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darkthallas · 3 years

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Breathe My Demise

Summary: Your career path led to your worst fear.

Warnings: non-con, arson, threats, choking

I worked on this one for a long time a while ago, I just decided to finish it and now post. Enjoy.

Word Count: ~4.8k

"You said you don't always feel angry, James?" You tore your eyes away from your clipboard. You looked up at the brunette, who clearly had a staring problem. His ominous stare never really affected you this much. His eyes were different today, you had noticed. As well as the clicking of his pen had started.

He was allowed a pen to click, to represent his mood change or sudden occurrences of anger. "No." He responded emotionlessly, still not tearing his eyes away from you. You couldn't tear your eyes from the man sitting in front of you.

"What makes you angry?" You asked the patient hesitantly.

He was quiet. You grew antsy, waiting for an answer.

“Okay, if you don’t feel comfortable answering that question. We'll move on and talk about it later. Is that okay, James?”

“Yes, better,” Bucky mumbled quietly. “I thought we’ve gone over this is our previous sessions, please call me Bucky.”

You thought of another thoughtful question that could connect to his problems. “If I may ask then, Bucky, what scares you?”

You watched his steely-blue eyes fill with amusement and he laughed sarcastically, “What scares you, Doctor?”

“A lot of things scare me. I’m human. Just like you.” You shrug toward your patient, marking down his response.

‘He turned the question on me.’

Bucky’s eyes shined with maliciousness, and he leaned forward in his seat, “Don’t you think it’s fair that I get to ask you some questions as well?”

You took this into consideration for a moment before answering him. “Well, it depends on the question. But I suppose so.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions, (Y/n)?”

“I guess not...” You shifted in your seat, uneased at how he said your name so smoothly. “As long as it’s appropriate.”

“How tall are you?”

You were most definitely thrown off by this question. “I... how is this relevant to our conversation?”

“Answer my question.”

You answer honestly with your height.

Bucky looked intrigued, “Really? I figured so. Next question, how fast can those legs of yours run?"

"I- I don't feel comfortable answering that." You were shocked into stuttering.

"Hm, I'm also curious about your bra size. Would you say you're closer to a 'b' or a 'd'?" Bucky narrowed his eyes, grinning sickly, "Or how wide those legs can stretch for me? Are you a virgin, doctor?"

Your eyes widened, and you looked down, shifting in your seat again. You cleared your throat. "That's enough, Mr. Barnes."

It was quiet. He sat there silently for a minute. The clicking slowed. Then, Bucky forced his eyes lower, admiring your chest and moving down to your legs. He looked up and licked his lips. You frowned, looking down at your papers to mark down his negative reaction. "Mr. Barnes, I’m going to ask you one last time. What makes you angry?"

You felt frightened as a sound much like a growl came lowly from his throat. His breathing picked up and the pen clicking grew faster and almost desperate. You reached under your desk, pressing the emergency button that was there just in case one of the patients decided to attack. You've never felt this afraid or threatened by him. Then, he licked his lips, dragging his eyes over your body again.

The clicking stopped. His chuckle seemed deeper than normal as it resounded throughout the room. "People like you."

You barely had time to quickly roll your chair away from your desk, as he launched himself over it. You gasped as you rushed out of your chair to the door. You felt a hand wrap around your neck from behind, pulling you away from the door.

Then, excruciating pain.

"Ah!" You cried out as he slowly stabbed the pen into a delicate part of your neck. He tightened his hold on your neck, watching as you ran out of air.

"Oh, ah-ah-ah," he chortled, pulling you back into his body. "There's no escape now. Your mistake. I can't wait to hear your screams, doc'."

Today was the wrong day to leave him uncuffed.

"No, Jamie," You were speed walking down the hall trying to match your superior's pace. "He just... He didn't seem right. That wasn't Bucky. Other doctors said from the hospital before something about multiple personality disorder and his files..."

That would be an amazing explanation to why he was acting like this. You knew he would never truly attack you. You had been his psychiatrist for a few months now, plus, you'd gotten to know him really well. He'd promised he wouldn't hurt you. Bucky had. But if he had another personality like his file said... Well, then you might be in more danger than you thought.

"Doctor (Y/n)." She stopped dead in her tracks, turning to face you angrily. "You should be at home. You should be recovering from the attack. We have this all under control. You should leave if you want to keep this job."

That just made you irate. She would fire you for wanting to help your patient? How stupid and irrevocable. It would be a great waste to get rid of you for something like that. You were resourceful. More resourceful than your other co-workers. She knew that. You realized it's an empty threat. She liked you best out of everyone. She listened to you. She was worried for your well-being, you could tell.

She was scared. For you.

"Well, I wouldn't have this job anymore, if I hadn't sensed something wrong and pressed the emergency button!" You exclaimed, feeling as if this was total bullshit. But you'd never say that to her face. So instead, you said, "You have to let me work with him on this, Jamie. I'm the only one who really understands him, I can help him. He promised he wouldn't hurt me."

Jamie sighed irritably at you, narrowing her eyes. "And you really think he's in the position to promise you anything? Go home, Doctor (L/n). You're not in the right of mind to deal with him."

You could simply only stare at her in shock. How could she deny you after almost letting you get killed? Who was she to think that anyways! He was your patient, not hers! How could she say you weren't in the right of mind, when all she was going to do is send other people to get killed by him.

You could have scoffed; had she not still been standing there.

You turned on your heel and walked away.

You stood in the mirror admiring the 'B' (and the 'WS' near it) on your neck. He'd carved it in with the pen. It hurt like a son of a bitch when he made the mark, but you think it hurts more now. You reached up to trace the mark, shying away from the pain.

"Ah-"

"Well, well. If it isn't the bitch that's holding Bucky captive." A loud, almost raspy voice rang out from behind you, and you focused your gaze on the person in the mirror. You could've screamed, had you not been a trained psychiatrist and prepared for situations like this.

You did not scream, nor panic. This couldn't be true. This was impossible. Your brain was making it up. He was dead. He wasn't real. But according to Bucky, he was. Bucky told you all about him. So, he had to be real.

"Steve." You whispered, frightened.

The man stepped forward, into the lighter side of the room. You watched him cautiously, turning around. Bucky had told you plenty of him. You had no idea how he was real. Or how he hadn't been caught yet.

"Captain." He corrected.

You could only watch as the relatively manipulative man stepped towards you. You leaned back, the arch of your spine hugging the dresser tightly. This isn't real. He's not real. You tried to reason with yourself. He's a made-up figment in your mind; something that Bucky was trying to taunt you with.

You tried and tried to convince yourself it wasn’t real. But the closer he got, and the louder his steps became, showed you. This is very real.

"W-What do you want?" You turned your head away from him and closed your eyes as he leaned his face in close to yours.

He chuckled darkly. "It's not what I want. If I got what I wanted, you'd be dead with my cock buried in your fucking cunt."

You took a sharp breath in; this guy wanted to kill you and rape your dead body. What the actual fuck is wrong with him?

He glanced down to your neck. "But it seems I can't, because he marked you. But... who the hell cares? I can do what I fucking want. I don't give a shit about him, or what he plans on doing after he gets out of there."

His eyes gleamed with mischief and insanity. "The Winter Soldier wanted me to send you a message. He told me if you're not back soon; there will be fatal consequences. As in, he's going to fucking kill everybody. And then when he finds you..."

He paused, and his carved-in grin grew wider, "He’ll make sure you're wishing he'd killed you, too."

"The Winter S-Soldier?" You choked on your words. His breath heaved as if he were annoyed.

"Stop fucking stuttering. You sound like a little fucking bitch." He mocked you. "You don't know him? Ohh, haha. You're gonna hope you don't ever fucking meet him. But you don't really have a choice in that. Not since he left his little signature on you."

You shivered as you felt his breath on your earlobe, and his body leaning into yours. He placed a rough hand on your shoulder, slowly caressing your arm. "You're fucking lucky that he claimed you, bitch. But once you're dead, I wouldn't mind fucking your body."

You felt tears collect in your closed eyes. You opened them, his eyes glaring into yours. He chuckled looking at you. "Fucking pathetic cunt."

You watched as he turned, walking over and opening your window. He turned back your way, once halfway out the window, "Oh, and just for your information; he's not going to stop pursuing you. There's no way of stopping any of us. So, if I were you, I wouldn't go running to the fucking police. They can't do anything to help you."

Silent tears ran down your cheeks as you could only watch as he left. You only hoped he was wrong. You didn't want to find out if he was right, but if there was any chance of stopping Bucky, you would take it. You hurriedly pushed off of your dresser and took a good look of the room around you.

If what he said was true, you were going to find out. You had no choice. Somehow you doubted what he had 'informed' you of. The police could and would keep you safe from anyone... right? You rushed into the kitchen, grabbing your keys off the buffet and storming out the door while wildly throwing on a light jacket. It was at night, and storming out. Starting your car and pulling out of the driveway, you were quickly on your way to the police station.

"Fuck..." You mumbled to yourself, wishing you could slam your head on your steering wheel. "They won't even believe me."

They had to believe you though! You are a psychiatrist! You work with these people. If they had to believe someone, it should be you. You have one of the most legit jobs out there. You did your best to keep your mind from wandering, and to keep under the point of speeding. After all, if you got pulled over and then tried to explain, it probably wouldn't go so well. They would definitely think you're crazy then. It would not be very wise to get in trouble and give reasoning for it because they would focus more on the fact that you were doing something that could cause harm those around you.

You did your best not to panic on the way to the police station. You pulled into a parking spot, whipping your door open, and shutting off your car. You slam the car door shut and hurry over to the front entrance. Pulling the door open, and the enter the building, searching for a specific office. Detective Wilson. He was sure to believe you. You started walking that way.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but did you happen to make an appointment?"

You turned, eyes narrowing at the voice, "No. I'm just...visiting an old friend. I technically work here. I'm the psychiatrist for the mental patients, and I'm one of the founders of the Mind of the Murderer program here."

She looked surprised, "Oh! Are you Doctor (L/n)?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're like... my idol." She gushed, "I never thought I would actually have the pleasure of meeting you. Or even getting the pleasure to see the face behind the name."

You gave her a smile, "It's very nice to meet you. Uh..."

"It's Lisa."

"Very nice to meet you, Lisa." You watch as she goes to shake your hand and put yours up, connecting the grip. "We'll probably be seeing a lot of each other around here, yeah? You're a dispatching officer, right?"

She gave a grin, "Yes, I am. I do hope we get to know each other."

"Yeah, that'd be nice." You wave your goodbye, heading to Detective Sam Wilson's office. You knock on the door, hoping he's still there.

The door cracked open, "(Y/n), good to see you! What's up?"

You rolled your eyes at his causality. "Just because we were friends in high school, doesn't mean you don't have to call me by my full title, Detective."

The man's eyes lit up. "We were more than friends, (Y/n). Anyways, what can I do for you, Miss (L/n)?"

Dread crept back into your chest. Right. You weren't just here to catch up with your friend; you have an actual problem. You took in a deep breath. "I have to make a report. I need you to listen to me, and no matter how crazy it seems, please just... believe me."

He nodded, "I promise I will."

"You know my patient, James Buchanan Barnes? Well, his little friend decided to visit me today. Steve Rogers is alive. James was right, he is still fucking alive. He told me that Bucky had another side... a darker side, and that he was going to kill everyone who got in the way between me and him. He-" Your voice broke and your eyes started to water, "He threatened me. H-he said, 'It's not what he wants. If he got what he wanted, he said I'd be dead with h-his cock buried in my fucking cunt.' He told me that he wouldn't mind fucking my- my dead body!" Your voice grew hysterical, "What do I do, Sam? What the hell am I going to do? I have two fucking psychopaths trailing me! They told me not to come here, but I am so fucking scared, Sam. I don't know what else to do."

Sam stayed silent, thinking for a minute. "Listen, (Y/n), you don't sound crazy at all. I do believe you. Their entire life was fucked up, the whole case couldn't even come to a full conclusion. It's pretty much still an open case of what really happened. I- I really want to help you and protect you." He paused, "I think you should stay with me."

"Stay with you?" You questioned, a bit skeptical.

"Yeah, (Y/n). It'll be just like old times. I don't trust anyone else with you, they won't protect you like I will. You're valuable to me." He explained, softly.

You pondered his offer, not quick to agree, but not quick to disagree either. "Okay."

"Are you comfortable sharing the bed? I have a king, so we won't touch... unless you want to." The flirty man winked at you.

"As long as you don't get touchy feely, then yeah, I'll share the bed with you." You rolled your eyes playfully.

Sam smirked at you, "Define 'touchy feely.'"

"Don't push it. I'm here for safety reasons and you know that." Sighing sadly, you met his eyes.

He reciprocated your look, "I know. I'm just trying to take your mind off things."

You gave him a reassuring look, and went into the bathroom to change into clothes Sam gave you to sleep in. When you were changing, everything went dark. Hearing a loud bang, you felt around for your jeans, pulling them back up; you didn't bother to put on your jacket because you were wearing a blouse. You reached over to the light-switch, flipping it on and back off again. Nothing. You unlocked and opened the door calling out, "Sam?"

There was no answer, "Sam, if you don't answer me, I'm going to lock this door and stay in here until you come and get me."

"Oh," A deep, dark and raspy voice rang out a couple of feet from the door, "I can come and get you."

Eyes widening, you slammed the door shut, frantically looking for the lock. After you successfully locked the door, it started rattling. "Come on doc, don't be like that. We just want to play."

Eyeing the window, you knew you could make it out of there and escape.

"You know, bitch, I did warn you not to go off and rat on us, didn't I?"

"What do you people want from me, Steve?" You wailed out loudly, allowing the time to crack open the window.

The man's loud cackle resounded through the dark hallways, "I told you what I want. It's what we all want, doll. I suggest you stop fucking running from us. Unless you'd rather die and then satisfy our needs. As I said before, I wouldn't mind fucking your dead body."

The door shuttered roughly, "A locked door won't stop us from finding you, dollface."

"Why me?" You asked angrily, standing on the toilet to slip your leg out of the window. Of course, you had to go to the upstairs bathroom.

You knew he would soon figure out that sound getting louder was the rain, and that the window was open. "Why not someone else?"

You heard the snarkiness in his reply, “You know why. Bucky has a little... what do I say, connection with you.”

Taking a deep breath, you maneuvered your other leg out the window. The last thing you wanted to happen, did. The door slammed open, and you let yourself fall. Your feet hit the ground, and your body crumbled in the wet grass.

Not even looking back, you jolted up and started running. You couldn’t help it as tears fell down your cheeks. You could barely comprehend you were crying, the wetness blending in with the rain, and your heart beating so fast you couldn’t focus on anything else.

How did he know you were here? Had he been stalking you that whole time after he left your home?

The slapping of his shoes in the rain, weren’t too far behind. You knew he was faster than you, but what else were you supposed to do? You had done the only thing you thought you could do, which was exactly what he told you not to do. You fucked yourself over hard. Why did you not just listen?

Part of your conscience was agreeing with the decision, but now that the only person who could help you is missing in action, you were starting to regret it. Would it have been as bad if you were just to obey like they wanted in the first place?

Maybe. Maybe not. There was no turning back now.

Your out-of-breath sobs were drowned out by thunder booming through the night sky, and a flash of lightning lighting up your surroundings. You genuinely were out of ideas. Where do you go from here?

You hadn’t made a plan after you started running, but with his pounding footsteps catching up to you, you needed to figure out one fast. You knew where you were, and you knew what was around you. So, you decided to make a sharp turn, running from the main street to behind people’s houses. You knew this would be disorienting. Too much going on to keep up with you.

You took this as your chance to hide. You darted into the woods; you knew a place you could go. As risky as it was, it was your only choice. You ran and ran, barely stopping to catch your breath. But you made it to the gas station. You were halfway there, and it was time to think of a plan.

The sound of the TV broke through the air once you opened the door.

“-chiatric mental hospital is still in flames from the explosion as firefighters are working on evacuating current patients and staff members.”

You jaw nearly dropped. You thought you were fucked earlier? Oh no. Now you’re really fucked.

You heart physically hurt. You had to go. You had to make sure everyone was okay. Tears rushed down your face and you hurried to the bathroom. You slid down the wall, and your hands entangled themselves in your hair, finding something to hold onto. You sniffled.

You couldn’t break down now. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself. You gave yourself a minute to stop crying and collect your thoughts. Standing back up, you wiped the tears from your face. You had to be strong.

You opened the bathroom door and walked out. Taking a deep breath, you exited the gas station.

It only took about fifteen minutes for you to be approaching the building that was no longer burning. Jamie was the first person you saw. When you made eye contact, her eyes widened.

But that’s when you realized she wasn’t looking at you. She was looking behind you. You turned your head, and Steve Rogers was no less than five-hundred feet behind you, quickly catching up.

The sky roared and rumbled again, a strike of lightning hitting the building. A second explosion went off, this time closer to you. Everything shook and your vision went black for a few seconds. You were on the ground. You groaned in pain and winced as you rolled to your side. The amount of pain you were feeling was unexplainable. A new thought raced through your head.

Jamie. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. You pushed yourself up and ran. Your side was burning from all the running. But when you looked to where you wanted to run, all there was: fire. No one could have made that out alive, hell, you barely did. You were too caught up with this new distraction that you didn’t think about Bucky or Steve. But you should have been. The movement of the fire shifted, darkened, and waved. One boot, two boots, then a lower body.

Bucky smirked in triumph as he treaded through the flames. New tears of fear flooded your vision. He was close. Closer than Steve. You were frozen, like a deer in headlights.

You felt a shove from your back, pushing you forward.

“No!” You screamed, the tears streaming. You turned around, Steve was there, “Please, please don’t do this. Steve, please, I’m sorry.”

He grabbed you roughly by the shirt and pulled you close.

“You should have listened the first time, dollface.” He breathed into your ear, and you could hear the grin on his face.

He roughly threw you backwards, and you landed directly into the hands Bucky. You could have sworn you were going to have a heart attack and die, and to be honest, you would prefer it if you did. Where did you go wrong in life to end up here?

Bucky dragged you with him, back towards the building you met.

“No, no, no!” You screamed struggling to get out of his grasp. You did, and you fucking booked it.

You knew you probably wouldn’t make it that far, but what you didn’t expect was to slip and fall with two super soldiers hot on your tail. You scrambled to dash away again, but before you could, a heavy boot made contact with your back, pushing you down.

“You don’t ever fucking learn, huh, doc?”

You cried in desperation, your sobs only reaching the cold dirt and the rain above.

Your body heaved with sobs as he straddled your legs.

“What are you so afraid of?” he sneered, “Do you know what it’s like to be caged up like an animal, and then asked the same fuckin’ questions every day?”

His hand met with your hip where your shirt shifted up, slowly running his fingertips over your skin. You shivered from the feeling of the raindrops wetting your skin.

“Bucky, stop,” You pleaded.

His hand now gripped your hip roughly.

“You know, you haven’t made one smart decision yet tonight. I think your smartest choice right now,” his growling voice came to a pause, ”would be to lay here and fucking take it!”

His hands grasped each side of your jeans, ripping them down with your panties. You heard him unbuckle his belt and slide his pants down, and you tensed.

A sob escaped your mouth as you thought about what he was going to do to you.

“You literally played into my hands,” he chuckled, “you believed every little thing I told you, huh?”

You stayed silent. How did you not realize earlier? His entire residency, and every session with you in this cursed place was all a façade. You thought you knew him. But really, he just played you like a goddamn violin. You caused all of this because you were blinded by this savior complex for him; but in all reality, no one could save him.

He caressed your wet hair, then pushed the side of your head into the ground. Your tears were relentless, and you felt numb. His cold, metal hand shifted your leg, and you felt him shift to position himself.

You yelped as he forced himself inside of you. Your face burned with embarrassment as you gasped in pain once he started thrusting himself into you. One of his hands kept your head down, and the other wandered your body.

His metal fingers wrapped around your waist and trailed down to your clit, roughly rubbing in circles. You listened to his heavy breathing and tried to ignore the fact that he was violating you entirely.

He didn’t truly want you to just lay there and take it, he wanted you to make it hard for him. He likes a challenge. But he didn’t only want a challenge, he wanted you to hurt. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted his other side to come out.

He moved his hands, his hard, cool metal hand wrapping around your throat. His other hand grasping your waist hard enough you knew it was going to bruise.

“God, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this.”

It was getting hard to breathe, your head started pounding as you tried to claw his hand off of your throat.

“S-stop,” you croaked out.

You panicked when black dots started to fill your vision. You still clawed at his hand, but it was useless. You pulled back and kicked Bucky, which he definitely wasn’t expecting because he did let you go. You coughed violently, breathing in as much air that could get to your lungs.

That’s when you noticed a change in demeanor. He was rough before, but now he grabbed your hair and slammed your head into the ground. You cried out in pain. You were terrified, were you going to make it out of this alive?

He pulled his cock out of you and lined up with your ass. He pushed himself into you, enjoying your screams of pain. It stung and felt foreign to you, you couldn’t prepare yourself for pain like this. He pulled back and pounded into you. He wanted you to feel hurt, scared, fearful of him.

You were begging for this to end, the pain to end.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

He pulled out of your ass and thrusted back into your cunt. He was going to cum inside you, that was one thing he was sure of.

His roughness was instinct, like he couldn’t control himself. His thrusts were now aiming to be painful, to hurt you, and it worked. You cried out after almost every thrust until he pushed as far as he could and emptied himself in you.

He pulled out, admiring the damage he had done. He watched blood drip out of you, he’d done what he wanted.

You curled up in a shivering ball, listening for police sirens as Bucky redressed himself.

He sighed a knelt down next to your drenched figure. He caressed your face, grabbed your chin and forced you to meet his eyes, “I’ll see you soon again. We’re far from done.”

You didn’t know where Steve and Bucky had gone, but you were terrified.

It’s not over.

#dark! bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #dark! steve rogers #dark! bucky #dark! steve #dark! marvel

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

Free writing - Mom And The Mushrooms

Author’s note: Again -- if you’re here for the Henry content you can skip this one. I can’t find any inspiration for Henry stories at the moment, so I thought I’d share one of my ‘free writing’ stories instead. I’m super nervous about sharing this with you, but..ever tried ever failed, right?😅

Mom And The Mushrooms

Warnings: Dystopian, character death, food poisoning, grief

Word count: 3.607 (13 min. reading time)

Phase 1: Denial

They had to be kidding right?

With a shaking jumble the train came to yet another screeching halt. And we weren’t even there yet.

Would they throw me out here? In this suburban, white picketed wilderness? I could see the grass growing thigh high. Trees poking out through the roofs of houses that had once been the wet dream of every newly-wed nuclear family.

If only they had known what would come of the world.

Leaning into the large glass window, I let my eyes wander. There wasn’t even a platform in sight, the rails tracking for miles ahead before I could make out the silhouette of my hometown in the distance. It was no more but a bluer shade of blue in the crisp sky. Like a fever dream that I so eagerly wanted to wake up from right now. I didn’t want to be here. In this train. Going home. Or whatever was left of home.

I watched as two blue uniformed men passed outside my window. Train crew. Their stubby fingers letting factory rolled cigarettes dance as smoke puffed from their lips, their moustaches curling up with something that might just be a smile. I hadn’t seen people smile for years. So, sure. It was a little weird.

Would they throw me out here? With a speeding heart I watched them, but they walked on. Onward to the nose of the train, their pace glacial as they sauntered on side by side. Why were they so happy? Idiots.

Sighing, I rested back into the coffee stained bench, the old raggedy fabric reminding me of the long years this train had been in service. It was a miracle that it still managed to move out here once a week. In between the mighty storms, floods, hurricanes and what not. It was a miracle that people still dared to go out in this wilderness. Myself included. Though, I obviously didn’t have much of a choice.

Simmering quietly, my attention was drawn to an old broadcaster that crackled to life. The sound resembled something that might have once sounded human. But right now it sounded more like metallic gibberish. Hard to discern and probably also hardly important.

“Kggg--zz running int-----resume in a tsssskk --”

*click*

It was the last stop before we finally arrived in my hometown. Home. Pff. They had to be kidding right?

Phase 2: Anger

Home was a town without a name. The sign was long stolen and had never been replaced. RB04 - Midhaven. That’s what it was called. For it was located exactly in the middle of two supercities; 8LU3 - Blue City and R3D - Red City.

It was the only town that still had a few inhabitants for miles to come. And it had a shop too, my feet dragging inside as I tugged my suitcase along. The copper bell by the door tolled loudly and I couldn’t help myself but think: I fucking hate this.

‘Angel?’ A halfling sized man walked out from behind the counter, his head appearing from behind a rack with candied bars past their expiration date. He looked a century older, and perhaps an inch or so smaller. But he was still Bub. He still had that stupid smile on his face. That spiky white hair. A near toothless smile. Why did these people ever smile? What was there to smile about?

‘Bub.’ - I sounded tired.

The man’s furry brows lifted, and for a moment I wondered if he could see me at all.

‘You look terrible.’ - Fair enough, he did.

I shrugged. ‘Much like this town.’

For a moment we just stared at each other as a strange energy crackled in the late afternoon air, the rest of the small shop completely abandoned. Then again; so was most of this town. The bell behind my head ringed again, this time by a gust of autumn wind that washed inside, breaking the silence. Bub cleared his gravelly throat.

‘You’re here for ye mum’s stuff?’

‘I am.’

His brows furrowed even more, before finally he turned his attention to the counter, small feet shuffling back until I could see no more of him but the few white hairs that poked out over the wooden counter. I could see him move to and fro, but I was too tired, upset..and perhaps a touch angry, to be willing to care.

‘Tis been long since last I saw you.’ He spoke from behind the counter. ‘You a grand cuisine cook now?’

I felt my gut drop and face sour. I wish I could say I had. I had promised I would. But I had failed. I was a fucking, miserable failure. I hated myself. I was angry at myself. And had I just been better, smarter, faster...and less of an expensive mushroom stealing mess..I wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t have cast me out. I could have made my mother proud.

I could still hear her voice: “Don’t forget about us - because we won’t forget about you. And know I’ll always be here for you.”

Well that was a lie. She was proclaimed dead and I was here, alone. Or well, sort of. Bub was still around. And for some odd reason I believed he was one of those immortal beings, ready to even outlive me, the last girl to ever be born in Midhaven. He was like one of those wizard-like creatures that offered you omens and odd jokes. In fact the only thing he missed was a bushy full beard. He sure got the humour right. I think. I mean, society wasn’t about fun. I had learned that the hard way in the last ten years as I worked my way up in the kitchen of The White Hall.

Fuck. I hated myself, for making such a mess of my life. And what in the hell was Bub doing back there?

I peeked over the counter but couldn’t see more than Bub’s spiky white hair. ‘So..how are you Bub?’

He didn’t respond and I decided to just breathe and let my anger fizzle and eyes wander. This shop had been here since I was young. It was all artificial foods. Tasteless crap. Quick, easy, cheap. No animals hurt. No nature hurt. No nature even needed.

I hated that, too; for true beauty, taste and pleasure, a little hurt is needed. That’s what the kitchen taught me. You’ve gotta sear, steam, salt, dry and beat your ingredients if you want to make them taste like anything. Pain. Pleasure. Perfection.

Perhaps that was the silver lining of my return. It sure hurt good.

Bub returned from behind the counter with a key on a keychain, the red colour of the cord faded.

‘No need to bother with the pleasantries.’ Bub finally answered, a little defeated. ‘Miryam died. The boys left for the city. Business is terrible. Do you want anything else?’

I looked down at the small man and felt something that might just be a pang of sympathy. I hadn’t felt sympathy in a long time and it made me uncomfortable to say the least. In my time as a sous-chef, sympathy was the last skill I’d ever need to use. I just had to perform, perform, perform!

I quietly took the keychain and looked back into the dusty old shop, wondering.

‘Did the farm close down?’ My eye fell on the corner where some fresh produce had once been displayed; the empty crates looked too dusty for my question to even need answering.

‘A long time ago. Yes. There’s no business to be done in onions and leeks no more.’

‘Shame.’

‘Gotta blame the people.’

Another silence fell and for another moment we just looked at each other. A small smile formed on Bub’s wrinkly little mouth and I sighed. Could you really blame the people when they simply couldn’t even afford good food if they wanted to? I retaliated.

‘You’re right. And eh, give me some of the red stuff.’

Bub nodded and picked one off the long row of identically red labeled cans, his small body wobbling as the contents shifted his center of gravity.

‘This should keep you stuffed for a good week. Anything else?’

‘Nope. That’s all.’ I took the can from him. ‘How much is it?’

His smile grew. ‘One home cooked meal.’

I wasn’t sure if I was going mad by that point, but I swear that man had just asked me to cook for him. And it wasn’t likely to be warming up this red goopy goo. I looked down at the can and then the man, confusion crawling over my tired face.

‘What now?’

‘Your mother taught you to forage, right? I haven’t had a proper good meal in…’ He raised a brow as if thinking. ‘..ages.’

I blinked at him as he walked back to his hiding spot behind the counter, the deal apparently made.

‘I have some pig’s grease stacked away. Not much. But enough. See you tomorrow?’

I knew I should say no. In fact I had almost sworn to never cook again as they had thrown me on this train today. But something deep inside of me sang to Bub’s words. Begged me to consider. Perhaps it were the rich autumn smells in the air. Luscious and fungal. Perhaps it was my grumbling stomach combined with the hopeful glint I saw in Bub’s eyes. In any way. Before I knew it, the word was out.

‘O-okay.’ I breathed.

‘Great. See you tomorrow, Angel.’

Phase 3: Bargaining

They had never found my mom’s body. And laying here in my mom’s bed, I could swear she had been here only hours earlier. I could still smell her. That nauseating combination of heady flowery scents. Even now it made me a little sick in the stomach. Honeysuckle, herby, rosy..skunk.

I had despised this smell with a passion, but for the moment it gave me comfort. And perhaps even hope. Perhaps my mom wasn’t really dead. Perhaps she had just met a new man and moved to a new apartment further down town. Perhaps, she had just forgotten to send me an update. I mean. I never sent her updates about my life. So who could blame her? Oh mom. You crazy, crazy woman.

I rolled over in bed and inhaled deeply. Memorizing the dizzying smells combined with the wisp of morning air as it moved in through the cracked open window. It smelled devine. Like wet dirt and sunshine. So very different from the pristine clean smells of the city, which were all chemical and dispassionate.

In nature smells had a goal. To entice. To warn. To taste. To .. love. And my mom had been just that. Always completely and utterly in love. With nature, beasts.. and men. Let’s not forget about men.

Rolling out of bed I trudged into the small apartment, flowery cushions layered with dust and vines moving in through the cracks in the walls. I took a few testy bites of the red goo, but decided that I might as well move out and see if Bub had been right. Whether I could forage at all.

The morning was still surprisingly cool, my fingers wrapping urgently around my city-girl coat to keep warm. My practical shoes beat a steady rhythm on the pavements and for long quiet moments I remembered my youth here. There had been more people then. There had still been a school, some bars, jobs, families. But right now they all seemed to have left. Just like my mom had. Away from this overgrown misery. Million dollar misery.

My mom had once told me that these car wrecks by the road had once been driven by the richest of the richest. They’d sit in the back and have drivers drive them to important business meetings in the tops of the highest skyscrapers. They’d wear sleek tuxedo’s and go to fancy balls. They’d go dancing with pretty women. On live music, played on real instruments. And they’d have food. The best that money could buy.

Right now those cars were no more but rusty wreckages. Bugatti. Astin Martin. Ferrari. The city had swallowed them back up, large trees now growing around them, breaking up the cracked tarmac like spindly green fingers.

In the distance I could see some movement. A herd of deer. And though I knew there would be animals, I could still feel my heart race at the sight of their fluffy white butts, nervous cheeks halting their chewing as they noticed my presence. I held my breath and waited, but they fled all the same. Softly their hooves clacked as they jumped through the city jungle. One by one. A great buck following them last, large antlers reaching out like roots from his head.

‘Everything is connected dear. The people, the plants, the trees, the earth and the sky. We’re all connected, living the circle of life. Over and over and over. And that’s not scary. That’s beautiful.’

I could hear my mom as we’d saunter through the wilder parts of the city. Picking herbs to make that watery drink. What was it called again? Ah yes. Tea. My sweetness, I had missed tea. And, I missed mom.

Taking a steadying breath I calmed my escalating thoughts, instead focusing on my journey for today. Today, I was going to cook Bub a meal. And this time I would not have to steal the ingredients. No, I’d find them myself. Thank you very much.

‘This is divine!’ Bub exclaimed with a full mouth.

I smiled woefully and looked down at the mushroom stew I had managed to make with the meagre bounty I had gathered. I could have done better probably. But it was good enough for Bub. He was humming and buzzing with every bite.

‘Say Bub..’ I swallowed and looked up at the small man who barely managed to reach out above the table’s edge.

‘Yes Angel?’

‘I never heard how she died.’

Bub stopped chewing and licked his lips. He sighed and slowly shook his head. ‘A broken heart I’m sure. If ever I saw one so passionate about her man, she was it.’

‘And then he left her.’

‘He did.’

‘And you..saw she was dead?’

Bub realised what I was aiming at and huffed softly. ‘Dear. I am so sorry. It must be painful to be back here. All the memories. With your mom especially. I mean. It is difficult with there being no body and all. But she is gone. She is. She was never one to leave without a trace. A sign. A note. A goodbye...’

I didn’t listen as he rambled on. Because as I looked down at my meal I somewhere deep down knew that he was absolutely right.

Scene 4: Depression

I probably shouldn’t have pushed my grief away for so long. Back home my body decided it was time for a cleanse. And it sure wasn’t pretty. I sat on the toilet for hours. And for hours I wondered if I perhaps should have put that red goo some place cooler. Did I get food poisoning?

Slow hours passed and I felt dehydrated and exhausted by the time I could lay back down on my mom’s bed again, my dreams after fitful until morning came again.

The next day there was little I could do. I had hoped that I’d see some familiar faces around other than Bub. But the streets were deserted and for hours I’d just wander, reminiscing the old days. I was glad I felt somewhat better. Physically that is. Mentally I was but a shadow of my old, confident self. I had never felt grief before, so I figured I had to just occupy my body until my mind would be too tired to think.

I had nothing left to live for. I had lost my permit to live in the City. My job. My savings. My mom. My ..home. And all I could think of was that it was all my fault. I had left my mom all those years ago. I had made that decision without her. I just went, angry and spiteful of her dreamy daze that got us nowhere.

For long years I didn’t speak or update my mom. But she did update me. The beauty of personal codes was that you couldn’t simply disappear. Updates would always find you when you were in the land of the living.

Should I send my mom an update? See if she’d respond?

I looked down at my feet, their soles no longer touching tarmac but sand, the sediment carried into the streets after centuries of howling winds. And before me there were trees. Not the spindly kind like in my mom’s neighbourhood. But ancient trees, their leaves all fallen down in deep shades of red, purple and yellow, the sun tickling through their bald branches.

And then I could feel rain. Timid at first. Teasing my hair and face as I looked up into the grey sky. I felt the small bullets of truth rain down on me. Torturing me with their cold little kisses. And my eyes started to burn. I knew my mom was dead. I just knew it. I had known it deep in my gut when I had gotten the obituary statement of the legal council. I had known it when Bub had sent word for me - he never did. I had known it when I had waved it away, stating to my colleagues that this was just my mom trying to make me come home.

I hadn’t come home to her then. I hadn’t looked for her. I had stayed. And now I was too late. All I had was the rain as I crumbled and cried beneath the weight. Of defeat.

I failed you mom.

Phase 5: Acceptance

After my poor night, I figured that the red goo was probably the cause of my digestional problems. And so, after I picked myself up and dried my tears, I scavenged for more food. And I was more successful this time too. The forest I had found offered a great source of roots and herbs. Herbs with which i made my first tea in years. And though the tea tasted alright, it wasn’t as great as when my mom made it. I missed my mom.

Slow days passed like that. Scavenging, foraging, cooking and sleeping. I wondered if this was what my life would be now. Had my mom really died of a broken heart? And if yes; could I? I’d wander and wonder. My feet hitting the streets with a little more confidence each day. And perhaps it was just madness kicking in, but I could swear I heard voices. First far away, making me drift around and search for human life. Then closer by; I realised they came from the earth.

‘Everything is connected.’

My mom had been right. She had once explained that many plants had huge root systems and that there were theories they could sense each other. Even sense each other’s pain. So perhaps, just maybe, they were sensing my pain, too.

The idea was absolutely absurd. I knew it was. But it did bring me some much needed comfort. I had even tried to find Bub and ask him about those roots, but he hadn’t been in his shop. Shop closed, come back later, the little sign on his door had stated. And so I did what any good scientist would do. I started to investigate.

The sky was so.. blue. Spreading my hands out over the soft warm moss, I looked through the small glade up at the tall tree branches and away into the eternal skies. I wasn’t quite sure when I had lain down. And if someone had come up and told me I had been laying here for years, then perhaps I would have simply agreed. I could feel those roots beneath me, clawing at me, fusing with me. Dragging me down until my body was but mush.

I could hear them too. Much louder now, especially here in this little sunny glade, a small mound risen like a small bed just for me. I had lain down some minutes, hours, days or years ago, and what a fine bed it was. Mossy, musky and sweet, I let it soothe me as my body started to beg and plead. First quietly, but by now it had become aggravating and paralyzing. I couldn’t as much as lift my fingers by this point now the aches started to grow in strength. It felt as if I was truly falling apart as I rooted into my new existence here at the bottom of these trees.

If you want to make your food taste like anything a little hurt is needed. You gotta sear, steam, salt, dry and beat. Pain. Pleasure. Perfection.

One week ago I lost it all. My house, income, job, future. It lost it all. But now, looking up at the blue sky, voices singing to me, those worries seemed so unimportant. Everything was alright. I was here. Back to my roots. Broken and bruised and hurting all over, I smiled. For the first time in years I smiled. Because as I lay here I realised it no longer mattered. I would never leave again.

‘I’m home mom.’ I muttered, my speech slurred as my body started to seize and shake.

I had made a mistake. That much was clear now. Because as I lay here, writhing and dying, I knew: it hadn’t been the city that would take me down, but the mushrooms. The mushrooms!

The end.

Author’s note: I might share some more free writing stories in the future if any of you are interested. But please..! I know you’re here to thirst over Henry (and so am I), so do not feel obligated to like, comment and reblog - though it is of course always most appreciated! Sending you my love dear readers and I hope you’re having a good weekend ❤️

Sources of inspiration: For my short stories I’m diving head first in a lot of interesting articles I’ve archived over the years. For this particular story I’ve delved into the world of the five stages of grieving, as well as the magical world of mushrooms. Did you know that the mushroom you see is but a tiny part of a much larger, growing being? You can somewhat compare mushrooms to apples, as mushrooms are but the fruit that are formed by the much larger mycelium that is found beneath the earth; always prepping to produce more ‘fruit’ when the atmosphere and moisture level is just right. The more you know...

#free writing #something else #henry cavill writing block #please send help

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ambitionsource · 5 years

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AMBITION Season 2 ♫ “World Uncertain” [ 2.09 ]

CREATED BY Esther (rapunzles) & Maggie (quincywillows) || S2 Tag || Official Page

SPRING CLEANING – The juniors are forced to confront the ramifications of their actions while navigating shaky ground. Valerie comes to New York to spend the break with Isadora, although she may be carrying deeper intentions. Winter melting into spring allows for the chance to begin again.

64 Minutes (17K words) || CONTENT WARNING: mentions of suicide. Take care of yourselves and read with discretion.

[ ← Got A Lotta Livin’ To Do ] [ S2 Synopsis ] [ Rarely Pure and Never Simple → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

The bustle and commute of a brand new work day in Manhattan echoes lightly from all around as a MALE OFFICER emerges from his cruiser. He strides a few feet onto the sidewalk, joining another FEMALE OFFICER standing on the curb.

She’s looking towards the side of the building on the corner, the male officer matching her stance. They don’t look stressed but rather confused -- and in a glimmer here and there, perhaps a bit impressed. Either way, it’s evident they aren’t sure what to make of their latest call.

Upon the brick wall of the establishment across from them, Maya’s emotionally spurred graffiti finally sees the light of day. It’s beautiful and jarring, bright and colorful and eye-catching, yet obviously attempting to convey something heavy. Something larger than life, overwhelming, difficult to capture in words as it is on the canvas of a building.

The word ENOUGH. Embellished and bold and impossible to miss.

The officers stand in front of it, small against its looming presence. As the school bell rings...

INT. AAA - CORY’S CLASSROOM - DAY

Students are transitioning for their next period, CORY MATTHEWS shouting last minute reminders at them as they shuffle out. He specifically mentions the impending spring holiday and urges students not to forget about their reading assignments.

Once the chaos has died down before the next wave of students files in, ISADORA DE LA CRUZ approaches Cory’s desk. He questions what he can do for her.

Isadora: You said that you were hoping someone could… Farkle.

Cory: … yes?

Isadora: [ clearing her throat ] His homework. You said you were wondering if someone could drop his assignments by his place during break. Since he’s coming back next week. Don’t want him falling behind and all that. So I figured I might as well.

Cory: You? You want to --

It’s obvious Isadora is the last person Cory was expecting to volunteer for such a job. But Isadora merely raises an eyebrow at him, so he quickly covers his surprise.

Cory: I just didn’t think you would be the one to -- but, sure. That would be wonderful, thank you, Isadora.

He shifts into gathering the proper materials, offhandedly relaying how much of their new book she should instruct him to read by the time they return. Isadora isn’t listening much, caught up in her own head. Perhaps Cory was a bit right to question her… why is she so intent on volunteering to help Farkle…

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Who, speaking of, is making his grand return home. After about a month away at a rehabilitation facility, the doormen and wait staff warmly welcome him back as JENNIFER MINKUS leads the way back up to their penthouse accommodations. Handfuls of “welcome back, young Mister Minkus” are thrown in their direction, accompanied by relieved expressions or uncertain smiles as they get a good look at him.

And the reason is clear enough why. As they step back into the familiar entryway and Jennifer immediately starts fussing about getting him settled back in, FARKLE MINKUS takes his time. He drops his bag on the floor, taking a deep breath. And as we pan up from the floor to his face, one change is more prominent than any other.

His hair has been buzzed off. No more obsessive coiff. No more fastidious appearance. No more flyaway mess from pulling on it and running his hands through it too often to repair.

All that’s left is what’s underneath. Clean slate. Fresh start.

Tis the season of rebirth, after all.

Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

LUCAS JAMES FRIAR opens his locker, explaining the consequences of his little joy ride last episode after he and Dylan went to court to be sentenced. Whereas Dylan got off on a warning and a minor blemish on his record since he is a minor and merely “an accessory,” Lucas was assigned 70 glorious hours of court-ordered community service to complete.

Still, he’s well aware it could’ve been far worse, especially since he’s already 18 and not as protected by juvenile limitations. It helped that the owner of the car didn’t press charges as nothing was damaged, but he also has the sense that Jack did a lot of negotiating on his behalf.

When she responds, it’s revealed that he is sharing these developments with RILEY MATTHEWS. She’s leaning against the row of lockers next to his, listening intently. She claims that he could easily knock out those service hours during spring break.

Riley: Seventy hours, ten days of break. That’s seven hours a day, which you can easily manage. [ a beat ] In fact, I’ll tag along with you.

Lucas: You do not need to waste your spring break on me.

Riley: It’s not waste, believe me. I could use the excuse to get out of the house, especially with my mom in and out helping move my brother’s things. It’s…

She doesn’t finish the sentence, shaking her head instead. Lucas doesn’t push her, getting the gist anyway. She directs her focus back to him.

Riley: And you know, it’s the least I could do. That night with the --

Lucas, pointedly: Don’t let that be your reason. You don’t owe me anything.

It’s evident Riley disagrees. They hold each other’s gaze. Riley decides not to argue it, but is still determined to join him regardless. She says as such, Lucas shrugging and focusing back on gathering his things.

Lucas: Well, I can’t stop you from blowing your break if that’s what you’re intent on doing.

Riley: Sure can’t. [ with a grin ] Besides, it’ll be fun. I like charity work.

Lucas, deadpan: Oh, I know.

Har har. It takes Riley a moment to get his implications, scowling when she realizes. He can’t help but smile, melting away Riley’s frown in spite of herself. Their smiles linger as Lucas shuts his locker, coinciding with…

INT. AAA - LIBRARY - DAY

CHARLIE GARDNER hitting the spacebar on one of the school computers, deeply concentrated as he scours through the webpages he has open. From an offhand glance, it seems to be a bunch of program websites, an application form or two sprinkled in. Although he’s working fast, he seems pretty intent.

And, well, a bit frantic. A glimmer of that frazzled nature is back in his eyes, making the web search seem far more important than a simple research project.

He jumps when someone calls his name, glancing up only for a moment before swiftly closing all the tabs. CLARISSA CRUZ and HALEY FISHER approach, Haley playfully nudging him and looking over his shoulder to see what he’s working on. He says he was just finishing up, not offering any further explanation.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

As they’re exiting the library, Clarissa asks Charlie if he wants to come to Chubbie’s. They’re doing a sort of kick off for spring break.

Haley: Drowning ourselves in high caloric content, that’s what we’re doing.

Clarissa: As is our right after the hell this semester has been so far.

Darn right, ladies! Charlie starts to respond, but his interest shifts to hesitation as he questions who else is going. They mention Yindra and Nigel, definitely Yogi, maybe Darbs? Although there are some unsure parties, Zay is not mentioned either way.

This seems to be what Charlie was looking for. With no mention of his boyfriend he happily agrees, telling them he’ll meet them there. Once they flutter off, however, his smile falters somewhat. He’s clearly not sure how he feels about anything at this point.

He starts down the hall alone, heading towards a week of freedom from it all.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

ZAY BABINEAUX, meanwhile, is meeting one-on-one with HARPER BURGESS. She’s got a stack of pamphlets and flyers to pass onto him, all opportunities for enrichment programs or auditions he can go out for. She also places a folded paper on top, explaining that its a list of contacts she has in the industry that he could consider reaching out to for guidance.

Harper: You know how it is -- it’s all about who you know.

Zay: Yeah. These are really great, thank you. [ a beat ] Are you sure it’s okay for you to do this? This does seem a little bit like what some might call favoritism.

Harper: Don’t see how it could be favoritism when you’re the only person who has even bothered to ask.

Fair point. Harper reminds Zay that he is more than capable of stepping into the spotlight and making real strides. Going out for these opportunities, as he’s expressed as his intent, is just the first step. He just needs to maintain his laser focus.

Zay: Trust me, I expect I will have far less distraction than usual this break.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Which is exactly what he reiterates to Riley, stuffing the pamphlets into his backpack as they make their way out for the break. He states that if he and Charlie aren’t going to be spending as much time together, then he might as well fill all that time with things that are actually important. Riley questions whether he and Charlie have even like… really discussed what happened -- because she is vague on the details and isn’t quite sure what is up between them -- but Zay waves her off.

Riley: So everything is okay.

Zay: Well… not exactly.

Riley: So you’re breaking up.

Zay: No. Not exactly.

Riley: And when was the last time you talked about this? [ nervously ] When was the last time you talked at all?

Zay, cutting her off: Riley, relax. You’ve already got one complicated relationship dominating your life, don’t let Charlie and me become the same.

Valid, but also a convenient excuse to avoid the topic. Riley relents, instead switching gears and suggesting that if Zay will have so much more time open on his social calendar this week, perhaps he would be able to squeeze in a visit to their absent classmate?

He doesn’t seem to enthused by the prospect, but it’s clear that this is a warpath Riley has been marching on for quite some time now. He reluctantly says he’ll consider it.

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY

Isadora pokes her head in to chat with ERIC MATTHEWS, wishing him a restful break. He returns the sentiment, assuring her that he is heading out of the office shortly after them and will give himself a well-earned respite as well. She also questions how he’s doing this week emotionally, which seems to amuse him.

Eric: You realize this is the fourth time you’ve asked me that this week?

Isadora: [ unfazed, patiently waiting for a response ]

Eric, with a smile: … yes, I’m doing better. Thank you.

Placated for now, Isadora switches gears and asks if there’s anything Eric needs to give to Farkle this break. She’ll be dropping by to take him homework, so she can play messenger for him too if necessary. Eric remembers some flyers he meant to give for him in his preparation for returning to school. As he hands them over, he encourages Isadora to also take this holiday to take a breather. He thinks they all could use it.

Oh, and at the top of that list of people who really need to relax…

INT. AAA - PROP LOFT - DAY

ASHER GARCIA is meticulously arranging items on the shelves, doing his last touch-up organization of the loft before they leave for a week. He’s talking anxiously as he works, rambling about the state of things and how he’s supposed to get everything back in perfect shape. He’s speaking about the order of the prop loft, but that’s not really what he’s speaking about.

And that’s more than clear to DYLAN ORLANDO. He’s seated on the floor in front of the shelves, humoring Asher’s poorly veiled way of discussing how much of a mess everything is in socially removed terms and nodding along. He’s scribbling on a piece of notebook paper, delicately folding it and sliding it into the same cubby hole where Riley found his note in 206. Asher doesn’t notice a thing.

Dylan is smiling as he climbs back to his feet, tackling the discussion head on and explaining the situation from his perspective. He explains to Asher that Lucas was dead serious about their sentencing and took full responsibility for it. He even made a major point about taking all the blame off of Dylan, claiming that it was all him and his friend was only trying to make sure he didn’t get into anymore trouble.

That’s noble, yes, but Asher can’t believe Dylan is so calm about this. How can he not be at all upset? He got arrested.

Dylan: The cause of my impenetrable sense of peace is threefold. [ holding up three fingers ] One, I am a human being capable of making my own decisions. You said so yourself. I knew what I was doing when I agreed to go with Lucas, so it’s not like he’s some incorrigible demon corrupting me and my adorable veneer of innocence and naiveté.

Asher: You’ve been looking at the word of the day calendar, I see.

Dylan: Two. [ dropping a finger ] It really just doesn’t feel like that big a deal. I mean, yes, it’s a big deal that we got arrested and I would not like to repeat that ever again -- not to mention it would be a far bigger deal if I were any other race or gender, because of all the systemic imbalances in the justice system that make it way harder for small crimes to remain small and not totally derail your life when you’re not white and male, which now that I’m thinking about it is really kind of a huge problem that we’re not talking about enough and now I’m starting to get lightheaded -- is this what it feels like to be you all the time?

Asher: Dyl, lighthouse. And yes.

Dylan: Right. Larger sociocultural issues aside, I don’t think it’s worth getting hung up on. It happened, we dealt with it, and now we move on. Things are going to be different, yeah, but things change every day. I think it’s way more important to decide what happens next rather than get stuck on what already did. And, three --

Dylan is down to one finger, which he uses to tap at Asher’s cheek affectionately.

Dylan: All I know is that when all was said and done, Lucas stood up for me. I know he’s going through a lot right now and hasn’t been acting much like himself, but you and I both know that he always looks out for his friends. He never lets anyone else take the fall. That’s still true, and I still think that the person we’ve had as our best friend for three years, faults and all, is who he really is. I believe that, so I’m not going to drop him.

Asher absorbs this, obviously torn. He crosses his arms. Dylan continues, gently taking Asher’s shoulders and getting him to meet his eyes.

Dylan: However… if you decide that you don’t want to deal with it anymore, then that’s okay too. He messed up, and you have every right to decide that you’ve had enough and not forgive him. Or even if you do forgive him, you don’t have to let him back into your life. It’s all up to you, and it’s something that you have to come to on your own I think. Even though --

Asher, under his breath: I hate decisions.

Dylan, without missing a beat: You hate decisions. I know. But you’ll have plenty of time to think about it while you’re with your fam in Florida, and we know you’re an expert at thinking things to death. [ off Asher’s eye roll ] I’m just saying, whatever you choose to do will be the best one for you. I believe that, too. And I’ll support it no matter what… although, I’m pretty sure the best choice will be the right one. I’m not worried.

Asher: You never are. [ off Dylan’s beam ] So… what is the right choice?

As if he’ll give it up that easily. Dylan makes a face, shifting his gaze to the wall behind them as he pretends to be lost in thought. Then he locks eyes with him again, lightly tapping the side of his nose in a knowing gesture.

Dylan lightly taps Asher on the nose as well, grinning and spinning to depart without another word. Asher blinks, obviously still not thrilled with the things he has to contemplate but unable to hold back a smile in his boyfriend’s presence. He makes one last adjustment to the props before following him towards the stepladder.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Lucas arrives in the doorway, no longer sauntering around like he owns the place. Instead he lightly knocks, an awkward gesture considering how unnatural it is.

JACK HUNTER raises his gaze from his work, emotion flitting across his features at the sight of Lucas for a second before he resets to a pleasant, neutral state. Pleasant, but removed, so not really pleasant at all. Not at all like it’s supposed to be.

Jack: Something I can help you with, Mister Friar?

Lucas: [ thrown by the way he addressed him ] … um, yeah. I’m supposed to get the service paperwork from you.

Jack hums, nodding. He rises to his feet and digs through the papers on the cabinet behind his desk. Lucas remains uncertainly in the doorway, twisting his fingers subconsciously.

Jack finds the correct form, crossing the room to hand it to him. Lucas thanks him, Jack offering a polite nod as he heads back to his desk without further ado.

Lucas glances down at the paper, then at Jack settling into his desk again. It’s obvious he wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t know what. It’s like he’s lost the right to say anything ever again. He retreats sheepishly, disappearing back into the main office.

Jack glances up from his desk, expression betraying his own disappointment. He shakes it off, focusing back on his work.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Farkle is settling back into the apartment, a bit stiff in it after nearly a month away. He’s set up a home base of sorts in the living room, blankets folded on the opposite end of the couch and a formidable stack of books on the coffee table. He’s dressed more comfortably than he previously allowed, light wash jeans and a hand-me-down Princeton sweatshirt a far cry from blazer glory.

Jennifer is bustling around in the kitchen behind him, relaying all of the details for their upcoming break and his adjustment back home. She mentions the specifics of when Farkle should be taking his medications for stabilizing his body in the aftermath of the attempt, and who will be home when to keep him company (and watch over him).

Jennifer: Lila is on her way back from school now, and Uri will be here after school when I go to work. I’ll be staying mornings. Of course, Darla and Curtis will be checking in periodically throughout the day to see if you need anything --

Farkle: Hence my transition to the public display case of the living room, yes.

Jennifer: You know they appreciate that rather than having to intrude your privacy to enter your room.

Farkle makes a face. It’s a lot of attention, yes, but he also knows exactly why it’s necessary. Regardless of the state he’s in now, he certainly did his part to earn the surveillance.

Jennifer: And Ezekiel is coming back next weekend. He’s going to try and fly home when he can.

Farkle, sheepish: He doesn’t have to do that.

Jennifer: He wants to. He wouldn’t have it any other way, and we’re lucky that we can afford it.

Farkle: He doesn’t -- I mean, no one needs to go to all this trouble. It’s good, I mean, I’m good. I’ll be fine.

Jennifer gives him a smile, gently perching on the arm rest next to him. She takes his chin in her hand, only slightly belittling.

Jennifer: It’s cute that you think I’m going to take your word for it.

Farkle scowls, shrugging out of her grasp. Mostly because he knows she’s right. Jennifer laughs, leaning over to give him a kiss on the top of the head. When she pulls back, the expression on her face grows more serious.

Jennifer: I love you. [ a beat ] I’m very glad you’re home.

A loaded declaration. Farkle’s indignation fades, returning the sincerity despite how out of practice he is.

Farkle, quietly: Me too.

Jennifer smiles lovingly, stroking his cheek once more before jumping to her feet again. She shakes off the heaviness, brightly suggesting the ways that Farkle can enjoy the break home before he returns to school even while being under more careful watch. He’s got that hefty stack of books there, and perhaps there are more people he wants to see? He’s more than welcome to invite some friends over, provided he lets her know.

Farkle doesn’t seem convinced by this prospect.

Farkle, under his breath: Would need some friends first.

Oof. After a month away, Farkle is feeling the sting of his isolation more than ever.

INT. BLUE’S APARTMENT - DAY

Isadora is also set up on the couch, Blue’s living room acting as her makeshift bedroom while she’s in transition between foster homes. She’s far more settled into her space than Farkle, comfortably flipping through homework when there’s a bold knock on the door.

She doesn’t seem surprised -- and maybe even a bit excited -- as she rises to answer the door. On the other side is VALERIE DE LA CRUZ, looking glamorous as always as she cheerfully greets her daughter.

As she steps inside, BLUE NGUYEN emerges from the hall to the bedroom. She graciously greets him with her high-wattage Hollywood smile, thanking him profusely for allowing her into his house and taking such good care of Isadora. It’s obvious he has no idea how to react to her boisterous presence, accepting the praise with as much poise as he can muster.

Then Valerie is back on Isadora again, already questioning what they should do or how they should spend the week. A delicious dinner to start, perhaps? There’s this upscale place she’s been dying to try on the upper west side -- oh and Blue can come too, of course. Or perhaps a movie, if there’s one Isadora has been dying to see?

Valerie: Of course, you’ll need to clear your calendar for Friday. Very important evening plans.

[ She retrieves three tickets from her purse, handing them over with a mischievous grin and flourish. Isadora takes them, jaw dropping when she reads them. ]

Isadora: Hamilton? You got Hamilton tickets?

Valerie: It was hardly a tizzy. Just called in a favor with Lin -- you know how he was practically begging me to be in In the Heights. Well, he was more than happy to work these out for us. [ brightly ] There’s a third one in there too. I figured you might want to invite one of your friends -- Maya, I would guess? I’m sure she would love to go, even if just for the chance to boast a little bit with your classmates next week. All in good fun, of course.

Isadora, still dazed by the tickets in her hands, claims Maya won’t be able to come. Valerie asks why not, concerned, but Isadora simply states that she’s out of town for the break. Visiting Katy. This only confuses Valerie further, considering how much has happened since her last visit.

Valerie: Well, where on Earth is Katy?

INT. HART FAMILY HOME - NIGHT

KATY HART, dressed plainly and in the midst of helping cook dinner, jogs to answer the urgent knocking at the door. She pushes her hair out of her face, yanking open the door.

Katy: Just a second! Goodness, who the hell --

There on the other side of the door is MAYA HART, weary from a long day of traveling and clutching a suitcase in her hands. She brightens when she sees her mom, effortless smile blooming across her face.

Maya: Sorry. Just couldn’t wait much longer.

From the expression on her face, it’s clear that Katy was not expecting her. But it’s impossible to keep the happy grin off her face, even if mixed with incredulousness. Before she can get a word in edgewise, Maya barrels her with a hug.

Katy’s mother and father emerge from the kitchen, asking who it is and what all the fuss is about. VIVIAN “VIV” HART (60s) is demurely beautiful even with her age, although clearly the authoritative one of the pair of them. HENRY HART (60s), on the other hand, radiates that same bold and upbeat energy that his daughter and granddaughter are so proud of.

Both of them are gleeful to see Maya, rushing over to join in on the welcomes and hugs. She’s whisked into the house without another thought, not sparing a second towards how she got there or what she’s doing there in the first place…

INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Alone” as performed by Young Frankenstein Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus (feat. AAA Juniors)

The dramatic orchestral burst sets the mood in an instant, a spotlight illuminating Farkle standing atop one of the grandiose staircases in the Minkus abode. From the moment he speaks, it’s clear we’re in for a truly theatrical return to form.

Farkle: Oh, Maya, darling Maya, I miss you so much. Life has been absolute -- [ offhand, to DAVE WILLIAMS standing just out of frame ] dry martini, Davis, and I mean dry -- HELL without you. I’m so, so, so --

And thus Farkle launches into the ridiculous soliloquy, sashaying around in a luxurious dress shirt ensemble and dancing with his AAA classmates (sans the other super seven), who have all taken the roles of his wait staff and are dressed in identical uniforms. Some of them really make this look work, like YINDRA AMINO, while others like NIGEL CHEY and NATE MARTINEZ seem unimpressed as to what they’re doing there or why they’re being cast as his butlers.

When he dances with each of them, Asher and Dylan maintain their characterization by looking pretty disturbed in having to interact with him. Still, they all play their parts well, creating an enjoyable and suave support for Farkle’s melodramatic lament. Dave tries his best to give him the perfect martini, but never quite hits the mark.

All that aside, the most important aspect of the number is how good it feels to see Farkle perform again. Not just perform, but be absolutely, wholly over-the-top and ridiculous with an endearing amount of fanfare. This is the Farkle we haven’t seen in quite some time, and it’s nice to see him again as he tilts his head back to the high ceilings and belts out the final notes.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Even if only in a dream. Farkle is startled awake by peppy knocking at the door, having dozed off amidst his nest of blankets. On the TV, the film version of Young Frankenstein is playing. He struggles to his feet, attempting to shake off the fatigue and put himself back in presentable order. He reaches up to fix his hair on instinct before remembering he barely has any now, huffing and sliding towards the door.

Riley and Lucas are waiting on the other side, Riley offering a warm smile and cheerful greeting. Lucas does neither, keeping his arms crossed and settling for a glare instead. But hey, better than a derisive comment. That's an improvement!

Farkle steps back to allow them in, eyeing Lucas cautiously as they make their way inside. He questions what they’re doing there, which Riley scoffs at as if it’s a silly question. She explains that they wanted to come by and see how he was doing, moving further into the space and immediately going to adjust the blinds and let in more natural light.

Farkle tosses a look to Lucas. That so? Lucas doesn’t comment either way, turning away from him and getting a better look around.

Riley continues to quickly discuss all that’s happened in Farkle’s absence as he wanders over to join her. She mentions that someone will probably bring homework by at some point, and of course everyone is talking here and there about prom. They’ve started decorating for the senior send-off -- crazy how they’ll be seniors in just a couple months, isn’t it?

Riley: I’m glad that all of us will be able to jump into the final year together. [ a beat ] We all miss you.

Farkle, with a snort: Forgive me for not believing you. I’m suicidal, not delusional.

Well… remains to be seen. Riley brushes past the moment, asking how he’s doing and how his time at the hospital was. In a softer voice, she admits that there was a period where her mother considered sending her to some place similar for her depression when she was being bullied in ninth grade, so she’s always wondered. Behind her, Lucas continues to poke around the entryway and dining area with mild interest.

Farkle gives her the basic run down, expressing that while the treatment was fine and the workers were all quite nice, it’s hard to sell it as a desirable place to be when everyone present wants to die.

Farkle: You know, it’s hard to give it its due credit when most of the residents would rather be dead than be there. Literally, in case that point wasn’t clear. Not to mention the feeling of near constant surveillance, which I get, I put it upon myself, but it gets to the point where I was starting to wonder if I would ever be able to even think without the feeling that one of those well-intended nurses would hear my thoughts. It’s been nice to have the freedom of loneliness again, which isn’t something you’d ever think to say.

Riley: Well, that’s good. I guess?

Farkle: As good as it can be. But seriously, you think they’d save the overbearing surveillance for those who truly need it -- speaking of, hey Jackass --

Farkle has shifted his gaze to over Riley’s shoulder, glaring at Lucas. He jumps, spinning from where he’s examining the mantle by the dining table.

Farkle: Don’t you think it’s a bit morally decrepit to steal from the mentally ill?

Lucas scoffs, feigning innocence. He shrugs, crossing his arms in defense.

Lucas: Ha, I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Farkle stares, raising one unimpressed eyebrow. Riley glances over her shoulder to look at him as well, giving him a knowing but more sympathetic grimace / smile.

After a moment of their dual scrutiny, Lucas relents. He scoffs again, pulling a handful of genuine silverware as well as a couple of other trinkets from his pockets and dropping them onto the dining table.

Farkle rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he settles back onto the couch. Riley keeps her eyes on Lucas as he sheepishly comes over to join them, but her disapproval would be more convincing if it wasn’t colored with unintentional fondness. She apologizes on his behalf, expressing that he’s had some trouble with those sort of compulsions lately.

Farkle: Oh, yeah, so I’ve heard. [ to Lucas ] Heard you stole a car.

Lucas, flatly: Maybe.

Riley: Not stole. Borrowed for temporary reckless purposes.

Farkle and Lucas continue to have a back and forth, sharing the same blunt and offhand tone.

Farkle: No keys? Break-in and hotwire?

Lucas: What do you think?

Farkle: BMW? Lexus?

Lucas: Maserati.

Farkle: No kidding. But doesn’t that have that security feature they were hyping to all hell -- ?

Lucas: Doesn’t matter if you disable it first.

Farkle: You can do that?

Lucas: If you know how.

Farkle: … touché. [ looking him over, cracking a smirk ] Well done.

Not the expected response, and a little refreshing. Lucas kind of smiles, but Riley is not thrilled with the exchange.

Riley: Okay, no, do not encourage him. We are not doing this --

Riley takes Lucas by the arms, spinning him and nudging him back towards the door. She tells Farkle that she’ll be sure to call him later, and she tried to talk to their other classmates about swinging by so she’s sure he’ll have company this week. Farkle doesn’t look convinced, but the sentiment is nice enough.

As she disappears into the hall, Farkle calls after her.

Farkle: Riley?

She pokes her head back around the door frame, giving him a look and raising her eyebrows. After a moment, Farkle smiles lightly.

Farkle, softly: Thank you.

This melts whatever chill he put between them from his brazenness with Lucas right quick. She returns the smile, blowing him a light kiss and pulling the door closed behind her.

Farkle releases a sigh, settling back into the couch and the solitude.

INT. BLUE’S APARTMENT - DAY

Isadora and Valerie are hanging out in the living room, Valerie pacing with restless energy. They’re debating what to do that afternoon, Isadora already showing a sign or two of feeling overwhelmed. She’s happy to have her mother there, but constant interaction can be a lot.

Their conversation is interrupted by a playful knock on the door, Isadora frowning. Valerie asks if she’s expecting anyone else, and Isadora calls back the same question to Blue as she goes to open the door.

On the other side is a delightful surprise, Dylan distracted by taking in the scenery around the apartment until Isadora opens the door fully. He grins wide when they lock eyes, holding a stack of tupperware in his arms.

Isadora: Dylan. What are -- what are you doing here?

Dylan: I wanted to swing by. I hope that’s okay.

Isadora: Sure. Um… what’s with the stuff?

Dylan: Oh, yeah, well --

Dylan adjusts them in his arms, letting out a laugh. Blue joins them in the living area, curious.

Dylan: I know you’re in transition right now and stuff, and with everything going on I figured y’all probably weren’t cooking for yourselves. Ramen is sustenance, but it’ll only last you so long. And I had plenty of time cause of break, so I just threw together a meal or two.

Or ten. It’s a complicated transferral from Dylan’s arms to Isadora’s to make sure nothing gets dropped, Blue jogging over to help.

Dylan: I had Asher write the stickies with the reheat instructions -- his handwriting is way better than mine, so.

Valerie flutters up to the doorway to get a better look, having waited long enough in the shadows. She brightens when she recognizes him, knowing him as one of Isadora’s classmates and eager to engage with another one of her friends. Dylan may not be her biggest fan, but he’s far more adept at feigning friendliness and navigating social situations than say, Lucas.

Valerie: Yes, yes, you were amongst the techies. Am I right? A darling crop of little talents there, I remember.

Dylan: Sure was. It’s great to see you again.

Valerie: I remember, you had on that bright yellow crewneck. Impossible not to make an impression wearing that! And you were always with -- where’s your other friend? The well-dressed, dainty one --

Isadora, apprehensive: Mom --

Dylan, lighting up once he understands: Oh, Asher! My boyfriend. [ off Valerie’s delighted expression ] Yes, I do quite love his little bird bones. He’s on vacation with his family for the break.

Isadora attempts to end the conversation before it can take any negative turns, thanking Dylan for the food and thinking of her.

Valerie: Oh, you have to go so soon?

Isadora: I’m sure he has better things to do.

Dylan, softer: Actually, um, I was kind of hoping we could catch up. [ meeting Isadora’s eyes ] We haven’t had much of a chance to talk, lately.

There’s a pause between them. Isadora seems like that’s something she might like to do too, but with Valerie hanging around them they won’t get to really say much of importance.

Blue steps in, asking Valerie if she might be able to help him get all this food organized and in the fridge. A swoop in rescue if there ever was one.

Blue, pointedly: Might take some time. My fridge could use some reorganizing.

Valerie: Oh, it would be my privilege, Blue. Don’t you worry, I have just the solution. My good friend Marie Kondo is really into this sort of thing, and she gave me an exclusive method I could use --

Valerie trails off as they disappear towards the kitchen, giving Dylan and Isadora space. Isadora watches her go, then turns back to Dylan who offers her a smile. She manages to return it.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Farkle is in the midst of reading, interrupted by another knock at the door. He shouts for Uri, assuming it’s for him. When no one goes to answer and they knock again, Farkle lets out an annoyed growl and climbs to his feet, dropping his book on the couch.

Farkle: If you’re gonna have people over, the least you could do is not have your ailing brother open the damn --

He cuts himself off when he sees a familiar face on the other side. Clearly not there for Uri.

Farkle: … Zay? What are you doing here?

Zay Babineaux, indeed. He seems a bit uncomfortable as he stands in the fancy hallway, but he made it there regardless.

Zay: Riley is damn hard to disappoint. [ a beat ] You going to let me in?

Farkle steps back, allowing his rival diva into the apartment. Zay is struck by the opulence, jaw dropping open slightly as he takes a look around. He knew Farkle was loaded, but it’s a lot different to see it up close and personal.

Zay bothers to ask how Farkle is doing -- he claims as to be expected, but somewhat better. Dare he admit it, he honestly misses the high energy and constant action of AAA. There’s plenty he doesn’t miss, but the life that seems to pulsate through it every day is a big one.

Farkle: But I’m sure you know that better than I do. I’m sure you’ll probably want to be going soon. People to see, actually healthy relationships to foster.

Zay: To be honest, I don’t think I’m doing much better in that department either.

Farkle blinks, surprised. Zay isn’t looking at him, keeping his gaze trained out the huge wall of windows towards the city. There’s a solemnity to his expression that Farkle hasn’t ever really seen before. Whatever it is that’s weighing him down, it must be important.

The solution, it seems, is to go back to what the two of them do best. Farkle says so. Despite whatever is in flux otherwise, there is one thing that the two of them can control without fail -- their ability to put on a good performance.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “no tears left to cry” as performed by Ariana Grande || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Zay Babineaux

Farkle kicks off the diva number, but it’s not long before Zay joins in. It’s difficult for him to turn down Ariana, after all. It’s the first true Farkle & Zay duet, and their voices clash just enough to create an intriguing, compelling dynamic rather than irritating. Not to mention they both bring the energy, dancing around the spacious penthouse.

Given the space, it’s also the perfect opportunity to pay tribute to the original cinematography. Zay is allowed to temporarily slip into the melodramatic mindspace of Farkle Minkus, the two of them walking on the walls and balancing amongst a penthouse folding in on itself.

The sentiment of the tribute rings strong for both of them. The time for wallowing is over, and they’re both ready to jump back into the ring with stronger motivation than ever before, albeit for quite different reasons.

As the number concludes, Zay collapses into the armchair adjacent to the couch. He catches his breath and commends Farkle for a job well done, as it seems even near death can’t knock him out of performing shape. Farkle admits he has to work extra hard to keep up with him.

The conversation drifts to Zay’s plans for the rest of break, after Farkle flatly states that his spring break basically belongs to the confines of his living room. He explains all of the auditions he’s lined up for future opportunities, vaguely alluding to his change of priority. Farkle doesn’t question it, instead lighting up as he remembers something.

He jumps to his feet, returning from the kitchen a moment later with another pamphlet. He hands it to Zay, stating that he should add that program to his roster for the week. It’s some audition that only folks on a paying list can really get updates about, but he should go for it since Farkle certainly won’t be going up for anything any time soon.

Zay seems hesitant to accept charity from him, but also grateful. He takes it and looks through it, asking if Farkle thinks he should actually do it. Any of it. If it’s even going to be worth it.

Farkle: I don’t know, man. Who knows what’s worth it and what isn’t in this business. It’s all a shot in the dark.

Zay: Yeah, but you’ve always had more luck. You’ve been the golden child since we walked through the doors of Adams freshman year.

Farkle: Yep, totally. I was the million dollar baby -- and yet, I still wanted to kill myself. [ off Zay’s grimace ] I’m just saying, we all have to do everything we can, because talent sure as hell isn’t everything. If you think you need to stretch your network, then by all means, do it. Knowing you, it won’t take long for you to see results.

Zay contemplates this, such a supportive and well-meant notion coming from his formerly feral classmate. He nods a thanks.

Riley, pre-lap: So happy to help. You’re very welcome.

INT. SOUP KITCHEN - DAY

Riley smiles as a customer walks away with their food, working behind the counter at a soup kitchen. She’s got the apron and plastic gloves and all, hair pulled back out of her face in a tight bun. She reaches up to ding the small bell on the countertop in front of them, signaling they’re ready for a new patron.

Lucas is there next to her, also aproned and gloved. He looks less enthused, though he completes the work diligently. He states that if he has to do so much labor with no gain or end goal for himself, then he supposes the fact that it’s helping the less fortunate is something.

Lucas: I don’t even like working for myself. You can imagine my disdain.

Riley: [ rolling her eyes ] You know that whole act doesn’t work on me. The lazy, devil-may-care thing. I know it’s not true, I see right through it.

Lucas: I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not see through.

Riley: You’re a window. An open window.

Lucas: Okay, sure.

Riley: Not even a screen in there. Just wide open, letting in the breeze and the sunshine.

Lucas: See, that’s a very sanguine perception of me. I don’t think you could get popular consensus on that.

Riley gives him a look, the two of them holding one another’s glares again before inevitably breaking into smiles. They get distracted from the moment anyway, duty calling and hungry people waiting to be served. Riley picks the conversation back up again, pointing out that Lucas does in fact gain something from all this work -- the privilege of not going to prison. He claims that would be a gross overreaction anyway.

Riley: Well, you did steal a car.

Lucas: Borrowed. For temporary reckless purposes. [ defensively ] And I was going to give it back.

Riley makes an incredulous face, but once again amusement is hindering its impact. And that makes a difference? Lucas brings it all back to the point, reiterating that while it feels nice to contribute something meaningful, it’s going to be hell getting through an entire week of something so monotonous.

Well, all you need to fix that is a little bit of initiative. Riley says as much, glancing around the shop where people are chowing down and calling to one of the elderly men seated over by the corner table. She requests that he bump the dated jukebox installed to get it going, breathe some life into this place.

Lucas, deadpan: Oh, yes. Music is the solution. How could I have forgotten?

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Lady Madonna” as performed by The Beatles || Performed by Riley Matthews (feat. Lucas James Friar)

The popular Beatles tune floats in through the jukebox, the patrons immediately appreciating its upbeat bounce. Riley shakes her shoulders to the beat, grooving in place until the vocals start so she can sing along.

Lucas: And now you’re singing. Okay. Sure.

Despite his commentary, it’s impossible for Lucas not to be endeared by her when she’s being so darn charming. She continues to sing and dance around him regardless of his sarcasm, taking it out into the shop and pulling customers into the fun. They clearly appreciate it, singing along with Riles when she hops up to sit on one of the tables.

She makes her way back over to Lucas at the conclusion of the first verse, taking his hand and pulling him out from behind the counter. As they make their way out of frame…

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

We jump into a quick cut montage of Riley and Lucas making their way through the week doing all sorts of different community service projects. They shelve books at the library, they pick up trash alongside the road. They help fix up housing accommodations that are in disrepair, flicking paint at each other; they’re surrounded by puppies at the animal shelter, where Lucas seems to actually be enjoying what they’re doing.

At the end of the middle transition, the first “see how they run,” Lucas and Riley sing it together while taking a moment of reprieve from running all around town doing good. Lucas seems exhausted, yet Riley’s grin brightens the mood as she spins him around and nudges him back off-screen into the next thing.

INT. SOUP KITCHEN - DAY

Back in the soup kitchen, Riley has pulled Lucas out onto the floor amidst the tables. She pulls him into a simple dance move, a shot focusing on both of their shoes doing the moves across the linoleum floor. Scuffed up black boots and cute doodled-on Keds, moving somewhat in sync and in the same direction.

INT. PUBLIC LIBRARY - DAY

Riley rides on the book cart as Lucas continues to push it through the aisles, picking up the verse again and handing books to Lucas to shelve as they go. The song takes us back through each of their projects one more time, in time with the beat…

INT. SOUP KITCHEN - DAY

Until we end up back behind the counter at the soup kitchen, back to the same old but in admittedly much better spirits than before.

Riley spins around Lucas and ends up back in her spot, exchanging a flirtatious beam with him before reaching up and hitting the bell to signal the end of the number. Ding!

EXT. BLUE’S APARTMENT - DAY

Isadora and Dylan are out on the tiny balcony that can hardly be called a balcony, cramped against the sliding door and sharing the tupperware bin of cookies. Isadora hasn’t indulged in her treat yet, too preoccupied with Dylan’s story as he catches her up on everything that happened, building up to the joy ride. When he finishes, she can only formulate one statement.

Isadora: Holy fucking shit.

Yeah, that about sums it up. Dylan nods in agreement, breaking a piece of his cookie and popping it into his mouth. She attempts to process it all, expressing the same thought that she can’t believe Dylan is being so cool about all of it. He shrugs, Isadora shaking her head and lamenting how shitty Lucas has been, that of course it would culminate in something like this.

Dylan gives the same shorthand defense that he gave to Asher, before pointing out that Isadora is probably speaking way more from her own anger towards Lucas that she’s chosen not to confront nor address for months. It’s a take that floors her to speechlessness, Dylan noticing her shock before shrugging again.

Dylan: Sorry. I’ve been to the clink, I’m a different man now.

At that, Isadora rolls her eyes. But she has to admit that he’s right -- she and Lucas haven’t spoken in months. And even when they were talking, they weren’t really talking. The last time she feels like they really understood another, were really listening, was almost a year ago. And she wouldn’t even know how to communicate with him now.

Dylan states she doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to, but to him it seems like she does. It’s impossible for either of them to move past the way they are right now because there’s no closure. If she gives it one more chance and actually talks about things, then at least she’ll get that.

Dylan: Even if it’s not good, even if it’s the last conversation you ever have, at least it’s something. You’ll be able to clear the air. A certain goodbye is better than endless uncertainty.

Although she seems reluctant, Isadora claims she’ll think about it. She asks how Asher is handling things and if Dylan has made his choices about the whole situation, to which Dylan affirms both. He knows that Asher will make the right choices, and as for himself, he’s never wavered on where he stands. He’s always been an advocate for forgiveness, so long as the action isn’t totally reprehensible. Especially when you love the person who is seeking it.

Isadora absorbs the sentiment, taking a good look at him. Although she doesn’t say it, the softness that shimmers in her features conveys how much she missed Dylan.

Isadora: Since when did you become all wise?

Dylan, earnest: The hour and 13 minutes that I was behind bars really changed me.

She can’t help but laugh, Dylan cracking his delivery to grin. Isadora takes a bite of the cookie, humming in appreciation and nodding.

Isadora, mouth full: This is fucking delicious.

Dylan: Why thank you. And you’re welcome.

EXT. HART FAMILY HOME - HILLSIDE - DAY

A fresh new day. The sun is rising over the hillside, a pleasant breeze blowing the long grass.

Maya stands amidst the fresh air, taking it all in. She’s almost unrecognizable, no longer in her diva best. Fresh-faced with no make-up, money-making hair pulled haphazardly out of her face in a ponytail. Dressed plainly like the rest of the Hart family.

She closes her eyes, inhaling a deep breath. Absorbing the sunshine, the oxygen, the chance to really breathe. You can take the girl out of the theatrical, but you can’t take the theatrical out of the girl.

Then she turns and heads back up the hill towards the house.

INT. HART FAMILY HOME - DAY

Maya steps back inside the house and immediately joins her grandparents at the kitchen table for brunch. Katy and Vivian are just finishing set up the food, all of them settling in to eat. The way Maya interacts with her family is quite different from the way she is at school, but there’s something refreshing about it. In some ways, it might be nice to see her bring some of this energy back to AAA with her.

Still, her grandparents are invested in her dreams and ambitions. They ask Maya how the fancy arts school is going, and she enthusiastically responds with all of the things she’s gotten to accomplish in the last couple years.

Katy attempts to dig for truth again, subtly shifting the conversation to give Maya an opening to speak truthfully. She loves AAA, of course, but Katy is well aware of how complicated everything is within its walls.

It’s obvious she wants to ask about Farkle, but Maya manages to evade the discussion effortlessly. She digs into her breakfast, changing the subject by asking what Vivian and Henry might want to do that afternoon. Katy accepts the shift, but it’s clear she’s not pleased with it.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

It’s Charlie’s turn to make an appearance at the Minkus home. Farkle pulls open the door that morning to find him standing there, a tupperware haul in his arms that could rival Dylan’s. Farkle is stunned to see him, obviously not expecting it.

Charlie greets him, and once Farkle awkwardly invites him in he launches into a swift explanation of each of the dishes his family put together for them. He wraps up by explaining the two large tupperwares on the bottom, where a couple of casseroles have been stored. He mentions one of them containing pork.

Farkle, flatly: We’re kosher.

Charlie, breathless: … oh. Oh. Well, um --

Farkle: It’s fine. Uri is a heathen, he’ll eat anything.

Farkle takes the tupperware from him, inviting Charlie further in as he goes to drop the stuff in the kitchen. He seems less energized today than earlier in the week, operating with a brusque, restless nature instead.

His offhand bluntness doesn’t help Charlie’s nerves. It’s clear he’s glad to be there out of good will, but he moves about the spacious apartment with obvious uncertainty. So Farkle’s sarcasm only adds another unsettling factor.

Farkle: By all means, make yourself comfortable. We can only hope we don’t get smote by a vengeful God --

Charlie: Huh?

Farkle pauses. There’s a subtext to his statement that his knowledge allows him -- Charlie being gay, Farkle having attempted suicide -- but he opts for the more blatant explanation.

Farkle: You know, the subtle differences in our chosen beliefs. Let’s hope your Catholic deity doesn’t kill you for hanging out with a Jew.

Charlie is so scatter-brained he doesn’t even have the energy to care about that take on his religion. He awkwardly brushes it off, settling onto the couch and asking Farkle how he’s doing. They were all worried about him. Farkle obviously doesn’t believe him either, pacing along the carpet as he gives Charlie a similar spiel.

When he turns the tables back on Charlie and asks how things are, he carries the same uncertainty that Zay did a couple of days ago. Farkle picks up on this, smart enough to piece together that something must be going on between the two of them. Sure makes both of their free time to come see him more logical.

It feels like Charlie could use an escape, and honestly in that moment Farkle is feeling the same. He says as much, jumping back into his former frenzied energy and claiming that Charlie should just forget it for now. He claims they should direct their focus into something better, a little practice maybe -- Charlie seems skeptical, wondering if Farkle should maybe like… be resting, but he’s already off and running.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “I’m Still Standing” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Charlie Gardner

The rendition is bouncy, fun, and definitely checks off the boxes Farkle was trying to achieve. He and Charlie both pour all of their nervous energy into it, making for a good performance. It’s especially interesting to see the two of them perform together, as it’s essentially a first in AMBITION history.

For as neat as the number is, it comes to a rather abrupt conclusion. Ironically, Farkle grows weary fast and nearly collapses. Charlie immediately drops down next to him and helps pull him back to his feet, moving them back towards the couch while Farkle catches his breath.

Despite how fine he’s attempting to appear, everything Farkle has endured isn’t just going to go away. His choices have consequences, and Charlie is witnessing the exhaustion that comes with it. He braces his shoulder and questions whether he’s okay, or if there’s something he can get him. Rather than answering, Farkle throws a curveball.

Farkle: I’m sorry, Charlie.

Charlie, confused: What? For what?

Farkle, out of breath: You’re a good guy. A little bland, yeah, but you’re good. You really care about people -- even people like me, despite all the shits I gave about that -- and I used to think that was dumb. I figured it made me better than you, but it doesn’t. I’m not. And you’re just as good as the rest of us -- you always have been.

Charlie: … I mean, I didn’t --

Farkle: I just want you to… you’re talented, Charlie. Okay? You’re just as good as anyone else, definitely as much as me. [ locking eyes with him ] I’m really sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren’t.

It seems out of left field, yes. But the origin of it is clear, all of these things that Farkle has been ruminating on but didn’t have the chance to say -- might have never had, if his attempt had succeeded. Now he’s making up for it. Now he’s saying it.

Charlie absorbs the sentiment. Somehow, it’s just what he needed, and means more to him than he could’ve anticipated. He manages a smile, nodding and patting Farkle’s shoulder.

INT. HART FAMILY HOME - LIVING ROOM - DAY

Katy finally gets a moment alone with Maya, settling down on the couch with her as she flips through an actual hard copy newspaper. She makes a joke about how those things have real actual stories in them -- who knew? Katy humors it before using it to transition to what she wants to talk about: why Maya came all the way out here to avoid spring break in New York.

Maya, timidly: Isn’t wanting to see you enough?

Katy: Of course, and you know I’m happy you’re here. But I wasn’t born yesterday.

Maya hesitates, perhaps about to really open up… when Henry and Vivian enter to join them. Maya sees their entrance as an opportunity for avoidance, picking the most effective conversation starter she knows -- Katy’s unappreciated talent.

After bringing up how Katy hasn’t performed in a hot minute, it doesn’t take long for the grandparents to jump on the bandwagon despite Katy waving them off. Henry, the artistic of the two, settles in at the piano and claims they can throw something together. Provided it’s something they all know.

Maya: Culturally timeless… you know a thing or two about Hamilton, pops?

Henry: Sweet pea, everyone knows a thing or two about Hamilton.

Maybe so. Maya grins, wiggling her eyebrows at Katy as her mother takes a spot by the piano with Henry. She gives Maya a look, but softens as the soft piano kicks up.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Dear Theodosia” as performed by Hamilton Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Katy Hart & Maya Hart (feat. Henry Hart)

Henry’s delicate piano lends a definitive charm to this understated duet, Katy taking the Burr verse. She sings uncertainly at first, but as she looks at Maya and emotes the chorus (“We’ll bleed and fight for you, we’ll make it right for you...”), her lovely voice gains more confidence.

Maya jumps in on the Hamilton verse, her performance a bit more cheeky considering she roped her mother into it. But when they get to the bridge (“My father wasn’t around, I promise I’ll be around for you…”), that devotion and love they have for one another is crystal clear all over again. Maya takes Katy’s hand resting on the piano, linking their fingers.

Henry smiles as he plays along, pride twinkling in his eyes. Vivian watches from the couch, not a creative herself but happy to see her family all together again.

Even in the midst of chaos, there can be moments of beauty.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - NIGHT

Valerie and Isadora are out on the town, having just seen a movie together. Despite it being one of Isadora’s interests, Valerie is keeping up a bulk of the discussion. It’s almost incessant, the way she’s all over the place to keep up conversation. She doesn’t notice, but Isadora is definitely starting to feel a bit of drain.

However, some of this exhaustion melts away when they bump into Eric emerging from a store. He greets them both cheerfully, Isadora engaging in conversation with him seemingly much more seamlessly than with Valerie. Eric assures Isadora that he’s quite enjoying his break, and he promises to continue not doing any work while he’s on vacation.

Valerie definitely clocks their playful back and forth, watching them with fascination and a bit of something like envy or disappointment.

INT. MINKUS HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

LILA MINKUS is present, helping Farkle with his recovery medications and ensuring he takes them properly. Their back and forth is dry and sarcastic as usual, but Lila is operating with slightly more tact than usual. The banter is more sibling-like rather than colored with genuine disdain.

Once he’s finished and subject switches to dinner plans, Lila pauses. Following the same pattern as Farkle earlier, she finds herself blurting out an emotional truth before she can think it through the way she’s used to.

Lila: You know I -- you know I care about you, right?

Farkle: … sure. Yeah.

Lila: I don’t just mean like -- I know we haven’t always been… I care about you. I can’t even imagine… [ voice cracking ] You can’t ever pull shit like this again. Okay, germ? You aren’t leaving us like that.

Farkle seems surprised by the genuine vulnerability. It’s uncommon in their household, but despite the stammering and tripping over words, he understands what she means. He nods.

Farkle: Got it.

Lila nods, managing a tight smile before escaping from the vulnerability. Farkle watches her go, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face as he puts his water glass in the sink.

EXT. HART FAMILY HOME - FRONT PORCH - NIGHT

Maya has retreated to the fresh air again, sitting on the hammock chair on the porch. Katy steps out to join her, quietly settling down next to her. She questions whether or not Maya has had enough dancing around the issues and is ready to talk about them. They exchange a look, Katy quirking an eyebrow knowingly.

It’s hard to hide from Katy. Maya sighs dramatically, Katy breaking into a smile and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Maya, melodramatically: It sure is nice out here in the middle of nowhere. Fresh air, quiet, a strange sort of whimsy that comes from having absolutely nothing to offer. [ sighing ] Perhaps it would be better to retire out here to live out the rest of my days, shelving the glitz and glamour of show business for the humble accommodations of the Vermont hillside.

Katy: You’re a good actress, but you aren’t that good, baby girl.

Point taken. It’s not a convincing option, coming from Maya. Katy redirects the conversation to what Maya might be running from instead, because she knows it has nothing to do with the dream.

Finally, Maya does her best to talk it out. She admits that Farkle will be returning to school next week, and she just needed the chance to get away from it all and really think. She’s not really upset with him anymore -- in some ways she is, but mostly she’s just tired. She wants the theatrics between them to stop, but she doesn’t think she wants to remove him from her life for that to happen. She liked having him as a friend; she misses him, and she doesn’t think she can continue to front that she doesn’t anymore. It’s too exhausting, living as a projection rather than authentically herself.

That being said, she doesn’t want things to follow the same pattern and self-destruct all over again. Something has to give, something has to change if they’re going to be friends again. She isn’t sure what, but she figures it won’t even matter if Farkle himself isn’t open to discussing it or willing to change.

As Katy wisely says, it seems like the next logical thing to do is to bring Farkle back into the conversation. Maybe he isn’t willing to change... or maybe he’s been thinking the exact same things. There’s only one way to find out, even if it’s daunting.

Maya sighs, accepting this as truth. She cuddles closer to her mom, reveling in how nice it feels to have her there with her again.

Maya: I love you, mom.

Katy: I love you, too. Every hour of every day.

She places a kiss on the top of her head, settling into the quiet of the Vermont evening.

EXT. BLUE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

As they arrive to drop Isadora off, Valerie is already overcompensating for the earlier strain in trying to decide what they’ll do tomorrow. And has Isadora figured out who will be accompanying them on Friday? She doesn’t want to rush her, or anything, but it is coming around the bend.

Socially, Isadora has reached her limit. She sort of snaps at Valerie, stating no, she hasn’t figured it out yet. Things go quiet between them, Isadora sighing and facing towards the door. She opts not to just run from the negativity and tries to be honest with Valerie, expressing that she just needs some space. She’s glad she’s there, she is, but it’s… too much all at once. Maybe some time to herself would help.

Valerie does her best to be okay with it, but it’s evident she’s hurt. She relents, bidding Isadora goodnight and requesting that she reach out when she’s feeling more… interested in being with her again. But no rush.

As Valerie walks off, Isadora watches after her. She’s torn, not satisfied with how that conversation went but also too exhausted to deal with it further. She disappears into the apartment.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Run And Tell That” as performed by Hairspray Original Movie Cast || Performed by Zay Babineaux

The groovy intro floats over the city as a new day starts, zeroing on Zay emerging from the subway as he launches into the first verse. As he runs and dances his way around Manhattan, bystanders seem to join in on the performance and supplement the epic feeling of his progression through the city.

He darts in and out of buildings, sliding onto the stages and giving a flurry of different auditions. His outfit and style shift as he goes, representing the passage of time throughout the week as well as how he presents himself to each opportunity. Regardless, one trait remains the same -- his unmistakable talent.

INT. AUDITORIUM - DAY

When it gets to the Little Inez bridge, it’s not a different performer but rather stands in as Zay’s “audition” piece. And suffice to say, it’s impressive, showing off his energy and overlooked vocal power. About time we saw this spirit again!

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Audition portion completed, Zay bursts back out onto the streets of Manhattan. More and more of the crowd has gotten into the groove, creating a truly vibrant and energetic portrait of the city.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DANCE LOT - DAY

We make a return to a friendly setting to conclude the number, Zay rounding out the performance with his crew of talented and eclectic youth at the dance lot. No Charlie accompanying him this time around, but that doesn’t seem to make a difference. He’s alight with the passion he’s been putting on display all week.

Maybe this is what everything is all about. It’s like he’s gotten so distracted with everything else, he forgot why performing makes him so happy in the first place.

No ignoring it now, that’s for sure. The fellow dancers crowd around and give him welcoming pats on the back and high-fives as he slays the final run. Woo!

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - DAY

Meanwhile, Riley and Lucas are taking a well-needed reprieve from all their court-ordered do-gooding. They’re basically having a lowkey picnic, snacking on a late lunch after another long day of volunteering. Conversation seems to be easy between them, Lucas sprawled on his back and staring at the sky while Riley sits cross-legged an arm’s reach away.

After their chuckles die down from whatever they were talking about previously, Riley states that Lucas was really good at the animal shelter. He definitely has a knack for working with animals, at least far more so than anything else they’ve spent the last week doing.

Lucas: I don’t think it’s hard to show more enthusiasm towards animals than say, trash on the side of the interstate.

Riley: [ nudging him ] I’m serious. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve seen you be that interested in something… like, ever.

Lucas: It’s not my fault most things aren’t interesting. If they want my attention, then they should be better.

Riley shakes her head, biting back a laugh. She tilts her head at him.

Riley: I’m just saying. Maybe this could become something more permanent. You know, when it’s not a punishment for criminal activity. [ a beat, then playful ] Maybe you could get into the habit of actually doing good.

Lucas, thoughtfully: … maybe with you I could.

Oh. That’s not very playful or offhand at all. Lucas realizes his slip up a second too late, glancing nervously at Riley before directing his gaze anywhere but at her. Given that he’s facing the sky, it’s not hard to find other places to look.

But Riley doesn’t miss the moment. She absorbs it, smiling lightly to herself and pressing her lips together to hide it.

After a moment of quiet, Riley starts to broach the topic of how things have been the last few months. She figures it’ll be a touchy subject, but surprisingly, Lucas claims he has something he wants to say about that. She watches him curiously as he pushes himself upright, propping his elbows on his knees and taking a deep breath.

Then he meets her eyes, trying his best to be sincere.

Lucas: I’m sorry. About the way I’ve been acting.

Riley: I get it. There’s been a lot going on.

Lucas: Yeah. But that’s not an excuse. [ a beat ] I think… it just got too easy to deflect. Do you know what I mean? Like things were never good, but then with each thing that got stacked on top of each other in the last month it just felt like another good reason to fall apart. To let another screw go loose, and push away another person who was trying to fix it, until I was standing in the precinct parking lot with a whole bunch of… spare parts, junk, and no clue how they fit together anymore. And I’d done a good job of telling everybody to fuck off, so there’s no one left to help me put things back together. Now I’ve just got to… do it. It just sucks that it took hitting every rock on the way to the bottom for me to realize it.

Riley frowns, sympathetic. But she doesn’t interrupt, letting him work through the feelings on his own.

Lucas: I got there, and now I’ve got to try and fix it, but no amount of reason is a good enough excuse for the way I’ve been treating people. Especially you. [ looking at her ] So I’m genuinely sorry.

An apology was more than Riley was ever expecting, least of all one that feels so honest. There’s a moment of quiet, then she accepts it. They exchange tentative smiles.

Riley questions if he’s planning the same approach for his other friends, to which Lucas sort of laughs and weakly states he doesn’t know who would even count as a friend anymore. She says Asher and Dylan without hesitation, and it’s clear from the way he grows even more timid that they’re at the forefront of his mind.

With a little more nudging, Lucas admits that he doesn’t see what the point is. He was rude to Riley, but he was reprehensible with them. They were there for him and he took advantage of it at every turn, even if he didn’t consciously mean to. After the way they left things, with the things he said to Asher and everything with Dylan and the joy ride…

Lucas, defeated: He’s done. And he should be. [ shaking his head ] He’s never going to forgive me.

Riley understands the hesitation, but she delicately offers a counterpoint.

Riley: Not to sound like the dreamy optimist, but I really wouldn’t be so sure about that.

Lucas: You weren’t there, okay? You don’t know how -- I really fucked up.

Riley: No offense, but I don’t have to have been there to believe that. But I don’t think you’re giving Asher enough credit. I know I don’t know him the way you do, but he doesn’t seem like a particularly vengeful guy. Especially not with someone he loves so much. [ a beat ] You’d be surprised how hard it is to give up on someone you love.

Lucas seems bashful just at the insinuation, still far from comfortable with such open discussions of affection. But perhaps Riley has a point -- she speaks confidently enough, like she knows. He’s certainly listening.

Riley: I’m not giving any guarantees or anything. I just think that, yeah, if you never apologize because you think it’s not even worth it, then Asher definitely will never forgive you. If you never give things the chance to work out, then they won’t.

Something to think about. Lucas contemplates it, seriously considering her point.

INT. HART FAMILY HOME - DAY

Maya finds Vivian in the kitchen, prepping early for dinner. She asks if she wants any help, and Vivian cracks a joke about Maya volunteering to do any sort of housework. Is she sure she’s the same granddaughter she’s always known? Maya rolls her eyes, nudging her playfully before requesting instructions on where she can help.

While they work, Maya takes the opportunity to ask Vivian how she feels about Katy and her current straits. Considering Maya is, perhaps foolishly, trying to do the same thing, does Vivian regret letting Katy try to pursue her dreams rather than doing something more practical?

Vivian prefaces by telling Maya she knows she would never beat around the bush with her. Harts are hearty people, and damn honest at that.

Maya: Believe me, I know. Got a bit of a reputation for it myself.

That aside, Vivian admits that the whole notion of following the artistic dream does feel a bit reckless to her. She’s not a creative person either, so that doesn’t help the mystery of it in her eyes. But that being said… what’s life if not a little bit reckless?

Vivian: I may not get all of the hubbub around the dream, or the passion behind it. But what is the point of life other than to live it? Taking the guaranteed safe route when you believe you could do something more feels a little bit like cheating yourself… especially for someone as hearty as a Hart.

This placates Maya. It’s nice to remember that there are people in her corner all the time, even when they’re not in plain sight right there in front of her. She gives her grandmother a quick kiss on the cheek, then jumps back into dinner prep with the same intensity as a new performance.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

As the week has waned on, Farkle’s energy has come and gone in waves, and presently it’s at a low point. He’s crashed on the couch, eyes glazed over as he watches television. He’s startled by a knock on the door, but he doesn’t make a point of rushing up to get it. When they knock again, Lila emerges from the hall rather than waiting for Farkle to get up and do something about it.

She returns a couple moments later, poking her head in from the entryway.

Lila: Hey. Someone’s here for you.

Farkle, monotonous: Couldn’t be. I don’t have friends.

Lila: You’ve had like five people come by this week. Who were they?

Farkle: Okay. Those were my only friends.

Lila: Would you stop wallowing and just get up? I’m going to let her in either way.

Farkle: You’re the worst sister ever.

Lila: Socialization is good for you.

Isadora, from off-screen: This is ridiculous --

Farkle frowns as he places the familiar voice, turning to look over his shoulder just as Isadora marches into the room. Farkle’s eyes widen and he scrambles to his feet, obviously not expecting to see her at all.

Farkle: Isadora -- Smackle -- what [ adjusting his askew sweatshirt ] what are you doing here?

Isadora, unimpressed: What’s the matter? Did they take away your ability to walk and answer the door for yourself in treatment?

Farkle is speechless, embarrassed. This certainly isn’t the state you want one of your key intellectual rivals to see you in… well, ever. Lila looks back and forth between them, somewhat amused.

Lila: I’ll leave you to it, then. Nice to meet you, Isadora.

Isadora nods to her as Lila disappears back into the hall, snickering to herself.

Farkle and Isadora stand at an impasse for a moment, not sure what to say to one another. Farkle clears his throat, scratching at his neck.

Farkle: You didn’t have to come by. Just because you feel bad.

Isadora: That’s not -- [ scoffing ] that’s not why I came.

Farkle: No?

Isadora: No. I’m here to save your education.

Isadora marches over to him, shoving the homework from Cory into his arms. He manages to catch it, Isadora huffing and pushing past him further into the room. He sorts through the items, realizing that her intentions for visiting were at least partially utilitarian and genuine. He can appreciate that.

Farkle: Oh. Well. Thanks.

Isadora: Uh huh.

He puts down the homework amidst his spread of books on the coffee table, Isadora eyeing them and inching closer to get a better look. She curiously questions how his recovery is going, demonstrating her own knowledge of mental health exposure when she asks if they’re planning to put him on any permanent medication treatment plans.

Farkle flops back onto the couch, shrugging.

Farkle: They’re throwing all of it around. Lexapro. Zoloft. Prozac or Celexa. [ snorting ] You know what I realized? “Farkle” sounds like a drug. I’m a fucking antidepressant.

The problem, he concludes, is that they really don’t know what’s up him, so they’re hesitant to formulate a treatment plan. And makes sense, because he sure as hell doesn’t know what’s up with him either. Guess he’s destined to find out, sooner or later.

Isadora awkwardly wishes him luck with that, Farkle making an unimpressed face. Quiet settles between them -- she’s done her duty, and there’s nothing more to say -- but for some reason she doesn’t rush to leave.

Farkle hardly notices, sort of zoning out. Isadora recognizes the vibe, commenting that it’s okay. Farkle blinks, snapping out of it.

Farkle: Huh?

Isadora: That they’re still there. The… those kind of thoughts. They’re not just going to disappear because you went to one rehab treatment.

Farkle: Auspicious. Thank you.

Isadora: I’m only saying, you don’t have to be back in tip-top tyrant shape right away. You can… take a moment. Remember how to breathe again before you take off running.

Oddly apt to what he’s feeling, even if he’d never vocalize it. He doesn’t seem convinced, but Isadora isn’t going to just say her piece and go. If she’s going to make her point, then she wants to make sure Farkle really hears it.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Here Comes A Thought” as performed by Estelle & AJ Michalka|| Performed by Isadora De La Cruz & Farkle Minkus

With the opening synth, Isadora hesitantly takes a seat closer to Farkle. Her vocals, although strong as usual, also have a softer edge than we’re used to when she performs -- it’s an intimate conversation, still, even in song form.

The whole performance is very lowkey, the two of them simply sitting next to each other, watching each other carefully. Farkle joins in about halfway through, allowing himself to be more open about his mental state for the first time in the episode.

As the song comes to an end, there’s an unusually vulnerable moment shared between the two of them. They hold eye contact, recreating some of that feeling they felt in Eric’s office during group week although no closer to really understanding what it is.

Isadora clears her throat, searching for a change in subject. She nods towards the English homework.

Isadora: Sorry about the book, by the way. It’s a little banged up, but it’s the best I could do.

Farkle reaches for it, taking it in his hands. Pride & Prejudice. A well-worn copy of it, notes and annotations in the margins visible as he flips through it.

Farkle: Cory didn’t give you a school copy?

Isadora: He did… but I’m pretty sure my mom lost it. [ off Farkle’s snort ] She was all excited to enjoy some “truly classic literature” while endeavoring in her “cultured” stay with me, and I haven’t seen it since. So you get my personal copy instead.

Farkle: Oh, big honor.

Isadora: It is. There’s some genius analysis going on in those margins. Not many are so lucky as to get to experience it for themselves.

Farkle chuckles, taking a better look at some of the annotations. Then he manages a smile, holding up the book indicatively.

Farkle: I’m sure your additions will make for an interesting read, if nothing else.

Isadora tentatively returns the smile, edging her way towards the door to go. She hesitates, spinning back around and asking Farkle if he’s busy Friday evening.

Farkle: … I’m a freshly released mental patient who is basically on mother-ordered house arrest. So naturally, I’m booked solid.

Isadora: You’re not aware that I suck at sensing sarcasm, but I’m going to assume that was it. And if you’re not busy… what are your feelings on Hamilton?

INT. SVORSKI’S CAFE - DAY

Friday afternoon, end of break impending. Lucas is sitting alone at a table in the back corner, tapping his fingers nervously on the surface. There’s an iced drink in front of him, but he hasn’t touched it. Every time the cafe door bell jingles he jumps, looking towards the entrance and expecting to see someone important.

It’s always someone else. Lucas deflates after about the third repetition of this, slouching in his seat and dropping his gaze down to the drink in front of him.

The bell jingles again.

This time, it’s Asher pushing his way through the door. Lucas straightens up, swallowing and waiting for Asher to finish scanning the room and find him. He waves at him when they lock eyes, but it sort of looks like an anxious twitch.

Still, he gets the message. After a moment of hesitation, Asher cautiously makes his way through the cafe towards him. He keeps his hands in his coat pockets, on the defensive as he comes to stand at the table.

Lucas greets him, awkwardly standing as well. There’s an uncomfortable moment where they both look at one another, not sure what to do next, before Asher settles in the chair opposite him. Lucas takes that as his cue, dropping back down into his seat as well.

Lucas: I got you a drink. [ sliding the drink across the table ] Peach lemonade. ‘Cause I know you like it. I didn’t add like, sugars or anything, because I wasn’t… well, I figured you would know how you’d want that. If any.

Asher glances down at the drink. He lightly touches the lid, running his fingers along it. Not saying anything.

Lucas stares at him, obviously wishing he would. At a loss for how to proceed tactfully, everything he wants to say tumbles out of him unceremoniously.

Lucas: You were right to get upset. Okay? Believe me, I know that. And I promise, I’m going to pay you back for the bail money. And the hospital bill from my wrist, and… and like, all of it. I’m going to make the money and then I’m going to pay it back.

[ Asher lifts his eyes, watching him uncertainly. Lucas trips over what to say next. ]

Lucas: And I’m done with the stupid stunts. No more pulling Dylan into anything either. And I don’t know if I did any damage to your car -- I don’t think I did -- but like, tell me if I did and I’ll fix it. I’m going to -- I’ll fix it. Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.

Still nothing. Asher is clearly listening, contemplative, but to Lucas it just feels like a wall. He grows more desperate, voice cracking and speech terse as he chokes on the emotion.

Lucas: You’re my best friend. [ a beat ] You’re my best friend, and I’m sorry that I fucked that up. And I know that… I know I can survive without you. Duh. I could do it, if I had to. But… I don’t want to. [ shaking his head ] I don’t want to think about my life without you in it.

The air is heavy with the truth of his words. Asher quietly absorbs them, dipping his head down to look at the drink. A second of silence. Then another. Then another.

Lucas: Okay, I know I just finished saying that you don’t owe me anything and I’m the one groveling but… could you please say something? Maybe?

A few more moments of silence that feel like an eternity. Then, Asher lifts his gaze to meet his. When his speaks, his voice is soft.

Asher, deadpan: You could start by getting me a straw.

Not the most forthright of acceptances, but not a cold dismissal by any means. And humorous, in Asher’s own special way. Lucas laughs, more out of relief that he’s speaking at all.

Asher: … I wasn’t kidding.

Lucas: Oh. Oh! Hold on --

Lucas gets up, grabbing a straw and sliding back into his seat. He waits as Asher unwraps the straw and sticks it into the lid, taking his time.

Before he takes a sip, he meets his eyes again. This time, some of the warm familiarity they share has reappeared.

Asher, quietly: Thanks, meatball.

The nickname is more of a signal than any verbal acceptance of his apology. Lucas cracks another relieved smile, Asher mirroring it lightly as he takes a long sip of the lemonade.

Perhaps all is not broken beyond repair.

EXT. MINKUS BUILDING - NIGHT

Valerie and Isadora are walking Farkle back to his building post-Hamilton, raving about the show and keeping up a relatively consistent chatter. Isadora is doing more observing of her mother and former rival interacting than contributing, but it isn’t an issue this time. And she seems to be enjoying herself nevertheless.

As they stop outside his building, Farkle states that they didn’t have to walk him all this way. Isadora claims actually, they did, as it was part of the requirements for his mother to let him come along with them.

Farkle: Yeah… thanks for inviting me. It was nice to get out of the apartment -- think I was going a little stir crazy.

Valerie: It was our pleasure, truly.

Isadora: Surprisingly.

[ Farkle narrows his eyes at Isadora. She matches the expression, causing him to crack and offer the ghost of a smirk. ]

Valerie: And you’ll be going back to Triple A after this weekend, no? Suppose this could be considered a trial run of some sort. A dress rehearsal!

Farkle: Yes, well, that will be a spectacle all its own, I’m sure. [ to Valerie ] Thank you, again. [ to Isadora, with a nod ] Isadora.

Isadora returns the nod, Farkle heading into the building through the revolving door. Valerie makes an expression at Isadora, raising her eyebrows.

Isadora, genuinely lost: What?

Valerie raises her hands in surrender, although the amusement doesn’t leave her features. Isadora obviously wants to question her, but the more they walk towards the subway the more emboldened Valerie becomes. Before they descend down into the station, she pulls Isadora aside and states there’s something she needs to tell her.

The reason that she came to stay with Isadora for the break wasn’t just because of everything going on here -- though that is part of it, and she’s happy to have been there for Isadora even if she can be a bit much.

Isadora: Well, I wouldn’t say --

Valerie: Oh, don’t try to sugarcoat it. I’m a big celebrity, I can take my share of critique. And I know we aren’t perfectly matched. I can be a lot, certainly more than you’re used to. But we’re improving, aren’t we? Every day.

Isadora can agree with that much. Valerie goes on to explain that she’s been doing a lot of thinking, much contemplation, and part of the reason she came to stay the week was to test the waters of their dynamic in long terms. Because... she hopes to try and get back custody of Isadora so that she never has to deal with this foster care business again. That, and of course, they can be a proper mother and daughter.

Isadora is shocked. At her stunned expression, Valerie quickly begins to articulate all the thought she has put into it. Naturally, she would only pursue it if it’s something Isadora would want… and does she think, maybe, it’s something she would want?

The moments that Isadora hesitates feel unbearable. Then, surprising even herself, she speaks.

Isadora: Yeah. [ a beat ] Yeah. It is. I would.

Valerie takes a moment to absorb it, realizing Isadora has said yes.

Valerie: Yes. Yes!

Valerie takes her hands excitedly, then remembers her discomfort with touch and pulls back. But Isadora mirrors her excitement, choosing to link their hands lightly again. Valerie brightens, launching into all of the wonderful things this could hold for them. Sure, it will require changes, and further understanding of one another as they go, but they have time for that. They have all the time in the world to figure it out.

Regardless, they will have one another. Decisively, like never before.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Stone” as performed by Alessia Cara || Performed by Isadora De La Cruz & Valerie De La Cruz

Valerie launches into the song first, Isadora easing her way into the harmony. Their voices combine in a delicately powerful duet, accented beautifully with the scenery of Manhattan glittering in the night.

They make their way through the streets, somewhat dancing around one another but actually in step for once. Both of them are smiling as well, the true cause of how bright the evening feels.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay is grooving in his room to his own music, laying out and taking stock of all the auditions he went out for over break. He seems proud of himself, as he should be.

DONNA BABINEAUX knocks on the door, Zay stretching to turn down the music. She skims through the papers on his desk, asking what he’s been up to all holiday running in and out. He eagerly tells her all about the stuff he went out for, Donna brightening the more he discusses it. Once he concludes she exchanges a double high-five with him before pulling him into a hug, planting a kiss on top of his head until he manages to shrug away.

Still, Donna is far from oblivious. She innocently questions what brought on this sudden surge of ambition. Zay falters, just for a moment, then maintains his positive demeanor as he shrugs. He claims senior year is right around the corner. May as well start doing all he can to leave an impression.

For now, Donna leaves it be. She reiterates how proud she is of him one more time before telling him goodnight. Alone again, Zay glances at his desk spread again and another smile drifts onto his face. Settling on his bed, he reclines comfortably and shifts to looking at his phone, on instinct going to send a message to Charlie.

Once the message thread is open, however, he freezes. The searing reminder of the state their relationship is in hits him all at once, temporarily forgotten in the hustle of utilizing his spring break. So in some ways, his initial reason for setting out to break ground succeeded -- only it hurts far more to return to reality than he anticipated.

His fingers hesitate over the keyboard, totally at a loss.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

As it turns out, Charlie is feeling the exact same way. He’s at his laptop, message thread open with Zay and trying to figure out what to say. Obviously desperate to say something, but not having any idea how he could.

The indecision will remain for a bit longer. He avoids it again, exiting out of the messages and returning back to his browser. A few of the tabs he had open at school are on screen again, giving us a better look at what he’s actually investigating.

Other arts schools. Transfer applications. The one on screen is for Haverford Prep, but it’s just one of many. It would require a whole other round of auditions all over again, but it’s clear for some reason, he’s putting the option on the table.

Charlie may not fix his problems at all.

He might run instead.

INT. MINKUS HOME - DAY

Farkle opens the door for one final visitor, expression going blank when he locks eyes with Maya. She returns his stare, more prideful in her stature, but clearly there by choice.

Farkle, stunned: Maya.

Maya: … that’s my name, yes. So flattered you remember. [ a beat ] Are you going to invite me in?

Farkle: Oh, uh… yeah. Yes.

Farkle steps back, but Maya hardly waits for him to move. She breezes past him, Farkle somewhat dazed and low energy and nowhere able to battle with her this afternoon.

She enters the living room with more familiarity than any of the other classmates, eyeing the cocoon that Farkle has built for himself on the couch. The reality of his situation dismantles her bold facade, and she only minimally manages to repair it.

Farkle asks Maya how her break was, and she claims refreshing. She fires back the same question to him, and he shrugs indicatively towards the dent on the couch.

Farkle: I’m sure you can imagine.

She can. Silence settles between them, uncertain. Farkle breaks it first, launching into an apology with the same uneasy tempo as when he spoke to Charlie.

Farkle: You have every right to be upset with me. For everything I did. You should hate me, and I would understand it. I should never have let my jealousy dominate my actions, and furthermore, expose a secret you meant to keep under wraps. That you shared with me in confidence --

Maya, resigned: I don’t care about any of that, Farkle.

Farkle: … you… you don’t. You don’t care. No?

Maya hesitates, inhaling a breath. She searches for what she wants to say, crossing her arms.

Maya: The attempt to keep my... financial circumstances a secret was kind of a fool’s bet anyway. It had to come out eventually. And the video was far more embarrassing for you than me -- I think we can agree you more than paid for that.

Farkle doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t interrupt. He’s more consumed by how great it is to talk to her again, how it feels to be back on the same page in some shape or form. No longer outcasted from her life, at least for a moment.

Maya: It was just… [ tentative ] I don’t have time to waste. I don’t have time to waste on people who aren’t worth the effort. And I thought -- I’ve had my experience with people who don’t keep their promises. I’ve had enough of it, forever, and so when you couldn’t be there for me and then twisted everything around, even when you said… even when we agreed to drop the antics…

Farkle, softly: I know.

Maya: So I thought the solution was the same. The last time someone hurt me this way, they left, and that solved the problem. I never had to deal with them again because they were out of my life. [ a beat ] Only I’m realizing that didn’t really solve anything. They’re gone, but the hurt is still there. Nothing about that situation is ever going to change, and it’s always going to hurt. Even with time.

Farkle: … but…

Maya: But… maybe, here, things could still change. If we make the right choices, better choices, then no one has to go. [ unusually fragile ] I don’t want you to go.

The additional meaning behind the sentiment goes without saying. Farkle swallows, realizing that the ball in his court now. Maya’s opening the door for him again, conditions attached, and he has to demonstrate that he’s capable of the privilege. That he’s capable of change.

So he tries to communicate it, in the best form of communication they know.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Thinking Of Him / I Miss the Music Reprise” as performed by Curtains Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus & Maya Hart

A direct parallel to Farkle’s former performance in 204, he kicks off the soft duet with sincerity.

Farkle: What was I thinking when I let you slip away? [ a beat ] Oh, yeah…

He admits all the ways in which he was selfish or misguided in the past year, culminating in that emotional and vulnerable declaration (“But why pretend? I missed the music, I missed my friend”). As Maya joins in, she eases her way back towards him. Both of them end up on the couch, singing in harmony for the first time in what feels like ages.

Maya wraps her arms around his, gently resting her head against his shoulder. A smile slowly blooms across his face, and he allows himself to tilt his head back against hers.

I choose the music I make with you, I love the music I make with you.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Upon return to school from break, Jack is back in his office and going through all of the new correspondence and paperwork that has piled up.

Lucas appears in his doorway, lightly knocking. Jack lifts his gaze, waiting for an explanation without a word. Lucas holds up the community service form, all filled out.

Lucas: Just needs your signature.

Jack nods, gesturing him in as he searches for a pen. Lucas waits patiently as he signs on the bottom to verify the hours, handing it back to him promptly. No praise, no congratulations. Just the expected transaction.

Lucas wasn’t expecting anything else. He folds the paper and starts to back out of the office, about to let that be that. But he hesitates, thinking about the past week and all of the other bold choices he’s had to make.

Lucas: I know I messed up.

Jack stiffens, not expecting there to be more either. He pauses to listen, leveling his gaze to watch Lucas. He keeps his expression politely neutral.

Lucas: Kind of seems like that’s all I do. And maybe it is. [ a beat ] But I’m going to try. I’m gonna make it right. I’m gonna make it up to you. I swear.

Lucas holds his gaze, not flinching away from the honesty. Meaning every word of it, and wanting it to be crystal clear.

Then he exits, not wasting another second. Jack stares at where he left, honestly not anticipating this earnest curveball. He has to blink to shake it off, the process of being emotionally removed no longer so plain and simple as it should be in theory.

He settles into his desk, aiming to distract himself via work instead. As he opens his desktop and goes to their email server, a message in his inbox seems to catch his attention. It’s from Evelyn Rand, school board member, and the subject line is a true attention-getter.

“Did you see this?”

Jack opens the email, skimming the message. From what he can tell, Evelyn has forwarded him a complaint that was filed with them over the course of spring break. It’s leveled against AAA, and the last line of her email stands out in particular.

“They intend to go public with this, from what I understand. What are you planning to do?”

Jack’s neutral demeanor is long gone. He frowns as he opens the attachment she’s sent, waiting impatiently as the compiled report on the complaint loads up. It’s a boisterous, flashy campaign against AAA for their “unfair enrollment procedures,” highlighting how personal favors and “special cases” gain coveted spots rather than hard-working, well-deserved, young talent willing to put in the effort and pay the price of admission.

It’s a smear tactic if there ever was one -- filed by a very indignant family -- but the tactic itself is hardly what causes the concern on Jack’s face. It’s the subject they’ve chosen to be their pièce de résistance, the perfect example of how “corrupt” and “unmerited” the current enrollment is.

Lucas James Friar. His school portrait staring back at Jack from the center of the complaint, promising to be the unwitting key talking point for what might very turn out to be an unpleasant and loudly public Bradford temper tantrum.

Break time is definitely over.

END OF EPISODE.

#S2 #209 #episodes #y'all..... Y'ALL HERE WE GO

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whimpering-hearts · 5 years

Text

Coffee Break : aph crack drabble

Coffee Break

Featuring: Norway, Finland, England (ft. Denmark)

Words: 1,786

Genre: comedy, action,

A/N: I had a burst of inspiration to write this at 1am. I was inspired by how dependent on coffee I became during Finals week lol. I have no idea if this story makes sense, but it was great fun to write, and I hope that people find it enjoyable! :)

It was painful for some people to accept it, but sometimes sacrifices must be made for the sake of the greater good. That went for health, too. As much as some people enjoyed the taste of cookie crumbs and bubbling soda on their tongues, in the end, all sugar caused was trouble. It was known for causing bad diseases, making people obese, and a series of other unhealthy habits.

Arthur Kirkland hadn’t minded when the World Counsel of Health had decided to ban it in large dose and raise the price so people would buy less. To be fair, Arthur’s food was awful and he had no taste for what sugar had to offer to some of the finest pastries and desserts in Europe. His food was borderline inedible.

So when the World Counsel of Health had decided that caffeine was harmful to the growth of the human body and assisted sleep deprivation and mood swings, Arthur hadn’t cared much. He’d always been more of a tea drinker – it was so much more proper than coffee, at least in his mind. Arthur was still caught up in his glory days. Caffeine was turned into a prescription drug that one could only buy if a doctor approved it beforehand, and even then it was ridiculously expensive. That also meant that coffee was internationally taken off the shelves.

But while Arthur hadn’t minded the take away of coffee and caffeine, other’s definitely did. People around him were in tears; some were sobbing in the streets for days, and a certain Nordic was so outraged that he nearly set his capital on fire. Wasn’t there a time Arthur had been surrounded by people crying in the past? Yes, when was that? Oh wait, it was his Alfred’s Revolution and he’d been the one who was crying with the rest of the British Army. Oh well, there’s a first time for everything.

It was a day like any spring day, however the English weather had decided to give Arthur a break and show some sun. Arthur felt like it had been ages since he’d last seen the sun without any clouds. It was the perfect day to get outside and walk around the city; he’d be a tourist in his own city for a day. The blond visited all the popular sights, Trafalgar Square, the London Eye, Buckingham Palace – these were all sights he’d seen countless times over the years.

Finally, at some point in the afternoon, he decided to stop by a drugstore to pick up a much needed new comb and some first aid supplies. You just never knew what was going to happened these days. Kids were crazy and it seemed that their parents had failed to implement proper manners. However, Arthur wasn’t a first-rate caretaker either, as Alfred had declared independence as soon as he understood the concept, and then everyone followed in suit.

Arthur had just rounded a corner into another aisle when Arthur got a bad feeling in his stomach. No, not his stomach, his gut. After living centuries, Arthur had learned to trust his gut, and was telling him that something wasn’t right.

As if to answer his question, suddenly there was the sound of warning gun shots shooting up into the roof and then shouting. Arthur threw himself to the ground, backed himself up against the shelf and peered out towards the door. There stood two men, completely dressed in back with ski masks on.

The man on the left fired his gun into the air, blasting holes int he ceiling. Some gasps came from around the store, and by this point everyone was on the floor, holding their heads and trying to stay as low as possible. Arthur watched carefully as the two men walked around, holding their guns, but to Arthur for some reason they didn’t seem that intimidating.

“This is a robbery!” one of the men shouted. “If everyone remains where they are then we won’t have to take you hostage.”

Some more gasps and cries came from the people in the store at the possibility of being taken hostage. A mother gripped her child closer.

“Wait, what,” one of the robbers whispered under his breath to the guy who had announced everything. “I said I wasn’t comfortable with that stuff,” he whispered.

“Tino, be quiet,” the other man bit back under his breath. “I’m just trying to scare them. We’re not hurting anyone. Now stop talking.”

The man – Tino – continued to point his gun at people as he and his partner made their way deeper into the store. As they moved, everyone huddled close to the floor and ducked their heads in fear of making eye contact with the madmen. The two men walked up to prescription desk, which a woman was crouched behind, shaking in fear of what might happen to her.

“You,” the more aggressive man pointed at her, and she trembled even more. “You’re going to load all this store’s caffeine tablets and coffee bags into this duffle bag–” the man threw a grey duffle bag onto the counter as he spoke, “– and don’t lie to me,” he continued with a cold tone as he pointed the gun. “Just because you don’t have them out on the shelves doesn’t mean you don’t have them. I know they’re in the back. You’d better bring all of them to me.”

The woman stuttered and started to speak, but she quickly figured that it was best not to argue with these men and just do what they wanted. Tears caused by worry ran down her face as she picked herself up, nodded and quickly began to load the packages of caffeine into the grey duffle bag. Arthur must have spotted at least over a hundred pills of caffeine get dumped into the bag.

When the woman finished, she put her hands in the air and mumbled, “I need to go to the back room to get the coffee packets. I promise I won’t run.” Her visible trembles could be seen from half way across the store. She was terrified to death. Arthur actually pitied her, and he could relate. He wasn’t afraid anymore, as this wasn’t his first time in this type of situation. However, that didn’t mean he was going to play the role of the hero.

“Ja, you’re not going to run away,” the more dominant of the robbers stated confidently. He gestured to the man next to him with his hand. “Go with her and make sure she doesn’t run.”

Tino seemed uncertain. “Oh, okay. Wait, what are you going to do?” He questioned.

“Stay here and make sure nobody runs or calls the cops.”

Tino asked no more questions and disappeared into the back room with the woman. At least he seemed a bit more sympathetic than the other guy. Who were these people? Were they actually at a a pharmacy to steal coffee and caffeine? Why not the money? Who would be this desperate to steal caffeine and coffee? These two people apparently. So many questions that Arthur wasn’t sure which were the most important to answer. One thing he knew though was that he’d been in worse situations, but this was one of the…strangest. Of course, there had been weirder situations, given the things Arthur used to get into with Vladimir and Lukas.

After a bit, Tino and the woman reappeared. Tino nodded to the man indicating that everything had been taken care of. The man, who’d remained in the room, took the bag from him and slung it over his shoulder. As he turned around, he scanned the room with his gun. More gasps and yelps of fear came from the crowd, but Arthur knew that these two weren’t going to shoot anyone. They probably didn’t even have the guts to shoot someone, but Arthur didn’t want to test that theory.

“Okay, we’re leaving now,” the unnamed man announced. “Nobody is allowed to call the police for three minutes. If I hear sirens before three minutes, I will blow this place up.”

Even more gasps came from the crowd. Arthur knew that it was probably a lie, but he wasn’t going to take his chances.

“That’s right. I’ve rigged this place with TNT, and if you don’t listen to me, I will blow all of you up,” he explained as he and his partner made their way to the entrance door. Over twenty pairs of eyes followed them as they did so, each counting down the seconds until they’d be safe, again.

“Okay, all of you’d better wait three minutes or I’ll know.”

With that both men ran out of the store, and everyone heaved a deep breath of relief.

The two men ran around to the back of the store, the sound of their breath and footsteps echoing in the dead air. They stopped behind the store, near some crates to catch their breath. The man carrying the bag dropped it on the ground and yanked off his ski mask, revealing a messy head of blond hair.

“What in the world was that, Lukas?” Tino asked as he tugged off his own mask. “You went off script.”

“I wanted my coffee,” Lukas responded, sounding as if there was nothing wrong with what he’d just done. “Where is Matthias? He’s suppose to be here.”

Tino just scoffed and took a few steps away from the Norwegian, who glanced over at him. Tino crossed his arms and gave another scoff of disbelief. “I can’t believe you just threatened to kill everyone in there. You terrified those innocent people half to death, you know?”

Lukas just shrugged his shoulders and continued looking around. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Where the heck was Matthias? How were they suppose to get away without their getaway driver?

At last, Lukas saw a car that resembled the one Matthias had dropped them off in pull up to the curb. Lukas had told him to wait there, not drive around the parking lot like a lost puppy. Lukas signaled for Tino to pick up the bag and put it in back with him; Lukas would take the front seat.

As Lukas opened the front door, he was greeted by Matthias’ smiling face. He looked so happy despite being a getaway driver.

“Your Uber driver is here,” Mathias greeted with a wide smile. Oh, he thought he was so funny, didn’t he. Tino quickly threw the duffle bag in the car and both men piled in.

“Hey, want to hear something special?” Lukas asked Matthias as he threw his seatbelt on and the car began to take off.

“Yeah!”

“You’re an idiot.”

#Hetalia #1P England #1P Norway #1P Denmark #1P Finland #PT: Submission #Th: My Followers Rock!#PT: Check Out This Awesome!#submission

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audreysl0ve · 6 years

Note

Swan Queen + 8

A/N: this takes place in S7, when Emma returns from that graduation trip.

Warning: While I enjoy reading SQ fic, I don’t ship them in canon. I don’t think this is affected anything, but it could have and if so, I’m sorry.

Second warning: Emma’s not my fav. I like the version I’ve written but I might be a little harsh on her choices re: abandoning Henry. I mean no disrespect to the ship.

Third warning: written within an hour, all mistakes are mine. :)

Regina doesn’t know why she’s so nervous. She’s only seeing Emma, after all.

But she’s reliving her past, getting a do-over, of sorts.

This Emma has separated from her, has pulled away, but isn’t yet gone.

She’s still so mad, so hurt over the way Future Emma conducts herself. But this Emma, this Emma of the past, she hasn’t made those choices that ripped her adn her son’s heart apart. Not yet.

It was decided that Snow would fill Emma in on the details of this latest development, explain why there are now two Reginas (or four, if we’re counting those in other realms), three Henry’s, two (sort of) Hooks, and, well, zero Rumples.

But the way Emma storms into her office, Regina is sure Snow hadn’t gotten out many of the details of the separation, anyway.

“So now you get to travel through time?” Emma asks, almost angrily. Her hair is windswept and disshelved, and Regina imagines she ran the whole way here from that infernal house of hers.

“I didn’t do it by choice,”Regina responds, gripping the back of her desk as she leans against it. “I was purely a passenger in this event. For once.“

“So all of this — you’ve experienced this before?” Emma’s eyes are wild, frantically searching for something.

A lie, Regina thinks. She’s trying to find out if Regina is telling the truth.

“I know how things happened the first time around, Emma. But I do not think history is set in stone. But, as your mother probably told you—”

“Oh, please, why did you trust her to tell me anything? She could barely stumble out single sentencee without getting tripped up. What is going on? Why did you travel through time - why did Henry travel through time - and not me?”

“Because you left us!” Regina retorts, far too cold, hurt tumbling out of her mouth, as if she’s powerless to stop it.

“Bullshit,” Emma exclaims, but she knows. Emma always knows when she’s lying, and this is the truth. Regina can see it on her face. The recognition that Regina is telling the truth. She’s almost fearful, almost apologetic.

“Henry wanted to go to a new realm to make his own story. He’s about to tell you about this plan of his, actually. And I hated it, for what it’s worth. But you thought he should—”

“Well Regina he has to live his own life. He has to be independent,” Emma says bluntly, and Regina can only roll her eyes in agreement.

“Yes, that’s what you said. And you said he’d visit all the time, and that lots of children move away at eighteen, but do they really move to different realms, Emma?”

“Something happened there. What happened?”

“He very nearly died. But your little pirate friend gave him a way to call for us. That was years into the future, mind you. So he called for us. When his life was in mortal danger.”

“And?” Emma asks. Regina can sense it, can feel the fear laced adrenaline pumping through her body.

“Hook and I took care of it. He’s alive.”

“Where was I?” Emma asks skeptically, “What happened to me, why wasn’t I—”

“You get pregnant with the pirate’s child,” Regina snarls. “You didn’t think it was safe under the circumstances.”

Emma shakes her head in disbelief. “This is all so…”

And suddenly Regina sees a glimpse of the old Emma, the one she missed so much, and she can’t help but offer her a lifeline.

“You knew I had it covered. And you had another child to worry about, after all. I’m sure Hook insisted.”

Emma doesn’t answer, she’s looking down now, peering up through remorseful eyes.

“After that, I decided to stay in that realm. I missed my son, I wasn’t happy seeing him once or twice a year. Without him connecting us? Connecting me to you, to Snow and David? I justfelt. Out of place. I belonged with him, I can’t explain it.”

“And I stayed here,” Emma says just above a whisper.

“Yes,” Regina admits softly. “With Hook, and your new child. You… you were going to visit but then, I guess life happened. We saw more of Zelena than of you. And it hurt him. Just so you know. It hurt him a lot. He never said it in words, but you can always tell, with Henry. He wears his heart on his sleeve.”

“Yes,” Emma admits. And then she’s tumbling on the couch, looking the picture of devastated. “I could use a drink.”

There’s a bit of nostalgia as Regina opens the decanter of whiskey and gives Emma a generous pour.

“Do I get another chance?” She asks faintly. “Now that I know what I did, do I get a chance to make it alright? Is this like A Christmas Story? Are you the Ghost of Christmas Future, warning me what my life will become if I don’t shape up?”

“I can’t give you a second chance at raising him,” Regina says with sadness. “Time is ripped down the middle. And now both versions of me and Henry exist, but there is only one Lucy. She will cease to exist if we turn back time. And we can’t guarantee everything will happen exactly the same next time. And I won’t risk my grand daughter’s life for anything.”

“Our grand-daughter,” Emma responds, downing her drink. Regina goes to open her mouth, but Emma quickly amends. “I’m going to earn the right to call her that, this time. Regina, I promise.”

“Good,” Regina tries to smile. She wants to believe Emma will be here this time, wants to, but….

She puts the negative thoughts out of her mind. ON to the next task.

“We need to merge. It’s too dangerous having future and past versions of ourselves walking around. I don’t know what could happen, but everything is fragile. Time travel is largely unknown in magic, being thought of as impossible. But I’ve done research, and well, I’ve found a way to merge us.”

“So you, and your past self will become one?” Emma asks

“We will. And Henry will merge with his older self, too.”

That seems to break her. Tears fall down Emma’s face, adn Regina doesn’t think she’s ever seen her so openly vulnerable with her, not ever.

“And he will… he will be older? I’ll not get to see him grow up, he’ll just morph into this full grown man?”

“It’s only a few years, Emma.” Regina says, feeling that urge to comfort. She lays a hand on her shoulder.

It surprises the hell out of her when Emma leans into her shoulder.

She’s always…she never lets her…

“I’m so sorry Regina, I’m so sorry about everything.” She’s sniffles int her shoulder, and damn it, this silk shirt may be ruined.

“Emma, you don’t owe me any apologies, it’s just —”

“But I do!” she insists, pulling back, and wiping her tears. “I know why this happened, I know what happened. Why I kept my distance from you, especially if I was pregnant.”

There’s weight to her words, something in the air goes charged, and Regina is inexplicable terrified of what comes next.

There’s something she’s felt, something she’s longed for that she’s never so much as allowed herself to hope for. But now, that dreadful fearing rises to the surface, daring her to dream.

“You should know. I should have just been honest with you. I should have told you.” Emma is smiling a bit now, perhaps laughing at herself. “In the grand scheme of things, confessing feelings seems so trivial.”

Feelings.

Her pulse quickens, her body goes rigid. Emma is so close, she can feel her breath, the heat of her body right next to her.

“I chose him. And I love him. But I…. god, Regina, please don’t freak out. But I think I love you too.” Emma says above a whisper. “And when we do things together, when we go on roadtrips and vacations, just you and me and Henry, it hurts, it’s confusing in a way I can’t explain. And I know you don’t feel the same, I do. And I was just thinking maybe some distance would help clear my head. Apparently I can’t let you go without also letting my son go. I can’t let that happen.”

For a moment Regina cannot hear anything, cannot feel. She’s suspended in disbelief, paused in midair.

“You don’t feel this alone. I feel it too.” That’s all Regina can muster, all she can come out with to say. What more is there to say, after all? She still loves him.

It’s not fair, life’s not fair.

She feels the tears pricking at the back of her eyes, thinking they could have had this, it could have been something. She can’t even look at her, has to regroup, if only for a second. She hides the growing wetness in her eyes, face falling downwards. But Emma’s hand is in her hair, fingers threading through as she lets her pam rest against her cheek, urging her back up.

“Regina…” she says softly.

The kiss is gentle, not hurried or passionate, not like any of the times she’s imagined kissing Emma in the past. It’s tender and slow, but loving.

Regina can taste the salty wetness of tears on her lips, she’s not sure whose they belong to.

It’s only a moment, but it feels like one she’s been waiting a lifetime for. And when they break away, Regina isn’t sure she remembers to breathe.

She thinks of Hope, their darling little girl. Thinks of the countless birthday parties, the relationship Henry always wanted with her, the love he already has for her.

Hope can’t ust not exist.

God, she can’t risk anything changing things, she already loves that little girl as her own, despite how little she’s seen her over the years.

She hopes this hasn’t compromised anything. Because if she has, she will have to give Emma a memory potion, have to erase all this from her mind, and Regina has had enough pain in her life, she can’t erase the happy memories too.

“Emma,” she says, taking a deep breath in and cradling her hands in hers. “We can’t do this, we can’t—”

“I know we can’t,” Emma breathes, a sad smile on her face. “I know. It’ll be our secret.”

#swanqueen #swan queen fanfic #swan queen fic rec #swan mills family

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obsidianarchives · 7 years

Text

My Magic Flows True

by Eliyannah Amirah Yisrael

Based on a character created by J.K. Rowling

A SMALL CAMP OUTSIDE JERUSALEM, 1018 A.D.

INT. THE THINK TANK FOR THE SPECIAL CHILDREN OF ZION - TEACHER TENT - EARLY MORNING

RAHAB OF REHOBETH, JEHOSHEBA OF JERUSALEM, HULDAH OF HAIFA AND BILHAH OF BETHANY are seated on the ground around a flat stone hovering in the air at table height. The four women are between 80-105 years old but their tight, brown skin of various tones tells a different story. As magical beings with a supreme lifespan, they have not physically aged in at least 50 years and are full of youthful energy as they are still in the spring of their life.

They are the founders of The Think Tank for the Special Children of Zion, a school (beyt sefer) for select students of blessed magic across the African continent.

The camp where The Think Tank resides, hidden to the uninvited eye, looks like every other camp in Jerusalem at the turn of the 11th century. Bright, blue skies adorn a settlement of sandstone buildings and Think Tank tents are scattered throughout the grounds.

The Emah’s, metaphorical mothers of The Think Tank, are weary from hours of debating. Despite this, each woman sits, bright-eyed, in the tent made up of a rich pattern in red, blue, green and white, each color representing a magical gift and tribe of the school. Silk in each color is also draped around the tent, and in the center sits a large, flat stone, the Stone of Judgment.

In the corner of the tent sits ROWENA RAVENCLAW, early 30s, a fair-skinned woman with thick, dark hair tumbling from the blue and bronze headdress that easily identifies her as an English woman of her time.

All dialogue in Italics is in Ancient Hebrew.

RAHAB These are all reasons for HOW we can’t be paid but no reasons for WHY we shouldn’t.

BILHAH Your concern is not for the rest of us! Your concern is for yourself and yourself only! We have operated our school for over 50 years but now you want to change that! Why? So you can get up off your back-

HULDAH

Bilhah-

BILHAH You are being dishonest Rahab.

RAHAB All over this city, the men are being paid wages. Why aren’t we? And yes Bilhah, I do want to ‘get up off my back’. I also want to get up off my knees and my stomach and the thighs of these men who spend their wages with me!

JEHOSHEBA Rahab, I’m sorry you earn your money this way but I cannot allow you to make the students responsible for your decisions.

BILHAH It is the talmiyd we must think about! Most our families cannot afford tuition. But we have to train them. They need us to teach them to use their magic. That has always been our mission.

RAHAB I’m not changing the mission. But we have poured our selves and our finances into creating this school. We have trained so many witches and wizards. We are not evil if we ask for tuition!

HULDAH What is your plan for this tuition?

RAHAB

Plan?

HULDAH You are asking us to alter our entire way of operating, surely you have thought about a plan.

RAHAB That is what we’re here to discuss.

JEHOSHEBA No, my sister, we are here to discuss whether or not you should be paid a wage for teaching. That is what we will say on today. Rahab looks around the tent, her body tight with frustration. Why do they oppose her? Why don’t they understand?

JEHOSHEBA I have known you since we were young girls, younger than most of our talmiyd. When we grew to be young women, I warned you of the path you were choosing but you did not heed my warning.

She hovers her left hand over her heart and appears to carry something through her body up to her brain. Once her hand has stilled in front of her forehead, she opens her hand to receive something then uses her right hand to create a puddle of water on the surface of the table. She releases her captured item into the puddle and a memory of a YOUNG JEHOSHEBA and YOUNG RAHAB plays out before the group.

FLASHBACK:

EXT. BETHLEHEM LIBRARY - DAY

Young Jehosheba and Young Rahab, approximately age 14, sit on the steps of a small stone building. THE BETHLEHEM LIBRARY is the pride of the town. The collection of written texts within are of no great number but they have been secured from far and wide and the learned men pore over them for hours in an effort to increase their understanding of the world.

The girls defiantly sit on the landing outside the library. There are 3 pairs of sandals in a neat row next to the entrance and, despite their small display of resistance, the Young Rahab and Jehosheba take care to sit away from the door.

YOUNG RAHAB

I think you are right to worry Hoshe but I pray you don’t worry for long.

YOUNG JEHOSHEBA

I have never known a woman to say she wants to be a harlot.

Young Rahab doesn’t respond right away. She grabs a stick from the ground and with one touch, it erupts in a small, orange flame. Young Rahab looks into the fire for a few moments before putting it out with another touch and tossing it away from them.

YOUNG RAHAB

My family left, Jehosheba. When my magic revealed itself, my Abba looked at me like I was a monster. And now they’re gone.

YOUNG JEHOSHEBA

Ray, I’m so sorry.

They let another silence settle over them. There doesn’t seem to be much to say.

YOUNG RAHAB

I won’t be a harlot. None of the priests for me, just a regular zonah. But it won’t be forever. I bet I can make mountains and mountains of money!

YOUNG JEHOSHEBA

Your mountains will grow only if you don’t pick flowers from the base. (she places her left hand over Young Rahab's hands) Be careful of your greed Rahab. It claws at your senses like a wild boar. Earn your money and live well.

END FLASHBACK.

INT. THE THINK TANK FOR THE SPECIAL CHILDREN OF ZION - TEACHER TENT - CONTINUOUS

Rahab stares at the zikaliyt, the memory frozen on Jehosheba’s kind but grave expression. Her features ripple softly in the water, creating a feeling of intense melancholy in the room. After a moment, Rahab holds her head high and looks each of her friends in the eye as she addresses them.

RAHAB I have not saved money. But that does not mean that I am wrong. Your husbands provide for you, the parents provide food for the talmiyd, but what of everything else? And what of me? I have given as much of my mountain to this school as I have given to myself.

JEHOSHEBA I fear you are misleading yourself. But, all the same, we cannot ask our talmiyd to pay for your mistakes.

BILHAH We are teachers, not merchants!

HULDAH Sister Rowena, what do you think?

Rowena is startled to be invited to the conversation and can’t stop the surprised expression that crosses her face.

HULDAH You have expressed your desire to create a school of learning such as ours. I assume you will use a similar system and separate your talmiyd according to the gifts they share with the instructors. You must have ideas about what you will do when you cannot agree.

BILHAH Yes Rowena, you have been with us for almost 3 full moons, you have seen enough of our ways to care about what we’re doing. You can voice your say with us today.

She glances at the other Emah’s questioningly, they all nod their agreement. Bilhah and Huldah slide over and create space for Rowena to sit between them.

Once Rowena is settled, Rahab touches the Stone of Judgment with her fingertips which have been embedded with the fire opal crystals through which she channels her magic. The stone shakes to life, burning bright red around the border, fading into blue, then green and white at the center. These colors appear to absorb into the stone which breathes its acceptance and returns to its beige color.

BILHAH The Stone accepts our question and will now record our answers. Please consider whether we should ask for tuition and give your yes or no to the stone.

Rahab answers first.

RAHAB I am Rahab of Rehobeth. (she falters, her slight pause feels full) My magic flows through my passion and I say yes.

Jehosheba looks at her old friend with regret before answering. When she speaks, her voice is soft and clear.

JEHOSHEBA I am Jehosheba of Jerusalem, daughter of Absalom. My magic flows through my spirit and I say no.

ROWENA I am Rowena Ravenclaw of the Scottish Glen Derry. My magic flows through...me and I say no.

HULDAH I am Huldah of Haifa, daughter of Yeremyeh. My magic flows through my curiosity and I say yes.

Rahab wasn’t expecting this. Can she hope? Should she hope?

BILHAH I am Bilhah of Bethany, daughter of Menashem. My magic flows through my traditions and I say no.

EXT. THE THINK TANK - MORNING

Rahab is furious, hurt, devastated. She transports herself into a ruin far away from the camp, silences her voice with a touch of her left pinkie finger to her throat and lets out an enraged scream. After several seconds of this, she takes a deep breath and returns back to the Think Tank. Her pinkie finger goes back to her throat but this time, to boost her voice so that it is heard throughout the camp.

RAHAB

Students. (she stops but plows on before she can change her mind) Talmiyd. This is your Emah Rahab. I have a difficult truth to express to you. Your Emah’s have to think about asking for tuition--

CUT TO:

I/E. THE THINK TANK GROUNDS - MOMENTS LATER

Jehosheba looks up sharply. In moments, she has disappeared.

She appears outside next to Bilhah and Huldah who have just arrived. Rowena materializes moments later with a loud pop.

Jehosheba, Bilhah and Huldah stalk towards Rahab angrily until they notice several students standing in the entryways of their tents, observing with open curiosity. They slow their walk. Bilhah’s hands, shaking, are clenched in fists at her side.

RAHAB

--We don’t want to cause stress to your families but we endure great sacrifice to be here for you--

JEHOSHEBA

(projecting her voice directly into Rahab’s ear)

Emah Rahab, stop this. Stop.

RAHAB

--Your Emah’s opened this beyt sefer so that the blessed of our people from all over the land could learn to guide the magic that flows through them--

The Emah’s are standing near Rahab now but realize she has cast a barrier spell on herself and they can’t get any closer. Bilhah shoots daggers with her eyes. If looks could kill, Rahab wouldn’t even come back as a ghost.

RAHAB

--We taught ourselves through hard study and trials, we sought out the ancient texts, and we have put all that study into a program that has taught generations of those blessed with magical gifts--

By now, all 16 of The Think Tank students stand in the courtyard. They whisper to themselves and cast suspicious glances at Rahab.

RAHAB

--At our beyt sefer, we are a family and it makes us all greater to speak of the truth with transparency. The truth is, in order to continue educating talmiyd, we will not be able to remain a free beyt sefer. And now, for today’s announcements--

She lowers her barrier spell, confident the Emah’s won’t take their anger out on her in front of all the students.

RAHAB Tribe of Huldah, you will continue working with Sister Rowena and her Ollivander stick today. To my own tribe, we will join them today and tomorrow but will not begin our lessons with the Ollivander stick for another 3 weeks. To all the talmiyd, live and learn well today.

INT. THE THINK TANK - COOKING TENT - NIGHT

The Emah’s and Rowena are all gathered in the cooking tent cleaning up after dinner. Despite the sky-high tension, no one has said a word in hours. Bilhah steals glances at Rahab but her anger has not ebbed so she keeps to herself.

RAHAB With a tuition, we could pay someone to handle the cooking and cleaning instead of doing it ourselves every ni-

BILHAH HUSH! Have you not spoken enough today?! Have you not embarrassed us and our talmiyd and made them uncomfortable?! You have lost your way Emah Rahab!

JEHOSHEBA She is right Ray. And I’m sorry to tell you this but if you do not find it and repair the relationship with the talmiyd within 4 days- (she takes a moment to compose herself before continuing) You are to leave and never come back.

Rahab can’t believe what she’s hearing. She begins to protest but Jehosheba gets in her way.

JEHOSHEBA They are why we’re here. They’re the only thing that matters. We have spoken.

At her words, the three Emah’s disappear, leaving Rahab and Rowena in the tent to complete the evening chores.

ROWENA I’m sorry things didn’t go the way you wanted Rahab.

Rahab is too stunned to reply. All she can manage is a sad smile but she offers it anyway and Rowena gladly accepts.

EXT. JERUSALEM STREET - NIGHT

Rahab walks through the city, ignoring the calls of men who have been clients of hers and men who want to be. She may entertain guests later in the evening but at this moment, she only has a mind for solitude.

She stops at the end of a strip full of shops, merchants, and revelers.

KEZIAH (O.S.)

Emah Rahab?

Rahab is not surprised to hear KEZIAH, a Think Tank student in her final year, address her. Keziah had been following her for the past 5 minutes and Rahab knew it was only a matter of time before the girl made her presence known.

RAHAB

(not turning)

Yes, Kaziah?

KEZIAH

Why did you say those things earlier?

RAHAB

Because they are true.

KEZIAH

But why?

Rahab spots an empty space between two shop stalls. She walks over and indicates for Keziah to follow her. Once there, she conjures a small stone bench for them to share and takes a seat.

RAHAB

Soon you will be out in the world Talmida and hopefully, we have prepared you for that day. I spoke out today because the other Emah’s and I simply cannot fund this beyt sefer like we have for the past 50 years, no matter how much they don’t want to admit that.

KEZIAH

Some of the talmiyd think you want us to leave.

RAHAB

They are incorrect.

KEZIAH

Some of the talmiyd say you’re...a zonah.

Rahab closes her eyes. She had always hoped she would no longer be a zanah when and if her students ever found out. Some of their own Emah’s and Abba’s were current or previous clients. But she could not deny the truth, she would not lie.

RAHAB

They are correct.

Keziah didn’t expect a truthful answer and sat quietly next to her Morah while she thought about that.

KEZIAH

Is that why you want to make the parents pay? So you can stop?

Rahab looks her squarely in the face.

RAHAB

I know what your worry is Keziah. You worry that you will not be able to attend if the parents have to pay. Your family does not have the money.

KEZIAH

(almost a whisper)

Yes.

RAHAB

We would never make you leave. Ever. Sister Rowena told me you want to travel to Scotland and teach at her school one day.

KEZIAH

And at the Think Tank. I love this school Emah Rahab and I want to send my children here one day, if they are blessed.

Rahab smiles at the girl, she cannot promise a future in which she doesn’t fully believe. She gives her a deep hug and they stand. Rahab has decided, she won’t work tonight.

RAHAB

Shall we head back?

INT. THE THINK TANK FOR THE SPECIAL CHILDREN OF ZION - TEACHER TENT - NIGHT

Rahab sits on the floor, the Stone of Judgment floating before her. She opens her hands, palms up, and quietly calls each of the Emah’s one by one, inviting them to join her in the tent. When she says their name, the fire opal crystal in her right index finger lights up.

The Emah’s arrive and quietly sit themselves around the stone.

RAHAB

The talmiyd sent Keziah after me tonight. They are well.

The Emah’s look at each other, Huldah’s shoulders sag in relief.

RAHAB

I will stay for now and I will no longer bring up tuition or payment for us Morah.

HULDAH

Will you be happy with that?

RAHAB

Yes. I plan to leave at the end of the school year.

Everyone is shocked at this proclamation. None of them have ever talked of leaving the school.

RAHAB

I can’t devote the rest of my life to this beyt sefer. When I began to zanah, I did it for myself. To survive. I want to do more than survive now and I cannot zanah for other people anymore.

BILHAH

Why haven’t you talked to us about this sooner?

RAHAB

I had to talk to myself first.

JEHOSHEBA

What will you do?

RAHAB

I want to marry. So I will have to travel far away where no one knows me.

Jehosheba smiles at the woman she had known since their 7th and 8th years, she loves her like her own sister.

JEHOSHEBA

You will live well.

Just like that, the tension and frustration that had been smothering them disintegrates and they can feel the energy between them lighten.

RAHAB

The talmiyd know about me. They know of my work. (she holds her head high but it doesn’t stop a few tears from escaping her eyes) I apologize. I never meant for them to know.

BILHAH

Please, my achot, it’s better they know and learn that we’re not perfect.

HULDAH

Think of it no longer. We are one tonight.

EXT. THE THINK TANK - GROUNDS - NIGHT

Rahab has magicked a large blanket to mask the feeling of the hard ground and she lies, staring at the sky. She feels light, like the 14-year-old girl she once was, looking at her second chance.

HULDAH (O.S.)

May I join you?

Rahab nods her agreement and feels the slight dip as Huldah lies next to her, her hands clasped behind her head.

HULDAH

Do you feel better?

RAHAB

I feel lonely. And I feel terrified over money.

HULDAH

This pillow charm you use really is superb.

RAHAB

Thank you.

HULDAH

I joined you because I wanted to remind you that there are more than 2 answers to every yes or no question.

RAHAB

That question was answered pretty definitively this morning.

HULDAH

Only the yes and no.

RAHAB

What’s the third answer Huldah?

HULDAH

Save yourself. You don’t want to leave the talmiyd and we have been your family for over 50 years, you don’t want to leave us either.

Huldah stands, this time with no disturbance to the blanket and presses a kiss to Rahab’s forehead.

HULDAH

Save yourself.

EXT. THE THINK TANK - JEHOSHEBA’S TENT - EARLY MORNING

Rahab stands outside Jehosheba’s tent first thing in the morning. As soon as the sun cracks the horizon, she sends a message into the tent from her right index fire opal. A few moments later, the tent door opens, inviting her inside.

INT. THE THINK TANK - JEHOSHEBA'S TENT - MOMENTS LATER

Jehosheba is lying down, seemingly asleep, but her right hand is still extended towards the entrance so Rahab knows she has truly been welcomed inside.

JEHOSHEBA

What?

RAHAB I have an idea to present to the Emahs and I need you to stand with me.

JEHOSHEBA

No.

RAHAB You were my friend before you were my partner and today, I need my friend.

JEHOSHEBA Okay.

RAHAB Okay?

JEHOSHEBA Okay.

Jehosheba doesn’t move or show any interest in what Rahab needs or that she has agreed to help with whatever it is.

RAHAB

O.....kay?

JEHOSHEBA

Okay. Thank you. Bye.

I/E. THE THINK TANK - JEHOSHEBA'S TENT

Faster than she can blink, Rahab is standing outside the tent.

INT. THE THINK TANK FOR THE SPECIAL CHILDREN OF ZION - TEACHER TENT - AFTERNOON

The sounds of students talking, yelling, laughing and generally being people under aged 25 fills the air outside the tent.

The Emah’s thrive best when the energy of love flows through the camp. They welcome this joyful afternoon with open arms and open hearts.

Rahab has gathered everyone once more and they can only hope her latest surprise doesn’t result in another debate.

RAHAB

We opened this school when we were still very young. Bilhah you were the oldest, only 52, right? And we have stayed exactly as we were then, 51 years ago.

Bilhah confirms this with a nod of her head.

RAHAB

Right now, we have a young woman who has traveled countless miles to see our beyt sefer in person because it speaks to her dreams.

The Emah’s are not sure where this is going but everyone is keeping an open mind.

RAHAB

We can expand. Not in scope but in vision. We will never have more than a handful of students because we will lose the individualized education that makes us so special. But we have seen that people are inspired by our work.

Huldah fights to hold back a smile.

RAHAB

Our teachers and beyt sefer will be paid but by strangers, not by the parents.

This idea captures the imagination of all 3 women present.

RAHAB

We shall find people to transport our special scholars like ships across the sea of learning. Our scholar ships are the key to everything. And we can educate every talmiyd we can accept until the end of time.

The Emah’s look at each other, agreement on their faces and in their spirits. Bilhah calls the Stone of Judgment to life and the Emah’s offer their answers.

JEHOSHEBA

I am Jehosheba of Jerusalem, daughter of Absalom. My magic flows through my spirit and I say yes.

HULDAH

I am Huldah of Haifa, daughter of Yeremyeh. My magic flows through my curiosity and I say yes.

BILHAH

I am Bilhah of Bethany, daughter of Menashem. My magic flows through my traditions and I say yes.

RAHAB

I am Rahab of Rehobeth. My magic flows through my passion. I say yes.

THE END.

---

Sunshine Moxie Entertainment exists to put Black women of all ethnicities, nationalities and walks of life at the center of their own stories. We use creativity in the forms of cinema, television, music videos, live productions, audiobooks and other forms of new or emerging media to build a worldwide community of Black women. As part of our commitment to making sure the world has unparalleled access to a wide berth of perspectives, Sunshine Moxie Entertainment seeks to find, develop, educate and empower talent in front of and behind the camera.

Eliyannah Amirah Yisrael, Ravenclaw and founder of Sunshine Moxie Entertainment, is a Black girl from Chicago who was supposed to stay inside her box. Instead, she decided to dream big, live bigger and change the world through visual storytelling. Since 2010, she has written and directed across mediums to tell stories about the objects of her obsession: women of color.

#HogwartsBSU #Black Wizard History

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