstanding.

Brandon: Was going to say. I don’t see Cheney being much of a swinger for socialist handouts like you all are gunning for. [ sizing her up ] But I’ll admit, I pegged you for a captain rather than a lackey. You sure took front and center at the car wash.

Maya: Ah, yes… the function you so ceremoniously soiled.

Brandon: Hope you’ll forgive the incursion. It’s only business. A little competitive spirit is all.

Maya: Oh, no arguments from me. I’m more incensed I didn’t see it coming. Wish I had thought of it myself.

Brandon chuckles, perhaps a bit won over by her… unique Maya charms. He claims he got the sense they were more alike than different… in fact, if circumstances were different, and they weren’t sworn rivals… Maya catches onto his drift right quick, mirroring his smug charisma as she feigns sympathy.

Maya: So you like what you see. Don’t despair, you’re far from the only one. But I’m afraid that’s a forgone impossibility.

Brandon: [ processing what might be a rejection ] Ah. I see. [ like they’re confidants ] You play for the other team?

Well. That’s a pretty bold assumption to jump to just because she doesn’t want to get with you, Brandon. But Maya maintains her coolness, unperturbed by such arrogant conclusions. She makes a face, as if she’s contemplating.

Maya: … no team. Let’s put it that way.

Brandon: And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?

Maya: The only team I play for is Triple A. And that’s what I’m here for.

Brandon backs off his advances and allows her the floor, back to all business. She tactfully begins to discuss negotiations around senior showdown, dancing around the details of everything going wrong inside the ranks of the A class but letting just enough of her cards show to indicate that she’s only here due to dire circumstances. Then she subtly tries to charm her way to an ideal outcome, brokering a deal where maybe, just perhaps, Haverford might find themselves on the losing side of the showdown confrontation.

You know she’s desperate if Maya is trying to arrange a thrown victory. And Brandon can sense that too, even as aloof as she’s acting, which just makes the whole situation more amusing to him. Though he feigned listening to her pitch, he is all too eager to shoot it down. Why would Haverford want to throw the competition, he muses, when their winning streak is so hot and their competition is apparently so weak?

Brandon: I knew you all were hardly a threat, but this is even more pathetic than I thought. I mean, you and Friar coming to me trying to cut a deal for an easy victory -- what a leadership duo. You all must be in harsher condition than I imagined.

Maya: Wait, what?

Brandon: … you didn’t know? That your president already paid me a little visit earlier in the semester?

Maya doesn’t respond, but the way she’s lost her easy confidence as she stares at him answers for her. Brandon laughs, shaking his head.

Brandon: What presidential teamwork. Clearly, the future of Adams is in outstanding hands. But with such low confidence, and even lower moves you’ll stoop to… no, I believe Haverford is just fine where we are now. We’ll beat you handily, as we have for the last six years, and rest assured Hart, it’ll be with immense pleasure. [ a beat ] You should probably be going, then. The security doesn’t take kindly to riff-raff hanging around our hallowed halls.

He swivels and swaggers offstage, leaving Maya alone and humiliated in enemy territory. She’s fuming, gritting her teeth and fists clenched at her sides.

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Riley is seated at the counter with her laptop, keeping Lucas company while he works the late shift. She’s running through analytics of the RSVPs they’ve already gotten for the dance fundraiser, which she claims is looking pretty good.

Lucas isn’t in a very optimistic mood, commenting that even if they get half of Manhattan to show up, it probably won’t be enough to cover all their expenses including the scholarships. With their chances at showdown dwindling by the minute… who knows. Maybe he’s not doing absolutely everything he can to make it happen…

Riley closes her laptop, giving him her undivided attention.

Riley: Don’t count Triple A out of showdown just yet, please and thank you. But I think I know what this is really about.

Lucas hesitates, freezing up.

Lucas: You do?

Riley: Yeah. You act like you’re so hard to read, like I don’t know you well enough to figure out when you’re not telling me something.

How could she know… did Zay tell her about seeing Missy in the booth? He swallows. She reaches across the counter and takes his hands, giving him a sympathetic look.

Riley: You’re freaking out over the college essays.

Lucas: Oh. [ a beat ] Yeah, well, I guess I am.

Riley reminds him that he doesn’t have to keep that kind of stuff from her and act like he’s unshakeable all the time. And honestly, she gets why he’s nervous about them. It sucks writing about yourself no matter what -- unless you’re Maya -- but it’ll be even harder for him given the things he’s been through. He hasn’t exactly been encouraged to view himself favorably, at least not until recently. Old habits are hard to break.

Riley: But that’s not necessarily what they’re looking for anyway. You don’t need to prove to them that you’re the most perfect shining candidate to ever apply, you just need to give them a really good story. Make them invested, get them to care about you. Show them a bit of your individuality, your personality -- which you are not short of in either department. And I know for a fact you can draw people in…

She is, after all, a prime example. Lucas still seems doubtful, but her perspective does help. And her belief in him continues to astound him, forged in steel even when everything else feels so unpredictable. Riley leans forward to give him a soft kiss, which lingers between them.

It’s impressive, too, how being with her grounds him. How their closeness doesn’t feel like an intrusion… and somehow, feeling cornered by other forces or put on edge just makes him want to be with her more. Lucas initiates another kiss, forgetting everything else for a moment, taking shelter in that inexplicable safety with her. Riley has no complaints, leaning deeper into it and tightening her touch on his hand.

Then the front door bangs open, the bell jangling ominously. Both of them jump and pull apart. Maya marches into the diner, indignant and blue eyes burning.

Maya: What the hell, Friar?

Lucas: What’s the matter with you now?

Riley: Is everything okay?

Maya: When were you going to tell me you shook down Brandon?

Riley: [ whipping to look at him ] What?

Lucas clams up, straightening upright and taking on a defensive stance. But the sheepish expression on his face gives him away. Busted.

Maya: You know, I think that kind of mercenary maneuver is exactly the sort of decision your VP should know about. Were you just never going to let me in on it?

Riley: Why the hell did you do that?

Maya: I don’t care about that. Friar’s a shady bastard, we all knew his methods were going to be far from clean. Who gives a shit. I’m pissed he decided not to keep me in the loop! Do you have any idea how humiliating it was for me to roll up there only for Brandon Rivas to hand my ass to me on a silver platter? Cocky prick, like he knows absolutely everything --

Riley: Wait, wait. [ eyeing her ] Why were you confronting Brandon?

Oh. Well. Cough. Maya flips her hair off her shoulder, but she can’t give a good excuse that doesn’t make her just as culpable as Lucas. He raises his eyebrows at her, emphasizing that if he’s going down she’s going with him. Riley closes her eyes, trying to catch up to this turn of events.

Riley: Let me get this straight. Both of you went to our competition, at separate times, to try and threaten them into… what? Giving up? Throwing the showdown?

Lucas: I just thought that --

Maya: Our prospects are in shambles even without the money. I was just --

Lucas: And I didn’t want you to be disappointed --

Maya: Everyone is counting on me, we’ve all got a lot riding on --

Riley: Okay, okay, stop. Enough!

Riley holds her hands up, getting them both to shut up. She takes a moment to compose herself, taking a deep breath, then she jumps into fixer mode.

Riley: This must be the week for damage control, because now you’ve really done it. You realize now we’re going to have to bring it even harder, since you’ve made it perfectly clear to Brandon and the Havies that we’re spooked. You wouldn’t go and grovel for mercy if we weren’t.

Lucas: That wasn’t --

Maya, scoffing: I do not grovel --

Riley: I cannot believe you would do something so stupid. [ to Lucas ] And that you would do something like this and not tell me…

Oof… hit him where it hurts, Riles. Lucas lowers his head, avoiding her eyes. Case in point, it doesn’t make anybody look very good. And now, Riley proclaims, she has to fix it once again.

Riley: We’re going to have to brainstorm fast for showdown and make sure everything is in pristine shape, which we already know is a shot in the dark. Call Yindra, tell her to come by our place in twenty. I’ll see if we can get Jeff and Isadora too.

Riley puts her belongings back in her bag and hops off the stool, Maya already heading out. Riley goes to follow her, but she pauses in the doorway and glances back over her shoulder at Lucas. She shakes her head, obviously disappointed.

Riley: I can’t believe you.

She leaves it there, pushing through the doors without another word. Lucas looks after her, ashamed, then curses to himself and lightly hits the counter with his palm.

Break 2.

EXT. DANCE LOT - DREAM SEQUENCE - NIGHT

Charlie is sprawled on the asphalt, just like when he collapsed, the city uncharacteristically quiet around him. When he comes around he jolts upright, spooked at being outside and on his own. He looks around in confusion, no clue where he is or how he got there. He slowly gets to his feet, recognizing the dance lot as a place he’s been before, but unsure where exactly it is or where to go next.

Only one clue exists to help guide him. Music.

It’s quiet, muffled, but he can hear it. A thumping bass, hypnotic beat… he spins until he zeroes in on the source. A heavy metal door installed into the wall opposite him, propped open just slightly, with a neon sign above indicating it’s likely some kind of club. Colorful light leaks out from the crack, mesmerizing and more than intriguing.

But it’s really the music that wins him over. He’s a dancer, and he cannot resist a compelling groove. He cautiously approaches the door, pulling it open and then stepping inside… as the faraway rhythms slowly become a familiar tune...

INT. DANCE CLUB - DREAM SEQUENCE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Voulez-Vous” as performed by Mamma Mia! Original Movie Cast || Performed by AAA Seniors & Haverford Seniors

The rambunctious ABBA classic kicks off with a bang, music loud and boldly setting the scene. The lighting is mysterious, electric, the fully romanticized version of what a sultry, exciting disco scene might be like. Charlie is no longer dressed in his everyday clothes but is suddenly styled to match the vibes, sporting a sleek disco suit with Riley’s aforementioned blue dress shirt completing the look.

And as he ventures deeper into the club, he discovers he’s not alone. The place is packed with his classmates both current and former, Haverford populating one side and Adams the other, but all dressed in similar, near identical, disco suits. All eyes lock on him the moment he’s within view, judging him, waiting for him to make a move -- or pick a side.

The vocals start, and Charlie does neither, jumping down from the steps and sliding into the center of the glowing dance floor -- right down the middle of party lines. He starts the number dancing alone, challenging the established status quo in the club, tension mounting around his transgression of crossing lines…

Until Zay pushes through the crowd on the A class side. On both feet, looking fly as ever, no injury in sight and nothing holding him back from showing his stuff.

And here we go again, we know the start, we know the end Masters of the scene

Charlie pauses, locking eyes with Zay. For a moment, finishing up the pre-chorus, they just hold eye contact… letting that tension bubble over…

Then Zay jumps into the center of the floor with him, joining in the dance.

Voulez-vous!

For the first chorus it’s just Zay and Charlie, dancing sometimes together and sometimes in contrast, epitomizing the back-and-forth pull between them. But it’s them, so the dancing is remarkably good, and especially satisfying considering how long it’s been since we saw them share a routine. Their timing and chemistry is just as sharp as ever, and it’s also a relief just to see Zay be able to move again.

Throughout the second verse, they weave back into their respective schools, Charlie’s peers still eyeing each other suspiciously and reluctant to break rank. But Zay manages to get Riley out on the dance floor (with Lucas in tow), and then Charlie nudges Evan. Bit by bit the classes mix and mingle, caught somewhere between dancing in tandem and facing off like foes. This becomes especially pronounced during the bridge about 3 and half minutes in, when the chorus becomes stripped and just relies on “ahas,” Charlie leading the Haverford delegation and Zay fronting the A class as they mirror movements and poses.

Then they officially bleed together, classmates crossing into opposite territory for the final chorus. For those who don’t already have a pair in their respective class (unlike say, Dylan and Asher), they pair with someone from the opposite school, like Brandon and Maya.

And, naturally, Zay and Charlie. They’re back together at the center of it all, intensity rising with the music, choreography much more intertwined this time and very close together. If not breaking charged eye contact were an Olympic sport, they would win gold easily.

The flash. The glamor. The drama. ABBA would be proud! When they round out the final seconds and strike their final pose, Zay and Charlie’s faces are so close, all it would take is a centimeter in either direction…

Zay: Charlie...

Charlie’s eyes flit down to his lips, as if he’s contemplating that very thing…

Rosie, faraway: Charlie!

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Alas, not meant to be -- even in dream sequence. Charlie rouses awake when he’s shaken by Rosie, sitting on the bed next to him.

Oh, well. Wouldn’t be the same as doing it for real anyway.

Charlie blinks to adjust back to reality, Rosie releasing a momentous sigh when she sees he’s conscious again. She snaps at him for scaring her, informing him that his fainting spell totally freaked her and Eleanor out. Ambrose is on the phone with their doctor friend right now. He manages to sit up and apologizes for worrying them. It’s probably just… stress.

Rosie: Either way, bad party trick. Mom was so bugged out. You shouldn’t tell her you think it’s stress, or else she’ll probably yank you out of school too and back into Catholic prep.

Charlie: Yeah, speaking of… you really think she’s going to do that to you?

Rosie: … after you passed out, the conversation was basically dropped. If I keep quiet and don’t do anything else to incriminate myself, I think she’ll let it go. [ embittered ] Though sucks that I can’t even text who I want without her knowing every message I send. I doubt she’ll even let me speak to Uri now.

Charlie: Pro-tip? Change his contact name. Mom only goes looking for what she thinks is a problem. If you give him something inconspicuous, she’s never going to know otherwise.

Rosie stares at him, shocked her saltine brother would even think of something like that. I mean, he might be an alcoholic, but still… but it’s good advice all the same. Charlie goes on to explain that he was worried about her, too, and he doesn’t want her to feel like she’s trapped or she has to lash out. You can negotiate with Eleanor, you just have to be clever about it. He doesn’t want her to make the same mistakes that Bridgette did.

Rosie: Yeah, I know… thanks for looking out for me.

Charlie: So… Uri Minkus, huh?

Rosie: Ugh.

Charlie: He’s really that worth sneaking around to text?

Rosie: … I guess you could say… perhaps… maybe… that I have like, the tiniest crush on him. Just a little bit.

Charlie can’t help his smile. He jokes that she should be careful, not because of Eleanor’s concerns, but because if they get married then Farkle is going to become their in-law, and she has no idea what she’s in for if that happens. She groans and nudges Charlie, telling him to shut up, but it’s clear she’s already in better spirits than most of this week. She asks if he’s okay given that all his “stress” is literally making him pass out. Is everything okay with Adams? Charlie admits that he wishes things were easier to navigate than they are.

Charlie: Honestly, I think I’m just naturally gifted at making everything worse. [ with a weak laugh ] Probably should’ve listened to dad when he asked if transferring during senior year was a good idea.

Rosie points out that maybe some of that stress weighing on him is just stuff he creates in his own head. Not to demean it or anything, but like… does everything have to be an anxiety-inducing dilemma? If he wants to go hang out with his friends, from either school, then he should just go do that. He’s allowed to enjoy himself every once and a while and take a break from being the perfect saltine protective older brother. You know, have fun.

Rosie: [ holding up a finger ] Sober fun.

Charlie’s turn to laugh and nudge her. But maybe she has a point. And there might be just the perfect upcoming event where he can relax and have some fun…

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

We join Eric and Isadora in the midst of their conversation. Eric reads Valerie’s letter while Isadora watches with her lips pressed together. Once he finishes the letter, he takes a moment to process it. 

Eric: Wow. That’s… a lot. 

Isadora: What do you think? 

Eric: I think that what I think isn’t important at all right now. What do you think? Do you want to get in contact with him?

Isadora thinks about it as she wrings her hands. 

Isadora: I’m not sure. But… you aren’t upset? 

Eric: Why would I be upset? 

Isadora: If I do want to meet him, I’m worried you’ll think that you’re not enough for me or something. I don’t want to hurt you. 

Eric: Isadora, that could never happen. I’m not hurt at all, I just want what’s best for you, and a relationship with your father could be something really good. 

Isadora: What if it isn’t, though? I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment. Again. 

Eric: That’s understandable. You don’t have to make a decision now, though. You have all the time you want to think it over. [ a beat ] If you want, you could write a letter to him yourself. You don’t have to send it, but it can be cathartic to write out everything you’re thinking and feeling about the situation.

Unsure, Isadora pulls a face. Eric reminds her again to just think about it -- no major decisions necessary right now.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Lucas is meeting with Jack one last time before the dance fundraiser to grab another cash box and go over any last minute details. Jack questions if he’s going to be dressing for the occasion, to which Lucas rolls his eyes but begrudgingly admits that he thinks Riley would be even more upset with him if he didn’t. Though he doesn’t have all the details, Jack assures Lucas that he’s sure Riley isn’t going to be angry for long.

One can only hope. Jack wishes Lucas luck and then he heads out, leaving him to his work. He settles back into it until he lifts his gaze and catches Yancy heading out of the building, checking out for the weekend.

All of Jack’s frustration from his conversation with Evelyn bubbles back up again. He pushes out of his chair, jogging out of his office.

EXT. AAA - DAY

Jack catches Yancy on his way down the steps, telling him that they need to talk. Yancy claims whatever it is can surely wait until Monday, but Jack isn’t having it.

Jack: No, I don’t think your active sabotage of my school can wait another damn second.

Yancy is stunned by his coarse language, effectively halting him long enough to have the confrontation. Well, what then? Jack questions when exactly he planned to let him know about his ongoing anti-campaign against the student government’s scholarship endeavors, or what would drive him and Graham to work to pit the board against them. He knows that they aren’t fond of him, especially after his stunt at the trial, but taking it out on the students? Who does that benefit? What do they gain from that?

Yancy, sharply: Actually, Jackson, you’ve hit the nail on the head. After your little unprofessional display, why wouldn’t we be invested in halting any other schemes you deem a good idea? Particularly when your chosen favorite himself just miraculously managed to become student body president in a school that hates his very existence?

Jack: You have no idea what you’re talking about, and Lucas won that election on his own merit. It had nothing to do with me.

Yancy: It has everything to do with you! Everything does! So long as you are at the helm of this ship, making all the calls, everything ties back to you. And we used to trust you with that power. But all this behavior as of late -- declining lucrative offers, favoring delinquents --

Jack: He is not a delinquent!

Yancy: Or how about cavorting with a fellow employee? [ off his shocked expression ] Oh, come on, Jackson, I’m not naive. Did you and Eric really believe you could flaunt your little flirtation right in front my face and I wouldn’t notice a thing? As if my whole purpose at that school isn’t to keep it from collapsing under your unprofessional whimsy and desires!

This whole time, he’s been observing, watching the operation of AAA from the inside out, trying to determine if Jack remains fit to head the institution. Yancy admits, when Graham first put him up for the job, he was skeptical -- he’d always had great belief in Jack as an educator. He was doubtful that he had really slipped so far… but now he’s seen for himself. There is a certain way things are done, and it seems Jack has forgotten all of his proper perspective in service to that law and order.

Yancy: When I finish my report to the board at the end of the semester, they’ll be the judge of whether or not you deserve to stay where you are. But believe me, if I had it my way, you’d be out of that position and filing for unemployment faster than lightning.

Jack: You can’t do this. You can’t eject me from the role simply because your perspective is too old-fashioned to be flexible. Or empathetic. And unwilling to examine context --

Yancy: Well, we’ll just let the board decide that, won’t we.

Guess we will. Yancy fussily buttons his coat.

Yancy: I would watch yourself if I were you, Jackson. In my opinion, it’s far too late, but we both know how easy it is to tip the scales slightly in your favor. Maybe you’ll salvage this yet. Otherwise, I’d start contemplating alternative paths. Have a good evening.

Yancy stomps down the steps, not waiting for a goodbye. Jack swallows his panic, trying to remain resolute in the face of so much pressure. Scrambling to figure out what to do next...

A groovy disco track bleeds into the soundscape, totally dissonant to Jack’s dread --

INT. DANCE VENUE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Streetdance” as performed by Disco Street Machine || Instrumental

The ‘70s dance fundraiser is in full swing, and it seems to be doing well! The venue is packed not just with Adams students but other community members, promising at least some greater revenue from the whole ordeal. The scene is set with funky lighting and a dance floor, along with some flower-power type decorations and a fun mirrorball hanging above it all.

It’s mainly cool to see everyone leaning into the theme and dressed in their best approximations of ‘70s garb. We’ve got funky vests, blazers for days, chunky platform boots, a few bohemian chic vibes, you name it. A few establishing shots show us all these looks and more while the assembled crowd grooves to the disco track. Yogi is wandering with his camera, capturing footage for posterity and social media.

Lucas is manning the check-in table, this time keeping control over the money in his own hands. He maintains a cordial enough demeanor as he interacts with potential patrons, and he is giving some semblance of ‘70s as promised in his collared-shirt-under-sweater look. He’s serving like… gothic Fred Jones, which is about as much as you’re gonna get from him.

Asher and Dylan, on the other hand, are representing much better. Asher is repping the funky vest and puffy sleeve shirt vibe, matched well with some maroon bell-bottoms and swooped back hair, while Dylan is truly going disco with a silky vibrant shirt tucked into silver pants, a huge, chunky pair of Elton John tinted glasses the cherry on top of the ensemble. They ask how cash flow is going, and Lucas claims fine, but they’re not out of the woods by a long shot.

Lucas: If things don’t pick up, I’m going to start pickpocketing.

Asher: Yes, that’s exactly what we need. A literal crook for president.

Dylan: Isn’t that like every president?

Anyway, Lucas needs to chill. Or as Dylan puts it, surrender to the boogie. Which is what he and Asher are going to go do right now -- the dance floor beckons them. Asher leads the way, Dylan walking backwards so he can maintain eye contact with Lucas and literally disco groove away from him as encouragement to give in to the funk. Lucas just shakes his head, unimpressed.

When Lucas gets back to work, who should be waiting to purchase a ticket in but Charlie Gardner. He’s dressed for the occasion too, dressed in dark pants and a white blazer… with Riley’s chosen blue shirt underneath. It seems he followed her guidance and went for it after all. Lucas greets him and commends him for turning out, considering all the bad blood between Haverford and AAA right now. Brave of him to show up.

Doesn’t he know it… but he wants to be here. Lucas takes his money and nods for him to go on in, sending him into the fray.

Meanwhile, Zay is parked at one of the tables, not in the best mood considering he’s surrounded by the boogie and can’t participate. Nigel is doing his best to cheer him up, but it’s sort of a fruitless effort. When Zay catches him eyeing Jade, who the techies managed to extract from the loft to at least enjoy the dance, he sighs and tells him to go have fun. He doesn’t have to waste away with him. Nigel argues against that take, but Zay nods him onward, insisting.

So Nigel bounces to his feet, thanking Zay before cutting through the crowd in the direction of Jade. Zay watches him go, bittersweet at being left alone again.

Charlie skirts the edges for a bit before finding companionship in Farkle, who greets him plainly. He’s dressed like Eric Forman, wearing a simple button down and bellbottoms combo with a loose brown corduroy jacket. He and Charlie briefly catch up, commenting on how the turn out is and how great the aesthetic is. But Farkle is still a bit lost in his own head, and Charlie notices. He elbows him lightly.

Charlie: You okay?

Farkle: [ with some of his usual humor ] Chuck, that’s like asking the sky if it’s red. I think you already know the answer.

But he’ll live. Once he figures some things out… it’ll be fine. It has to be. Vagueness aside, Charlie can tell there’s more to it, but he opts to focus on distraction rather than problem-solving. He’s had enough problem-solving for a lifetime this week. He invites Farkle to go dance instead, playfully challenging him to show what disco moves he’s got up his sleeve.

Farkle: Oh, you’re going to regret this -- and not because I’m good.

Charlie laughs, gesturing for him to lead the way onto the dance floor.

Maya jumps up onto the small stage set up with the DJ booth, taking the microphone and briefly thanking everyone for coming out. No applause necessary for putting it together, really… and she waits until the audience feels compelled to applaud. Then she waves them off “humbly” before reminding them of all the ways they can support the Adams senior class while at this benefit -- mainly financially! And by getting down and boogie-oogie-oogying. Peace!

Lucas shakes his head at Maya’s speech, lightly amused, but all of his calm is wiped away when Missy walks through the door. She’s dressed in simple ‘70s, a gorgeous and slightly revealing silk disco mini dress and with her hair blown out like Farah Fawcett. She cheekily compliments him on his get up.

Missy, sarcastic: An ensemble that elaborate must’ve taken ages to throw together. I see you really put an effort in.

Lucas: Maybe. And what’s your excuse?

Missy: Not everything needs to be silly and over the top. In fact, I think the richest things in life are those that go understated. Left unsaid… makes everything a bit more exciting, anticipating whatever more there might be to explore. [ a beat ] Same goes for fashion.

Lucas: … so are you paying, or what?

Missy: As I understand it, Adams seniors get in free. But since I can afford it…

She reaches into her small satin purse, pulling out a wad of cash. She siphons off about half of it -- way more than a ticket would cost -- and drops it into the cash box for him. He eyes it suspiciously, then flits his glare towards her.

Missy: I thought about our little chat. And you’re right, maybe there needs to be something in it for me -- which in this case is a victory at showdown. We’re embarrassing enough right now as it is. At least with the funding, we’ll look good when we crash and burn. And as for the rest…

She folds up the remaining bills in her hand and holds them out for him, gesture subtle but unmistakable. Lucas stares at the money, then glances around them nervously to make sure no one else is looking.

Lucas: What the hell are you doing?

Missy: Come on, Lucas. Don’t be noble. We know how things are between us. I’m just trying to help. And it stays discreet. Think of it as… a bonus, for all the hard work you’re doing for the A class. [ quieter ] I heard you in the booth. You don’t ask for help. Well, sometimes, you don’t have to beg. You can just take… whatever you want.

She raises her eyebrows, subtly challenging him to take it. Lucas hesitates, holding his breath… it feels like a test, he knows it is… but he’s already taken plenty from her without asking. What’s a little more…

Missy: Davis isn’t going to pay for itself, is it?

No. No it isn’t. She’s right, and he knows his chances of reeling a scholarship are slim to none. Does he really want all of this stress for applications to be for nothing?

Reluctantly, Lucas takes the money from her and slips it into his back pocket. Missy smiles, genuinely pleased, though why it’s hard to say. But it’s clear, now more than ever, that whatever little arrangement they’ve got going on here is a pattern now. It’s not just going to flutter away on its own, and the consequences that might come of it remain a mystery.

Missy: Groovy. Enjoy the dance, Lucas.

Lucas doesn’t respond, using the cash box as an excuse not to look at her. But based on flipping through the amount of money she handed over for the fundraiser, they’re way closer to their goal than before. And that has to make it all worth it, right?

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “September” as performed by Earth, Wind, & Fire || Instrumental

One of the best songs of the decade comes on next, earning an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. Riley weaves her way through the throng and rushes up to the entrance to find Lucas, Nate in tow. She’s dressed in a shimmery lavender-mauve jumpsuit, a complimentary hair scarf tying together the groovy look. She pushes Nate in front of her.

Riley: Nate here is taking over table duty.

Nate: You know how I love dem bills, my brother.

Riley: So that you can come dance with me.

Lucas cringes, weakly putting up a fight. Oh, no, no, no… but Riley’s already got her hands on him, and her smile is so damn cute, it would be impossible to refuse her. So he lets her drag him out into the crowd.

Once they’re actually on the dance floor, Riley beams at him and pulls him closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Lucas does his best to be a good sport and play along, especially since he’s already in trouble, placing his hands on her hips and casually swaying to the beat.

Lucas: So… does this mean I’m off the hook for the Brandon thing, or…

Riley: Hm… so as long you’re dancing with me and you look so cute in that sweater, I suppose you can be forgiven.

Better than nothing, though Lucas still clearly feels guilty about disappointing her. Just one of many ways he feels like he’s letting her down… but for now she’s happy, so he’ll just focus on touching her waist and how hot she looks in her jumpsuit.

Across the dance floor, Dylan and Asher are in conversation with Jeff and Yindra, Dylan with his arm draped casually around Asher’s shoulders and bouncing to the beat. They’re discussing the everchanging stakes of their showdown routine -- at this point Yindra claims they should just scrap it all and start over, they’ve got equally as bad a shot with the shoddy routine they have now. But Asher claims that would be a disaster, and they should only cross that bridge if they absolutely must.

Dylan spots something that seems to capture his attention, his eyes widening in excitement. He pinches Asher’s ribs and leans closer, Asher tilting his head to listen to his murmur.

Dylan: Shakespeare in Love, straight ahead.

Asher squints through the dancing crowd and finds what he’s talking about -- Nigel and Jade. He’s actually managed to pull her onto the dance floor, engaging in loose and easy grooving together. She’s laughing, waving off how bad a dancer she is, but he holds one of her hands and assures her she’s good.

Totally radical. Asher and Dylan exchange knowing looks, unable to hold back a grin.

Zay is less enthused, mainly because of his current view -- Charlie, dancing with Farkle of all people to one of the greatest songs there is. Not that there’s anything to be concerned about, really, since they’re clearly just goofing around with each other and Farkle is as promised quite an embarrassing disco dancer. But he’s up and moving, free, having fun, making Charlie laugh -- with Charlie looking disgustingly attractive in his expertly chosen shirt -- and it kind of feels like a perfect vignette of what’s locked away from him.

Everything Zay wants, desperately misses, but can’t have.

His brooding is interrupted when Isadora plops down into the chair across from him, giving him a nod in greeting. He asks why she’s not out there grooving on the dance floor, and she sagely says she’s not interested in getting up to boogie so… publicly. She’s amazed Riley got Lucas out there, but that’s only because of her unique Riley charms. It’s torture in her eyes.

Zay: Speak for yourself, but you’re entitled to your whack opinion.

Isadora: I know, I know. This is killing you. And I respect that. Just not for me. [ a beat ] Maybe it’ll give you some peace to know that you being benched is an undeniable tragedy for all of us.

Zay: The considerate part of me says no, but the egotistical side does love it, thank you.

Isadora: You’re welcome. [ with a sigh ] Now there’s talk of changing the routine if we can’t figure out how to fill your vacancy. Not that I don’t think we could pull it off, but it would take all hands on deck and everyone on board, and I don’t see that happening unless there’s no other alternative. Right now, if we could just find someone to fill your spot -- never as strongly, of course --

Zay: Again, my ego thanks you. You’re not going to take the spot?

Isadora: Uh… I mean, I don’t know. A couple of people suggested it, but look, we know I’m no you. I don’t learn as quickly, and I’ve got enough of a track record with performance mishaps on my own. I mean, what if I do it but I completely freeze the moment we have to go out there? My mom’s parting gift to me was giving me the one thing she never had -- stage fright. Doesn’t that seem too risky to throw in there when the stakes are higher than ever?

Zay: Man, I don’t know. I get what you’re saying, but all I know is that I would kill to be able to perform right now. And if you’re debating it at all, then to me, that means you want to -- and if I had the ability to do it, I wouldn’t waste it for a second on what ifs.

Very insightful, Zay. Isadora contemplates this… then she points out to Zay that just because he’s off his feet doesn’t mean he has to fade into oblivion. He’s got to take the time to heal, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be involved in the class or productions. He just has to find new ways to involve himself rather than what he’s used to.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Y.M.C.A.” as performed by Village People || Instrumental

Another classic! In an instant, Riley appears at their table, teeming with enthusiasm and reaching for Zay’s hands. She insists that he get up dance with her -- to which he reminds her that he’s booted -- but she points out that anyone can do the Y.M.C.A. It’s just shouting and arms! So he relents, allowing her to help him to his feet, but his grin betrays his aloof demeanor.

Farkle slides over moments later, telling Isadora that she better get up and join them too. If Zay can do it, she has no excuse. She rolls her eyes, but she really can’t argue with him on that.

So the dance wraps up with a flourish, the full class laughing, sing-shouting and goofing off together to the party favorite that literally anyone can do. Nigel and Riley each support Zay on either side, and he looks about as joyful as he has in weeks. Asher and Dylan prevent Lucas from escaping, keeping him on the dance floor and trapping him in the Y.M.C.A groove too. Charlie dances with Haley and Clarissa, who take turns twirling under his arms.

Yogi and Dave make their way through it all, capturing all the joy of a successful fundraiser on camera so they’ll never forget it.

INT. DANCE VENUE - LATER - NIGHT

The party has wrapped up, only the A class hanging around to clean up. Well, the A class and Charlie, who insisted it was no problem to stay back and assist in tidying. He’s working with Nigel and Yindra at stacking chairs, the latter of which comments playfully that he really is too helpful for his own good.

Yindra: Such a good little Christian, truly. It’s like God injected his compassion mission into your cute white boy veins.

Charlie: Well… not that good, admittedly. [ a beat ] I think if he was going to make his prototype golden child, he would’ve skipped the part where he made me gay.

Oop. Wow, a casual coming out -- and with a little humor, too! Charlie is getting better at this. Yindra raises her eyebrows at him, assessing for a moment whether or not he might be joking… and then she breaks into a wide grin, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Yindra: Oh, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie… I always knew I liked you. And I should’ve known, considering that awful Les Mis kiss still haunts my nightmares.

She asks how long he’s been out, or at least telling people, and Nigel slides in to proudly note that he told him before Yindra. She rolls her eyes. Charlie admits it’s slow-going and hasn’t been easy, especially with the community outside of AAA, but it feels good every time he does it. Hopefully the rest of his world will turn out tolerant too.

Yindra invites him to her church that Sunday for a change of pace. She’s performing a solo in the choir, so it’ll be guaranteed entertaining, and it might be good for him to see an actually accepting church environment for a change.

Nigel: She just wants to force you to see her ‘70s performance before she shares it with the class on Monday. The more people she can force to be her audience, the better.

Yindra: Hey, now, I don’t care for your sass, Chey Chey.

Either way, her church runs later than his, so it shouldn’t conflict. And Nigel will be there too -- she’s bribing him with brunch -- so it’ll be like a fun little outing. Charlie just seems happy to be connecting with his peers again, so he happily agrees.

Nate, pre-lap: 70… 80… 90…

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Lucas, Maya, Riley, Dylan, Asher, Isadora, and Farkle are convened in and around the back corner booth, watching nervously as Nate counts the final income from the dance fundraiser. All of them are holding their breath… Maya is pacing like a wildcat, ready to pounce and tear him to shreds if the number is too low.

Isadora: Jesus, Nate, can’t you count any faster?

Nate: No, I don’t cut corners when it comes to money. Now shut up, or I’ll have to start over.

Farkle, exhausted: Hush, Isa. Don’t make him start over.

Silence settles over them again… and Nate finishes counting the bills from the cashbox. He lifts up a finger to halt them from asking, writing the number down and then pulling up the calculator app on his phone. After combining the total from this with the car wash haul…

Nate: We did it. Crazy sons of bitches, we did it!

They officially made the money to pay for the damages and fund their showdown needs. Victory! All of them cheer, hugging each other and clapping enthusiastically. Riley wraps her arms around Lucas and kisses his cheek, while he’s looking pretty relieved.

Nate: I gotta say though, the numbers seem kind of skewed based on the actual attendance we had. Someone must’ve made a huge donation. [ to Lucas ] Did you notice anyone drop some major cash?

Oh, interesting… Lucas pauses, then breezes past the question. He claims it doesn’t matter who donated what -- they’re in the clear, and now they can focus on what matters. It’s time to kick Haverford’s pretentious privileged ass at showdown.

Hear, hear! The group cheers again, exchanging high-fives and reveling in their hard-earned success.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Isadora arrives home, shedding her jacket and shoes at the door. She’s relaxed, and has a relieved smile on her face. From where he sits on the sofa, Eric looks over to her. 

Isadora: We did it! We raised all the money we need. 

Eric: Oh, amazing! Well done, I’m so proud of you all.

Isadora sits down next to him and exhales. It’s been a long day. 

Isadora: I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I’ve decided to write a letter to Zachary. 

Eric: Tha --

Isadora, interrupting: I don’t know whether I’ll send it or not, but I do think it’ll help just to get my thoughts out there.

Eric nods his agreement, and reminds her that he’ll always be there for her. Just as she starts to ask for help on what to include in the correspondence, there’s a knock at the door. Eric goes to answer it, pleasantly surprised to find Jack waiting on the other side. Although he’s happy to see him, Jack seems stressed, so Isadora gets the hint that she should probably give them some space. She wishes Jack a good night and retreats to her room, leaving them alone.

Eric: Did you hear that they made the money to cover the auditorium damages? I’m honestly impressed, but I guess we should never doubt the A class.

Jack: Yeah… yeah, I did. From Lucas. It’s great.

Eric: … okay, what’s going on. You’ve got your thin voice going, how you get when something is wrong.

Jack doesn’t even bother to ask what that means -- Eric knows him well, it’s hardly a surprise at this point. He releases a strained sigh and explains what happened with Yancy, both about him sabotaging the scholarship fund from within the board and then the confrontation they had on the steps. Eric listens raptly, absorbing some of his dread with every word.

Eric: That sick… I always knew there was something off about him. He’s a corporate sellout through and through -- has been since he joined the board. And he has the gall to lecture you… we’ll get him for this, Jack. We just have to strategize --

Jack: No. No, we can’t do anything. Not right now. Not with so many things on the line.

Jack mentions the other piece of Yancy’s threat -- that he might be put on probation for real and potentially let go. Eric scoffs at this, disbelieving. Jack is well-known in the community… no way he’d get ousted. It’s an empty threat.

Eric: What’ll probably happen is that if anything, they put you off contract, and the position would reopen for applicants. So all you’d have to do is apply again, and Evelyn would hand it back to you without question. Yancy is just reaching, he can’t --

Jack: But Evelyn isn’t the only vote that matters, Eric. If they can flip a decision on something like the scholarships… that affects the students… and I don’t think he’s bluffing. I mean, he brought up Lucas, he mentioned… he mentioned you and me…

Eric shrinks a bit at this. It’s uncomfortable that someone is using their relationship as leverage, implying it’s a bad thing, but he’s also nervous about the way Jack is taking it. He knows how much he cares about AAA. He’d do anything to keep it afloat, to do what’s right for the school.

Eric: So… [ with a deep breath ] What do you want to do?

Jack, softly: Right now… I just think we need to… we need to step back. Put things on hold until the dust settles. My examination period should be over soon, and when this is all sorted, then… then maybe we can…

But for now, they can’t. There’s too much at stake… things both of them care about more than themselves. Although Eric is reluctant, he does his best to keep his emotions in check and nods along. He places a hand on Jack’s shoulder, letting it rest there for a moment. Stroking with his thumb, soaking in the touch for all it’s worth. Who knows when he’ll comfortably get to do it again.

Eric: Whatever you need, Jack. I understand. [ with difficulty ] I’m with you.

Jack nods, grateful. More grateful than he’ll ever know. He holds his gaze for a long moment, then leans forward and presses his lips softly to the corner of his mouth. So close, yet so far… Eric closes his eyes, trying his best not to crack.

Jack pulls back, swallowing hard. He clears his throat and nods, back to a fragile shell of professionalism.

Jack: I’ll see you at school.

Eric returns the nod, but he can’t meet his eyes. Jack hesitates for a moment longer, wishing it wasn’t this way, wishing he could stay… then steps back into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

Like he was never there.

INT. YINDRA’S CHURCH - DAY

Charlie and Nigel are in one of the pews amidst the usual congregation of Yindra’s church, waiting for the choir following the service to begin. Charlie seems excited but nervous, liking the high spirits and jovial energy but worried he’s an imposter just like he is everywhere else. He leans over to Nigel.

Charlie: I stick out like a sore thumb, don’t I?

Nigel: Mm, yeah. But it’s okay, [ patting his arm ] you can’t help that you’re skim milk.

Thank you for that, Nigel. Charlie opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, so it’s a relief when Yindra steps down front and center in her church choir robes to address the congregation. She cheerfully greets them and explains that she got to choose the song for this week, which she used to also fulfill the requirement for her art school lesson. Two birds, one stone, am I right?

Either way, she wants to dedicate the heart of this performance to her peers at school and in attendance this afternoon. She knows they’re all going through stuff, and even though it feels like the end of the world right now, it’ll all be water under the bridge one day. All they can do is take it day by day, and by the grace of God, everything will end up the way it’s meant to be.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Bridge Over Troubled Water” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Yindra Amino

If anyone could deliver soulful, impressive vocals to rival and honor Mercedes Jones (for those of us who did watch Glee, unlike the Havies), it would be Yindra Amino. And deliver she does, both in the church and on the atrium steps at AAA where she splits this performance. The rest of her choir backing her up gospel style really does add a certain something something, but the true emphasis of the number is the meaning.

Your time has come to shine All your dreams are on their way See how they shine, oh, if you need a friend I'm sailing right behind

When she makes it to the latter half and the gospel kicks off clapping to the beat, the entire congregation leaps to their feet and eagerly joins in. Charlie and Nigel are right there with them -- as is the A class in the atrium intercut of the performance.

Yindra brings it home with a spectacular vocal run, and you have to wonder if she really could make it out there in L.A. on her vocal chops alone. The church erupts into gleeful applause as she wraps up and takes a bow with the choir, beaming bright.

Charlie mirrors her smile, enthusiastically clapping along. Experiencing for an instant what it’s like to feel comfortable in church -- allowed to just be himself.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Lucas is anxiously sitting opposite Riley in the usual booth, watching as she carefully reads over his personal essays. She’s doing her best to maintain a professional and neutral expression while she goes, but it’s impossible to hold back the slightest smile on her lips as she reaches the conclusion. When she lifts her gaze to meet his, but purposefully builds suspense by not saying anything, he cracks.

Lucas: Well? They’re terrible, aren’t they? You can just say it if they are.

Riley: … [ breaking into a grin ] They’re great, Lucas. Brilliant, honestly. Not that I ever had any doubt you could pull it off.

What a relief. Lucas exhales a sigh, thanking her for taking the time to read them. Then he continues, softly apologizing for not telling her about what happened with Brandon. Even though he had good intentions, he knows it doesn’t matter. And if he wanted so much not for her to know, then obviously it was never a good idea to begin with.

Riley: You know it’s fine for you to mess up. I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me.

Lucas: [ after a beat ] I guess I didn’t… it’s like the stupid personal essays. I know that… I’m not a shining example of a good person. I don’t think that’s exactly a secret.

Riley: I don’t think that.

Lucas: I know. I know you don’t, and I think that’s why I didn’t want you to know. Because it’s like every thing I do that shows you that, the more you realize that I’m… less than ideal, then…

Riley tilts her head, giving him a sympathetic look. Then she gets up and comes to join him on his side of the booth, sliding in next to him and leaning forward a bit so he’ll meet her gaze.

Riley: I told you that I wanted a relationship with you, and I meant it. And that’s all of you -- everything, the good and the bad. Even if you make a mistake, or I get disappointed, it doesn’t change that. We’ll find a way to work it out. I want you.

Her way with words makes everything sound so easy, so simple… and maybe it is. Maybe it can be just as simple as wanting each other, loving each other, and making it work. Lucas absorbs the sentiment, smiling shyly and thanking her again.

Hard part out of the way, Riley asks him how he managed to break his writer’s block and write those killer essays. What was his secret? Lucas hums, thinking about it.

Lucas: It was kind of what you said. You know, changing my perspective. When I was trying to write it from my lens, it was… well, you know. But then I just tried to think… what would Riley say? If someone asked you about me. And when I thought about it like that, I don’t know… suddenly, it was easy.

Riley chews her lip, smile blossoming on her face. She pulls him into a gentle kiss, one that he returns before swiftly stealing another one. She nudges her forehead against his, fondness shining in her eyes as she looks at him.

It’s no mystery how thinking like her made for some unbeatable work.

Billy, pre-lap: I knew it. I knew he wasn’t loyal.

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - SENIOR LOUNGE - DAY

Dweezil’s phone is sitting on the tabletop, open to the Adams social media page. Displayed are a handful of photos Yogi took during the ‘70s dance… including one clearly featuring Charlie, dancing with Haley and Clarissa. Although it looks like he’s having a swell time, Billy and Dweezil don’t seem happy for their classmate at all.

Dweezil: He’s never really jumped ship. We know he’s always hanging out with Riley anyway. This is just definitive proof.

Billy: Showdown is in a week. If he’s still this comfortable with his old chums, who knows how much shit he’s telling them.

Dweezil: And what if he finds out about the plan? No way he’s going to let us do it.

Billy: I say we take care of this now. Before it interferes with our performance.

Dweezil: He might blow everything.

Billy: Brandon. You have to have an opinion on this shit.

Opposite them and seated at the table, Brandon is examining the photograph for himself. He’s unperturbed as usual, thoughtful and contemplative. He doesn’t comment until Billy and Dweezil basically demand input from him, at which point he offers a calm smile.

Brandon: It’s nice to see him enjoying himself, isn’t it? I like Charles. He’s a nice kid. [ a beat, then suavely ] And a coward.

Brandon gingerly places Dweezil’s phone back on the desk, reclining back in his chair.

Brandon: I’m not worried about him.

Billy: Man, you’re kidding --

Dweezil: And what if he decides to --

Brandon: Don’t you get it? He’s not going to do anything. If there’s one thing you can count on with Charles, it’s that he’s spineless. He’s not feeding them information, and even if he does take offense to something we do, he isn’t going to do shit. Gardner is soft, and he’s the least of our worries. But in a week it’s not even going to matter. Especially not when we’ve got this.

Brandon retrieves the flash drive from his blazer pocket, placing it on the table between them. Billy and Dweezil eye it with interest -- they all clearly know what it contains.

Brandon: Once we crack into this, it’s over. We’re going to crush Adams like we do every year -- whether Charles helps or not.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Ah, to be back in the warm embrace of the auditorium -- even if it’s still a bit banged up. It’ll take a little while longer to get the auditorium back in tip-top shape, but the A class can at least come home to roost in it again, which is where they gather for the kick off the next week.

All of them give a round of applause to Harley for his assistance in repairing their mistakes, and hope that he enjoyed the performances of the last few days. He assures them he did, though as he understands it, the week isn’t quite over yet. He steps back and allows Jade to take front and center.

She thanks all of them for being patient with her while she finished up her portfolio materials, and at this point she only has one more request. Behind her, Dave and Dylan roll out the racks with her ‘70s portfolio costumes, and she explains that she needs models to pose for the photographs she’s going to include in her application of all her hard work. Now hm… where on Earth is she going to find suitable, available models for free who she just happened to know all the measurements of and would fit perfectly into these custom costumes…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Shake Your Booty” as performed by Forever In Your Mind || Performed by AAA Seniors

Riley beams, claiming she thinks she knows where they could find a few volunteers. The A class launches to their feet, rushing the stage to see what Jade has in store.

INT. AAA - BOYS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

The boys kick off this energetic, bopping closing number, changing into their Jade ‘70s ensembles and grooving in the dressing room. Sliding through the wall --

INT. AAA - GIRLS DRESSING ROOM - DAY

The girls are doing the same, fluffing their hair and doing each other’s make up as they sing into the mirrors. Once they’re all set, Yindra leads the way out into the dressing room hall…

INT. AAA - DRESSING ROOM HALL - DAY

Where they meet up with the boys, strutting in their fierce, authentically ‘70s looks. They make a mad dash for the auditorium --

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

And reclaim their stage, breaking into disco grooves as they toss around solo lines and show off their outfits. Jade stands with Yogi and helps him direct the costume shoot, both of them dressed up as well with Jade sporting the stereotypical but Jade-infused bohemian flower power girl look with a flowy white dress with puffy sleeves and a leather headband laced with wildflowers.

On the bridge, we get a montage of all of the A class posing in their outfits as they dance to get their pictures taken. This highlights not only how much we love this silly crop of seniors, but also how fantastic and individualized Jade’s costumes truly are. Paired with the earnest and jubilant performance, it’s a truly lovable showing.

Then they bring it on home with a disco line dance, all breaking into the same groovy choreography and all in their ‘70s garb. Zay watches from the audience with Lucas and the faculty, for once seemingly not in despair over being benched and still getting a custom outfit of his own. Dylan and Asher are front and center, and they pull Jade into it on the last few lines, so she also gets her boogie in before the day is done.

If one thing is clear, it’s that disco is far from dead, thank you very much! And while the A class has a lot on their plates -- and insurmountable stakes ahead -- it’s hard not to feel hopeful when they’ve got each other.

Whether that’s enough, well, soon we’ll find out.

END OF EPISODE.

[rhetoricalrogue]

Wayhaven Week, Day 7

For Wayhaven Week 2020, hosted by @otomefandomevents. Thanks for having this week, it’s been so much fun seeing what everyone comes up with and getting back to knocking the rust off my own writing.  I haven’t completed a fandom event in some time and it feels really nice to contribute to all seven days!

Prompt: Mend Pairing: Mason/Zoe Dawson Warnings: in-book level violence, slight injury mention, tiny Book 2 villain spoilers Word Count: 1,662 Summary: Take a hike in the woods, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Worst. Date. Ever.

There was something to be said about a warm shower after being soaked to the bone from getting caught in the rain. Zoe curled up in her bed at the Warehouse, the duvet draped over her shoulders like a cape, and concentrated on the material in her hands.  Rain still pounded against the windows, but she was grateful to be indoors instead of out in it.

There was a sharp knock on her door and she turned her head in time to see Mason come in, a mug of something in his hands. “Thought you might need it,” he offered, handing it out to her.

She took a deep inhale, enjoying the scent of freshly brewed coffee as the warmth of the mug seeped into her hands. “Thanks.” She pat the side of the bed. “There’s room enough for two over here, you know.”

Mason smirked, but didn’t hesitate to slide into bed with her. “Just can’t wait to get me in bed with you, could you, Sweetheart?”

Zoe rolled her eyes and set the mug on the bedside table to concentrate on what she had been doing. “That is such a tired line, Sunshine.”

“And yet it still manages to work.” He rested his chin on her shoulder and looked down at the material in her lap. “Is that my shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing with it?”

She held up the needle and thread. “Well,” she started, continuing to stitch as she talked, “you have a hole in your shirt where a hole doesn’t belong and I’m patching it up for you.”

“Didn’t know you knew how to sew.”

“Brace yourself: I also know how to embroider.” She smiled at his soft snort of laughter, his arms casually draping around her to bring her back flush to his chest, his legs bracketing her hips. “You should check out my Etsy shop.”

“I really don’t see you as the type to do those Live, Laugh, Love or Home Sweet Home type samplers.”

“No, but do you see me being the type to do elaborately done flowers surrounding Fuck this Shit or Don’t be a Dick on it?”

His arms tightened around her waist. “Yeah. Yeah, I totally see something like that coming from you.”  He silently watched as the long gash on his shirt’s sleeve was mended, Zoe making stitches so small that he had a hard time trying to see where it had been cut in the first place. “I’m okay.”

She froze, hands reaching for the travel sized pair of scissors in her mini-sewing kit she had brought along with her in an overnight bag once that had managed to just eventually stay at the Warehouse. “I know you are.” Her fingers smoothed over the mended material. It was drying, but she had scrubbed the sleeve to make sure she got all his blood off before she started sewing. “Why wouldn’t you be?” She closed her eyes, desperately trying to tamp down on the fear that had seized her earlier that evening.  She and Mason had been on patrol on the outskirts of town, following up on a tip that some leftover Trappers had made a temporary base of operations somewhere in one of the many abandoned industrial buildings that dotted the countryside.  It was supposed to be a quick reconnaissance only mission, just observe and take note of their whereabouts and then report back so the entire unit could go neutralize them.

And the evening had been incredibly quiet too. The two of them had made their usual banter as they hiked, but Zoe had stopped to simply enjoy the peaceful look on Mason’s face the further they got from town. 

And then the bottom had dropped out of the sky. It had looked like rain all day long, but then again, it had looked like rain for the past week without anything to speak of, so neither of them had expected the sudden thunderstorm to hit.  Luckily, they had been close to the old abandoned steelworks that hadn’t seen anyone in it since probably the seventies. Zoe’s foot had slipped in the softening dirt and while she had wrenched her ankle pretty badly, at least Mason had saved her from a face full of mud by catching her and slinging her over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes as he sprinted the last few feet towards shelter.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t been the only ones to find the steelworks. Zoe was hopping on one foot while cursing her ankle when she realized that Mason had gone absolutely still, the sound of his warning snarl warring with the rumbling thunder outside. She’d barely had a second to unholster the Volt from her hip before the Trappers they’d accidentally discovered attacked.  Luckily, even as outnumbered as they were, they’d had the slight advantage of being on their feet where most of the Trappers had been seated around a makeshift fire.  Mason had made quick work of most of them while Zoe had taken down her share, adrenaline making her forget about her twisted ankle.

She had been in the middle of cuffing the unconscious Trappers with their own supply of zip ties when she noticed Mason inspecting his forearm, his free hand digging into his back pocket for a cigarette before realizing that the rain had ruined what was left in the pack.  She wouldn’t have said anything, except she happened to catch the way blood dripped down his arm to spatter on the dusty concrete at his feet.  She’d hobbled to his side as fast as she could, hands ready to rip her own shirt to act as a makeshift bandage before Mason had shoved his sleeve up to his elbow, showing her that while the skin underneath was bloody, it was whole.

One quick phone call to Adam had the rest of Unit Bravo, accompanied by several other agents to transport their quarry, at their location within minutes. She’d protested, but Mason hadn’t listened to her as he scooped her up in his arms and settled her into the back of the SUV Adam had been driving. To his credit, he hadn’t argued when she plucked the cigarette from his lips that he had lit from the pack he found in the back seat console to smoke for herself, he merely sparked up a second one and reached out to grab her foot and keep it elevated on his lap for the remainder of the ride back to the Warehouse.

The debriefing had been quick, both of them tired of being soaked to the bone and their replies snippier than they probably both meant for them to be.  Blessedly, Nate had been the one to suggest calling it a night, seeing that they had gotten enough details for a preliminary report and they’d get back to it after a change of clothes and a good night’s sleep.  For her part, Zoe had shot Adam an apologetic glance before limping towards her room.  There was a silent sorry for being grouchy that was left unsaid between them, but she felt better when he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly and his eyes softening as he nodded in understanding.

Mason had surprisingly left her alone to shower once he was satisfied that she was able to put weight on her ankle and move around by herself.  Luckily it hadn’t swelled much and after using a wrap from the first aid kit she found underneath the bathroom sink, felt a lot better than it had earlier.

“At least no one died this time,” Mason told her, his mouth muffled by her shoulder and bringing her back to the present.

“No one died the last time,” she countered, turning her head to look at him.  “Though you came damn close.”

“Still here, aren’t I?”  He held her closer, his chin nudging her oversized shirt’s neckline out of the way so he could press a kiss to her exposed shoulder, then another to the side of her neck. “You can’t let one time get to you.”

She exhaled. “I know. Letting things get to me means I become a liability.”  She frowned. “But I didn’t freeze.” In the moment, she had channeled all her fear at the possibility of Mason making a repeat performance of being overwhelmed with no one around to help them into pure rage, attacking hard and fast so the Trappers wouldn’t have an opportunity to hurt him.

“No, you didn’t.” There was a thread of pride in his voice as he shifted closer.  “You did good, Zo.”

“You weren’t too shabby yourself, Mason.” She held up his finished shirt. “Even if you did get tagged in the end.”

He made a dismissive noise against her skin. “Better me than you. At least I heal up without needing stitches.” Mason reached out and took the shirt from her hands.  “Damn, this is good work.”

“You think? I tried to make the stitches small so you wouldn’t feel them against your arm.”

Mason put his hand into the mended sleeve and try as he might, he couldn’t even tell where the rip had happened. “Can’t feel a thing.  I wish we’d teamed up earlier, you could have saved a bunch of my clothes from getting trashed after missions.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Well, I can’t have that. You look damn hot in this shirt.” She moved so she could set her sewing materials on the nightstand next to the now-abandoned mug of coffee. “Though you look damn hot out of it too.”

Mason chuckled. “You flirting with me, Sweetheart?”

“Fucking trying to, Sunshine.”  Zoe laughed when Mason tumbled them both across the bed, somehow pulling the duvet out from between them in the process.  He grinned against her mouth as she tangled her hands in his hair and it wasn’t long before the two of them were lost in the other, the thunder and rain outside muting the world around them.

[smalltowndetective]

31 Days of Wayhaven-Wolf

@31daysofwayhaven

Trying to write Unit Alpha when we’ve had only one scene with them is a bit tricky, but I hope you like it! :)

Ao3 Link

Title: Confusion

Pairing: Mason and Mariana

Words:1.2k

“You’ve got to be kidding me”, Mason heard Adam groan.

               “The Agency thinks it best if their two top Units work together on this mission”, Agent Gonzales continued as he had not spoken, “This decision is completely out of my hands”.

               “Oh, come on Adam”, Mariana broke in, a smirk sliding on her face, “Afraid they’ll show you up?”

               Adam gave a growl in response to that, and Mason could feel a smirk on his own face, and he gave her a nod of approval.

               “It’s only for one mission”, Nate broke in, “It’s not a permanent situation”

               Before Agent Gonzales could say something else, the door behind them swung open, and they all watched as Unit Alpha came bounding in the meeting room.

               “Hope it hasn’t been too boring without us”, Maaka grinned, turning to Mariana.

               “We’re not all emotionless statues”, she answered, her lips curving into a mischievous smile, and Felix gave a bright laugh at the statement, “Some of us have plenty of fun”.

               She turned to Mason as she said so, giving him a wink, and he gave her another smirk in return.

               Adam was not as pleased with the statement, visibly tensing up, looking like he wanted to be absolutely anywhere else.

               “Can we just get this over with?”

               “Eagar, are you?”, Tane said, and Agent Gonzales finally broke in.

               “We do have a mission that needs to be done, we can leave this talk for later”

               “That sounds good to me”, Lesedi said, giving her a warm smile.

               Nate gave a sigh of relief, and they all looked to Agent Gonzales.

               “I’m sure all of you know about the kidnappings going on”, she began, “The Agency has reason to believe where they might strike next”.

               “And why does this need all nine of us?”, Adam interrupted, “Unit Bravo is assigned to Wayhaven, that should be more than enough”.

               “They want to make sure that nothing gets through the cracks”, she continued, “This has nothing to do with anyone’s skill. It is simply a precautionary measure”.

               Adam sighed, and he turned to look out the window, but he did not seem to have anything else to say.

               “You’re going to need to increase patrols around the downtown of Wayhaven”, Agent Gonzales continued, “All of the previous kidnappings happened there, and it seems that the culprit is comfortable in that area. “I’ll let you decide how you wish to do so, and I have already spoke to Mariana about what the police station needs to do”.

               “Is this actually going to help anything?”, Felix interjected, “We still don’t have any idea who to actually look for”.

               “It’s better than nothing”, Nate answered, and Agent Gonzales gave a nod.

               “I’ll leave you to it then”.

               She left, and the two teams were now left together.

               “So, are we actually going to be able to do something?”, Tamiko said, breaking the silence that had fallen.

               Lesedi laughed softly, “Yes”, and then she turned to Mariana, “You know this town better than any of us, perhaps you could start?”

               She gave a look of gratitude in return, but she also looked back to Adam, who to Mason’s surprise, gave an affirming nod.

               “Wayhaven’s downtown is set up quite simply”, she explained, “One central point in the center, with jutting paths in four directions. It’s not large by any means, and to patrol the full way around it doesn’t take long for me, so it definitely shouldn’t for you guys”

               “How long are we supposed to be patrolling for?”, Maaka asked.

               “Agent Gonzales said until further notice”, Mariana answered.

               “Then that is what we do”, Nate nodded.

               “With 4 paths, we could split up into our normal units”, Adam said, a certain stiffness in his voice that had still had not disappeared since learning they were working with Unit Alpha.

               “Works with me”, Lesedi agreed, “We’ll take the first patrol in about an hour”

               With everything sorted, the group started to disperse, Adam leaving at the first opportunity, and before Mason could make his way over to Mariana, Tane got there first.

               He suppressed a growl in his throat, and it annoyed him to why it upset him. Mariana was not his by any means, why did this bother him?

               “Congratulations on the treaty”, Tane said with a sultry tone in his voice that Mason decided he hated, “Not that I expected anything less from someone like you”

               The flirtation was obvious, and he fully expected Mariana to run with it. He knew she had the same aversion to serious relationships that he did, why would this be any different?

               And for the life of him, he did not understand why he wanted to step in.

               But Mariana’s response was the complete opposite of what he expected.

               “Thank you”, she said simply, giving him a nod, and there was a certain firmness to her voice as if she was telling him that flirting with her would get him nowhere.

               He was not quite sure to take it, and it just someone left him even more confused.

               Tane looked to Mason, and then back at Mariana before continuing, a different tone in his voice, “I’m sure your team is happy to have you”.

               “They better be”, she remarked, her sarcastic tongue taking full focus, “I didn’t almost die for them for nothing”.

               Tane laughed, “Good luck with it all, Mari”

               He then made his way back to the rest of his team, and Mariana came striding up next to him.

               “You normally tear your cigarettes in half, or is that a new thing, sunshine?”

               He looked down at the cigarette in his hand, which he had taken out but never lit, it now in two pieces in his palm.

               I didn’t even notice I did that. Weird

               He shoved the pieces in one of his pockets, and he hesitated to say anything else.

               “You seem rather tense”, and even though her tone was light, from the way that she knit her eyebrows together, there was true worry as well, “You doing okay?”

               He brushed it off, “I’m fine”.

               Mason’s whole head was a whirlwind of emotions that he did not understand, and he could not get Mariana’s interaction with Tane out of his head, and why how she handled it made happy was beyond him.

               “Of course, you’re free to try and work out the tension, sweetheart”, he purred, but it was almost hesitant, and he was unsure as to why.

               As if noticing his pause, Mariana gave him a softer look, but said anyway, “I would be thrilled to. But we got a mission to complete”.

               He almost groaned at that, but she added afterward, “The time will only make it all the more worth it”.

               “I’ll hold you to that”, he said, and she gave him a devilish grin in response.

               “You know I always keep my promises, sunshine”.

               But what had started as a sarcastic pet name for him had turned to do something different, and while it shocked him to hear it without sarcasm, he was starting to like it.

               She gave him another grin, and he allowed this new warm feeling to course through him, even for just a moment.

[feralrosie]

Under the Mistletoe

Happy holidays @bambinamio ♥ 

The Wayhaven Chronicles Mason/F!Detective (Ziofra Shepard) Words: 4,413 Rating: General Audiences Tags: Holidays, fluff, soft!Mason Read on AO3

The holiday season affects everyone: makes Felix hyped, Ziofra build and decorate a huge tree, Adam to smile... And even makes Mason soft(er).

The sound of incessant shooting echoed through the Warehouse, sprinkled with shouting and cursing. What sounded like a war zone, however, was no more than a friendly competition. In the living room, Felix had convinced the Detective to play with him only a couple rounds of some new video game he bought, but what should have taken only thirty minutes was lasting for over an hour.

"You're cheating!" Ziofra accused, almost throwing the controller away from her on the couch where she sat, "There's no way you're this good."

By her side, the vampire laughed out loud, using his elbow to push her body playfully, a warm grin on his face, "C'mon Detective, don't be such a bad loser. Just believe that it's my incredible eye-hand coordination and years of Agency training."

The woman rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, frowning, “You don’t even use guns in the Agency, how would this be part of your training?” He had won almost every single match  of the colourful battle royale game so far, with few exceptions when her victory was guaranteed by special items and a lot of luck. There was no doubt Ziofra was very skilled at it and, in normal circumstances, she would have easily won, but the vampire’s reflexes were too fast for her.

“Then maybe I’m just awesome.” Felix grinned, provoking her even further.

“Fuck you,” she rolled her eyes and chuckled, pretending to be much more offended than she actually was, “But it is still not fair. I will consider myself the winner just because I’m not cheating like you are.”

His laugh was cheery and loud, contrasting with the chilly afternoon outside of the Warehouse. It was a clear day, but the faint sunlight wasn’t enough to melt the thin sheet of ice forming on top of the grass, creating a beautiful glittering winter scene. The living room was much cosier, shining in warm light from the fireplace, cream coloured fur rugs and spare blankets on the couch. Whatever the reason Nate decided to rearrange the space, she was sure that Mason’s almost nonexistent resistance to cold had something to do with it.

Not only, for the last week Felix had been gathering materials and decorations for their home, after finally getting permission to host a small holiday party for the team. The living room was packed with colourful fairy lights hanging everywhere, garlands on every door, star ornaments and even tiny figures of reindeers, nutcrackers and one unicorn were scattered around—surely he watched a few classic holiday movies for inspiration. By the fireplace, there were five stockings, each one with their names embroidered by hand, and her own right in the middle between Nate’s and Mason’s. The entire Warehouse was looking like a fantasy Winterland paradise.

But it was the sight of a huge box of a plastic tree sitting by the window that got Felix an idea, “Say, Ziofra… Why don’t we set this once and for all with a bet?''

Frowning, the detective raised an eyebrow as her eyes studied him, looking for any signs of malice in his voice, but the piercing amber eyes and bright smile gave nothing out. He was truly just having a lot of fun.

“What do you have in mind?” She finally asked.

“Let’s play one more time. If you win, I will consider that all my points are invalid and you’ll be the winner of it all. This game will surpass all others.”

“And if I lose?” The detective explored his terms as if dealing with the mafia, which in that case wasn’t too far from the truth. She knew too well that Felix could be very persuasive.

“If you lose, you help me set up the holiday decorations.”

“What, as if you needed more?” Ziofra scoffed, opening her arms to draw his attention to all the scandalous scenarios around her.

“Of course! I still haven’t set up the holiday tree,” he pointed at the partially open box in the corner, “Nate didn’t let me get a real one because of, quote and quote, ‘fire hazard’, so I had to wait for this to arrive by mail.”

“A wise man.”

“I guess,” he shrugged, still smiling. It was obvious that nothing could ever bother the youngest member of the team, hyped to be spending his first holiday season in a home of his own with the people he most cared about. “So, do we have a bet?”

“Ok, fine! Whatever.”

“Nice!” Felix shouted, shifting on his spot on the couch to get more comfortable while setting up the next match. Ziofra mimicked him and crossed her legs on her seat, resting her arms on her thighs as she held the controller, ready for the next battle.

… It didn’t take too long for her to lose again.

Though she had an advantage of finding better weapons as soon as the game started and managed to hit a great deal of other online players, the moment she found Felix on the map she knew she had no chance. His aim was impeccable, and it was like he could detect each of her character’s movements, knowing exactly what she was going to do beforehand. He knew all along what he was doing, and of course he did it on purpose to win the bet.

“You’re insufferable!” angry, the detective shouted but couldn’t hide a smile. Despite the unfair balance between them, the game was still fun and Felix’s laughter was enough to light up any mood.

“And amazing, don’t forget it,” he teased, standing up from his seat to turn off the console, “I guess now we have a tree to build, right?”

Throwing her arms up in the air in annoyance, Ziofra agreed and followed him. The tree’s box was huge and a mess, Felix had clearly tried to set it up before, but when realised the amount of work it would require, he gave up and shoved all the pieces and parts back inside. If all of this gaming afternoon was just a plot to get her to help, she couldn’t know for sure, but the suspicion wouldn’t leave her for another entire year.

“Holy shit, Felix, how big is this thing?” she asked while taking all the fake green branches out of the box and spreading it over the floor.

“Hm, two Nates tall? One and a half, maybe.”

Her jaw dropped and her shoulders sagged at the information as she glared at him. The tree could tower her own size by a lot and it would take a fucking eternity to set it all up, especially having only the two shortest members of the team working on it. “Are you fucking kidding m—”

The inevitable outburst of rage was fortunately interrupted by another figure joining them at the living room. Nate knocked on the door frame, a comforting smile set on his lips. For a moment, she thought they could at least have some help from Mr. Long Legs, “Hey, Felix, and hello Ziofra,” he greeted, as lovable as always, but soon directed his attention to the youngest, “Felix, can you drive me to the city? Adam is at the facility and Mason said he would rather eat his own cigarettes. You’re the only one available.”

“Right now? Sure!” the bright smile on his lips denounced how glad he was to be leaving the previous task to the detective. Not only she wouldn’t have any help from Nate, Felix was now also abandoning the ship.

“It’s going to be quick, I just need to go buy some things. Are you too busy?”

“Not at all!” Felix jumped over the plastic tree branches on the floor and reached Nate by the door, grabbing his bright coloured coat and dressing up, “You can take the lead here, right Ziofra?”

She was holding a branch like a knife, pointing at him, “I am going to fucking murder you later, you tiny bastar—”

“Great! You’re the best! See you later!” And in a blur of movement, Felix disappeared, pulling Nate with him, though the joy in his laughter echoed for a few seconds in the hallway.

Even if she wasn’t happy with the situation, Ziofra still tried to build the holiday tree. If anything, she could still regain her honour by making it the best piece of decoration. How hard could it be, anyway?

**

All the plastic leaves were piercing into her skin and there were way too many of them. Despite its size, the tree was relatively easy to put together, and after an hour of work sorting out pieces and ignoring the instructions, the detective was halfway through it. The problem now, however, was to figure out how she would reach the highest parts of the structure.

Ziofra was an expert on climbing actual trees, and this one shouldn’t be too different. She pushed an armchair closer and hopped on top of its seat, but still it wasn’t enough. Cursing under her breath, she risked stepping on the armrest, balancing her tiny body and stretching her arms towards the tree. Gathering all of her focus on trying to hook a motherfucking piece in its place, she barely noticed when the armchair shook under her feet. Pushing her luck, she rested one foot over a branch of the tree, holding herself to its trunk to finally, finally, attach that one piece in its place.

“Oh, hell yes!”

The celebration didn’t last for long, for as soon as she pointed her finger guns at the structure, the chair underneath betrayed her and slipped back on the wooden floor. It happened too fast for her to have any defensive strategy, so all she could do was to cling herself to the tree trunk and close her eyes.

In a loud bang, she crashed on the floor, followed by the heavy tree that fell over her, parts of it getting loose and scattering all around. “Fuck!” she shouted, trying to free herself from the humiliating place. It was about to get worse, however, when she heard the rushed footsteps of someone coming for her aid, and there was only one other person in the Warehouse with her.

“Ziofra?!” Mason blurted as soon as he arrived at the living room, a worried frown set between his stormy grey eyes that scanned the room, looking for her. When his gaze finally met hers, an amused smirk formed on his lips. “What did you do?”

“In my defense, I was left unsupervised,” she pursed her lips and avoided his eyes. It was bad enough to embarrass herself like that, but to have him be the one to find her was a bit of too fucking much.

“I can see that,” he scoffed, resting his side against the door frame and crossing his arms over his chest, watching as she tried to lift the tree on top of her. Not an easy task, given by the enormous size of the structure, and even Mason could see how hard it could be for a tiny human like her. In any case, it was too good to not enjoy the show for a couple minutes. “Need help there, sweetheart?”

She grunted loudly at the offering, letting her arms fall on the floor in defeat, “ Please. ”

The rumbling sound of the vampire’s chuckling followed as he approached the detective, careful to not step on her but having no regards for the plastic branches on the floor. Mason bent over and lifted the tree to its proper place with ease while offering to aid the woman. Ziofra didn’t think too much before holding his hand for support and stumbling to her feet, landing too close to him.

His thumb caressed her knuckles idly, and he felt a few cuts and bruises marking her skin in irregular shapes. For a moment his gaze shifted to her hands, taking note of the results of her work with the holiday decoration before focusing his attention back to her face. A small piece of plastic was stuck on her cheek, along with a few strands of hair that got loose from her ponytail. Mason reached for it, brushing off everything with the back of his long fingers, slowly enough to feel like the time had frozen between them.

“Are you alright?” his husky voice sounded like a whisper right before his hand dropped to his side while the other still held hers. The stormy eyes searched her features for more bruises, but the steady sound of her heartbeat soothed his worries.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she mumbled, absorbed by the handsome lines of his freckled features, so close to her, from the curves of his lips to the depth of his eyes. She wanted to lean in, feel his taste and touch, and just stay closer , but an instinct on the back of her mind pulled her away, letting go of his hand and clearing her throat. “It’s just this stupid tree that is too fucking tall.”

Her harsh movements away from him seemed to have the same effect on Mason, who stepped back biting his lips. Crossing his arms again, he poked a piece of the tree by his side with the tip of his boots, studying the environment surrounding him.

“What even is all of that shit?”

“Felix won a bet. Now I have to build a fucking holiday tree.”

Mason rolled his eyes, “Of course he is the one responsible for this monstrosity.” Inhaling deeply at the mess, the vampire turned his back, heading back to the door.

"What are you doing?" Ziofra prompted, making him stop in a halt and look over his shoulder at her outraged countenance.

"Hn, leaving?"

"Aren't you going to help me?"

"Why would I?" turning on his heels to face her again and raising an eyebrow, he inquired in genuine confusion.

"Because I'm asking pretty please."

"Your point?"

The detective grunted, leaning her head back to gather patience. Talking to Mason sometimes was like trying to maintain a conversation with a door. "Come on, I bet you're not even doing anything important right now."

"I can think of a lot of important stuff we could do instead of building this thing." Despite his complaints, the vampire walked towards her, leaning down to her ear as he passed by and whispering in a velvety tone, "Much better things."

The suggestion sent chills down her spine, but she could only hope they would have another opportunity to be alone in that huge Warehouse. Mason was already collecting the plastic branches all over the floor, studying each for a few seconds and hooking them in place. He seemed comfortable, beautifully so, wearing his usual long-sleeved shirt that matched the colour of his hair. There was something in the atmosphere between them that was different, so calm and familiar.

On his face, there was almost a smile. Maybe it was the silence, the warmth of the room, or maybe he just enjoyed using his hands to craft something, but the peace emanating from him was alluring. Ziofra didn’t even think of the possibility of her being the reason behind it. Of their company being why both felt so at ease, so at home.  

“Are you enjoying the view, sweetheart?” his voice broke through her thoughts, soft, but their eyes didn’t meet. He was too busy attaching a tree branch, a little past the height of his head, and drawing her attention to the slim lines of his torso.

“Excuse me?”

“You going to help or not?” Mason turned his head to her, the light from the fireplace slipping down his nose like a feather and inviting her closer. Something really odd was in the air, but none of them would question it. Not right now.

“Shut up,” was all that she could mumble before joining him.

**

Felix’s holiday party was much more like a simple gathering than anything else. They all preferred it that way, only the five of them, a few drinks for the sake of it and… a pile of gifts that Nate insisted on buying. Turns out that the quick trip to the city required two entire days.

Adam was by the window, sipping on red wine and listening to Nate ramble about some recent book he bought, and even Mason was having a drink, perching on a table next to them, but clearly not paying any attention to the conversation.

The holiday tree was looking gorgeous in greens, reds, and golden glittering decoration. Ziofra had taken all the credit for it after Mason refused to acknowledge his participation, but a bit of pampering from Felix was always welcome.

“How did you manage to reach the top of this thing?” he asked, shifting his gaze from the top of her head to the height of the tree. “Don’t get me wrong, I only doubted you twice, but this is really surprising.”

Raising an eyebrow at the subtle mockery, the detective pushed Felix with the side of her body, “I used my hair as a rope and climbed there,” she scoffed, “As one does.”

The vampire laughed out loud, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, “Of course you did, that explains a lot.”

She couldn’t hold back a chuckle, leaning her head towards him for just a second before Felix pulled away completely.

“Hey, I have something for you!” he jumped closer to the tree, searching for a colourful box wrapped in rainbow paper, “Nate help me choose it, so if you don’t like it you can blame it on him. If you love it, the credit is all mine.”

“What?!” she jabbered, holding the rather large package with both hands. In front of her, Felix was smiling brightly, eager to see her reaction. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Felix!”

“What, you thought I wouldn’t get you anything? You’re part of this team… and a great friend. You deserve it. Come on, open it!”

Ripping off the paper, Ziofra opened the box at once, diving her hands into it to grab a beautifully hand crafted leather jacket, coloured in a deep black with silver beads and zippers. It was obviously very expensive and well made, and the sight of it made her jaw drop a little.

“Are you kidding me?” she bursted, holding the piece by its shoulders and examining it all around.

“Did you like it?” Felix was vibrating by her side, giggling like a child, “Try it on!”

The fit was perfect for her, as if it was custom made for her size. The leather was cold and smooth, but the fabric inside the jacket was warm and comfortable, like being hugged by a dear friend. She looked at her reflection on the window’s panels and smiled, pleased with the surprise. The endless source of joy leaking through Felix was enough to have her hugging him tightly, thanking him again.

Caught in a hype, Felix soon stepped away from her to continue his task of giving gifts to the other members of the team. Adam and Nate were also exchanging presents, and Ziofra could see an amused smile forming on the Commanding Agent’s lips as he, too, hugged his best friend for a quick moment.

An interruption stepped up in front of her, cutting her view of the surprisingly tender scene between the two oldest vampires on the other side of the room.

“Looking great, sweetheart.” His gaze ran across all of her body, taking his time on her curves rather than clothing. “If you weren’t so small, I would even steal this jacket from you.”

“You can surely try it out. Show some skin, you know?” Not hiding the flirtatious tone in her voice, she rested her back against the door frame and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Held his gaze in a teasing challenge, inviting him to join her there.

“You know I have no problem doing that,” the rumbling sound in his chest vibrated towards her as he chuckled, completely at ease, “Especially for you.”

“I should have bought you those ugly holiday sweaters, the ones with reindeers fucking on it.” Ziofra rolled her eyes, but followed his movements as he stepped closer to rest his right forearm on the wall behind her, caging her. “It would suit you very well,” she provoked further, a sly smile on her lips.

Mason took note of her mouth, the way one corner lifted higher than the other, and how eager he was to kiss it. Tried to bury the feeling in his chest, pretend it was nothing but a physical thing, and yet… There she was, right in front of him, gorgeous and comfortable. Her heartbeat surpassed every other sound, from the cheerful laughter of his companions to the crackling of the fire.

There was no denying how beautiful she was, but also he couldn’t help but to acknowledge that it wasn’t everything he thought of her. Everyday he felt more drawn to her as if she had a magnetic field, as if he needed to stay closer. It was good to stay closer. The world around him seemed to hush, allowing him to feel things that otherwise would be hidden. No more being overwhelmed by sensations everywhere, only a single one that grew roots in his chest and bloomed to his throat.

“Mason?” She whispered, calling him from his thoughts, but not meaning to move away.

His frown twitched when her heartbeat raced in anticipation, realising his own matched the rhythm. Mason leaned down, the stormy eyes switching from the violet of her irises to the rosy of her lips, slowly, until the shrieking sound of Felix’s voice pulled him away from her.

“Hey, love doves,” he called from behind, walking towards the door with the rest of the team, “We’re going to the game room. You guys coming?”

Mason grunted, shooting a piercing stare at the youngest, who raised both of his hands in self defense. Ziofra blinked a few times, as if only catching up with the situation moments later.

“We will be there in a bit,” she exhaled, and a chuckle followed as the team passed by them to the corridor.

“Take your time,” Nate placed a hand on Mason’s shoulder, smiling warmly but, surprisingly enough, with hints of mischief. His brown eyes guided Mason’s up to the door frame above them, but he didn’t stay long enough to watch the other’s reaction.

When they were left alone, the vampire directed his attention back to the woman, biting his lips to conceal a smile.

“We’ve been here for a while,” he began, leaning his head back and looking up, “I believe that means I get more than just one kiss, no?”

“What do you mean?” the detective’s eyes followed his gaze. On the frame, glued with adhesive tape, a mistletoe—or was it a holly?—was hanging on top of them. “Oh.”

“So,” he prompted, encouraging her to answer his previous tease, “A kiss and what else?”

“I don’t think that’s a timed activity, smartass,” her chuckle filled his ears and surrounded his senses like a blanket, pulling out a smile on the corner of his lips. Ziofra placed her tiny hands on his chest, caressing him over his shirt and studying the lines of his neck, “But maybe later you’ll get more than a kiss.”

The tip of her fingers, colder than her palms, caressed his skin up to his jawline, only to trace back the path down and hold him by his collar. She pulled him closer, eyes fixed on his lips, and parting her own open just slightly. Her gaze full of desire met his, but there was something else to it. The faint blue of his eyes were darkened with the stormy grey, and he wasn’t leaning in to her. He seemed nervous, a bit annoyed. If she could listen to his heart as well as he could hear hers, she would have known how fast it was drumming, trying to rip off his chest.

“I have something for you,” he mumbled between clenched teeth, almost not moving his lips to speak. Reaching for the pocket of his jeans, Mason pulled a small box, clearly of jewelry, made of the darkest velvet. There were no wrappings around it, no laces or bows, just the box in its fancy simplicity.

Ziofra’s mind tried her best to quickly assess the situation, thousands of thoughts fussed all over with the rush of adrenaline in her bloodstream. Tried to conceal a shaky hand before accepting it in silence and holding the gift in both hands, feeling Mason’s gaze fixed on her. Inside the box, lined with the same dark velvet, stood a necklace made of such shiny silver that contrasted with its surroundings. The pendant was a simple linework of the silhouettes of two wolves, one slightly larger than the other, howling together.

“Mason…” she gasped, carefully pulling the necklace out of its display to examine it closer.

“Happy holidays,” he interrupted, almost growling, as if the words would sting him. Aside from minor things out of necessity for his team members, he couldn’t remember the last time he had bought something for anyone, especially a gift like that. A gift that got him as nervous as her, and as rewarding as watching the detective trying on the accessory with a shy smile on her face. Not a single snarky remark from her when the pendant touched her chest, cold on her skin.

When their eyes met again, and none of them waited for it, for there was nothing else to be said. Lips crashed into each other, yearning to be pressed together like gasping for air after a deep dive. Ziofra stretched her body on the tip of her toes, hugging the man by his shoulders and wrapping both arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his ebony locks, while he held her closer by her waist. His long fingers traced a careful path along her spine and landed on the back of her neck, feeling the heat and the shivers on her skin.

They could feel each other entirely, wrap themselves in their warmth and explore the bodies as if it was the first time, new and exciting, and when they deepened the kiss, there was nowhere else they would rather be, and nothing they would rather do.

There were only the two of them, and nothing else mattered.

[briannaswriter]

I was told I should take the high road. I should just accept that Hillary refuses to speak with me again. I shouldn’t expect answers from someone who won’t give them - has never given them. At the same time, I don’t feel like I can genuinely let this go without talking about it in a format that isn’t DMs.

This is really long, sorry? But I wanted to get all of it out because I want to be free of it, I don’t want it to keep being an ache in my heart whenever I think about it. 

tl;dr at the end. Feel free to reply, idc, I’ll get back to it tomorrow.  

I met Hillary in a group called @/heroesrpg in about 2012. While I was there, I operated under two pseudonyms: Miranda/Isa and Bea. The why for that is a long story. I have nothing negative to say about Hillary here! She was a great friend who taught me a lot about writing and challenged me to become a better writer. I don’t think I would have gotten this far without writing with her. When I left heroes in about 2013, we didn’t keep in touch. I didn’t really stay in the RP world so I didn’t pay attention to it.

In 2014, I was invited to join Ashbourne at her behest. I don’t recall the specifics of how I found it, I think it was simply me reaching out to her again and finding out she was in a group which she invited me to join, too. I ended up playing a woman named Nadeya Khan who was in a ship with her that was later discarded. Later I picked up Shiloh Morgan, the best friend of her character, Adam, and later Mira Lowell, the elder sister of her character Meyer.

I won’t lie, these dynamics were a lot of fun and I enjoyed playing them.

I was upset that my ship with Nadeya and Adam was discarded (I have a distaste for Adam and the FC Ben/edict Cumberba/tch now, I’m petty, sue me), but I think it was more sucky when all threads with them trickled to a halt. To me, it felt like my character was no longer important because it wasn’t a ship, even if a friendship dynamic would have been just as interesting. I ignored this feeling.

I was sad to leave the group, but I was uncomfortable with an interaction from another player and feeling pushed aside in favor of other ships so I made the decision to leave.

I did keep in touch with Hillary, or I attempted to, but once we were no longer in a group together, we just sorta drifted. We didn’t talk for the longest time here and I forgot her url for a long time. Frankly, I’m not sure how I found it again!

We started interacting again in about September 2018 when I think I reached out to her. This eventually ended with the creation of @lethe-rpg where we could write about old time favorite characters - and we wrote so much in Lethe’s run. Everything from romances, to long-lost parent, to siblings, to best friends, to unrequited loves. We wrote nearly twenty characters each and over ten ships in the time Lethe ran from September/October 2018 to June 2020 when it closed. Or, I should say, we wrote all of these things in theory and a lot of it happened behind the scenes in DM’s between us. When we did write things, they would frequently reach only a reply or two before we had to move onto the next one because she didn’t want to finish the one before. I’ll fully admit that I found this frustrating after a while - but I found it difficult to say no to her about anything, or to speak out against her.

Not only was she my friend, but I very much looked up to her. I considered her a mentor as much as a friend, and her approval meant a lot to me. It meant agreeing with dynamics I didn’t enjoy

pushing for a ship between my character Wesley and ANY of hers. Even if it was already mentioned to her that I had an ongoing connection with another character. If I tried to make this dynamic a friendly connection instead, it was promptly dropped altogether.

trying to get a ship between Gemma and Nate when I mentioned point blank that I didn’t want a pre-planned romantic thing with him after his other one failed.

the fact that Gemma and Lily didn’t get like any interactions completed together until I relented a little on Gemma/Nate. Any mention of them was largely forgotten. Half the time, Lily was treated like a child who hadn’t experienced any pain. Not just from Gemma, but from Gabe and from Hillary herself, who seemed to think that my young FC meant nothing compared to the history I had written for this character. Lily in general was ignored until she brought Lachlan along and prodded him into a ship with Lily. Do you know how many starters I wrote on Lily that were ignored?

the fact that Pat/Kate were the oldest ship in the group but they had like one completed thread the entire time lol.

the fact that Odette/Kate were the oldest family dynamic in the group who had like three NOTES between them.

the fact that Odette/Orion became a ship later who were just... never written. I can be honest now, I found them boring and I’m wondering if she felt the same, or if the lack of writing made me dislike them. Either way, Orion became a drain on my Odette muse, just as the lack of Kate/Odette was.

most stuff with Odette makes me sad. I feel like I had really good connections for her that... didn’t work out, and maybe I took to long to address it.

Mira/Andreas is a dynamic I blame myself on. I did feel sorta like I wasn’t getting anything written with her old ship, and I think me and the mun were drained on it, so while Mira was on hiatus and the mun for her last ship, Clark, was debating letting him go/killing him off, I didn’t mind discussing a new ship. I wanted this ship to be a slow burn, I wanted proper closer on the last one because it was a good ship and the mun is a good friend. This was handled with so little tact on her part, we were instantly hitting ship dynamics from the beginning and I found it callous. I dragged out replies just to avoid it. A shame, because I loved the dynamic, but the way it was handled put a bad taste in my mouth

she wanted an August/Delilah ship? Which I didn’t really want, but she’s really good at convincing you bit by bit that it’s a great idea. When I finally jumped onto this ship and flung myself into it, we got like two notes into it and nothing. Are you seeing the theme yet?

I got nothing against Arthur/Cora because I loved writing them, the only thing I did dislike is how rushed they were and how little I got to explore some of the Riverborn aspects of Arthur’s story with Cora. Also a pregnancy happened hella fast.

But I did have something against the Meadowes dynamic altogether: we had so many pieces of it to use that were never written. I failed sometimes on my part, but a lot of it was Hillary getting easily distracted by something else. Cora/Faolan were rarely written beyond the first reply to a thread. Gabe/Faolan were often two notes in and done. Faolan/Alistair lasted a bit longer, I was impressed. Gemma/Lily was mentioned above, but I’ll also mention how often she tried to take pieces of Faolan’s history and twist it to be her character’s pain without any consideration to previously discussed lore or connections. It wasn’t even about a connection anymore - it was about making her character the focal point. Look at how the Daniel Bisset, Aurelie, and Gabe things turned out: half of the plots were twisted to benefit Gabe’s momentum in the story, and the pieces of angst that should rightly lingered on Aurelie were shifted to the side. I didn’t even write that ship, and sometimes looking at them made me feel like a discarded sweater, but they were cute. Anyhow, this is long, moving on.

Faolan/Saby. I literally almost forgot about them, but like... Legit, I’m glad this ship ended because Saby was wholly too dependent on Faolan’s feelings for her, which he couldn’t even acknowledge because he was still in love with his two centuries deceased wife. Was this handled gracefully, did we get to slow-burn some of their stuff in writing? Sometimes. But again, they weren’t really written, and the ship was pushed and pushed, even when I wasn’t really interested in writing it because I didn’t want a ship for him yet.

Aliza/Tien was twisted out of me piece by piece, prodding at the parts of the Aliza/James connection I found uncomfortable (like the murder, like how difficult it was to plot after a point) until Tien seemed like the best answer. This was late enough into Lethe that I woke up enough to cut the ship off and drop the dynamic. In hindsight, I regret letting this even get so far.

Jonas. Just... most of the things written with him lol because he was constantly pushed onto my characters and others. Jo was hinted as a thing, Wesley was hinted as a thing, I think Nate was at one time. It definitely opened my eyes to the fact that she wanted a ship and that dynamics outside of that were largely ignored.

Do you know what it was like to put your heart into a character / story that was ignored ENTIRELY because she didn’t ship with them? Do you know what its like to be excited about a friendship or sibling or parental dynamic that... stopped getting written because your friend only wrote the character for a ship and the next shiny thing attracted her attention and instead of letting the character go, she made you think the next reply was right around the corner? Do you know how many threads we wrote that didn’t go anywhere, and how thrilled I was to write them still because I thought each time it would be different?

TL;DR: if it wasn’t a ship dynamic, it wasn’t written. If it was a ship dynamic, it was sometimes written. If you weren’t doing any of those things, you were ignored.

TL;DR 2: Do not misread this, please. I understand that RL comes first, I understand that dynamics change, that you’re allowed to change your mind. But do you realize how often I was strung along, or how often I was shoved aside? How hard it was to keep a character going sometimes because their big connection was only important for about a week?

and biting my tongue when my own feelings were callously ignored

when we wrote a ship between Selene/Gabe which was later discarded for a ship with Aurelie which had a much better chemistry, but was handled with little tact for my own feelings as I received constant updates on how their ship progressed, and also how the friendship we developed between Selene and Gabe was just dropped altogether - as it was with Adam/Nadeya so many years ago - instead of revamped to fit a changed dynamic as we discussed ooc.

when I would message her and be ignored unless it was about one of our ships

like the fact that I became an admin in Lethe to help her out and eventually the burdens of handling it were on my shoulders. I don’t mind this, but when it came to asking her for help on simple matters (sending me the psd for banners when I switched computers and no longer had it, posting a bio, skimming a post so I could verify it was okay to post, plotting out future events, posting unfollows/follows for people) or asking if she could write something from an admin post, getting a “sure! I’ll do that later!” and then finding out it wasn’t done for a week until I sucked it up and did it myself. We addressed this eventually, but Lethe ended shortly afterwards. 

So. That’s how the last two years have gone, and lord knows how much I’ve forgotten. Hillary and I wrote so much over the last two years, and we definitely grew close. I thought we were beyond just writing friends, that we might have been real friends (after all, we sent christmas/birthday gifts to each other. Hell, I still use the mouse pad she gave me).

I ignored the way she ignored me if we weren’t writing something interesting. I ignored the way she didn’t care about my characters even passively until I shipped with her in some form. I ignored how it felt when entire sections of a back and forth DM was ignored if she didn’t care about the character. I ignored how she refused to write with other people because she disliked their FC, or she didn’t want to write with the mun, or she found the character boring. Half the time, she found a character boring because she didn’t bother learning about them, and the moment she did read about them, they were intriguing. I ignored how she belittled my other ships with other players because “oh I don’t think they click” or “imo that one is boring” or tried to poach those characters to one of her ships. I ignored how she made me feel like a part-time friend sometimes and her best friend other times. 

I ignored the way she didn’t help with admin problems even when she knew admin duties were taking a toll on me as people demanded more and more from me. Not even when we discussed ways to handle things on both our parts to make it easier and promptly ignored them the first chance she got.

She made me feel so important when we would headcanon things. It felt like my characters were important, and that I was a good writer with clever ideas and intriguing characters, and that writing her was reaching a pinnacle that others couldn’t reach. She never said this, I’ll give her credit for that, but I have to admit, I felt like my characters didn’t work out unless I had a connection with her.

The last few months were eye opening. I had already spent the last year frustrating from her lack of leadership as an admin, and anger for the way she ignored people’s feelings even when it was pointed out and gave the bare minimum when interacting with other people, and sadness for the fun dynamics we had discussed but never wrote beyond the posted biography. When Lethe ended, I was ready to let it go and move on, I said my peace about my admin things and letting the characters go meant a fresh start. To me, we were friends REGARDLESS OF BEING IN A GROUP TOGETHER OR WRITING TOGETHER. You don’t talk about ooc things and ic things as much as we did only to stop talking the instant you’re done writing together, right?

Wrong. She didn’t even help us close the group that she created, or helped us discuss things with members who weren’t sure what was happening. I gave her time, just short messages about random things because I wanted her to know that I didn’t hold Lethe’s end against her, that we were friends anyway. Those messages were ignored. I gave her more time and then after nearly a month or maybe two, I finally messaged her on tumblr with a brief snippet on how thankful I was to know her because she helped me as a writer, and apologized if I implied Lethe ending was her fault (which I still agree that it wasn’t entirely, it was a situation handled callously and frankly I still think people should have considered that Hillary was barely 3% of the admin team at the time since Ally and I were shouldering the burdens of everything else). I mentioned how I felt like our friendship was being ignored because we weren’t writing together, and how I had thought after nearly two years of talking that we were friends enough to chat once in a while at least, but if we are only RP friends, let me know so at least I don’t have to fucking think about it.

Do you think that got a response?

It didn’t. She didn’t log into discord to chat about it or something else, she didn’t respond to the message, nothing. She quietly unfollowed me and then blocked me. She unfriended me on facebook, I feel like that’s answer enough.

I’ve known her at least eight years and while some of those times were brief, the last two years were most certainly not. And not only does it make me angry that I’ll never know whether she just dislikes me, or whether I made her uncomfortable, or what, I’m also just... really upset that I lost an eight year friendship. There’s only one person I know longer than her and I had hoped that, if not real friends, then we would still be able to meet up in another group together someday. Now it’ll never happen again, and it devastates me. I can count my friends on one hand and I thought, you know, that she was one of them. It feels like a physical blow whenever something comes up on the dash that involves her. I feel so stupid for thinking we were friends when she showed me her priorities in Ashbourne, when she showed me in little pieces here and there throughout Lethe. I feel stupid for writing this entire thing and crying about it. I feel stupid for assuming.

And I don’t know how to talk about this in a way that’ll let me say goodbye to it because I do need to let it go, but I’m afraid that if I do, I’ll lose my ability to write because she’s been such a big part of the writing journey for me.

So here it is. Eight years of friendship summed up in however long this is and here I am, trying to let go - and still a little part of me hopes she’ll see it and reach out about something, anything. And a bigger part that’s angry and doesn’t want to talk to her ever again because I don’t want to do this another time.

tl;dr:

I miss my friend Hillary, but also she’s kind of a shitty friend who only seems to care about people when they are writing with her and I’m an idiot for thinking anything else when I’ve had eight years to learn it. Likely if she did find this post, it’ll be misinterpreted in every way until I’m not only an idiot, but also I’m a bully who didn’t give her time and space, who pushed things on her she didn’t want, who she pitied. Because it just occurred to me now how easily she can warp the truth, how she can prod things bit by bit, until it fits just how she wants things to look that’ll benefit her the most. I love my friend, but I’m done. No matter how much I miss her, I deserve more than to be the butt of whatever joke she wants to say to make this sound cool.

[fanficshiddles]

You owe me, Chapter 29

April was startled awake by a shrill screeching sound that filled the small hotel room.

She shot up, eyes wide. But all she could see was the girl on the sofa, backing away scared and Loki having just came in the door with a tray of breakfast and a piece of toast in his mouth. He had frozen on the spot when she screamed, looking wide eyed.

April just laughed at the look on his face, having toast shoved in his gob made it even funnier.

The girl looked over at April, confused at her laughing. Then she looked back at Loki, terrified.

Loki moved slowly across the room, putting down the tray of food on the table. He then grabbed a plate and went to the bed to join April. Once he was sitting against the headboard and April started eating, he looked over at the girl.

‘That’s for you.’ He motioned to the tray on the table next to her.

He’d got a variety of food, not sure what she would want to eat.

She looked at the tray, like it would suddenly snap and bite her. Then she looked back at Loki and April nervously.

‘It’s ok. You can eat.’ April said with a kind smile.

The girl was very hesitant, but she did swing her stick-like legs over the side of the sofa as she reached out to take the tray. She took a while before she started eating, but once she started, she couldn’t stop.

‘I never thought I’d meet someone with a bigger appetite than April.’ Loki said jokingly, earning a jab in his side from April’s elbow.

‘Ow.’ He whined and glared at her.

April motioned with her eyes towards the girl, silently communicating to him that it probably wasn’t the best time to be joking about that kind of thing.

But the girl didn’t seem to have noticed, or maybe she didn’t care. She just ate the food and kept her eyes down. Once she finished eating, she sat there nervously.

April decided to try and get through to her. She got off the bed and slowly walked over towards her, then sat down next to her on the sofa.

‘You know, you’re safe now… You’re free. You don’t have to be scared anymore.’ April said softly.

The girl looked at April, eyes wide and confused. Then she glanced over at Loki before looking back at April.

‘You don’t have to worry about him. He’s just a big idiot.’ April motioned to Loki.

The girl looked over again and Loki just waved with an over the top smile. Making April face-palm.

‘What’s your name?’ April asked, getting the girls attention again.

It took a minute before she responded.

‘Donna.’ Her voice was slightly croaky. It was likely she hadn’t been allowed to speak for god knows how long.

‘Well, Donna. My name is April. And that’s Loki. I know you must be scared and confused right now. But I used to be one of you.’

Donna’s eyes widened. ‘How…’ She gasped out.

‘I managed to escape, just. It was years ago, but I’ve been working to try and find Alexander again. To take him out and to save you all. I messed up a bit last night, not following through with a plan and being too eager to get to him. But at least we got you out.’ April smiled.

She was desperate to just ask her for information, whether she knew where Alexander and the girls would be heading. But she knew she would have to tread lightly and not spook her more than she already was.

Donna didn’t know what to say. She looked down at her hands in her lap.

‘How old are you?’ Loki asked, still on the bed to keep distance from her.

‘Twenty-eight.’ Donna said, not making eye contact with Loki. Still unsure of him.

‘How long have you been stuck with him?’ April asked.

Donna frowned, in thought for a moment. ‘Four years… I think.’

Loki’s eyes widened in shock. So did April’s. She dreaded to think how many babies she’d been made to have.

‘What’s your last name? We can try and contact some family or friends. They must be missing you.’ Loki suggested.

‘It’s Clark.’

April suddenly shot up, hands over her mouth and she seemed rather excited. Loki looked utterly confused.

‘Oh my god! You’re Donna Clark, from Florida?’

Donna nodded, wondering what April was getting so excited about.

‘You’re Nate’s best friend!’ April ran across the room to grab her phone to call him.

‘You know Nate?’ Donna asked, coughing slightly.

‘I do. We wouldn’t have found Alexander without him. He’s been trying to help take him down ever since you were taken.’ April said quickly.

Donna had a few tears while April spoke to Nate on the phone. Nate was so happy to hear that she was alive and as ok as could be. He was going to head over as soon as he could, but it wouldn’t be until later that night.

A little while later, Donna was sleeping again after having a shower.

April was lying on the bed, spread out. She was rubbing her temples as she had a sore head. Loki joined her on the bed and lay on his side next to her, hand on her chest with his thumb rubbing against her neck.

‘Are you going to try asking her again?’ Loki asked.

‘I don’t know. She seemed pretty adamant that she didn’t have a clue about where they were going.’ April sighed.

She’d tried asking Donna about where Alexander was heading next with the other girls, but it was proving to be a useless task.

Suddenly April had a brainwave. She sat up straight and looked down at Loki.

‘You! You could use your mind, thing. Where you can see people’s memories? There might be something that she doesn’t remember but might be there subconsciously.’

Loki ran his hand down his face, not looking overly pleased with that idea.

‘I don’t know, love. It’s a risky thing to do, it might also pull other memories from her that she’s been trying to keep hidden and forget.’ Loki felt torn on what to do.

‘But we need to try. We need to know where he’s going, before it’s too late. God knows how far he’s gotten now. I know it’s my fault, but we need to try and save the rest of the girls.’ April said pleadingly.

Loki sighed and thought for a moment. ‘Alright, I’ll do it.’ He agreed.

He was a little reluctant to do so, but he quietly crept over towards Donna and was careful to sit on the edge of the sofa, not waking her up. He then hovered his palm over her forehead and took in a deep breath before he pressed his palm against her and started sifting through her memories just from the last few days.

Loki could feel so much anguish, defeat, horror, sadness, emptiness… The memories even just from the last few days were truly awful for the poor girl. Loki felt rage build up inside of him at the way the girls were treated, it was the worst thing he had ever seen. And he had seen a lot of awful things…

April watched from the bed anxiously, nibbling on her nails. Loki looked deep in concentration, his face changing a lot from sadness to anger. Then he finally stopped, gasping.

Donna was thrashing in her sleep now, the memories that were pulled from her seeming like a nightmare to her. Luckily, she never woke up, so Loki got away from her in time without being caught. And she soon settled down again.

He sat on the bed next to April, looking shook up.

‘Any luck?’ April gulped.

Loki looked at April intensely. Then, surprising her, he pulled her into a crushing hug.

‘L…Loki?’ She squeaked.

‘I am so relieved you got away from him when you did.’ Loki whispered into her hair, still not letting her go.

April was slightly shocked and surprised, but she wasn’t going to complain. Even if it did feel like he was smushing the life out of her.

Eventually he let her go, and she saw his eyes were slightly watery. It made her heart melt completely.

‘I know where they’re headed. She was present when they were discussing plans. The poor girl was really conditioned and trained to block everything out, not taking in any of the conversations that went on between the men. It’s terrifying.’ Loki swallowed the lump in his throat.

‘Yeah, I think they’d be good at that over time.’ April snarled angrily. ‘Where are they headed?’

‘To the harbour, seems they’re shipping them out of Australia. So, we better get going.’ Loki stood up and started gathering all their things together.

April wrote out a note for Donna, saying to stay there and that Nate would be along to get her soon. She also left some money for her as well and wished her luck.

Loki put a spell over the door, so she couldn’t leave. For her own safety, she wasn’t in the right mind frame. He made it so only Nate could get in. Then he and April got in their car and headed off across Australia again.

It took a few hours to get to the harbour. They only hoped and prayed that they weren’t going to be too late. But Loki was almost certain they would just about make it, going off what Donna had heard.

When they got there, it was dark. But they managed to park up and sneak into the harbour, there wasn’t many people going around, which made it easier for them. It wasn’t looking like their luck was in, until a large van pulled up right by a boat.

April and Loki ducked behind a big container and peeped round to watch.

‘There he is.’ April whispered as Alexander got out of the van.

Two more vans turned up and a bunch of men got out. They were wearing weird armour and had odd looking guns. They opened the first van and there were seventeen girls in total.

‘Come on, move out!’ One of the men shouted and started hauling the girls out of the van.

Loki frowned and looked closer, there was something about the men that was niggling at him. But he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

‘Come on, let’s go!’ April whispered to Loki, but he put his arm around her to stop her.

‘Wait. There’s something about those guys…’ Loki trailed off, his eyes widening suddenly when he spotted a badge on one of the men.

‘Oh no.’

‘What?’ April asked.

‘That’s SHIELD agents.’

[queen-scribbles]

By Any Other Name

Heyyyy, first Wayhaven Chronicles fic. /finger guns 

---

One definite advantage--and to be honest, Abigail’s favorite--of knowing the truth about Unit Bravo, her mother’s work, and the supernatural in general was how much less tense it made things. Amazingly, not keeping secrets made casual conversation so much easier.

Well, she amended with a small, private smile, glancing between the two members of said unit currently sharing her office space, in some cases more than others.

Felix grinned, having caught the expression, subtle as it was. “Smiling at the sight of me, Detective?” he teased, and Abigail couldn’t help but snort a small laugh. Before she could open her mouth to reply, however, he rolled right on, grin shifted somewhere closer to a smirk, “Or was it Natey that did it?”

Her coffee sloshed as she set the mug down a bit more hurriedly than intended, in tandem with Nate’s mildly exasperated sigh and straightened posture in the chair he’d claimed.

His quiet but reproving, “Felix...” only bought her a few seconds to scramble for her wits, but hopefully that was enough.

Abigail shook her head, tucking a curl that slid loose with the motion behind her ear. “Just thinkin’ how nice it is t’ be in the know, now. I hate feelin’ kept in th’ dark.”

Nate shifted in the chair, brow crinkling over those unfairly deep brown eyes of his. “I truly am sorry we weren’t free to tell you sooner, detective.”

She bit the inside of her cheek at the gooseflesh that prickled up her arms and instead flashed a warm smile. “I know. An’ I understand it bein’ to protect me, that’s always been Mum’s primary concern. All I meant is it’s nice t’ be able t’ just talk to you. A-All of you,” she corrected hastily, not even daring to look at Felix. If she so much as glimpsed a knowing grin from him, she would very likely burst into flames of embarrassment  “I mean, the ones who deign to,” she joked, trying to change the subject at least a little.

“Ahhh, Adam’ll come around,” Felix said with an encouraging smile. “He’s just grumpy about about working with a human.” He winked. “Even one as special as you are. Might not ever be as fun as us, mind you, but he’ll play nicer once he sees you can keep up.”

“Which we know you can,” Nate added quickly(too quickly?) with a warm smile.

“I appreciate your votes of confidence,” Abigail said with a small laugh. “But good as that is t’ know, I wasn’t thinkin’ of Adam.”

“Eh, Mason hardly talks to anyone,” Felix said, gesturing dismissively with one hand. “I wouldn’t take that personally, detective.”

“Y’know,” she began, running her finger around the rim of her mug with a smile, “if we’re goin’ to be working t’gether more closely”--a quickly raised brow to head off the comment he was about to make--”you don’t need t’ be so formal from here on out.”

“Really?” they said in unison, Felix with yet another grin and Nate with a brow raised in surprise. “That’s... very nice of you,” Nate added, holding her gaze.

Abigail shrugged and glanced down at her desk, picking at the edge of her memo pad. “Why not? It’ll help build a sense of camaraderie, yeah?”

“Not that some of us need any help there,” Felix muttered, amber eyes glinting with mischief.

She ignored him, or tried to. But her cheeks were still warm as she let her gaze drift to the computer screen. Shoot, is that the time? It really did pass faster when you enjoyed your company. “Alright, fun as this is, break’s over. We need t’ get back to work.”

Nate nodded, sitting forward in his chair. “Of course. What’s next?”

Felix, on the other hand, slouched even more comfortably, giving a playfully dramatic groan. “Aw, Abby, do we have to?”

Abigail just barely bit back the grimace, her jaw tightening a brief moment before she answered Nate’s question. “I want to see if Verda’s found anything new, and we should probably check in with Adam and Mason, see what they’ve learned.”

“I’ll come with you,” Nate said, pushing to his feet. “Felix can handle finding the others.”

“That eager to get rid of me, are you?” Felix chuckled, reluctantly peeling himself out of his chair as well.

“No, I just think you’ll enjoy getting out of the station for a while more than you would visiting the lab,” Nate replied smoothly.

“One being true doesn’t mean the other isn’t,” Felix said with a wink, but he headed out the door all the same. “You two behave yourselves, now.”

Abigail chuckled softly as she watched him exit the station.

Nate was holding the door for her when she looked back. “After you,” he smiled. “Abigail.”

She bit her lip to keep her answering sunny smile from spreading too uncontrollably as she stepped through. “Thank you. Nate.” 

“I’m sorry if he jumped straight to being more casual than you intended,” Nate said as they headed for the stairs.

“Oh, no, nothin’ against nicknames,” she said, shoving her hands in her pockets. Of course he’d caught her reaction.  “I’m just not fond of that particular one.”

Despite the brow he quirked in curiosity, Nate did not push for an explanation as to why she disliked the most common short form of her given name. The walk down the stairs wasn’t long, but when they reached the pathology lab door, it was closed with an ‘Out to Lunch’ note stuck on the glass.

“Does he always eat this late?” Nate asked, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Not often, but it has been known t’ happen,” Abigail said, pulling out her phone to double-check the time, even through she’d just seen it a few minutes prior.

“Is it worth waiting for him to return, or should we meet up with the others for now, and check back later?”

She nibbled her lower lip in thought. “I’m really curious if he found anything with the new parameters we suggested,” she finally admitted around a sigh. “Let’s give it a few minutes, yeah? If he’s not back in five t’ ten, we’ll regroup with th’ rest of Bravo and I’ll just talk to him tomorrow, I guess.”

He nodded. “Alright.”

The two leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, and Abigail tried to suppress a shiver as the chill from the painted cinder-blocks sank through her clothes. Neither of them spoke at first, allowing companionable silence to settle over them. There was something more to it, however; an edge of heat or tension that was not in the least unpleasant, even if it was distracting.

“Kids used t’ pick on me,” Abigail said abruptly. “Why I don’t like Abby,” she elaborated, then wrinkled her nose sheepishly when Nate cocked his head in confusion. “Sorry, I’m doin’ this wrong way ‘round, aren’t I?”

“It’s alright,” he smiled, half turning to face her. “But don’t feel like you have to explain-”

“I don’t,” she assured him. “I want to.” The loose curl slipped free from behind her ear, and she wound it around her finger as she started over. “I’ve got a fair dose of straight Irish in me thanks to my dad, an’ it decided t’ manifest in th’ most stereotypical way possible”--she paused to tug the rebellious red lock around her finger and gesture to the freckles that covered her face--”which makes me rather hard t’ miss.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Nate commented, but from the warmth of his smile, he wasn’t complaining, either.

Abigail’s face warmed, despite the chilly surroundings, and she looked down at her boots rather than risk losing herself in those eyes. “Anyways, kids bein’ kids, my schoolmates decided that if I looked an Irish stereotype, maybe I was other ones, too. Y’know, the temper, the stubbornness, th’ tendency t’ chatter. An’ well,” she hunched her shoulders, feeling a fresh chill from the cinder-blocks as she moved off the patch she’d warmed through contact. “Kids can be absolutely horrid when they want t’ be. If I talked too much I was ‘Gabby Abby’, otherwise it was ‘Abby the Red’ both for m’ hair and th’ color m’ face went tryin’ t’ weather their jibes without givin’ them the response they were hopin’ for.” A self-deprecating smile pulled at her lips as she scuffed one boot against the tiled floor. “Got real good at that. Maybe too good, considerin’ how long it took later teachers and friends t’ pull me out of my shell.” She finally looked back up to find Nate studying her with such intensity and concern it made her want to freeze and slide closer at the same time. “I know it’s more’n a decade ago, an’ a silly reason t’ dislike a nickname, especially one so common, and surely not meant the same way by anyone now, but...”

“Abigail,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “It’s not silly. Even if it was, it doesn’t matter. If it makes you uncomfortable, then that’s reason enough not to do it. I’ll talk to Felix.”

She shook her head, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “I’ll do it. It’s my name. B’sides, he might listen better hearin’ it from th’ source.”

Nate laughed. “An excellent point. He will ask for alternatives, mind you.”

“Mm, will he?” she replied with a laugh of her own. “Perhaps simply ‘Abigail’ is good enough for now.”

“I think so,” he said softly, smile tugging his lips as he gently tucked the hair back behind her ear. “And not just for now.”

She was suddenly very, very aware of her heartbeat, the cinder-block wall pressing her shoulder as she turned to face him, and just how alone they were down here. “Thank you, Nate,” she mumbled, fighting the urge to reach up and touch the hair he’d just smoothed back. “And also thank you for comin’ with me. Th’ creepy basement hallway doesn’t seem so bad with... with company.”

Nate’s smile bloomed even more fully, as if he guessed the extra word she’d almost dropped in that sentence, and he leaned a little closer. “You’re very welcome, Abigail. It’s no trouble, and we are supposed to be protecting you, after all.”

Abigail smiled and drifted closer to him. “Oh, I see. So protection’s the only reason you’re keepin’ me company, Agent Sewell?”

His smile stretched into a full-blown grin and he closed the distance still further, now close enough she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. Which she very much wanted to do, especially if he was going to keep looking at her like that. “What do you think, Detective Jenings?”

God, her heart was either going to leap out of her chest or stop altogether. “I think-”

“Oh, detective, I’m sorry, have you been waiting long?”

Abigail’s eyes fluttered closed and she fought down the rapidly rising scream of frustration. She really was going to shoot the next thing that did that, human, vampire, or otherwise. No matter who it was. “Not long, Verda,” she said, shooting Nate a final lingering look as she spun to face the source of the latest horribly timed interruption with a smile on her face. “We’d just wanted to see if you had found anything new?”

Verda’s gaze flicked across the small gap between her and Nate as he nodded.  “Actually, yes. I hadn’t quite finished writing up my report, but if you two would like to come in” --he moved past them to unlock and open the door--”I can have it done in just a minute.”

“Thanks, that would be great.” Abigail trailed him through the doorway, a faint smile pulling her lips when Nate had to duck as he followed suit, butterflies tickling in her chest when the movement brought him close enough their arms almost brushed in the moment before he straightened.

“I’ll just need a minute,” Verda reiterated, sliding onto his stool and tugging over the manila folder.

“Take your time,” she assured him, leaning against a counter. Nate mirrored the pose nearby, and when she glanced his direction, Abigail caught him studying her again. The two of them shared an only mildly-abashed smile before they settled in to wait for the report.

And if their hands happened to slip against the shiny metal counter and wind up closer to each other, well, that was obviously an accident. Nothing more.

True to his word, Verda finished the report swiftly and handed it over. Abigail thanked him, Nate held the door for her, and the two of them headed back up the stairs. Her phone chimed as they stepped back into her office, and she pulled it out to check the screen, fairly certain she knew what it was, considering Nate’s pocket buzzed practically in tandem.

Sure enough, “Felix says we need t’ meet up with them. Guess they found somethin’ important.” Abigail gave a wry chuckle and tucked the report in a drawer. “So that could’ve waited for t’morrow after all,” she commented, reaching for her jacket. 

“At least now you’ll have it soon as you come in,” Nate pointed out.

“True.” They pulled on their jackets and he waited while she closed up her office. “Felix didn’t happened t’ tell you where they are, did he?” she asked, bemused, as they made their way out of the station. It was a rather important piece of information, and one he’d left off.

He shook his head and held the door for her, smile pulling at his lips. “He did not. We’ll just have to walk until we find them.”

The shiver that traipsed up her spine had nothing to do with the cool air, Abigail was fairly certain. She smiled. “Oh, what a shame.”

Nate chuckled and shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. “Is it? I can’t think of many better ways to spend such an afternoon than a good walk with good company.”

Her face flamed as she fell in step beside him, noting once again how he checked his stride so she could keep up. “Hard t’ argue with that. An’ at least it’s still light; keeps it from bein’ too chilly.”

“As well as allowing us to enjoy the view.” His expression was innocent and gaze on the picturesque streets spread before them, but there was just enough a hint of something in his voice to tell her there was deeper meaning to the words.

“That it does,” she agreed lightly, her own faux innocence even more easily seen through than his, she was sure. “No rush, then, I suppose?”

“Not so far as I’m concerned,” Nate said. “Adam might disagree.”

“Best not to mosey, then,” Abigail replied with a quiet chuckle.

Even if they didn’t mosey through the streets, they didn’t exactly hurry, either. It gave them plenty of time to enjoy the weather and company both, an arrangement that suited Abigail just fine. She planned to enjoy all the benefits of knowing the truth, but she’d have been lying to deny that these sorts of moments were right at the top of the list.

[imagine-loki]

You owe me, Chapter 29

TITLE: You owe me CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 29 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine after the battle in New York, Odin sent Loki back to Earth without his powers as punishment. SHIELD are after him and he meets a woman who isn’t all she seems at first and she has her own agenda. The two end up teaming up, to help one another. But it’s not quite as plain sailing as they’d hoped. RATING: M

April was startled awake by a shrill screeching sound that filled the small hotel room.

She shot up, eyes wide. But all she could see was the girl on the sofa, backing away scared and Loki having just came in the door with a tray of breakfast and a piece of toast in his mouth. He had frozen on the spot when she screamed, looking wide eyed.

April just laughed at the look on his face, having toast shoved in his gob made it even funnier.

The girl looked over at April, confused at her laughing. Then she looked back at Loki, terrified.

Loki moved slowly across the room, putting down the tray of food on the table. He then grabbed a plate and went to the bed to join April. Once he was sitting against the headboard and April started eating, he looked over at the girl.

‘That’s for you.’ He motioned to the tray on the table next to her.

He’d got a variety of food, not sure what she would want to eat.

She looked at the tray, like it would suddenly snap and bite her. Then she looked back at Loki and April nervously.

‘It’s ok. You can eat.’ April said with a kind smile.

The girl was very hesitant, but she did swing her stick-like legs over the side of the sofa as she reached out to take the tray. She took a while before she started eating, but once she started, she couldn’t stop.

‘I never thought I’d meet someone with a bigger appetite than April.’ Loki said jokingly, earning a jab in his side from April’s elbow.

‘Ow.’ He whined and glared at her.

April motioned with her eyes towards the girl, silently communicating to him that it probably wasn’t the best time to be joking about that kind of thing.

But the girl didn’t seem to have noticed, or maybe she didn’t care. She just ate the food and kept her eyes down. Once she finished eating, she sat there nervously.

April decided to try and get through to her. She got off the bed and slowly walked over towards her, then sat down next to her on the sofa.

‘You know, you’re safe now… You’re free. You don’t have to be scared anymore.’ April said softly.

The girl looked at April, eyes wide and confused. Then she glanced over at Loki before looking back at April.

‘You don’t have to worry about him. He’s just a big idiot.’ April motioned to Loki.

The girl looked over again and Loki just waved with an over the top smile. Making April face-palm.

‘What’s your name?’ April asked, getting the girls attention again.

It took a minute before she responded.

‘Donna.’ Her voice was slightly croaky. It was likely she hadn’t been allowed to speak for god knows how long.

‘Well, Donna. My name is April. And that’s Loki. I know you must be scared and confused right now. But I used to be one of you.’

Donna’s eyes widened. ‘How…’ She gasped out.

‘I managed to escape, just. It was years ago, but I’ve been working to try and find Alexander again. To take him out and to save you all. I messed up a bit last night, not following through with a plan and being too eager to get to him. But at least we got you out.’ April smiled.

She was desperate to just ask her for information, whether she knew where Alexander and the girls would be heading. But she knew she would have to tread lightly and not spook her more than she already was.

Donna didn’t know what to say. She looked down at her hands in her lap.

‘How old are you?’ Loki asked, still on the bed to keep distance from her.

‘Twenty-eight.’ Donna said, not making eye contact with Loki. Still unsure of him.

‘How long have you been stuck with him?’ April asked.

Donna frowned, in thought for a moment. ‘Four years… I think.’

Loki’s eyes widened in shock. So did April’s. She dreaded to think how many babies she’d been made to have.

‘What’s your last name? We can try and contact some family or friends. They must be missing you.’ Loki suggested.

‘It’s Clark.’

April suddenly shot up, hands over her mouth and she seemed rather excited. Loki looked utterly confused.

‘Oh my god! You’re Donna Clark, from Florida?’

Donna nodded, wondering what April was getting so excited about.

‘You’re Nate’s best friend!’ April ran across the room to grab her phone to call him.

‘You know Nate?’ Donna asked, coughing slightly.

‘I do. We wouldn’t have found Alexander without him. He’s been trying to help take him down ever since you were taken.’ April said quickly.

Donna had a few tears while April spoke to Nate on the phone. Nate was so happy to hear that she was alive and as ok as could be. He was going to head over as soon as he could, but it wouldn’t be until later that night.

A little while later, Donna was sleeping again after having a shower.

April was lying on the bed, spread out. She was rubbing her temples as she had a sore head. Loki joined her on the bed and lay on his side next to her, hand on her chest with his thumb rubbing against her neck.

‘Are you going to try asking her again?’ Loki asked.

‘I don’t know. She seemed pretty adamant that she didn’t have a clue about where they were going.’ April sighed.

She’d tried asking Donna about where Alexander was heading next with the other girls, but it was proving to be a useless task.

Suddenly April had a brainwave. She sat up straight and looked down at Loki.

‘You! You could use your mind, thing. Where you can see people’s memories? There might be something that she doesn’t remember but might be there subconsciously.’

Loki ran his hand down his face, not looking overly pleased with that idea.

‘I don’t know, love. It’s a risky thing to do, it might also pull other memories from her that she’s been trying to keep hidden and forget.’ Loki felt torn on what to do.

‘But we need to try. We need to know where he’s going, before it’s too late. God knows how far he’s gotten now. I know it’s my fault, but we need to try and save the rest of the girls.’ April said pleadingly.

Loki sighed and thought for a moment. ‘Alright, I’ll do it.’ He agreed.

He was a little reluctant to do so, but he quietly crept over towards Donna and was careful to sit on the edge of the sofa, not waking her up. He then hovered his palm over her forehead and took in a deep breath before he pressed his palm against her and started sifting through her memories just from the last few days.

Loki could feel so much anguish, defeat, horror, sadness, emptiness… The memories even just from the last few days were truly awful for the poor girl. Loki felt rage build up inside of him at the way the girls were treated, it was the worst thing he had ever seen. And he had seen a lot of awful things…

April watched from the bed anxiously, nibbling on her nails. Loki looked deep in concentration, his face changing a lot from sadness to anger. Then he finally stopped, gasping.

Donna was thrashing in her sleep now, the memories that were pulled from her seeming like a nightmare to her. Luckily, she never woke up, so Loki got away from her in time without being caught. And she soon settled down again.

He sat on the bed next to April, looking shook up.

‘Any luck?’ April gulped.

Loki looked at April intensely. Then, surprising her, he pulled her into a crushing hug.

‘L…Loki?’ She squeaked.

‘I am so relieved you got away from him when you did.’ Loki whispered into her hair, still not letting her go.

April was slightly shocked and surprised, but she wasn’t going to complain. Even if it did feel like he was smushing the life out of her.

Eventually he let her go, and she saw his eyes were slightly watery. It made her heart melt completely.

‘I know where they’re headed. She was present when they were discussing plans. The poor girl was really conditioned and trained to block everything out, not taking in any of the conversations that went on between the men. It’s terrifying.’ Loki swallowed the lump in his throat.

‘Yeah, I think they’d be good at that over time.’ April snarled angrily. ‘Where are they headed?’

‘To the harbour, seems they’re shipping them out of Australia. So, we better get going.’ Loki stood up and started gathering all their things together.

April wrote out a note for Donna, saying to stay there and that Nate would be along to get her soon. She also left some money for her as well and wished her luck.

Loki put a spell over the door, so she couldn’t leave. For her own safety, she wasn’t in the right mind frame. He made it so only Nate could get in. Then he and April got in their car and headed off across Australia again.

It took a few hours to get to the harbour. They only hoped and prayed that they weren’t going to be too late. But Loki was almost certain they would just about make it, going off what Donna had heard.

When they got there, it was dark. But they managed to park up and sneak into the harbour, there wasn’t many people going around, which made it easier for them. It wasn’t looking like their luck was in, until a large van pulled up right by a boat.

April and Loki ducked behind a big container and peeped round to watch.

‘There he is.’ April whispered as Alexander got out of the van.

Two more vans turned up and a bunch of men got out. They were wearing weird armour and had odd looking guns. They opened the first van and there were seventeen girls in total.

‘Come on, move out!’ One of the men shouted and started hauling the girls out of the van.

Loki frowned and looked closer, there was something about the men that was niggling at him. But he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

‘Come on, let’s go!’ April whispered to Loki, but he put his arm around her to stop her.

‘Wait. There’s something about those guys…’ Loki trailed off, his eyes widening suddenly when he spotted a badge on one of the men.

‘Oh no.’

‘What?’ April asked.

‘That’s SHIELD agents.’

[yoshibb]

It’s been a rough month for me and one of the things that helped me through it is @seraphinitegames The Wayhaven Chronicles. A couple playthroughs of this game truly helped lift my spirits. So I wanted to do some fanart for it. I also wrote some fanfiction for this picture too which will hopefully not break the lore too much >.> But seriously, thank you Sera for creating such a lovely and romantic game for all of us. 

F!DetectivexNate fiction with a hint of Adam on the side (spoilers: takes place over halfway through the game)

"I'll stay," he offered, the second Adam asked for a volunteer. Nate realized how eager he sounded and attempted to temper his enthusiasm, "I doubt you'll have need for me if you're planning to knock a few heads together."

"I'm sure that's the only reason," Felix grinned at him and Nate rolled his eyes. He never missed an opportunity to grind him. 

"Sounds good. Call us if anything happens," Adam said, although he could sense the slightest bit of hesitation in his friend. Adam had seemed reluctant to watch Nate's relationship become any closer with Emma since they'd returned from the Agency. 

"I'm sure the Detective and I will be quite capable of handling things while you're gone," he smiled, playing ignorant to it all. Adam's mouth opened and closed, some prudent piece of advice hanging on his best friend's tongue before his lips snapped shut, deciding against it. 

"By handling, do you mean--" Felix filled in the gap.

"Felix, that's enough," Adam cut him off, tired of hearing his quips. Nate threw Adam a grateful expression and headed back into the apartment.

"Try not to have too much fun, Natey!" Felix couldn't resist throwing one last dagger over his shoulder as they parted. Nate pursed his lips, shaking his head at his immaturity. Once back inside, he found Emma leaning into the fridge. He stumbled briefly, not sure how much of the conversation she'd overhead.

"I thought today was our day off," she said. She pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge along with a gallon of milk. 

"Something came up that needed our immediate attention. It'll be just the two of us until later in the afternoon," Nate said. Her bare feet padded across the tiled floor, mind set on breakfast. Her robe draped casually off her right shoulder and her hair was tied up in a loose bun. He wondered sometimes if she was doing it on purpose. It wasn't polite to stare but he couldn't draw his eyes away. 

"That's too bad," she said. He frowned but quickly hid his expression before she could see.

"That disappointed to be stuck with me?" he asked. She chuckled, throwing half a smile over her shoulder at him.

"Don't be ridiculous, you're my absolute favorite vampire to spend time with," she said as she reached into a cabinet to pull out a pair of bowls. 

"I'd be flattered, but technically you only know five of us personally," he said. She clicked her tongue, lightly jabbing his shoulder with her fingers as if scolding him for his pessimistic view. 

She pushed up onto her tip toes to reach the dishes and he closed the distance between them instinctively. Pressing his chest to her back, he reached up and easily extracted the mixing bowl her fingers were grasping for. Her pulse jumped at their contact. While not the initial intent, he was more than pleased by her reaction.

"Well, aren't you handy," she played it off as best as she could, getting her revenge by leaning back against him briefly as she examined the dish in her hands as if it were a piece of fine art. His pulse sped to keep pace with hers, "How about... I can't think of anyone I'd enjoy spending time with more?"

"Now you're teasing me," he said and he gripped the top shelf of the cabinet to keep from following her as she moved away.

"I'm thinking french toast. It's been awhile since I had a chance to make breakfast," she said, "What about you? Want some?"

"That sounds delightful," he leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Ok, come take a bite then," she opened up her neck, brushing her loose strands of hair away and gesturing for him to come closer. Nate's eyes widened.

"I would never--"

"I'm kidding. Don't worry," she laughed, reveling in his response. He sighed at one of the oldest jokes in the book. Yet it had still flustered him, "Come on, you know me. I had to use that one at least once."

He finally cracked a smile if only amused at how pleased she was with herself, "The french toast will more than suffice," his eyes lingered a shade longer on her skin, briefly imagining his lips pressing against her porcelain skin. He swallowed, "Do you cook often?"

"Not as much as I'd like to. Being the lone detective in town doesn't give you a lot of free time, especially during a murder investigation," she said, "Not to fear, I won't poison you."

"On the contrary, I was only thinking about what a privilege it is to taste something you've homemade," he said. She mixed together the eggs, milk, and spices. 

"Charmer," she said and his smile turned into more of a smirk, his gaze falling, half lidded and low. 

"You underestimate me, Detective. I can be much more charming than that," he said. He reveled in the slight flush on her cheeks. However, she matched him blow for blow, smirking as she casually licked her fingers clean of the liquid mix. She turned on the cooktop burner adding to the heat coursing through the apartment. 

"How about yourself, Agent, you ever tried cooking?" she asked as she dipped a slice of bread in the mix. 

"I've dabbled in it," he shrugged.

"I can understand. You're a little lacking in test subjects," she said, "I really don't want to think what a vampire delicacy would be like."

He shifted uncomfortably at the topic, "I enjoy going out to eat when I can as well, as long as the place is reputable."

"So you're a food snob?" she said with a laugh. 

He pouted, "Is it so wrong to appreciate quality?" She chuckled at his reaction as she laid out each individual slice of bread on the griddle.

"You're right, I can't say I enjoy wasting calories on bad food," she said. He maintained his sour expression until she reached up and tapped his pursed lips. He startled and blinked his gaze back to her, "I've never seen you make that face before."

His regular smile returned again, wider than ever, "You always pull the most unique expressions out of me," she shook her head at his flirting, putting her full attention on the french toast. What was it that caused his fingers to tremble in the ache to touch her? He dreamed of peeling off her robe, his course knuckles mapping her curves, relishing in every small shiver of her body. Tsk... he was starting sound like Mason.

In the midst of his thoughts, he found himself surprisingly swaying. He caught himself quickly enough, blinking rapidly in response. He shook the cobwebs out of his head. He frowned knowing the sure signs of rare exhaustion. He tried to recall the last time he even lied down for a nap and came up empty. He could usually last longer than this, but he supposed they'd all been under quite a bit of stress. 

He would let Adam know he needed a break when he returned. When he focused his attention on her again, she was plating the french toast.

"Whipped cream? Syrup? Butter?" she raised a brow in question. 

"All of the above," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets to ground himself.

"Ugh, I bet you have abs like a washboard too," she said disgusted. He laughed.

"How do you know? You haven't been peeking, have you?" he said mock disturbed. 

"I have been unsuccessful so far," she said. He stood up from his lounging position and making his move, capturing her with his gaze. The back of his fingers grazed against the line of her jaw causing her to reflexively tip her chin up to him. A thrill coursed through his veins knowing that she responded to him naturally without any complicated pheromones clouding her judgement.

"You don't need to resort to such desperate measures, Emma," he said. Her heart skipped when he said her name. Not to be outdone, her free hand enveloped his caressing one and tangling her fingers through his. He smiled moving even closer, wondering if he was turning from predator to prey as she drew him within striking distance. 

His thigh bumped against the burner, causing it to click and light again. They both turned their attention away from each other, ending the heated moment as she extinguished the flame once again. She picked up their plates, bringing them over to the couch, gesturing for him to follow. 

Sometimes he felt like there was otherworldly activity keeping them apart. He stifled his sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he trailed behind her. After he sat down next to her, she handed him a plate and utensils. He held them for a moment not satisfied eating with the plate in his lap. He ended up pulling the coffee table closer and cutting his food from there. 

"So, were you a prince in your past life?" she asked. He noticed she'd haphazardly cut her french toast into chunks. He lulled his head in her direction, giving her a weary look, "What?"

"You remind me too much of Felix, sometimes," he sighed.

"That's better than Mason or God forbid, Adam," she said in mock horror eliciting another laugh from him.

"He grows on you," Nate said.

"Like a tumor?" she asked. He blinked, eyes curious, "Did you know that's what he said about Wayhaven?" He closed his eyes, silently cursing his best friend's poor attitude, "Well, it must have, as terrible as it sounds. He's a bit less knotted up now."

"You've noticed?" he asked and she took a large bite with a nod.

"Mm-hmm," she said, "He's even cracked a smile at a few of my jokes."

"He's warmed up to you at least. It may take a little more time for the rest of the town," he finally took his first bite. He let out a muffled groan, savoring the flavor as the bread melted on his tongue.

"Oh come on, it's not that good," her voice cracked although he found her smiling while she watched him. 

"It is! I had no idea you were such a talented chef. Why are we even bothering to visit Haley's?" he said. She shoved him lightly, telling him to stop, "Strangely, I usually have to work a bit harder to enjoy food this rich, too."

"Because of your sensitive taste, right? I went a bit lighter on the spices in the mix," she said. He was taken back by the consideration. He let another forkful linger in his mouth for a moment, so he could properly collect his thoughts. When he remained speechless for too long she started to worry, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, of course not, I'm just-- I'm not used to such thoughtful gestures," he said honestly, making direct eye contact. She smiled initially thinking he was joking but her brows raised, smile fading after studying his reaction.

"Serious?" she asked to confirm nonetheless. He ate another bite, not able to deprive himself too long.

"This may surprise you, Detective, but most humans do not react as well as you did to our secret," he said. He averts his gaze, trying not to give away how much that fact hurts him, "It's hard to empathize with your perceived predators," he continues to eat to distract himself, enjoying it until the last piece.

"I guess that was what Felix was hinting at," she said. He glanced back at her in question, "Honestly, I thought the revelation that demons were walking around was much more terrifying. I mean, maybe last century it would be different but have you seen the vampire literature recently? The most terrible you lot are portrayed as anymore is a tad too sexually aggressive," he almost choked as he started to laugh, "Besides, I'm not afraid of things that will eat me. I think lions and tigers are adorable."

"To be fair, it wouldn't be wise to step into a cage unguarded with one either," he warned, his protective side winning out even at his own detriment. His thoughts drifted somewhere distant for a moment, imagining Emma on the other side of a barrier to keep herself safe from the monster. Never truly trusting him, never letting her guard down. His heart clenched slightly until her hand landed on his thigh.

"Well, not until I tamed him first," she said, rubbing his leg in a comforting gesture mixed with a suggestive smirk. He returned a sad smile and slid his hand over top of hers.

"There will always be a risk, though," he leaned closer. When her gaze lifted to connect with his, there was determination there, causing his heart to skip, matching hers. 

"A risk worth taking," she whispered. Their lips pulled within a hair's width apart. Her fingertips climbed up his thigh and her pupils dulled slightly. The jolt from his nerve endings almost tore a moan out of his throat.

RRRRing!

He twitched in annoyance, gritting his teeth at the grating sound of his cell phone. He retrieved the phone from his pocket and almost crushed it in his grip. He still put on his best smile for the Detective.

"It's Adam," he lightened up when he saw the name.

"It's alright, I need to get dressed anyway," she patted his knee before getting up and heading into her bedroom. His eyes followed her and his lips quirked at the brief stutter in her step. He barely registered Adam calling for him on the other end of the line. 

"Nate, are you there?" Nate juggled the phone before putting it to his ear.

"Yeah, Adam, sorry about that," he quickly apologized, "Is everything alright?"

"It's fine, but this might take a bit longer than we thought. We're having trouble locating the suspect," he sighed. 

"I thought he was already in custody?" he said. He grabbed the used plates to wash them in the sink.

"Yes, he was," his voice inflects as if he's sending a very scathing look towards someone nearby, "We're going to search the area, see if we can pick up a scent of where he went. We'll probably be here awhile. How are things there?"

"Great, no signs of trouble here, why?" he asked, scrubbing the plates rougher than necessary, unconsciously trying to peel the paint off with the sponge.

"Well, you sound..."

"What?"

"Cranky," he said and Nate stopped cleaning for a moment, surprised. 

"I'm fine, what would I have to be irritated about?" he asked. 

"I bet you interrupted a moment with the Detective," he heard Felix clearly and Nate was suddenly glad that they couldn't see him right now. He dropped the plate in the sink before he could crack it beneath his grip.

"Felix..." Adam said exasperated.

"I don't hear him denying it," he could hear his grin from over the phone. Nate rolled his eyes.

"I guess the stress is catching up with me a little," Nate pivoted to another excuse, "It's been awhile since I got any rest."

"I'll send Felix back--"

"No, there's no need for that. You need everyone you can get down there," he said. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck with Felix and his jokes for the day every time he merely glanced in Emma's direction. 

"Are you sure? If anything happens and you aren't in shape to defend--"

"Nothing is going to happen in the middle of the day, Adam. Even if it does, I'm sure the Detective is capable of protecting the both of us," Nate said.

"You can't seriously expect--"

"Goodbye, Adam," he said decidedly ending the call. He leaned over the kitchen counter briefly letting out a long shaky breath. Adam could be overbearing to even Nate sometimes. He frowned thinking of the real reason he was irked. There were many complicated emotions rolling through him at the moment. 

Especially after what the Detective had just said to him.

"Everything alright?" he turned around, finding core of his thoughts behind him. He ran a hand through his loosely styled hair as Emma fixed him with a curious stare.

"Yeah, apparently they are having trouble locating the man they were supposed to interrogate," he said.

"An interogee is sorta necessary for the process," she said with a smile and he returned it, shoulders loosening. 

"They won't be back until late, so I hope you were serious when you said you enjoyed my company," he shrugged. 

"You mean I get bonus time? What did I do to deserve such a prize?" she asked with feigning surprise, pressing a flourished hand against her chest. Nate was always happy to see how eager Emma was to return his flirting, "I was thinking of watching a movie. You want to help me pick?"

"Sure," he said. It was probably best that they didn't go out and mingle about town without backup. He hid a small yawn behind his fist as he sat down once again on the couch. She took up a remote and he stared at her in confusion.

"Don't you have a collection somewhere to choose from?" he said.

"Oh, no, I have streaming services so we just pick one from the list and it'll come directly to--" she interrupted herself when she saw Nate's blank stare, "Do you not know what internet streaming is?"

"No--I know--I just find it impersonal and unnecessary," he said crossing his arms with a small pout. Her grin only widened, "What's with that look?"

"You're like my grandfather," she teased him, and he practically repelled, "'What do we need all these new fangled contraptions for? Back in my day we wrote everything by hand. Walked twenty miles in the snow back and forth from school, uphill both ways.'"

"That's not even possible," he said with a roll of his eyes. He noticed she continued to stare at him with an amused grin and he cocked his head. "It's kind of nice knowing that you aren't the master of everything. Makes you seem--"

"More Human?" he finished for her, a disappointed inflection in his tone.

"I was going to say less like a romantic god," she corrected him. His gaze snapped to her in shock as she caught him off guard, "You cook, you clean, you know all the right things to say, and you could make a person swoon with a mere glance. You're a bit much, Adonis."

He chuckled, caught off guard. He rubbed the back of his neck, sinking under the shower of praises, "I'm sure you'll find I have plenty of weaknesses. I'm certainly not perfect."

"Says the guy that can speak almost every known language and could probably recite the periodic table of elements backwards," she said sipping on her tea. 

"I've had my share of free time," he mumbled, now thoroughly embarrassed.  

"The funny thing is I'm usually turned off by genius types. I'm a B average at best, so it's almost intimidating to spend time with a person that above my head," she said and he tried to ignore the niggling anxiety building inside of him as he waited for her to mention an exception after she finished sipping her tea, "And yet I find you charming."

It was exactly what he wished she'd say so he was speechless for a moment when he heard it. Finally he came up with a standard response, "I'm honored to be considered a special case," he tried not to sound overly relieved, "Still not thrilled about this method of entertainment," he gestures towards the TV screen.

"Come on, old man. Just help me pick," she said, poking him playfully. As they scanned to movie titles and descriptions, he found himself losing focus a number of times. He braced his chin on his palm, resting his elbow on his thigh.

"We could watch Twilight and you could tell me all the things they got wrong," she asked with a chuckle. His lips tugged up for a moment in response and then he inwardly groaned.

"Sounds exhausting," he said.

"Yeah, I wouldn't even subject Adam to that torture," she said. He noted the way it bugged him slightly whenever she spoke fondly or playfully of Adam. It was an unpleasant and unfamiliar feeling. He pushed down the disgraceful emotion and returned his gaze to the screen, "I think I'm gonna go with La La Land. I heard that was good. Will that work for you?" 

"Mm-hmm," he answered, his eyelids drooping a tad.

"Nate, are you alright?" she asked, her hand resting on his back, causing him to sit up in alarm. 

"Sorry, I'm fine. La La Land is a good choice," he said, answering her worried frown with his usual smile. 

"I know this is a strange thing to say to a vampire, but... you look exhausted," she said. He sighed, drawing a hand across his face.

"I'm a little tired, but it's nothing serious. The long week must be catching up to me," he assured her. 

"You could rest in my bedroom if you want. I'm sure I can guard the apartment for a few hours," she offered. He put his hand over the one now resting on his shoulder, mimicking her earlier move.

"Thank you, truly, but I could go another week without sleep. Let's just enjoy the movie," he said. She gave in seeing how emphatic he was. To be honest, his reasons for staying awake were two fold. He was dedicated to do his job and that meant protecting Emma at all times. Secondly, he'd finally gotten a chance to spend some alone time with her and he didn't want to waste it. When she turned back to the TV, her hand twisted around and cupped his. She let their clasped hands rest between them and he noted the increase in her pulse and the spreading warmth of her palm. He tightened his grip, assuring her that he enjoyed it as much as she did. -------------------- This movie was not as good as she'd hoped. She didn't know why she kept trying Oscar movies. She should stick with action schlock. However, she had a feeling action wasn't Nate's favorite genre and she wanted to find something he'd enjoy too. Speaking of Nate, he'd made a few observations at the beginning of the movie, talking about the last time he'd been to Los Angeles, but he'd been quiet for awhile now. 

She found out why when she felt a sudden pressure against her side, his head perching on her shoulder. She didn't move for a moment, not sure what to do. She'd never seen any of them even close their eyes for too long. She turned her head enough to see his awkward position had to be uncomfortable, as much as she enjoyed it. 

Carefully, she guided his body down so his head was pillowed on her lap. He was so peaceful. Her mind flashed back to the moment she'd found out he and the rest of the team were vampires. She managed to bottle it at the time, but between her fear of an unknown world and anger at being lied to, she wondered how everything would effect her relationship with Unit Bravo. Nate in particular. 

She knew he'd wanted to tell her the truth for awhile, only to be interrupted every time by Adam. So when he froze, not chancing a blink while waiting anxiously for her response after she'd discovered their secret, she couldn't bear to hurt him. And she was glad she didn't say anything rash because once everything was out in the open and she'd had time to calm down, the whole thing was much easier to accept.

Well, she wasn't going to wake him now that he was out. She'd noticed Nate had been the most dedicated to researching and catching Murphy of all of them. He'd poured over documents and books and went through old Agency files searching for a lead. She guessed even supernaturals wore out after enough stress. She took the blanket that was laying over the back of the couch and tossed it over him. 

He released a soft moan and she acted quickly, stroking gentle fingers through his hair, brushing any stray bangs from his forehead. He relaxed again with a sigh of contentment. However, she continued combing his soft locks. They felt like silk sliding through the gaps in her fingers. It was just as soothing for her as it seemed to be for him.

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

Nate wanted to get up but it was like he was paralyzed. He felt so at ease with Emma by his side. Her intoxicating scent, her open body language, the gentle way she touched and held his hand, it was too hard to resist. He'd passed out on her shoulder. His mind cried for him to awaken again but it was as if ten tons of weight were pressing down on top of him. 

Instead, her careful hands were guiding him down, safely cradling his head to come to rest in her lap. It felt heavenly, relaxing against her warmth. But now it became an almost impossible nest to escape from. He felt something spread across him, sending him even deeper. He tried to speak and tell her not to worry about him, but instead all that came out was the weakest of protests.

With delicate fingers, she sent him under for good, brushing his hair from his face and caressing him until he let out a content sigh and lost consciousness.

---------------- It was just past sunset when the rest of the team returned. Emma had moved on to watching sports after the movie ended. Nate never woke up the rest of the afternoon. She was actually contemplating nudging him right before the guys had walked in.

"Nate?!" Adam called and Emma sighed in annoyance as Nate bolted awake. 

"You could at least be a little gentle about it," she scolded Adam.

"W-What--Emma--Adam--" he came back to his senses, brushing his hair back, and looking between the two of them in utter confusion.

Felix's laughter cut through the tension and Nate visibly winced, "Oh my God, you actually fell asleep and on her lap no less?"

She couldn't help but take a little pleasure in Adam's horrified expression. Mason stood in the background, leaning casually against the wall, smirking at them with approval. 

"So how'd the interrogation go?" she asked if only to bail out Nate, who seemed to be computing things at about half his normal speed. Adam jumped at the chance to change topics.

"It was a waste of time. He managed to escape us before we even had a chance to talk to him," Adam said.

"But how about you two, you seem to have made some significant progress?" Felix smirked, mercilessly shifting back to the previous topic. 

"I apologize, Detective. That was very irresponsible of me," Nate seemed a bit more with it this time around. She shrugged at his apology.

"You couldn't have been out for more than a few minutes. Pretty impressive how dedicated you were to your job even when you were obviously running on fumes," she said. He kept his gaze on her, smiling bashfully as he knew she was trying to cover for him, "I know you guys don't need that much sleep, but I think there's a limit."

"Well, if you're offering your bed--" Mason finally added to the conversation only for Nate to immediately shut him down with a glare.

"Seriously, Mason?" Nate said.

"Aw come on, Nate. I want some snuggle time with the detective," Felix quipped and Adam finally put a stop to it. 

"Alright, alright, this whole conversation needs to end, now," he said as if the topic was physically hurting him. She held up her hands, leaving them to their own devices as she got up from the couch. 

"Why don't you all have yourselves a break? I'll be in my room if you need me," she said.

"We don't need to rest. Not to mention it would be reckless to let our guard down for even a moment--"

"Adam, I promise to keep away from all sharp objects and electric sockets. I'm just going to be reading," she mock gasped in horror, "Oh no, that's a terrible idea, I could suffer death by papercut."

Adam ignored the numerous snickers behind him, narrowing his gaze at her with a growing frown, "This isn't a joke, Detective."

"Certainly not, and neither is your health. So please do whatever it is hardasses like you do to relax. Lift weights, wrestle bears, whatever," she said and before he could talk back she jabbed a finger into the center of his chest, "Don't make me pepper spray you again, mister."

"Oh please do, the audience demands an encore," Felix laughed, unable to hold his tongue any longer. Adam growled at the reminder, letting go a huff of frustration.

"You are the most impossible woman," he said thoroughly flustered. She smiled at the reaction, briefly glancing at Nate before she went into her room. She expected to see him enjoying the lighthearted exchange but instead she saw him staring at Adam with a complicated expression, trying to work out a problem he couldn't quite solve. It was as if something was gnawing on him, a mixture of shame and worry. The next time she blinked, however, his furrowed brow had relaxed and he was returning her gaze with his trademark soft smile. 

She resisted blowing him a kiss, shaking off her suspicions and making her full retreat.

[alwaysanotherooc]

Shock To The System

Rating: M, just in case Warnings: Rating is for language and sexual tension. (It’s probably not necessary but I like being cautious.) Fandoms: The Wayhaven Chronicles Characters: Will Kingston, Adam du Mortain, Nate Sewell, Felix Hauville, Mason, Bobby Marks Pairings: Will Kingston/Adam du Mortain, exes Will Kingston/Bobby Marks Description: Adam is determined not to get close to Agent Kingston’s son. He’s determined to get through this assignment without knowing one thing about him. Nate and Felix think Adam is a dumbass. Author’s Note: So this is my first WC fic, and tbh I don’t have MUCH of a hold on the characters yet, but I’m doing my best, and I think it turned out pretty good. EDIT: 05/14/2018 to fix some mis-named instances and wrong pronouns.

Adam POV

I stabbed a finger in Felix’s direction, practically hissing, “Stop saying that, we won’t be telling the Detective, nobody is telling the Detective anything!”

I was sick of having this same exact argument every time the four of us were alone. This time the argument was happening in my motel room, a somewhat dusty but all too cheerfully decorated thing in the only motel in all of Wayhaven.

The very idea of telling Will - the Detective, anything about the paranormal not only went against direct orders but was an argument that had been settled against no less than five times since Agent Kingston had assigned us as a protective detail for her son. 

A discreet protective detail, as I kept having to remind the other agents, especially Felix, who could never resist a good vampire pun.

“Oh, of course,” Felix rolled his eyes, lips twisting in a mocking smile from where he was perched on the motel armchair, “Because keeping things from humans has always worked out so well, historically speaking.”

Mason, amusing himself in the corner of the room, didn’t look up while saying around the cigarette between his lips, “But that’s what he’s hoping for. See, Adam wants to get the human killed, and then all of us killed as well when we report in to Agent Kingston.”

I felt my blood pressure skyrocket. “I thought you were on my side, to not tell him!”

Mason glanced up, shrugging noncommittally.

Sitting precariously at the small, rickety breakfast table shoved into one corner of the room, Nate grinned at me, eyes twinkling. “Now that’s three votes against one. And tonight, while we’re on patrol, will be the perfect opportunity!”

“I’m not voting for anything,” Mason drawled, “And I’m certainly not voting for telling the human anything.”

Nate deflated a little. “Well, that’s still two votes for.”

Felix made a small sound.

Nate twisted in his seat, gasping dramatically. “Traitor!”

Felix laughed, “Love you too, Nate.”

I rubbed my eyes with my hands. “Nate-”

“No, no, I get it,” Nate sighed, settling his long, gangly body back into his chair. “I still don’t like it.”

“I know,” I said softly.

“And I am gonna continue to fight you on it,” Nate said matter-of-factly.

“I know,” I repeated, feeling my shoulders tense up again at the thought.

“And I am gonna lord it over you when Will finds out on his own that we’re vampires,” Nate’s mouth twitched, his eyes glimmering devilishly.

“I know,” I nearly growled through grit teeth.

I could practically hear the delight Nate, Felix, and Mason were taking in the direction the conversation had turned.

Especially when Nate continued, “Because even Mason’s admitted Will’s pretty damn smart and he has a habit of running into trouble headfirst, and you yourself have even commented that humans have a habit of finding out things that are none of their business, and Will is, after all, a Detective-”

“I know, I know, I know, for the love of - I KNOW!” I snapped at him, my shoulders up around my ears with tension.

Mason chuckled, always delighted at my irritation.

I knew all of that, I did, and though I wasn’t about to tell any of the vampiric vultures in the room, I definitely knew it was only a matter of time before somebody slipped up or Murphy revealed all of himself or Will walked right out - the Detective walked right out and stumbled into a vampire feeding ground by sheer dumb luck.

But that didn’t mean I was going to go against regulations and orders and tell him anything.

A knock on the motel room door interrupted my fuming, and I stalked over to wrench the door open, denting the knob a little in the process. “What.”

A young boy, probably still in high school, dressed in an intensely unfashionable fast food uniform stared up at me in fear, holding out a large pizza box. “Uh, gee, I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but…”

Awkwardly, the young boy gestured with the pizza box. “Uh, your pepperoni and extra cheese.”

I turned to glare at the suddenly silent members of the room. “Which one of you ordered pizza?”

Felix hopped up, skipping over to the door, “That’d be me, fearless leader,” and he proceeded to grab the pizza and turn away from the door, asking disinterestedly over his shoulder, “Would you mind tipping him, Adam, I’m starved.”

I rolled my eyes, trying desperately not to snarl at him or the innocent pizza boy still waiting anxiously in the doorway. I reached into my back pocket.

And found nothing in my wallet’s usual place.

But of course.

I turned on Felix and Nate, both of whom were completely absorbed in the pizza. And therefore, completely ignoring me, but I could tell by the set of their shoulders that they were both aware of my gaze.

Felix had somehow gotten into the habit of honing his pickpocketing skills on me, and Nate could sometimes be convinced to join in if Felix sweet talked him enough. This was the third time this month one of the two of them had lifted something from me, and I was getting incredibly sick of it.

Very calmly, I bit out, “My wallet seems to be missing.”

I waited, angrily, aware that the pizza boy standing outside the doorway was starting to shrink inwards on himself in fear as I spat, “You two wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, now would you?”

I tried to remind myself that I did love them both, really, but goddamn they didn’t make it easy.

Finally, they both looked up. 

Nate smiled blandly, Felix blinked all too innocently at me and said, “Oh no, did you leave your wallet at the police station again?”

“You know,” Nate chimed in, “I think that’s where it is. I distinctly remember it being on Detective Kingston’s desk right before we all left.”

The kid in the doorway stopped me from invoking divine vengeance by stuttering out, “Oh, no, sirs, you don’t have to worry about it. You gave me a tip when you ordered online.”

Felix’s eyes widened slightly, and he beamed brightly, “Oh, that’s right! Well, thank you, sonny, have a nice evening!”

The kid stood there for a second, staring somewhat awestruck at Felix until he blinked and flushed bright crimson from his forehead to his neck and practically bolted back towards his car.

I let the door fall shut with a loud thunk.

Felix and Nate, who had turned back away from me, did not look up from their pizza. 

Mason had gone back to playing with his lighter, though his eyes darted back and forth between myself and the two busybodies sitting in the room.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “Felix-”

“It’s such a shame,” Felix said loudly, covering my words with his own, “that my memory and Adam’s isn’t as good as Nate’s.”

Mason snorted from the corner but didn’t comment.

Nate nodded sagely. “That’s very kind of you, Farah.”

Then Nate turned towards me, smiling cheerfully. “Will you be going back to the police station to collect your wallet before we head out to patrol?”

I thought about answering him.

I also thought, very briefly, about throwing him into a wall. 

Or through one, maybe. 

It wasn’t like it’d hurt him.

Permanently.

Then I turned on my heel and stalked out the door, ignoring the victorious giggling happening behind me.

The one good thing about having to go back to the station at six o’clock at night was that surely Will - Detective Kingston would be home by now, as would almost everyone else who worked at the minuscule station. There was no chance I would run into anyone while getting my wallet.

—-A Short While Later—-

Just as I’d hoped, Douglas was nowhere to be found at the front desk when I walked back into the precinct. As I made my way towards the Detective’s office, I thought about avoiding everyone until eight and doing another search of the warehouse. I knew it was unlikely that we had missed anything, but I’d rather waste time searching the warehouse again than sit around with the unit and listen to Nate and Felix tease me while Mason smoked.

As I neared the closed office door, I finally registered the voices coming through from the office.

The Detective’s voice, low and uncharacteristically angry, as he hissed, “Look, you made your point with the article, all I’m asking is for you to just cool it.”

I paused outside the door, breathing in deep without quite meaning to, and I felt my whole body tense at the acidic mix of anger, panic, and disgust weaving through Will’s blood.

The other person in the room laughed tightly, the mocking sound of their voice raising my guard as they purred, “What would you suggest, keeping secrets from the public?”

“I would suggest,” Will snapped, “that you don’t cause undue panic in a small town, I don’t want to have to deal with the riot that will most definitely happen if you keep publishing stories like this!”

There was the sound of heavy paper hitting a surface and I remembered the hometown paper that Nate had carefully flung at my face earlier that morning, the headline blaring ‘Police Baffled By Murders! Can They Protect Us If They Don’t Know What’s Happening?’. 

If I had to guess, I’d say that the other person in the room was the author of said article, what was their name…

The other voice scoffed. “Only because you can’t seem to do your job, Detective.”

“What are you even here for, Bobby.” Will’s voice was tight with anger.

Bobby Marks, that was the author’s name.

Bobby’s voice was much deeper than before when he replied, “I’m here for you, angel.”

There was a pause, the sound of shuffling feet and a soft thud, followed by a sharp inhaling gasp. 

Will’s scent deepened with confusion and fear, his heart beating much faster.

Before I knew it, I had yanked open the door, sudden righteous fury pushing me forward.

Will and Bobby’s head’s both snapped towards me in shock. Will’s back was pressed up flush against the wall, hunched inwards on himself and decidedly away from Bobby, who was standing completely within Will’s space, leaning in so close Bobby’s face was within three inches of Will’s, Bobby’s hands planted on the wall on either side of Will’s waist.

I felt my face draw together into a positively predatorial expression. “Bobby Marks. Correct?”

Bobby, eyes wide and pulse racing, terror searing through his scent, nodded dumbly.

I looked him up and down, slowly, and when I met his eyes I said, my voice frigid with distaste, “Detective Kingston and I have police business to discuss. You need to leave the premises immediately.”

Bobby pushed away from the wall, stepping back, and I watched as relief flooded Will’s expression, his soft brown eyes sweeping up to meet mine.

I looked away, watching Bobby adjust his clothes before giving me a smarmy smile. “And who are you, to kick out a member of the press?”

I let my expression harden like stone, taking immense pleasure in the sudden paling of Bobby’s face. Very deliberately, I said, “I am Commanding Agent du Mortain, and you need to leave the premises.” 

I took a step forward, edging myself to stand between Bobby and Will.

Bobby’s eyes darted over me, and he swallowed hard.

I glared harder, nearly snarling. “Now.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed at me, and he argued, “You can’t order me to do anything, Agent.”

My patience, which had already been worn thin, finally broke.

“You have given me no choice but to escort you out of the building.” I snapped.

Will snorted softly in amusement behind me.

Bobby blinked. “Wait, what?”

I reached out, clasping Bobby’s shoulder a little tighter than I normally would for a human and I shoved him forward, ignoring his sharp protests.

I lead him all the way back outside like that, Will trailing behind us, Bobby spitting crass insults at the both of us that fell on my completely uncaring ears.

After pushing Bobby out of the station’s front doors, I shoved him, just a little, watching him stumble towards the parking lot. 

And then, because I couldn’t help myself, I called after him, “Thank you for your cooperation.”

Bobby turned to give me a truly poisonous look before practically throwing himself into his car.

I watched him drive away, tires protesting slightly, not thinking about why in the hell I had just done that.

Suddenly, Will started laughing.

I turned to face him, and all my breath completely left my lungs.

The setting sun was shining on him, turning deep tawny skin burnished gold, his plush mouth stretched wide in bright amusement as he laughed, and then he looked up, those velvet soft eyes punching right through me.

I realized then that his eyes weren’t brown, not really. They were a deep, deep honey hazel color, streaks of green shot through the irises alongside blue and grey flecks. The way the light hit them made them look like some sort of magical gemstone.

He didn’t seem aware of how he looked to me in the sunset, blissfully laughing, he reached out and captured one of my hands in both of his, his palms warm and callused, his fingers slipping between my own.

Will, still laughing, managed, “Ok, look, you probably shouldn’t have done that because the only reason I never have is that he’d write a story on it, which looking at where we are right now is something we really don’t need, but honestly?”

He beamed up at me, eyes shining. “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

Will seemed a lot closer to me than he had just a moment before, though he certainly hadn’t moved. His lashes were long, ink-dark against his cheeks as he blinked, his skin flushing softly as he continued to stare back at me.

I could smell the stirrings of arousal coming off of him, his pulse quickening, and I couldn't make myself look away from him, couldn't even begin to think about moving away from him when he was so warm and soft and sweet in all of my senses. 

When he spoke again, his voice was lower, a little rougher. “Thank you, Adam.”

I fought a sudden reaction at the way he said my name.

“For what?” My voice, unbidden, came out just as low as his, and rough like I’d gargled gravel.

The wind blew the front of Will’s glossy black hair, usually worn in a neatly kept undercut, into his eyes, and I was overcome with the desire to reach out with my other hand and push my fingers into that thick fringe.

Will licked his lips, and I couldn’t help but track the movement. “For having my back. Thank you.”

Like a rush of cold water over my body, I remembered what I was supposed to be doing in Wayhaven, that this human was under my protection and was supposed to be kept completely in the dark with all things paranormal, and I jerked away from Will.

I felt the unexpected absence of his body heat like a shock to the system, and I tried to pull my self back together, away from whatever that moment had been, back to being in Commander mode.

Will blinked, confused, like someone waking up from a dream.

I took another step back, finding it both easier and harder to breathe with the distance, though for very different reasons that I wouldn’t allow myself to think about. 

I cleared my throat, saying in an all-too-loud voice, “It’s my job to have your back.”

The confusion on Will’s face vanished, and he nodded, reaching up to push his hair back into place. 

I did not let myself watch the movement.

Will adjusted his blazer, setting his shoulders and body posture back into the posh professional stance I was used to. “Of course, Agent du Mortain.”

I didn’t think about the small disappointment of hearing him call me ‘Agent’ instead of ‘Adam’.

Before the situation could get any more out of hand, I narrowed my eyes at him and snapped, “Don’t be late tonight, we’ll all be at the Town Square at eight-thirty sharp.”

Will - Detective Kingston nodded seriously. “I will be on time. See you then.”

We stared at each other for a moment longer, and then, nearly at the same time, turned in opposite directions and walked away. Detective Kingston walked back into the police station, and I started walking anywhere but where I was.

I realized, suddenly, that I hadn’t grabbed my wallet.

Cursing softly, I kept walking. I wasn’t about to go back in now. I’d get my wallet tomorrow.

[thewritenerd]

Victor and Adam: NaNoWriMo Day 4

In fact the whole place seemed mismatched. Like someone had just found a bunch of furniture and decorations in a charity shop, bought the lot and said that’ll do. ‘Hey guy’s.’ Chelsea called over waving franticly. ‘Adam’s joining us.’ Nate explained as he sat himself down in the teal chair. Chelsea’s grin widened. ‘That’s great.’ Adam nodded and took a seat in the red chair. The three of them ordered their lunches, which came with a free dog biscuit for Bongo who was tied up outside. When Nate popped out to give him his treat Chelsea turned to Adam and said. ‘So any luck with solving your little mystery?’ ve asked. ‘What? Oh no not really. I’ve been busy. You know with school.’ Chelsea rolled ver eyes. ‘You Adam Frankenstein are a certified nerd.’ For a moment ve looked thoughtful before shrugging. ‘Must run in the family.’ ‘Oh ha ha.’ ‘But seriously how can you not think finding out more is more important than studying different types of rock.’ ‘Actually we’re studying population growth at the moment.’ Chelsea shook ver head. ‘You know what I mean.’ ‘Yeah. But it doesn’t matter. I didn’t see who it was and I haven’t seen anyone since. And I’ve been going to the ruins every chance I get. There’s been nothing.’ 

‘What are you two talking about?’ Nate asked returned to the table. ‘Oh we’re just talking about Adam’s mystery man.’ Nate rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t know why you two are still making a deal out of that. It was probably just some drunk dude who got lost.’ ‘Well he didn’t sound drunk.’ Adam muttered. Though truth be told he wasn’t entirely sure what a drunk person sounded like. ‘Well there’s no point talking about it. Whoever it was clearly hasn’t come back.’ Nate reasoned taking a sip of his drink. Adam wanted to keep talking but Chelsea shot him a warning look so instead he turned to his salad. ‘So Adam what’s your verdict on school? Now that you’ve had a week to experience it.’ Chelsea asked. Nate raised an eyebrow at ver. ‘What I’m just curious,’ ne shrugged. For a moment Adam didn’t speak. What did he think of school? He knew he didn’t like English, words were hard, or history or religious studies. He liked maths, and he had mixed feelings about science. His dad had insisted he take all three sciences, but physics was the only one Adam felt he was any good at. He spent most of Art and IT messing around though he did like doing line sketches. He’d been banned from using the pottery wheel after pressing so hard on the peddle it had broken. Then there was the people. Miss Nakajima was nice, as was his geography teacher and his physics teacher seemed to have picked him out as one of his favourites. His chemistry teacher didn’t seem to like him but then again she seemed like the kind of person who hated kids in general. But the other teachers seemed to ignore him. Sometimes so much so he had taken to asking Nate or Chelsea or even Shreya in the two lessons they had together for help. He knew they were ignoring him because they would look right at him with his hand raised, and he wasn’t exactly easy to overlook. Then there was Jouko who had decided he really didn’t like Adam. He wasn’t so bad in maths but everywhere else… ‘It’s fine.’ Adam eventually replied. ‘I like physics.’ He added quickly. Chelsea scoffed. ‘Of course you do. You’re Mr Keen‘s favourite. I mean I’m surprised all the science teachers don’t love you you’re a living experiment.’ Adam shrugged. ‘Well I’m not a chemistry experiment which is probably why Mrs Newell doesn’t like me.’ He joked. ‘Honestly I thought you’d be the exception for her.’ Nate joked. ‘You gonna eat those?’ he added pointing to the small cubes of hard bread Adam had left at the bottom of his bowl. He shook his head and handed the bowl to Nate. ‘Thanks.’ He began eating them one at a time. Chelsea rolled ver eyes at him but didn’t look up from ver phone. ‘So Adam got any plans for the rest of the day? Cause Nate and I were going to the cinema. After Nate’s dropped Bongo back home of course.’ Adam shook his head. ‘No I was just going to go home and… Well I hadn’t decided what I was going to do next.’ ‘Well then come with us. In fact you can choose. I want to see a horror film. But Nate wants to see this new spy flick. Which one do you want to see?’ Adam shrugged. The only films he’d seen so far were a few black and white comedies Igor liked and that film about a girl who found a magic door he’d found on tv one day. ‘We could flip a coin.’ He suggested. ‘Sounds good to me,’ Chelsea said pulling a coin from ver pocket. ‘Hey Nate heads or tails?’ ‘Uh heads?’ Chelsea threw the coin in the air caught it and slammed it down on the back of her other hand. ‘Tails I win. We’re watching my choice.’ Nate sighed and stood up. ‘Fine. But we need to get going if I’m going to drop Bongo off in time.’

***

It was decided that while Nate went home Chelsea and Adam would get the snacks for the cinema. They were trying to decide whether to get popcorn or crisps when out of the corner of his eye Adam noticed a woman standing not too far away glaring at him. At first he wondered if he knew her, but she didn’t look familiar. ‘Can we help you?’ Chelsea called having looked round and also spotted the woman. The woman raised her eyebrow and scoffed. ‘Well I don’t know, are you with…’ She gestured to Adam. Chelsea and Adam exchanged glances neither sure what this lady was getting at. ‘Uh yeah.’ Chelsea eventually replied. The lady gave her a smile that didn’t look either friendly or happy. ‘Really? All by yourself? Are you sure that’s safe. I mean.’ She dropped her voice to a loud whisper. ‘I don’t think it should even be out in public.’ For a moment the two of them just stared at her unsure what to say. ‘Umm what?’ Chelsea eventually asked laughing. ‘Lady we’re just buying snacks.’ ne turned to Adam. ‘Do you know her?’ Adam shook his head. No he didn’t know her. But he was used to strangers not liking him. But none of them had been as forward as this person. ‘Well didn’t you hear about what that thing did.’ She sighed dramatically. ‘Why that poor family I can’t imagine the grief. Honestly that thing should have been destroyed. I mean all this nonsense about…’ She never got to finish her sentence because she was interrupted by Chelsea admitting an inhuman screech and giving her a hard shove. ‘How dare you!’ ve screamed. ‘How dare you speak about him like that. Adam is my friend. Not only that but he’s a human fucking being. A human child at that.’ Ve spat. The woman was shaking with rage. ‘That thing is no human. It’s a monster.’ There was that word again. Monster. It rang in Adam’s ears like an alarm, repeating continuously long after it had been spoken. Adam didn’t hear the rest of the argument. He didn’t hear anything at all. All he could think was how he had to get out of there. Not really thinking about what he was doing he dropped the pack of coke cans he’d been holding and started walking towards the exit. Though walking was slow and difficult with his legs shaking so much. And the fact the world wouldn’t stop spinning didn’t help. In fact truth be told he felt a little bit nauseas. And were the bottoms of his trousers wet? When had that happened? Once he’d reached the doors he just kept walking not really sure where he was going. Was he going anywhere? He didn’t even notice Chelsea calling his name and running after him until he almost stood on ver. ‘Oh sorry Chelsea.’ Ve shook ver head. ‘It’s fine. Are you okay?’ Adam opened his mouth to speak but another wave of nausea hit him and he closed it again. Chelsea frowned looking concerned. ‘Hey don’t listen to that bat. Okay? She’s an ass just looking to cause trouble.’ Then ve reached out and tugged on his arm. ‘Come on let’s go find Nate.’ But Adam just stood where he was. ‘She knew,’ he muttered. ‘She knew about… What I did…’ Chelsea frowned. ‘Adam what are you talking about?’ But he couldn’t say it. No if he told nem the truth ne would see him no differently than that woman did. And then another thought hit him. How many other people knew? Did his teachers? Was that why they avoided him? ‘I didn’t mean to.’ He whispered not realising he was speaking out loud. ‘Didn’t mean to what? Adam!?’ but Adam ignore his friend instead walking away again. ‘I’m going home. I. I don’t feel well.’ He hoped he sounded convincing. It wasn’t quite a lie but he wasn’t very experienced in telling half-truths. Chelsea raced to catch up with him. ‘Hey if you don’t want to go see a film that’s fine. Maybe we could go back to your place and hang there?’ Adam stopped. ‘Are you sure?’ ‘Yeah. Look I can’t just let one of my best friends go off alone when their upset without at least trying to cheer them up.’ ‘I’m one of your best friends? You’ve only known me a week.’ Chelsea shrugged. ‘Hey it’s not like I have a lot of options.’ This made Adam laugh. Just a little but it felt nice. ‘See I’m exactly what you need when you’re feeling down.’ ‘Okay I’ll give Igor a call and tell him about the change of plans.’ While they walked to the cinema where they were supposed to be meeting Nate Adam rang home. Igor picked up fairly quickly and seemed fine with the idea of having two surprise guests. ‘My my first Victor now you. We are popular today.’ He chuckled. ‘Wait what do you mean first dad?’ ‘Oh nothing. Just your father had an old school pal pop round for a chat while we were out.’

[toast-the-unknowing]

lydia-st-james tagged me in a writing in review meme, which, man. That takes me back. I haven't done one of these in ages.

Main take-aways: 1. 2017 was the year of the long-ass fic titles, apparently. 2. It only took ten freaking years but I can mostly write romance without dying of embarrassment. Mostly. 3. Ten years has not been long enough to teach me how to start something and just finish it already before starting twenty more things. Seriously, there are so many stories that I started this year that I keep thinking ya'll have read already and then I remember that no one has read those because I haven't finished them yet. Oh well. Maybe 2018 will be a year of extraordinary personal growth and self-discipline. Spoiler alert: it won't be.

Anyway. These are the things that I've published so far this year.

Listed in chronological order of publication, with one exception:

new worlds for the weary, new lands for the living Okay, so, I don't know if anyone else thinks of any of their stories this way, but I have a very small handful of fics that are my heartsong fics. I don't think of them as being stories. I think of them as being thousands of words of meta and criticism and gushing and character love and, just, me, pouring my heart out over some aspect of canon that is important to me, and then maybe if I'm lucky, I trick people into reading it and thinking it's a story.

Yeah. This is one of those. I started this story before I had even finished Blue Lily, Lily Blue, which is not a thing I do. I always finish canon (to whatever extent canon exists at the time of my joining fandom) before I start writing. But I wanted so badly to write about Adam and Ronan and how I felt about their relationship that I couldn't wait.

This was something like a five month writing process all told, and I'm really happy with the end result. The moment where Ronan smears ink on Adam's face, in particular, I'm very proud of. I'm proud of that whole fight scene, really, but that moment is such a strong visual, and I'm not generally great at creating those.

don't think about how much it will hurt God, I still hate this title, but I do love this fic. It exists because I had been toying around with a canon-divergent AU that I quickly realized was going to take a shit-ton of work and not actually be that interesting. I ditched the AU, but there was one scene I liked enough that I didn't want to give up on it (Ronan trying to provoke Adam into punching him and then holding his hand while wondering wtf he's doing), and I realized it could pretty easily be made canon-compliant and given the legs to stand on its own.

I briefly considered tagging this as "preslash if you consider fighting and bad decisions to be flirting, which if you ship pynch, you probably do," and then I considered how poorly that would match the tone of this story. I am very happy with the tone of this story. It was hard to write, and I think it's hard to read, and it's a better story for it.

the more we move ahead the more we're stuck in rewind NO ONE ON EARTH READ THIS FIC BUT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT I LOVE IT. There are so many, many, many things in this fic that make me happy: -Clarke being an unholy mashup of my sister and talldecafcappuccino -"You thought that there was an intersection of sentimentality and camp that Miller wouldn't be interested in?" -Just, Murphy. All of Murphy. -The Inseparable, Indestructible Blake Siblings (which is when the Blake siblings are at their best, fuck you, canon) -"Do you ever worry that we're going to turn out to be warped people with unhealthy relationships/Honestly at this point I'm counting on it." -the whole scene where Raven friend-dumps Clarke -Monty taking "gas grass or ass" too seriously -Nate's stupid "you know what they say about those guys with Bigfoot" t-shirt (I would wear that t-shirt)

Like, I know why this story wasn't successful as an item of fan culture. And I acknowledge that there are weaknesses in the writing. But I still fucking love it.

so familiar, like an old bedtime song Ugh, this was called "came in quiet with the rain" right up until the very second I published it and then I changed my mind and I still regret it. Never second gues yourselves, kids. (Either way: "Raising Cain" is a good Adam/Ronan song.) I wrote about half of this on a whim and then shoved it in a corner waiting for inspiration for the longer story that I thought it was meant to be a part of. Then I was sitting around on Adam's birthday/my birthday weekend, a little tipsy in the middle of the day, and I decided, nah, this can be a standalone. I'm not kidding myself that it's great literature but I think it does what it sets out to do well.

The Fake Geek Boy Job This is a rare example, for me, of coming up with a title first and writing the story around it. So that was fun. I was so, so, so happy with the response to this fic. I've written case fic before, but I'm not good at heists, and I was really worried that the way I handle the heavier plot elements here – basically cutting around them and explaining all of the offstage action through snarky banter – was going to feel like cheating. Like, there's probably a version of this story that's 20k words longer and is twice as good, but it would have taken ten times as much work. It seems like people understood the plot as it stands and didn't feel robbed, and it was such a relief to hear that.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name IT IS THE PROUDEST ACCOMPLISHMENT OF MY ENTIRE LIFE that there are only two fanfics on AO3 tagged with the relationship tag "Quark & Jake Sisko" and I wrote both of them. Though I fully admit that "Everybody Comes to Quark's" is the better story of the two. This one feels like the first half is from one story and the second half is from a different story and neither of those two stories is complete, per se. But love a lot of the individual lines, character moments, etc. Also, just, any times spend with my beloved ridiculous giraffe boy Jake is good time.

faith, hope, all that bullshit This is the best thing that I have ever written that is based on a typo. And...I don't really know how to talk about this fic beyond that. It took something like seven months of on-again-off-again work; I am super grateful to Pynch Week for giving me the kick in the pants to finish it. There were so many things that were challenging about this – I hated everything in life the entire time I was writing Matthew. Plus trying to write all the characters as being a little older and more mature and their relationships as having progressed. But it was worth it because there are so many moments in this fic that just are still living in my head, even though I've put the fic down.

I think my favorite scene of all is the Christmas Eve scene, partly because I love Declan and partly because I love the "fucking Cain ruined it for the rest of us" exchange. But from a craft point of view I'm proud of that scene a lot. The first scene is its own contained story with beginning/middle/end; the Christmas Eve scene is what makes the proposal scene the beginning of a longer story, and it happens without the POV character understanding that it's happening. I'm pretty happy with how that all turned out.

People really liked the wedding scene, which is gratifying and totally baffling. That scene was murder to write. I don't even want to plan my own wedding, now I got to make one up for someone else? Of course, I mean. I cheated, because I didn't actually write the reception. Maybe the lesson here is if I don't even want to write a scene then for sure no one would want to read it?

Word on the Street This is another one, like The Fake Geek Boy Job, where I think there's a version of the story that's twice as good and eight times as long and a hundred times more work to write; I'm satisfied with my version. Also, I think the longer version is much more serious, whereas this is a comedy and I am happy with it as a comedy. Adam maybe comes off a little poorly, in the way that comedy characters sometimes come off dickish/rude/sociopathic. But it makes me laugh and honestly if I make myself laugh I'm happy. (That's not to say I'm never going to write the epic tale of how Ronan becomes Greywaren – I know what the first line of it is – but it's a real low priority).

come out of the cupboard, you boys and girls OKAY I WROTE THIS IN LIKE LITERALLY TWO DAYS AND YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW HAPPY THAT MAKES ME. Even just writing something of this length usually takes weeks if not months between when I start it and when I finish it. This was like a dirty little fling, and as someone who never has dirty little flings either in life or in writing, that was a fun change of pace.

The Dragon's Nest Avatar: The Last Airbender is, in my eyes, basically a perfect television show, and it's a lot harder to write fic for something that you think is well-written/complete on its own, because where do you and your fanwriting fit in? As such, this was a challenge, but I'm pretty happy with it. Alchemicink, for whom this was written, mentioned being happy just from seeing the "intergenerational friendship" tag, and I gotta say I was happy just from getting to use that tag. And any day you get to write Toph stomping around yelling at people is a good day.

while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now So credit where credit is due: lydia-st-james gave me the prompts here and put up with my intermittent screeching as I was working on it. It took me a while to get it all done, but I wrote literally 13k words of this in the first four days, which is bonkers; I'm usually much more of a percolator in the early stages of writing. As such a lot of the outlining process is lost to the sands of time. I don't remember making an actual decision to set this in LA; I think my subconscious realized before I did that this was going to be a story about loneliness and depression, and, fairly or unfairly, I associate loneliness and depression with the city of Los Angeles. In any case, it gave me lots of opportunities to throw shade at LA and I'm always down for that, and I've loved hearing people respond to the specificity of the location.

It's funny to me that people are responding to this one so strongly because I don't generally groove on fake dating; I’ve never written it as a trope and I always find it hard to swallow as a reader. I wonder if there's something to be said for writing tropes one is somewhat critical of. Though I don't think, generally, it works out when people write a thing they actively hate. It's a theory I'm tinkering with, anyway.