#also lips being a guest lecturer is even funnier now

[cingulata]

Thinking about all the lore we get from their pages in the Muppets Character Encyclopedia:

"His solo album, Zoot Plays The Blues, sold just six copies" ok but you know at least one of those copies had to have been purchased by Lips. Maybe all six - he keeps one for himself, and he's constantly lending out the other five copies to everyone he meets to show off what a musical genius his boyfriend is.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “ Nobody” Part 1

After not feeling well for months, The Joker finally found out why: the life threatening condition is so serious there’s only a 50/50 chance of survival.  Dealing with a brain tumor is not going to be easy, that’s why The King of Gotham asked his half-brother Arthur to help Y/N while he’ll undergo treatment.

The Joker yawns, repositioning his head in your lap.

“You want a small pillow?” you pause the movie you’re both watching and he refuses.

“No,” J stretches on the couch. “These are soft enough,” he pokes your thighs and you squirm, ticklish to his touch.

Suddenly, the cell phone chimes and J reaches his hand to grab it from the table.

“Arthur is here,” he announces. “He wasn’t in a hurry, hm?” The Joker mumbles while getting up.

You decline to comment and do the same because you can hear the elevator going up to the Penthouse. You could say the anticipation is making you a little bit nervous: you’ve been with J for about 10 months but you’ve never met Arthur. Probably it’s safe to assume they are not very close yet soon after finding out about the illness, The Joker contacted his sibling to let him know and sure enough he agreed to come over and help.

Although Mr. Fleck is three  hours late, it doesn’t mean he is trying to back out on his promise.

The elevator opens and Arthur emerges dressed in one of his red suits, anxiously passing his fingers through his curls. J wants to criticize and his brother is in no mood for a lecture:

“Before you lash out, I was delayed by an unexpected issue!” he keeps talking and walking in your direction. “My apologies.”

“What issue?” J growls and Arthur extends the palm of his hand, firmly shaking yours, definitely not waiting for an introduction: “Hello there,” he smiles. “I’m the older, smarter, funnier and more charming version; you must be the better half.”

“Riiiiiight…” The Joker rolls his eyes, annoyed.

“Y/N,” you smirk at the man’s remark and he lets go of your hand, explaining his delayed arrival:

“Don’t get worked up, kid. One of my projects required immediate attention and I had to sort it out.”

You expect The Joker to protest the nickname but he doesn’t mention anything: Arthur always called him that since they were teenagers and your boyfriend is used to it. Doesn’t bother him at all.

“Do you want a drink? Are you hungry?” you offer and he nods a no.

“I’m good; thanks,” he takes a sit on the nearest armchair and the couple reprises their position on the sofa.

A few moments of silence before Arthur decides to talk about the reason why he’s at the Penthouse.

“Sooo… What did the doctors find out? How bad is it?” he inquires and you unconsciously cling to J’s arm, not willing to hear about it again.

“The brain tumor is too big, I can’t have surgery yet. I already started with lower doses of medication 20 days ago, I have to gradually build up to the higher doses so my body can handle it. Soon I’ll have chemo every 3 weeks, then every 2 we…”

A low chuckle and Arthur covers his mouth in horror.

“Sorry…” he has a chance to whisper before bursting out laughing.

“Here we go…” The Joker crosses his legs, patiently waiting for his brother to finish his outburst. The King of Gotham may not be an accommodating individual, but his sibling’s condition is something he has always tolerated without any problem.

“I’m very…” Arthur tries to speak but the strenuous sounds he makes at the end of each cackle prove how much he’s struggling to control his inappropriate amusement. “…s-sorry,” he continues to snicker while digging in his pocket for a small piece of laminated paper. He finds the item and hands it over to you; you curiously inspect the writing: it basically explains his neurological disorder in a few words.

“It’s fine, J told me,” you return the information to its owner.

“I can’t believe you still have that,” The Clown Prince of Crime huffs as Arthur is slowly regaining his composure.

“I’m very sorry,” he emphasizes his regrettable outpour. “You were saying?”

J deeply inhales and reprises the briefing:

“I’ll have to do chemo every 3 weeks, then every 14 days until the tumor shrinks enough to be operable. I guess I have a 50/50 chance of surviving the whole thing, that’s why I asked for your cooperation in helping Y/N oversee my affairs. I will get worse before I might get better, thus here we are.”

Arthur pulls tissues out of the box next to him and gives them to the devastated Y/N: The Joker didn’t notice you are quietly sobbing by his side.

“Please stop crying,” he kisses your temple, avoiding your emotions like he regularly does. The best option is to divert the gathering towards another topic. “We got ready one of the bedrooms upstairs for you; I hope that’s up to your standards.”

“My standards are normal,” the truth is blurred out. “You’re the fancy one, kid. That’s why you’re The Joker and I’m Joker; I don’t need any glorification. Plus, I didn’t oppose when you picked this half of town and left me the other.”

“You’re an idiot!” the green haired man stands up from his spot, wanting nothing more than to retreat to the master bedroom after an exhausting day.

“Runs in the family,” Arthur nonchalantly hints and you snort, blowing your nose in a tissue.

“Keep your mouth shut!” J advices and you have no clue he’s referring to more than just the constant bickering going on between them. “I’m calling it quits, are you coming?”

“I’ll have a smoke on the terrace first, “Arthur searches for his pack of cigarettes and you believe this is the perfect chance to chat with him:

“I’ll stay with our guest, alright?”

“Suit yourselves,” The Joker grumbles and you follow his brother outside on the huge patio.

“I forgot how nice this is from the 30th floor,” Arthur stirs the conversation while lighting up a cigarette.

“Yes, it’s a lovely view,” you wipe your tears and he resentfully mutters:

“I fucking hate this town…”

You sigh, not wishing to interrupt in case he has more to add and the plain inquiry catches you off guard.

“How are you holding up?”

The question resonates in the awkward stillness and Y/N elects to bring him up to date.

“I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances. He’s not doing well…” you sniffle and Arthur pays attention to your confession. “The medications may be in low amount, but they are strong; they make him very confused at times, plus the side effects of the tumor… he forgets things, he has no idea where he is or… or… who I am. The doctors advised that when it happens we have to go with the flow and not push for him to recall details. His brain is under a lot of pressure and this is only the beginning.”

Arthur blows smoke up in the air, displeased with the news about his younger sibling.

“Shit, that’s rough…”

That’s surely the understatement of the year for the heartbroken Y/N.

“When he doesn’t recognize me, I tell him I’m nobody, just a person taking care of the place and he doesn’t even know the difference. I suggest you avoid any type of confrontation while he’s like that; please generalize everything you articulate and don’t complicate the situation.”

“Of course… Yeah, yeah, of course,” he is fast to agree with your guidance.

“Thank you,” you sincerely show your gratitude because you appreciate his presence. “I think I’ll join him upstairs; tonight he’s beginning higher dosage on his pills and he might have a reaction.”

“I’ll stay and finish my cigarette,” Arthur scratches the scar above his lip. “Which bedroom is mine?”

“Fourth one on the left.”

“Perfect, I’ll find it,” he waves as you return inside, eager to check up on The Clown Prince of Crime.

**************

“What the … t-the hell?” The Joker stutters, groggy from the strong medications swallowed a few hours ago.

You barely distinguish his wobbly silhouette standing by the bed.

“What’s wrong?” you turn on the lamp on the nightstand, instantly aware of his wet boxers.

“I d-didn’t make it to… to the bathroom,” J seems out of it, yet at least he realizes that much.

“Oh, it’s totally fine,” you maintain your cool and jump off the sheets, rushing to help him. “The doctors warned accidents could happen since the drugs are making you dizzy and super drowsy. Let’s step in the bathtub, shall we?”

You take his hand and lead a compliant boyfriend to the master bathroom; sometimes it’s easy to deal with him in this state, sometimes it’s not.

Luckily tonight he’s obedient.

You turn on the water and he tightly holds his boxers while you attempt to yank them off him.

“Who…who are you?” The Joker sulks, unhappy with your movement.

“I’m nobody,” you reply and manage not to cry at his disorientation. “I’m here to help you, ok?” you calmly try to reason with his baffled mind.

“I… I… I don’t want you to see me naked,” he complains and Y/N has an easy solution for the apparent controversy.

“I’ll close my eyes, deal?”

You do as vowed and J lets you undress him, finally ending up in the bathtub for a quick, relaxing soak.

“You want bubbles?” you glance at him once the body is submerged under the warm water.

“No…” he yawns and you fold a towel, placing it under his head in case he’ll pass out.

“Where… where am I?...”

A faint knock at the door and Arthur talks in a low tone:

“Everything good?”

“Yes, we’re fine,” he distinguishes your reply; he just returned from the underground garage with his suitcase and discerned the commotion: made him wonder if his assistance was necessary.

“Who was that?” The Joker enjoys being pampered by the stranger he doesn’t recognize for the moment; apparently forgot about shyness also because he has no objection to the sponge bath now.

“The maintenance guy,” you lie without blinking while pouring more shampoo over J’s toxic green locks.

*************

10 am

Arthur joined you and The Joker in the kitchen less than 5 minutes ago; he positioned himself against the counter, this way he has a broad perspective of the whole space. He sips on the fresh coffee, observing the scene unfolding at the table:

J is reading a magazine and you feed him breakfast, caressing his hair every few seconds. You didn’t mention anything about last night; he woke up feeling a bit better and it’s safe not to agitate him with useless facts.

“Are you hungry?” you address Arthur and he lifts his shoulders up, undecided.

“Maybe… I’ll munch on something shortly.”

“Hurry up before it gets cold,” you encourage him and The Joker is already as crabby as he can be.

“Stop bugging him! If he wants to eat, he’ll eat!”

“I’m not bugging him,” you defend your action, upset at J’s feisty attitude.

“She’s not bugging me,” Arthur tucks a rebel curl behind his ear, disapproving of his brother’s assumption.

“I’m not,” you sweetly smile and The Joker slaps your fingers away from his hair.

The cheerfulness dies on your face and you get up, kicking the chair in the process.

“I’ll bring your morning meds,” you enunciate and leave the kitchen in a hurry.

“Goddamn irritating,” J hisses at your behavior and Arthur can’t zip it.

“Are you stupid?” he sucks on his cheeks and that definitely gets your boyfriend’s attention.

“What did you say?!”

“I’ve been here for minutes and she didn’t take a single bite out of anything, too preoccupied with making sure you eat. Do you even notice how she looks at you?” he raises his voice. “So I’m asking you again: are you stupid?”

“Excuse me?!” J abandons his seat and the threatening demeanor queues Arthur about the imminent scuffle, not that he’s willing to avoid it.

“I wasn’t clear enough?” the latest provokes his sibling. “ARE. YOU. STUUUUPID?” he repeats, cracking his neck with anticipation.

You are coming downstairs with the meds and the ruckus happening in the kitchen makes you speed up.

You are certainly not disappointed at the show: J and Arthur are wrestling on the floor, relentlessly hitting one another.

“Stop it!!” you shout and your plea is ignored. “Stop it!” you insist when you detect Arthur’s bloody nose and J’s busted lip. “Are you deaf?! Stop it!!”

This is the last drop: after another shitty night and the stuff you endured recently, you are completely lacking any kind of patience for anybody’s nonsense.

You toss the vial with The Joker’s tablets on the counter, snatch the ice bucket from the freezer and fill it out with water. The ice cubes float in the clear liquid: the 8 gallons metal container is pretty large since it’s used for J’s grape juice cans.

You thud on the marble floor and dump the freezing concoction on top of the two heated fighters, the sudden shock from the unexpected impact being enough to halt the brawl.

“Ugg!!” J rolls on his back while Arthur crawls by the stove. “What are you doing, Y/N?!” he yells and you storm out, firmly squeezing the ice bucket to your chest without realizing.

The loud bang of a shut door bears witness of your justified rage concerning the altercation; how can you not get mad at such crap?!

Arthur seeks for his beloved cigarettes in the interior of his orange vest, triumphantly lightening one after failing the first trials.

“I like her,” he puffs the fumes out, leaning towards his brother because J is gesturing for the bud.

The Joker takes a deep drag, admitting for once:

“Me too.”

“I thought you quit,” Arthur points out.

“I did,” his brother answers, glaring at the ceiling. “Clean up this mess!” he orders and continues to smoke.

“Nope, we should let fate determine,” the older sibling suggests and J falls into the little trap.

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Ready?” Arthur smirks and counts. “1…2…3!”

“… … … Dammit!” The King of Gotham cusses.

“Have fun, kid!” the winner plucks the cig away from J. “Gimme, these are bad for your health!”

**************

“Are you in here?” The Joker sneaks in his office and watches you patrol around the desk, still vigorously attached to the infamous ice bucket.

The lack of reply makes him approach the distressed woman; you avoid gazing his way at all costs.

“I need my pitcher,” he sniffles and Y/N disregards his sentence. “You’re aware I like to use grape juice on ice for those bitter capsules. There’s no bucket and no ice in the freezer so… what am I supposed to do? Skip my morning remedy?”

A hint of lowered resistance and he’s taking advantage of it.

“My lip hurts,” he rubs the swollen, red spot. “I need ice for this too.”

You place your precious bucket on top of some folders, cautiously examining the superficial cut.

“Stitches won’t be necessary,” the obvious result updates a pouting J.

“Are you sure?” he plays dumb and wraps his arms around your waist. “Take a closer look, I can’t afford to walk around with chipped dignity.”

You peck the unharmed corner of his mouth, mad you’re giving into such cheap amendments.

“I’m positive…”

The Joker grins and kisses you, entirely convinced it wasn’t hard to get under your skin.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” he rests his forehead on yours and Y/N is speechless at the question. “This is the tumor talking, obviously,” J fixes the tiny mistake when he sees your reaction.

“Obviously…” you whisper, sadly reckoning he purposely avoids any type of sensitive debate about your future together.

The Joker though is carefully listening to Arthur mumbling on the hallway, suspicious at the meaning.

“Is he eavesdropping?!” you focus on the faint words also and it clicks for J.

“Cut it out!!!” he screams while Mister Fleck is not phased, joyfully concluding the ceremony the couple didn’t agree to.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you Nobody and Joker!”

“What was that?!” you crinkle your nose, puzzled.

“He has a minister license and never used it; he tried to hitch me with my ex too,” J clarifies his brother’s odd conduct.

“You may now kiss the bride!” Arthur shouts and The Joker had enough:

“Shut the fuck up!!!”

“What am I supposed to do with my license then?!” the wavy hair pops in the door frame.

“I don’t care!” J snarls, fed up with his sibling’s persistence. “Go pester someone else!” the door is slammed in Arthur’s face; fortunately the 42 years old is not the type of man to be easily offended.

He adjusts the pieces of tissue sticking out of his bloody nose, proudly holding the minister accreditation at eye level.

“I got myself a sister-in-law,” Arthur chuckles at his achievement, impatiently searching for a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his red jacket.

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho. 

[amillionsmiles]

checking (you) out (Pidge/Lance)

Summary: Katie works the tech desk at the university library. Lance never remembers to wipe his memory card before returning the camera equipment, which is how she becomes intimately familiar with his life via, of all things, his vlogs. A/N: finally get to post this in full!  Written for @plance-zine ; it was wonderful to be part of such a project, and shoutout to the mods for keeping everything running smoothly! :)

[Read and review here] or continue under the cut.

People, Katie has decided, are predictable.  Watch them for long enough, and their everyday motions start to read like clockwork.  At 9 AM on Thursdays, she shows up for her shift behind the library’s tech desk. At 9:20, the girl with space buns and an artfully distressed jean jacket strides in, heading straight for one of the study pods.  At 9:25, somebody blows through the doors in a last-minute effort to print materials for their 9:30 class. And at 10:50, ten minutes before Katie’s shift ends, Lance McClain shows up, laboring under the weight of a camera bag, backpack, and tripod.

Katie reaches for the scanner as Lance puffs his way toward her, depositing the tripod on the table with a heavy clunk.   It takes him another minute to locate his student ID card: he checks the pocket of his cargo jacket first (not there—it never is) before wriggling his fingers into his jean pocket instead.  When he hands the plastic over, it’s warm from being pressed against his thigh.  

Katie spares it a passing glance as she pulls up the ‘Equipment Return’ form, filling in the requisite information.

“You’re good to go.”  She gives him a thumbs-up, careful not to look him straight in the eye.

“Cool, thanks.” Flashing a bright grin, Lance backpedals toward the doors, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.  

Once he’s disappeared completely from view, Katie unzips the camera bag. She flicks the dial to on and goes straight to display mode.  Sure enough, the schmuck hasn’t bothered wiping the memory card.  

Smirking, Katie kicks her feet up on the table and leans back in her chair.  

Let the entertainment begin.

o.O.o

Lance McClain does not know her name, and Katie is completely content with this.  She applied for her gig at the tech desk specifically because it required minimal human interaction.  Nobody expects her to make conversation; they just want to check out equipment and leave.  Occasionally she has to troubleshoot a printer jam or direct tourists to the bathrooms; most of the time, though, she just does her homework and gets paid.

Still, when someone visits at least twice a week, it’s hard not to notice.  The first time Lance left recording footage behind on the camera had sparked her interest, and from there it wasn’t too hard to find his YouTube channel, Facebook, and LinkedIn.  Which was how she knew that he was a second-year bio major with a side-job at the Starbucks in the Garrison, the student union, and in his free time he liked to record himself attempting to do stunts with his skateboard, if not narrating a funny story about his day or answering the call of things like the Cinnamon Challenge.  

Katie and Keith had gotten halfway through that video before Keith closed her laptop.

“I can’t watch you do this to yourself,” Keith said, shaking his head.  “Katie, you’re too good for him.”

“I’m hate-watching!” Katie justified, attempting to wrestle her Chromebook from Keith’s grip.  

“You know way too much about him to just be ‘hate-watching,’” said Keith, making air quotes with his left hand.  “You have his student ID number memorized.”

Katie glared.  She regretted letting that piece of information slip.  Memorizing Lance’s ID hadn’t even been intentional—it’d only happened because of how many times she’d typed his information into the system during checkout.  

“You go to office hours just so you can breathe the same air as your TA for an extra 120 minutes,” she retorted.  “You don’t get to lecture me on sad.”

Anyways.  All of this is to say that despite what Keith thinks, she does not have a weird, borderline crush-fascination with Lance.  And when she stumbles into Green Library’s 24-hr study room at 3 AM to work on a CS project, he’s the last person she’s expecting to see.

Lance is slouched in a swivel chair, earbuds plugged into the desktop in front of him.  One dangles loosely around his neck, the other shoved in his ear. Upon hearing someone else enter, he lurches to attention.  Katie pretends not to notice—she fully intends to sit on the other side of the room—but Lance doesn’t give her the chance.

“Hey!  You’re tech-desk girl!”

It’s a dumb nickname.  Definitely not something to get excited about, and Katie schools her features to reflect that.  She’s above all… this. Unaffected. “I have a name.”

A quirk of the lips.  Lance somehow manages to hook an ankle around the chair closest to him and spins it so the seat faces toward her, an offering.  “Wanna tell it to me?”

It’s uncannily close to the Pick-up Line Challenge video he posted to his account a month ago.  Katie tries not to think too hard about that.

“What’s in the thermos?” she asks instead, setting her backpack down and warily accepting the chair.  

“Redbull and coffee.”  Lance’s leg bounces under the table, fingers tapping a jittery rhythm on the keyboard.  “Wanna try some?”

“No thanks.  It sounds unholy.”

“Oh, it is.  Definitely a personal low, but sometimes you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”  As he gulps his strange concoction, Lance’s face wrinkles, throat flexing as if he’s swallowed a frog.  “God, this is like… sacrilege for me.” His voice lowers, confiding. “I’m a barista.”

“I know,” blurts Katie.  Immediately after, she freezes, hoping that the comment will drop unnoticed.

No such luck.  Lance raises an eyebrow, questioning.  A strange light has entered his eyes; by admitting that she’s paid attention to him, Katie has suddenly become the sole focus of his attention.  

How much to admit?  Best to be blunt—rip it off like a bandaid.  The best defense is offense, and all that.

“You never delete your videos off the camera before you return it,” she says.

Whatever explanation Lance had been anticipating, this one catches him off guard.  His face contorts as he tries to process the information. “I—my videos?”

It’s almost too easy, slipping into the impersonation.  “Hey guys, it’s ya boi Lance, and today I’ll be—”

“Okay, okay.”  Lance waves his hands, cutting her off.  “Please do not continue.”

“I thought you’d be flattered hearing your own lines back at you.”

“Not like that, it’s weird!  You make me sound like a tool.”  He sighs. “Well, now I’m disappointed.”  

Katie frowns.  “Why?”

“I don’t know! I thought it’d be cool if you knew stuff about me because I was like, your secret Starbucks crush or something.”  At this, he shoots her a hopeful look.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“We sell other stuff.  Also, you still haven’t told me your name.”

“It’s Katie,” she finally relents, breaking eye contact to pull her laptop out of her bag.  When she looks over again, Lance is resting his chin on his hand, staring at her thoughtfully.

“What.”

“So does this mean you subscribe to my YouTube channel?”

“No.”

Lance pouts.  “Why not?”

“I like the raw footage better.  It’s funnier. Like the first take of the spicy noodle challenge, where you spewed milk out of your nose?  Classic.” She cranes her neck to look over his shoulder. “What are you working on, anyways?”

“Nothing!” Lance pushes his body between her and the screen, the broad line of his back blocking her view.  

“Doesn’t sound like nothing if you’re being like that.”

“Hey, haven’t you heard about this thing called privacy?  4th Amendment! Search and seizure! Gimme back the mou— ow!”

Years of wrestling with Matt has made Katie adept at underhanded maneuvers; with Lance still rubbing his side from where she pinched him, she takes control of the mouse and opens up the window he’d minimized earlier.  Onscreen, several scenes are being recolored and spliced together; she recognizes the footage from earlier today.

“Do you always make your videos on the school computers?”

“I have my own laptop. It’s just shitty and will only run like, 2 programs at a time, and all that’s being directed towards a stats project right now.”  Lance eyes her sideways. “Hey, what major are you? Or, wait—are you a freshman? Have you even declared yet—”

“I’m a sophomore.  Computer science and math.”

“Ah, the double major.”  Lance nods, then puffs out his chest.  “Guess what I am.”

Common sense tells Katie that she should play dumb.  Let him have the satisfaction of correcting her. But her overwhelming need to prove she knows things wins out.

“Pre-med bio.”

Lance blinks.  “Wow, first guess.”  His surprise turns sly.  “You do have a crush on me.”

Katie rolls her eyes.  “Don’t flatter yourself.  All it takes is a quick LinkedIn search.”

“Yeah, but you only fully read through someone’s LinkedIn when you’re a) hiring or b) evaluating their bae potential.  It’s okay—” he holds up a hand, cutting off her protest, “—I’m honored, truly.”

“You’re ridiculous.”  This entire interaction has gone so far off the rails, she doesn’t know how to begin redirecting it.  Lance, meanwhile, shifts focus easily, pulling a camera out of his backpack and popping the lens cap off with practiced ease.  The next thing Katie knows, it’s pointed at her, Lance narrating: “You’ve heard of Sleepless in Seattle, but we’re here with Sleepless in the Study Room, guest-starring my new friend Katie!”

“What—who said we were friends?” says Katie, trying to duck out of the frame.  Lance is an unerring videographer, though; he follows every motion.  Backed into a corner, Katie swats at the lens before remembering that it’s from the tech desk and, therefore, her responsibility.  She stays her hand.

“We’ve been talking for over half-an-hour,” Lance says, flashing his phone at her, where 3:30 AM makes itself known in thin white strokes.  “I’d say that counts for something.”

His smile is bright and close.  It’s probably the lack of sleep that’s making her loopy, but the feeling underneath her skin is not unlike a sugar rush.  

“I guess,” she says.

o.O.o

She regrets everything the next morning.  The minute she gets behind the tech desk, Katie thumps her head down and starts calculating. If she naps in ten minute increments, maybe she’ll recuperate some of her lost sleep and still manage to do her job.

The hours crawl by slowly.  At 10:50, the characteristic whoosh of the automatic doors awakens her from her latest sleep cycle, and from somewhere above, an entirely too chipper voice says: “You look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

“This is your fault,” Katie groans, raising her chin to glower at Lance.  “Because of you, I got distracted, and then I had to stay up even later to finish coding.”

“I know, I was there.  You are a very aggressive programmer, by the way.”

“Just pass over your card so I can check this equipment back in,” she grumbles, wiggling her fingers in demand.  Instead, though, Lance curls her fingers around a warm paper cup.

Katie stares at it blankly.  “I told you I didn’t drink coffee.”

“It’s my special blend,” Lance insists.  “You’ll like it, promise.”

“Yeah, well, it’s going to have to wait ten minutes,” sighs Katie, pushing it to the side and heaving the camera and tripod over the desk. “I’m not allowed to have drinks back here.  On-duty policy.”

“Then I’ll keep it safe in the meantime,” says Lance, snatching it back.  “I’ll just be over here.”

Katie watches him stake out a table.  Blinks a few times, to confirm that he’s still there.  This isn’t part of their usual routine. It feels strange but not entirely unwelcome.  

When she flicks to the camera’s memory card, it’s clean.  That’s weird, too—that they actually had a fully fledged conversation, and he took something she said to heart.  In fact, the other night, she’s pretty sure she made him laugh. And there’d been a moment, where Lance had tipped his head back, eyes crinkling, and Katie had thought: shit, maybe Keith had been onto something after all.

When her shift ends, she heads over to the table that Lance has staked out.  In characteristic Lance fashion, he’s already found a way to unfold himself over all the available space: backpack slung over the back of an empty chair, feet kicked up on the seat opposite him.  Katie nudges them aside as she sits down, reaching over to grab her coffee, and Lance’s face brightens.

“By the way, your earbuds aren’t plugged in completely,” she says, sipping her drink.  Lance, despite only knowing her from their interactions the night before, has somehow guessed at her sweet tooth, and the foamy latte goes down easily.  “Nice music.”

Lance rips the buds from his ears, gaping down at his phone in horror. Onscreen, a disturbingly animated baby waves its arms, singing, Yes papa, as a banjo strums in the background.  Katie marks that down as another piece of information on Lance: listens to educational children’s music in his free time.

“In my defense, it’s for a project.”

“Sure it is,” she says, slapping Lance’s hand away when he tries to grab the coffee back in retaliation, and it’s so natural to mess with him like this, to laugh and call him noodle arms and have everybody else glare at them for being disruptive.

I think it counts for something, Lance had said the other night.

Something, indeed.  

[frangipanidownunder]

Family Fifteenth

Written for @lokisgame who asked: Mulder, Scully, William, if you could give them one talent, what would it be? (Not work or school related) (take it as a prompt if you feel like it ;) Fluffy AU family!fic. You have been warned. Scully watched as William grimaced, biting his lip and lowering his gaze. Ordinarily, he was the most placid boy, good-natured and accepting. But since Mulder had begun to organise his birthday celebrations, William had withdrawn.

           “You can’t do that, Dad.”

           “Why not?”

           “Because it’s so embarrassing.”

           “But we started this tradition with Emily and we’re going to continue it.”

           “Mom, can you tell him. Please?”

           “William, there’s no point in arguing. Once your father’s got an idea in his mind it’s impossible to get him to change it. I remember once, when were agents…”

           “Enough of the old school memories, Mom. You’ve told me all those stories like twenty times over. I just don’t want to do this stupid talent show thing. It’s my birthday. I should be able to choose.”

           “Mom, if he gets away with it, I’m going to be super mad at you,” Emily said as she swept into the kitchen and selected an apple from the fruit bowl.

           “He’s not getting away with anything, Emily.”

           “Good, he needs to experience the total and utter humiliation of Dad doing stand-up comedy, just like I did.”

           “Oh, he’s not doing that this time. He’s planning a whole new act. And so am I.”

           “What? Mom! That thing you did with your hands was okay. It only took a few seconds and everyone thought you were pretty cool. What are you going to do this time?”

           She tapped the side of her nose. Poor William. He was so shy, so susceptible to second-hand embarrassment, that she could feel him cringing already. Emily, on her fifteenth birthday, had been unaware of what was about to unfold so didn’t have time to get the pre-birthday jitters. But William had witnessed it and had spent the last few months trying desperately to get away without having a celebration. He’d even tried to convince his friend’s parents to book a camping holiday and take him with them. But Mulder had convinced that friend and his parents to spend the evening with them, at William’s birthday party, instead.

           “It’s a bit of fun, William. You need to be able to laugh at life. This is a great way to learn that lesson.”

           “Yes,” Mulder said, walking in to join them, “your mother took years to learn how to laugh at herself. And even now she sometimes has a few issues with that. Don’t’ you, Mrs Spooky?”

           “Yeah, but she laughs at you a lot, Mulder.” Emily bit into her apple and even William managed a giggle at that one.

           “I still don’t get why our fifteenth birthdays are the ones we need to do this stupid tradition for.”

           “William, firstly, it’s not stupid when it’s a family thing. You and Emily are the best things to ever happen to us and we cherish that. And secondly, I’ve told you before that the fifteenth birthday is the one that nobody really cares about. Your teen years are in full swing. You’re not a child anymore, but you’re not sweet sixteen either. You’re trapped in a…”

           “Strange mixed-up world of childhood and adulthood when you could be just as struck by a silly cartoon or playing sandcastles on the beach as you are by the injustice of child poverty or the hellish notion of paying tax.”

Emily recited Mulder’s words back him and he nodded with pride. “I’m impressed that you remember, Em.”

“How can I ever forget that lecture, Mulder? I was always suspicious that you were some kind of super nerd but that little speech sealed the deal. So, little brother, you are required to attend the strange celebration that is a Mulder-Scully family fifteenth, complete with crazy performances by Fox and Dana. And you might as well practise your performance because you are not going to get away with it.”

Scully laid out the salads and breads, while Mulder prodded the steaks. Skinner served as barman for the guests. The Gunmen had insisted on doing the music and had rigged up a system that blared out 70s rock loud enough and terrible enough to ward off the alien colonization that they still insisted would happen. Reyes kept turning it down and Doggett would sneak back and wind it back up to full blast again. William stayed close to his friends, and Emily looked frighteningly grown up in her new dress and heels. Scully took a mental photograph of the scene, smiling inwardly.

           The party rocked on after dinner and by ten o’clock it was time for the talent show. William turned a shade of green as Mulder announced he would go first. Always a light drinker, the beers had given him Dutch courage and Scully giggled with Monica as he tripped up walking through the back door to retrieve his props.

           “This is going to be so cute,” Monica said. “I heard he’s been practising for months.”

           Scully nodded. “Poor John got the rough end of the deal.”

William’s friends pushed him forward to front row and Mulder re-appeared with a dark grey fitted tee, a pair of dark blue jeans in that tighter cut Scully loved so much, a guitar strapped over his shoulder and pink woolly hat.

           “Since Emily’s fifteenth birthday, I have taught myself to read music and to play guitar. It’s been something I’ve always wanted to do, and I have no musical bones in my body – as Scully will attest to – but I am tenacious and I wanted to prove to Emily and to William that you don’t have to be brilliant at everything, you just have to be committed.”

           Scully swallowed back tears and as Mulder looked directly at her, she smiled back at him. Her precious dork.

           “I wrote a song. Just for you, William.”

           The crowd clapped and Mulder strummed the opening bars.

Mulder lapped up the applause and bowed several times. Scully dabbed the tears from her eyes and Emily and her friends whispered in their little group. William had his eyes wide open and his lips parted in surprise. He had turned green to white to red and back to a nice shade of pink. His friends smacked him on the back and fist-pumped. Scully knew he was impressed, he just didn’t know how to react yet. She really hoped her own performance would be just as well received.

           “Scully, it’s your turn to take to the stage,” Mulder said, theatrically waving her past him.

           She took a huge deep breath and untied the black robe she had over her costume. The crowd gasped as she stepped forward into the spotlight wearing a pink ballgown, glittered at the bodice with ruffled tulle skirt. She cleared her throat, launching into her Blanche Dubois monologue, complete with Southern twang and whiskey bottle. She got it word perfect and collapsed into a bow at the end, gasping for breath.

           Emily’s hands were clasped over her mouth and her friends were nodding appreciatively. The Gunmen gaped, Skinner clapped so loudly it sounded like firecrackers popping, Reyes put her fingers in her mouth a whistled, causing Doggett to laugh out loud. And Mulder, he simply blew her a kiss which she caught and placed on her mouth.

           “Mom, that was incredible,” Emily called from her position. “You spent too long chasing mutants and not enough time treading the boards.”

           “You do seem to have missed your calling, Scully,” Mulder whispered into her ear as he caught her around the waist and pulled her into a waltz. “You do keep me guessing.”

           “Yours was pretty spectacular, Mulder. It was a pretty tough act to follow.”

           “Well, now our son has to follow you.”

“Do you think we should let him off?”

           “No way, Scully. We follow through in this family.”

           “You’re stubborn, Fox Mulder.”

           “And you once told me that was why you fell in love with me.”

           “Well, that and the way you look in a red Speedo.”

William was pushed onto the makeshift stage by his cheering friends. Scully snuggled under Mulder’s arm, feeling the warmth of his body seep into her bones. They still fitted together like one.

           “My parents are pretty special,” William began.

           “You can say that again,” Langly yelled out.

           “And they are also very determined. Which has both benefits and drawbacks. I admit that I wasn’t looking forward to this party, because of this weird talent show tradition that we do on our fifteenth birthdays, but I just want to say, before I do my party piece, that my Dad and Mom are the best.”

           The guests whooped and clapped and raised their glasses. Scully sniffed back tears and Mulder hugged her tighter.

           “So, I spent a while thinking about something really short that I could do so that I wouldn’t be in the spotlight for too long, but in the end, I decided to embrace the challenge and try my hand at something I didn’t know anything about.”

           William nodded to the Gunmen, who moved with surprising speed to set up a huge monitor, connected to the sound system.

           “My parents told us lots of stories growing up, strange stories about monsters and aliens, conspiracies and victories. They told us about how Emily and I came to be. They have always told us how loved we are. I wrote it all down. Then I animated it. And this is how it turned out.”

The movie played, opening with a young red-haired woman shaking the hand of a bespectacled, spiky haired young man. It showed a compilation of cases, some with satisfying endings, some with frightening ones. There were bug-eyed little grey men, scary-ass mutants, Skinner with a really shiny head, the Gunmen as 1930s detectives, hospitals, autopsies, vampires and haunted houses. William’s animation was a cross between cartoonish and anime. Details and flourishes brought out gasps of appreciation from the crowd. His captions were witty and his occasional voice-overs were even funnier. His imitation of Mulder yelling ‘Scullllaaaay’ as their animated selves ran through a cornfield left the audience laughing out loud.

After a few minutes, the music switched from dramatic to romantic as a slideshow of baby photos of Emily and William played out. Finally, the music faded out as the screen filled with an image of Mulder kissing Scully on their wedding day.

The chink of bottles being launched into the recycling caused Mulder to flinch. He sipped his coffee and enjoyed the image of Scully bending over to retrieve yet another bottle left in the camellia bush.

           “How do you continue to look so good, Scully?”

           “Cleaning up after a family fifteenth is a great work out, Mulder. Feel free to join in.” She threw a cork at him and it caught him square on the forehead.

           “You always were a better shot than me.”

           She walked up the verandah steps to the chair where he was sitting. “And you always did like looking at my ass.”

           “You speak The Truth, Agent Scully, or is that Ms Dubois?”

           She sat on his lap and kissed him. “And you, Agent Mulder, sing pretty well for an aging FBI employee.”

           “Less of the aging - you’re not that far behind. But have we created the next Steven Spielberg or what?”

           “He was amazing, in fact, last night was amazing, Mulder. Thank you for insisting that we do that.”

           “We follow through, don’t we?” he said, nuzzling into the side of her neck and enjoying the hardness of her nipples as they pushed against his chest.

           “I’ll hold you to that later, Mulder.”