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totowlff · 1 year ago

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chapter forty-three — multiply

➝ elisabeth's health starts to be a source of concern for her and toto

➝ word count: 3,7k

➝ warnings: health issues

➝ author’s note: the last few weeks have been very complex for me. in addition to the tiredness and melancholy that has been affecting me lately, my parents decided to get divorced, which should have been normal for an adult daughter but, emotionally, it affected me a lot. i really felt lost and was particularly tempted to just give up on everything and focus on just existing. however, your love for my stories motivates me to keep going. thank you for every message, comment or tag, thank you. and, if there's anything i can do to thank you, it's to deliver a chapter of this special story.

MAY, 2018

A sepulchral silence took over the garage.

Holding Valtteri's helmet in her hands, Elisabeth stared at him transfixed. His face couldn't hide the feeling of absolute shock at what had just happened. She couldn't blame him, after all, who would expect to start Friday's first free practice in Monaco with a vomited helmet?

— Liesl, are you okay? — she heard Toto ask, as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

However, Elisabeth didn't have time to respond before a new wave of nausea rose through her chest, her mouth filling with saliva. And then, she put her face back to the helmet, putting out what was left of her breakfast, to the sound of a collective groan from the people present inside the garage as they witnessed the scene.

When Elisabeth raised her head again, she was panting. There was also a strange feeling of emptiness in her stomach, accompanied by the dizziness and tiredness that had accompanied her for a few days.

— Are you feeling better, my love? — Toto asked softly — Breathe through your nose, let it out through your mouth.

— A little — she managed to reply, as the team principal took the helmet from her hands and handed it to Antti. Elisabeth couldn't tell if the physiotherapist had made any expression of disgust when taking the object, as Toto led her to one of the chairs, while Emilia handed her a bottle of water.

— Did she eat anything this morning? — Valtteri asked, crossing his arms.

— Yes, we had breakfast together, everything was fine — Toto said, running a hand through Elisabeth's hair.

She tried to focus on her own breathing, still breathless from the effort she had made to get it all out. However, this was more difficult than she imagined, especially with her mind working to figure out what was happening to herself.

Elisabeth had been feeling strange for some time. In addition to a particularly irritating headache and persistent fatigue, she had a constantly stuffy nose. “I can only have a flu”, she thought, as she took another sip of water, grimacing when she realized that its taste seemed somewhat metallic.

While she was questioning herself about the taste of the water, Toto said something about a boat and a hotel to Valtteri and Bradley, who seemed to agree. Then, Elisabeth noticed that he was crouched in front of her, concern clear in his eyes.

— Do you think you can walk?

— I think… Yes… Why?

— Let's go back to the hotel.

She blinked, confused.

— But, there’s still free practices today…

— Come, Liesl — Toto said, getting up and offering her a hand. Standing with some difficulty due to dizziness, Elisabeth took a few more sips of water before leaving the boxes towards the walkway that led to the paddock. From there, they headed towards the marina that was right behind the teams' motorhomes, with the intention of taking a taxi boat to cross the bay, as the streets in downtown Monaco were closed for the Formula 1 activities.

“What a shitty idea”, Elisabeth thought, as her stomach turned with the rocking of the boat. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on her own breathing, remembering what Toto had said to her while still inside the garage. “Breathe through your nose, let it out through your mouth”, he repeated in her mind.

— Liesl? — Toto asked softly, taking her hand — Are you okay?

Elisabeth shook her head positively, in an attempt to reassure him.

— Yeah, I'm fine — she said softly.

— You don't look fine — he said — Are you feeling sick again?

A stronger wave made her mouth water, the hot sensation of bile rising in her throat making Elisabeth squeeze his hand tightly. She had no idea what there was left to get out, considering they hadn't even gone to lunch yet.

— It's the boat — she murmured — I'll get better when I get out of here.

After a few seconds of silence, Toto let go of her hand. Even though Elisabeth hadn't opened her eyes, she knew he had gotten up from his seat next to her in the boat, which was confirmed when she heard him ask in French how soon they would dock on the other side of the bay. However, she stopped paying attention to the dialogue when a new wave of nausea rose up her neck, causing Elisabeth to seek support on the edge of the bench she was sitting on.

— We're stopping in a minute, Liesl, hang in there — Toto said, putting his arm around her shoulders.

That minute took forever. Not even breathing techniques were able to lessen her anxiety for that short boat trip to end. It was no surprise that Elisabeth almost ran off at full speed when the boat's driver authorized the passengers to disembark. Once on land, she took a few seconds to recover, breathing in the Mediterranean breeze.

— Feeling better, Liesl? — the team principal asked her, looking worried.

— Yeah, a little — Elisabeth replied, feeling her stomach calm down.

Toto smiled.

— Then let's go to the hotel, you need to rest.

The journey to the Hôtel de Paris was peaceful, despite Elisabeth's discomfort persisting. However, what bothered her more than the nausea and dizziness were the possibilities of what could be happening to her. “Is it gastritis? No, I wouldn't be this dizzy because of gastritis”, she thought, as she entered the elevator. When she found her face in the mirror, she was startled by her own paleness due to her discomfort.

“Maybe a virus, or a flu”, Elisabeth asked herself as she left the elevator, heading to the suite where she was staying with Toto. Opening the door for her, he gestured for Elisabeth to go in first, which she obliged with a smile. Once inside the suite, the team principal insisted that she settle down between the cream-colored pillows on the bed.

— Sit down and I'll get you some water — Toto said, as he went to the minibar. Seconds later, he sat next to her on the bed and opened a bottle of water, handing it into Elisabeth's hands. After taking a few sips, she set the bottle down on her lap.

— Thanks...

— You don't need to thank me, Liesl — he replied, placing his hand on her leg.

She smiled shyly, looking at the bottle.

— I didn't want you to miss the free practice — Elisabeth murmured.

— My priority is to take care of you, Liesl, especially considering how much you've already taken care of me.

— I don't want to give you any more trouble...

— Taking care of someone you love isn't a trouble — Toto said, taking her hand — Especially when that person isn't feeling well.

Elisabeth gave a small smile, before taking another sip of water.

— What are you feeling? — he asked softly, his thumb drawing circles on her skin.

— That's what you saw, I'm vomiting, tired, I have a headache — Elisabeth replied, reaching out with her right hand to place the bottle of water on the bedside table on the left. However, when she retracted her arm, she ended up hitting her own breasts, a hiss escaping her lips — Pain in my chest too.

— In your chest?

— Yes, Toto, on my breasts. Even the bra is hurting me because they are really sensitive.

He blinked.

— Elisabeth…

— Yeah?

— I know what you have.

She gave a little smile.

— I know too, it’s just one of those annoying viruses…

— You're pregnant — Toto said, interrupting her.

Silence filled the room.

— What?

— You're pregnant, Liesl — he repeated — It's the only answer, you can only be pregnant.

A few seconds of silence later, Elisabeth let out a laugh.

— Toto, please... That doesn't make any sense.

— Of course it does — he exclaimed — You have all the symptoms that Stephanie had when she was pregnant with Ben and Rosi. The nausea, the vomiting, the headache…

— This could also be a virus…

— Do you know of any virus that leaves women with pain in their breasts?

— Well, no, but that doesn't prove anything.

— Okay, so tell me, when was the last time you had your period?

She tried to remember.

— I don't know, my cycle was never very regular, even with the pills...

— But you menstruate every month — Toto said. When he saw that she had raised an eyebrow at the statement, he smiled — I can tell from the pads. And also because of your humor, but it’s more because of the pads…

Elisabeth snorted.

— Okay, I think it was... I don't know, the end of February, maybe? Early March?

The two looked at each other in silence for a few seconds.

— Noto — Toto murmured, looking at her again — It was in Noto.

The memory of the weekend in the small Italian town made Elisabeth's heart sink. She couldn't have just forgotten to take her contraceptive those days, she just couldn't. However, at the same time, she remembered how strange she had been about taking the Sunday pill on a Tuesday and adjusting the sticker at the top of the pack.

— Noto — she stammered, her lower lip beginning to tremble. That was no longer a silly assumption, but a real possibility that was, to say the least, frightening — Fuck…

In silence, Toto released Elisabeth's hand and got up from the bed. Going towards the table, he took his cell phone and put it in the pocket of his white team shirt, under her frightened gaze.

— Where are you going?

He looked at Elisabeth.

— There's only one way for us to know, right?

— Are you going to buy a test?

— Someone has to buy it, Liesl. Don't leave this room — Toto said, before leaving the suite in quick steps.

The sound of the door closing made Elisabeth release the air she hadn't even realized she was holding in her lungs. She felt completely dazed, her stomach churning again, but this time with tension.

It wasn't like they didn't want to have a baby. Toto had mentioned numerous times his desire to have a child with Elisabeth, a little boy who had blue eyes like hers. And the reason behind that specific detail always made her heart fill with inexplicable warmth.

— So that a piece of you will always be mine too — she repeated to herself, placing her hand carefully on her belly, as if that simple touch could hurt her. Or hurt whoever was under her skin.

“You don’t even know if you’re pregnant, Elisabeth”, she scolded herself, trying to shake the thought away. She shouldn't get her hopes up, it could just be a false alarm, her body playing a trick on them, a stupid prank of nature. But how could a false alarm look so real? How could those strong symptoms just be a figment of her head?

Elisabeth couldn't understand.

Taking another sip of water, she sighed, her mind taking her to the week of last Christmas. With preparations for the evening that she and Toto had decided to organize for both families on the rooftop in full swing, Elisabeth thought it would be fun to take Rosi shopping for the gifts. Between laughter, comments about Toto's disastrous choices for his children and shopping bags, the two went into a toy store to cross off the last items on her list, which were the gifts from Eloise, Ellison and Lennon.

With some toys in the cart, Elisabeth was reading the side of a doll box when she noticed that Rosi had walked away from her, toward a wall filled with toys for much younger children. Toys for babies.

— Everything’s okay, dear? — she asked, touching the girl's shoulder.

— Yeah, Liesl, I was just thinking — Rosi replied, taking a toy in her hand, a kind of butterfly made of flashy fabric, with stripes, polka dots and vibrant colors.

— And could I know what you were thinking about?

— About babies.

She laughed.

— I think it's too early for you to be thinking about babies, Rosi.

— Not if they're my siblings— the girl murmured, giving her a smile.

— Siblings — Elisabeth stammered, tensely.

— Yeah. Your kids with my father.

— Rosi…

— You want to have kids, don't you?

— Yes, we do, Rosi.

Her brown eyes lit up.

— But not now — Elisabeth added, running her hand through the girl's hair — Our routine is very busy, it would be very difficult to deal with a baby now, Rosi.

The girl dropped the toy on the shelf, looking upset.

— I know...

— But, I guarantee you one thing, we will give you a sibling. Someday.

The memory made her run her hand over her face, a little dazed.

She didn't expect that the day she had promised Rosi would come so quickly.

The sound of the door opening made Elisabeth jump up in bed, her eyes looking straight into the small hallway, where Toto appeared with a small bag in his hands and looking a little out of breath.

— Are you okay?

— Yes — he replied, turning the bag upside down, three boxes falling onto the king-size bed.

— You're breathless — she observed.

— I ran to the pharmacy — Toto said, sitting on the bed..

— Why?

— I didn't want to leave you alone for too long — he replied, smiling — Although you're accompanied, so...

— We still don't know if I'm accompanied, Toto.

— Then let's find out — he said, taking one of the boxes — I got three tests, from three different brands, so we wouldn't have any doubts.

After reading the instructions for the three tests, Elisabeth took the bottle and drank some more water, while Toto opened the packages and prepared everything in the sink in the suite's bathroom. She was taking the last sip when he appeared in the room again, sitting down in front of her.

— It's all on top of the sink, it's very simple, you just need to...

— Pee on a stick, right? — she completed.

Toto blinked.

— No, Liesl, it's not like that.

— Well, it’s like that in the movies.

— The movies are wrong, Liesl. You need to collect the sample in the cup and then place the test strip inside the sample for fifteen seconds. Then you take it out and cover it. So, you let me know when you're done so I can start the timer.

Elisabeth blinked.

— You know a lot about pregnancy tests.

— I have two children, remember? — he smiled.

She felt her cheeks heat up. It was almost automatic for her to assume that they were at the same stage in life, discovering life as a couple and, possibly, parenthood. However, Toto was 16 years older than Elisabeth, had already been married and had two children. It was obvious that he had been through all those experiences and knew what it was like, unlike her.

The thought of it, in a way, scared her even more.

— Yes, I do — she replied, giving an embarrassed smile.

Taking her hand affectionately, Toto's thumb stroked her skin.

— So, now that you know that I have knowledge to talk about this, you will go to the bathroom and do the tests, okay?

Elisabeth simply nodded, which made him smile and place a kiss on her knuckles. Getting up from the bed, she walked slowly to the bathroom, entering the cubicle silently and closing the door. Leaning her head against the wood, Elisabeth took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down.

The prospect of being pregnant was both frightening and enchanting. She had spent so many hours imagining what it would be like to have a child that she hadn't stopped to think about what the entire pregnancy process would be like. She hadn't thought about what the changes in her body would be like, the action of hormones on her mood, her family's reaction to the news, the birth... And now everything seemed more real than ever, three tests away from her.

“Let's do this, Elisabeth”, she thought to herself, turning to the sink and picking up the cup that was on the cream-colored marble.

After a few long minutes of trying to relax, a prospective father-to-be knocking twice on the door asking if she was okay, and a sample taken, Elisabeth opened the bathroom door with a sigh.

— Done — she said softly, walking to the bed.

— Did you leave the strips on for 15 seconds?

— Yes, Toto — Elisabeth replied, settling down on the mattress.

— Great, now we just wait five minutes — he said, touching his phone and activating the timer — And we'll find out if you're eating for two or if it's just a virus.

Seeing the seconds ticking slowly on the screen, she pursed her lips.

— Has this timer always been this slow?

— When you're anxious, any short wait seems like an eternity. But it's okay — Toto said, taking her right hand — Everything will be fine, Liesl.

— What do you mean by fine? — Elisabeth asked, her eyes fixed on his fingers, which were playing with her engagement ring, the diamond sparkling in the light that came through the window.

— I mean we will see two lines in each of those tests.

— Do you want the result to be positive?

— Don’t you?

Elisabeth sighed.

— It's not that I don't want the result to be positive. In fact, nothing would make me happier than knowing that I will be the mother of your child. But at the same time, we didn't plan it, we didn't think about it, we didn't even get married!

— Does the order matter that much, Liesl?

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. Elisabeth had no idea where to begin to explain that whirlwind of feelings that were growing inside her chest.

— You know I hate it when things don't go as planned, right? — Elisabeth asked, earning a positive nod from Toto — We live in a rush, in such a hustle and bustle that I feel like I need to have control over something, at least a little. And the idea of doing everything calmly, getting engaged, getting married and then having a child was something that gave me this feeling of control and now…

— You're scared, aren't you?

She took a few seconds to reflect on that question. At the same time that Elisabeth knew that she was capable of doing anything, she felt faced with a challenge much greater than any she ever had. It wasn't a complicated negotiation or a championship fight that was going from bad to worse, but a baby. And there was no worse time for it to decide to show up.

— I understand you, Liesl, I really do. You know I also like to have control over things and it bothers me when I don't. But, I think having children is the absolute way to give up control, you know?

— Absolute?

— Yes, absolute. As much as we have an idea of how we want our children to grow up and be, for them to have the best upbringing, the best structure, the best support, this doesn't always happen. And there's not much you can do, Liesl.

— No?

— No. Because children don't come with manuals. You are not born knowing how to be a father or mother, you need to learn every day, every hour, every minute about that new role. And every moment with them is a learning experience and, in a way, a rediscovery.

Elisabeth remained silent, digesting Toto's words, who continued.

— I learned a lot about myself from Benedict and Rosa. I learned about courage, sacrifice and, above all, love. And it is this feeling that has to guide us at every step on this journey, the love we feel for them.

— What if I can't love him? — Elisabeth asked in a low voice, without looking up at him.

— Him? You mean our child?

— Yeah — she said, observing the contrast of his skin against hers.

However, instead of a long explanation or a simple answer, Elisabeth heard Toto chuckle. The sound made her look up at him, meeting his brown eyes framed by the little wrinkles that only appeared when he truly smiled.

— Elisabeth, do you love me? — he returned the question.

— Yes — she replied, without hesitation — Very much.

— So, think that you are possibly carrying in your belly a little person that has 50% of me in its composition. At least half of it you already love very much, according to yourself.

Elisabeth smiled a little.

— And you?

— What about me?

— Do you already love him? — she asked.

Toto brought one of his hands to her face, his thumb caressing her cheek.

— Liesl, I've loved him since the first time I imagined him running through our backyard in Oxford. I've loved him ever since I thought about what it would be like to hold him for the first time and see his blue eyes, just like yours. I've loved him since the day I imagined him together with Ben and Rosi, completing our family, in the same way you completed me.

Elisabeth smiled, leaning her head against Toto's palm, silent. There wasn't much to say after everything he had said. In the end, all that remained was the certainty that she had chosen the right man for her life. The man who would be by her side whenever uncertainty or fear flooded her chest.

The perfect man to be the father of her child.

— Toto…

— Yes, Liesl?

— Have you noticed that whenever we talk about our child, we refer to it as a boy?

Toto laughed.

— Now that you say it…

— Any reason?

— For that?

— Yeah.

— No, none. Although, with the conditions your father set…

He didn't have time to complete the sentence before a sound interrupted him.

Five minutes had passed.

The result was available.

The two looked at each other, as if waiting for the other to do something.

Then, Toto got up from the bed and went to the bathroom. The silence inside the room was so great that Elisabeth could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, the accelerated rhythm.

— Liesl — he finally said, still inside the bathroom, his voice a little muffled.

— Yes?

— Do you want good news or bad news?

— What do you mean by that?

— Just answer me — Toto replied, his voice a little strange.

— The bad one.

— We're going to have to look for a new apartment.

— Why?

He appeared at the bathroom door again, with the three tests in hand.

He was smiling widely, his cheeks stained by the tears that had already run down.

— Because we're going to have a baby, Liesl. We're going to be parents.

#toto wolff #wlffog #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #toto wolff x oc #formula 1 x oc #formula one x oc #f1 x oc #toto wolff fluff #toto wolff fanfic #formula one fanfic #formula one fic #scwlff

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hzbinnerdlover · 5 months ago

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Early morning sickness

(Content warning this is a snz kink fic, you have been warned. Also hope you enjoy this is my first one here.)

Vox came into the kitchen and stretched out, wearing his shark tshirt and matching shark patterned pj pants, immediately going for his coffee pot and turning it on. "Jesus, really can't function without my coffee" *stretching again he waits while looking through things on his phone, checking the news, latest things happening in town, etc.

"Seems like the same normal shit around here, who coulda guessed that?" Rolling his eyes he sighs as he keeps scrolling, picking up his coffee cup the moment the coffee was done and pouring it in, taking a long sip as he does so.

THUMP!

Vox jumps a bit, nearly dropping the beverage and blinking at the loud sound. "The fuck-?"

He glances down the hallway, thinking he heard it from the bedroom. Immediately ye starts walking down towards it and pokes his head inside, seeing a large blanket lump on the ground. "Val...? That you in there?", only a loud groan cake in response, earning an eyeroll from Vox.

"Jesus Val, quit fucking around and get up. We have a meeting today", without giving him a chance to speak he heads back to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Soon the scent of toast wavered in the air as he munched upon the food, hearing a pair of loud footsteps enter. "Fucking finally, about time you got up and-", stopping mid-sentence he blinks and looks at the state of the moth.

Valentino had plopped onto the table rather tiredly, eyes carrying heavy bags underneath and face all flushed, his nose a bit blotchy in color as he groaned, and keeping a large blanket wrapped around him as he gave a shiver.

"Ugh....what time is that stupid meeting again?", he gives a sniffle as he sits up and rubs his eyes.

Vox immediately rushed over and cupped his cheeks. "Fuck Val- what's going on with you? Are you okay? You look exhausted..." The moth whined a bit as he shook his head. "Not so loud Voxie....I barely slept last night. Caught some weird bug or something...."

"A bug? Like...you're sick or something?" He then realizes how warm he felt and feels his forehead. "Christ you're running a fever. Why didn't you wake me up? I could've gotten you some medicine of some shit. Fuck Val..."

"I didn't wanna wake you. You get cranky when woken up and I didn't wanna deal with...d-deal with your cranky ass...heh...", he pulls away from Vox suddenly, burying his mouth and nose under the blanket he was wrapped in. "Sh'uu! Sks'huu! H-H'ishuu!" A few stifled sneezes make their way as he sniffles and groans. Vox gently pats his shoulder. "Bless you, and you can forget that meeting. We're staying home and you're going right back to bed." An annoyed whine came out of the moth.

"But you promised to get take out afterwards. Can't we just try?" He gives a sniffle as he coughs back into the blanket, sounding rather rough as he groans.

Vox shook his head as he took Val's arm gently. "I'll order some later for delivery okay? But we gotta get you back in bed." Carefully he brings Val up and starts pulling him towards the bedroom. "Easy now, okay? I gotcha." Too tired to resist Val only nodded in response, walking with him down the hall and leaning slightly onto him. Once in the bedroom he collapses onto the mattress and crawls to his pillow, getting all comfy.

"Mmm thanks Voxie...", sniffling loudly he curls up under his blanket and coughs again. "Its so cold. Why is it so- I'PSHUU!!!!" He leans forward into the sneeze, feeling a major itch inside.

"Shit- Val? You okay there?", Vox asked rather worried. The tired pimp only responded with hitching breathing, sitting up as he leaves against his pillow and the bedframe as he attempts to respond with words, "Y-Yeah- fine. J-Just, need to- Heh-" Leaning forward he starts going into a fierce sneezing fit.

"Heck'shuuuu!! I-Ip'shuuu!! Ack'shuuuu!!! Heh-Het'chieeeew!!! HET'CHUUUU!!!!"

Groaning softly as he gives a damp sniffle he looks away, face flushed from his fever and a bit of embarrassment. "Sorry....scuse me mi amor."

Vox's heart melted a bit at the sight, wishing he could make his lover feel better right away as he shook his head. "Bless you, don't worry about it hon. You can't exactly help it"

"I know dat", he sniffles again and sighs, feeling his congestion taking over and his nose run. "Seriously?" He grunts a bit as he starts rubbing his nose with the blanket, making Vox wince a bit. "Val hold on- shit- where did I put the tissues?" Immediately he rushes to the bathroom and grabs a box of tissues, heading back to his partner as he plucks a couple out. "Here, use these. It'll be much more comfortable for your nose there."

Val immediately snatches the tissues from him and starts mopping up the mess from his face. "Ugh...thanks. That does help a bit" Wiping himself clean he tosses them towards rhe trashcan, missing as they fall onto the floor. "Uuuuuugh seriously?" Rubbing his eyes he coughs again and looks away. "Okay I'm in bed. You can go now", he says in a rather cold tone as he lays back down. Vox blinks confused as he does so and shakes his head.

"And why would I do that?", he asked rather offended. "I told you I'd take care of you didn't I?"

Val scoffs and rolls eyes. "Yeah, after I had to fucking tell you I was sick asshole. Didn't seem to give much of a shit when I was on the floor this morning"

Vox opens his mouth to refute but blinks, knowing Val had him there. "Fuck....well I didn't know okay? Look. I wanna help you Val, you know I worry about you." He reaches out and caresses the moth's shoulder. "Cause I love you dork."

Val shakes his head and pushes his hand off. "Dumbass. You aren't worried you'll get sick too?! You always have more work than me! Besides I know I'm just another problem for you to deal wi- AK'HUUU!!!" Turning away he sneezes again and groans. "Fucking christ. Anyway, why would- H-Hit'shuuu! You even- ACK'CHEEEW! Care if I'm- HI'ZZUUUH!!! Sick at all?! Heh....heh..." He shakes his head a bit as the last of the itch held itself there. "Oh come on....heh...heh...", Desperately his hands start searching the bed for the tissues to conceal his face in, only finding it was too late. "H-HEH'SHUUUUUU!!!!" He bends forward in the sneeze, feeling a soft feeling pressed against his nose as he did so. Blinking slight tears in his eyes from rhe fit he looks over and sees Vox, realizing he had pressed a tissue to his face and caught the sneeze. Vox gives a small smile to the moth.

"Like I said, cause I love you dork. And I don't wanna see you miserable." He gently starts to wipe Val's nose for him. "Now, was that the last of them?"

Val blushed a little at the gesture, secretly liking the feeling of being cared for like this. "Yeah yeah, I think thats- A'zzuu! Eck'zuu! Heh...HET'CHOO!!!" Sniffling into the now damp tissue Val groans softly, the tv demon slightly wincing as he calmly wiped up the rest of mess. "Ugh....sorry...", Val replied rather tiredly.

Vox shook his head. "No worries darling, gesundheit." Tossing the damp tissue aside he grabs a couple fresh ones and puts them to Val's nose. "Blow, nice and big now." Val simply nods and does as he's told, giving a heavy wet blow into the tissues.

"There ya go, good boy", carefully he wipes his nose clean again and smiles. "Now lay back down okay? Imma get you some medicine" he lays Val back down into the bed and tucks him in, setting the tissue box next to him knowing he was gonna need them. "I'll be right back." Val nods in reply as he snuggles under the covers, tiredly mumbling, "I love you Voxie..." Vox chuckles as he kisses the top of his head. "I love you too Val..." He then starts heading to the kitchen and looking through the medicine cabinet when he feels something off, blinking as a sudden irritation hits him like a truck. "Heh.....HEZZUUH!!!" Blinking another moment he groans and facepalms.

"Motherfucker-"

#haz/bin ho/tel #snzblr #snz kink

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theboywithburninghands · 5 months ago

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We’re getting close to the end… I think there should only be a few chapters after this one. This one focuses on my personal favorite of Jax’s brothers, Osvaldo. And also has Pomni being a boss-ass… uhhh… impolite word. Enjoy! @fernstarsblog

T/W: Addiction, mentions of physical abuse, emotional abuse, implied vomit, era-appropriate sexism

Primum Peccatum Ch. 13: Won’t Let You Fly, But Might Let You Sing

Thus began the long and arduous process of helping Jax curb his addiction.

Altonicus and Kali stayed overnight at The Gray Church, leaving The Rooker Estate only after Jax got to sleep early that evening and Altonicus had the chance to telegram both the hospital and his father about Jax’s flu. Getting him to bed was a process in itself, since he needed a cocktail of medicines, fever reducers, aspirin, loperamide and melatonin, as well as an intravenous drip to keep him hydrated. There were no stands for the IV bottle, so Altonicus fastened it to a spare coat rack.

Pomni stayed to watch over him until roughly nine in the evening. She returned home, informing her parents that Jax had an awful case of the flu and informing Zooble that he was suffering from withdrawals. She went to bed utterly exhausted, hardly removing her shoes before sinking onto her pillow and laying undisturbed for almost 12 hours. She’d have slept longer had her father not beat on her door in the morning.

“Pomni. Downstairs, posthaste. We have visitors.” he said.

Pomni moaned, dragging herself out of bed. She opened her wardrobe and surveyed her reflection. Her countenance was weary despite sleeping for half a day, and her hair was an oily black crow’s nest. She hadn’t bathed in two days… And yet her parents wanted her downstairs “at once.” Presumably to either meet with another member of the wedding staff, or be shouted at. She looked down at her makeup kit, then up at her reflection. Her mother would see her quirted should she appear before a guest looking so haggard. …If she was already going to be reprimanded, she best not stoke the fire any further.

She applied some makeup and changed into new clothes, one of her preferred black dresses. She brushed her teeth and hair until she was presentable enough, then journeyed downstairs into the sitting room.

“Pomni, there you are. Please be seated.” Vladimir said.

Her parents were seated on one couch in the family sitting room, and on the opposite couch sat Osvaldo and Boone. Drexl sat in the armchair, typically reserved for her father and her father alone, his massive form hardly managing to squeeze into the sofa. He took a pull on his pipe, opening a single eye to look at Pomni, only to close it again. Osvaldo glanced down at the floor, his face ashamed, while Boone waved to her with a smirk. A chair from the dining room had been set up for her.

“Ms. Shutnyk,” Drexl said, breathing out a stream of tobacco smoke. “A pleasure to see you again. I have so much more I would have liked to say during our evening together. I did send a letter yesterday, but it appeared to never arrive.”

Pomni glanced at Zooble. They winked.

“I was excused by your eldest son, as you were indisposed. How is your paw healing, may I ask?” Pomni asked venomously.

“Pomni, sit and be silent at once.” Vladimir ordered.

Pomni looked at her father, putting her hands behind her back.

“Father, if you don’t mind, I would like to go check on my fiancé? I assume that is the reason why Mr. Krolik and his sons are here?”

“You are partially correct, Ms. Shutnyk, I am indeed here to visit my youngest son.” Drexl said, rising to his feet and approaching Pomni. “But, since we were in the vicinity, I thought it best to finish my proposition from our evening together.”

Pomni thought back. He had been in the midst of some sort of arrangement before Boone interrupted.

“Sit down and listen to your father-in-law, Pomni.” Vladimir ordered again.

“I’d rather stand, thank you. I will be sitting most of today, after all. But yes, please go ahead, Mr. Krolik.”

Drexl smiled, although it was more akin to a smirk. It was difficult to imagine a man with as steely a countenance as him smiling…

“Please look me in the eye, Miss Shutnyk.” he said.

“For what purpose?” Pomni asked.

“Pomni,” Mirella gasped.

Drexl raised his hand.

“Your daughter is perfectly alright, Mr. and Mrs. Shutnyk. Because, I wish to offer you a position at my company, and I would rather we do that whilst seeing eye to eye.”

Pomni’s eyes flicked to Drexl’s. Her skin began itching, but she remained focused on the enormous rabbit.

“Father-?” Boone began, only to be silenced by a single, harsh “shhht!” from Drexl.

“A position at your company? A woman such as myself?” Pomni replied, scratching her left arm with her right hand. “My father tells me such a thing could be deleterious to your reputation.”

“In New Hirnantia, perhaps. In Ediacara, more than likely not. As you know, I am the chief executive officer of Krolik International, which has branches across six countries. If I were to put you in a clerical position elsewhere in the world, where social regulations aren’t nearly as strict as they are here, you could make a career out of it.”

Pomni at last tore her eyes from Drexl, scratching at a hot, prickly itch that had formed on her shoulder blade. An honest to goodness occupation… It was a tempting thought. But should she accept, it would mean working under Drexl Krolik. And she would rather…

Hm. Best keep that thought to herself for now.

“I… will carefully consider your offer, Mr. Krolik.” Pomni said, managing to look him in the eye again.

Vladimir sprung to his feet.

“Pomni, may I speak to you for a moment?” he said. The veneer of politeness in his voice did little to mask his affect, his face had gone red and a vein could be seen pulsing on his temple.

“Father, if you aim to scold me for my decision, know that I haven’t truly made one yet.” Pomni said. By now, she should have been shouting at her father. “This is a matter of utmost importance, I believe a modicum of hesitation is appropriate, don’t you?”

Mirella rose next. “Why do you deliberately make our lives difficult, Pomni…? You said you didn’t wish to be married because you wanted to focus on a career, but now that one is offered to you on a silver platter, you decline? And from your soon to be father-in-law, no less?!”

“It does seem rather disloyal…” Boone chimed in.

“‘Deliberately?’ Now that is hardly fair.” Pomni replied evenly. “Honestly, even as my mother, you expect me to adapt to all changes instantaneously. Do I much remind you of a goldfish?”

“That’s enough,” Vladimir barked. “Since you are too stubborn to see the opportunity in front of you, Pomni, I’ll accept on your behalf. Forgive my daughter’s indolence, Mr. Krolik. She would be more than happy to-”

“Papa,” Pomni interrupted. “If my memory serves, and it does, such an agreement is unlawful.”

“Pomni Annabelle Shutnyk” he began dangerously. “Do you aim to lecture me on law, in my household, in front of a former business partner?”

Boone snorted, only for Osvaldo to check him firmly in the side with an elbow.

“Lecture? Certainly not, father.” Pomni rebutted. “But if you aim to make a decision for me in regards to my future, then I must intervene as I see fit. It is, after all, my future.

“Now, you would normally be able to make such a decision for your daughter, yes. If Mr. Krolik was a family member, and he is not. At least not yet. He will become my father-in-law after the wedding ceremony, but until then, you cannot sign me into any sort of financial dealing without my consent, as I am over the age of eighteen. I do not give my consent.

“That said, I am not refusing the offer. I merely require some time to consider it. That’s hardly a refusal, is it, father? Indeed, with all of the goings-on, I’ve hardly had any time to consider my future. Ah, while we’re on the subject of the future, I think it would be appropriate to check in on my fiancé. That is your primary reason for visiting, is it not, Mr. Krolik?”

Pomni turned to look at the large blue rabbit, who had scarcely moved from the spot she had left him standing on. He chewed the end of his pipe.

“…Yes.” he answered.

“Lovely,” Pomni said. “Then I will see you lot over at The Rooker Estate. I would recommend a protective mask if you’re concerned about contagion. ”

Pomni picked up the chair she was meant to sit on and placed it back in the dining room. She smoothed out her dress and turned back to the foyer, intent on fetching some stockings from upstairs, only to be confronted by Mirella.

“Pardon me, mother. I really must be getting over to Mr. Kinger’s. Would you like to co-”

“What have I done wrong Pomni?”

Pomni blinked and looked at her mother. “I beg your pardon?”

“Pomni, darling… We’ve tried everything, your father and I. We selected a suitor that was to your tastes, I selected a dress that was to your tastes, we have an estate being built for you here on the island, which you haven’t taken a single gander at, I might add, and yet… You attend a dinner with your future in-laws and refuse to tell us? You still see it fit to humiliate your father?! I… I’m at a loss, Pomni. What have I done wrong?”

Pomni took a deep breath. So, it was going to be like this, was it? Very well, then.

“Mother, you ask that question… ‘What have I done wrong?’ I’ve asked myself that question nigh on every day since I was about twelve years old.

“What have I done wrong? Why do you so seldom refer to me as beautiful or even pretty unless I wear the clothing you selected for me? Why do you insist I tell you every detail of a short conversation I had with a male store clerk, and yet you tell me to hush when I speak of a book I’m enjoying? Why am I not enough on my own, mother? Why do I have to be… you, for you to be happy with me?”

Mirella burst into tears. Pomni sighed, stepping around her mother.

“It’s never my aim to humiliate you or papa. But if you continue to try and dictate how my life will go, then I will continue to resist. I will be at The Rooker Estate. Farewell for now, mother.”

Pomni hurried up the stairs, padding quickly on the wood as she went to her room to slide on her stockings. Upon doing so, she returned to the front door, fitting her small feet into her pumps. Her mother stood exactly where she had left her, no longer crying, staring off somewhere. She heard her father discussing some form of legal jargon with Drexl, undoubtedly still trying to get Pomni that job without her consent. No doubt, he would spring into action as soon as she and Jax were married.

But, there was time to think before then.

—

Pomni arrived at Jax’s room to find Altonicus and Kali already inside. The window had been opened to let in some fresh air, as the room was filled with the pungent effluvium of vomit once again. Luckily, Altonicus had come prepared this time. He found a bottle of peppermint oil in the guest bathroom, and added a few drops to some cloth face masks he kept in his bag. Alton and Kali both had one over their nose and mouth, and Pomni accepted one. While the spicy, cold aroma of mint was a touch overpowering, it certainly trounced the odor of someone having been sick.

“Good morning, dear,” Jax managed to croak as Pomni pulled on her mask. His wet yellow eyes drifted to Pomni’s black dress. “My, you look ready for a wake.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Mr. Krolik. You won’t perish.” Pomni replied before turning to Altonicus. “Has he improved?”

“Yes and no,” Alton replied. “He said he was sick early this morning and he has much the same symptoms as yesterday: fever, cold sweats, headaches… But, this is to be expected in between doses. He has already had his morning dose already, by the way, so don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

“Do you really believe I would attempt to trick my fiancée into bringing me some extra poppy? Alton, for shame.” Jax managed his Cheshire grin.

“I have seen inebriates do many things for their next dosage, most of which do not bear repeating in polite society… How are you today, Miss Pomni?” Alton asked, smiling behind his mask.

“I’m… rather well, actually. Your father is visiting, I assume he’ll be over to-”

Jax rose from bed like a shot. “Father is here?! Has he found out?! Please don’t let him in, please-”

Kali was at his side immediately, petting his ears. “Peace, brother, everything is alright…”

“A common symptom of withdrawal is severe anxiety.” Altonicus explained.

“Was that brought on by ‘severe anxiety,’ or does the mention of your father always spur a reaction such as that?” Pomni asked.

Alton smiled under his mask once again. “Some from one camp, some from another. Today, I’ll be gathering up all the supplies he’ll need.

As much as I would enjoy being my youngest brother’s private physician, I like to think the hospital would miss me. That’s why today, I will get everything sorted so you, Mr. Rooker and Kali can assist Jax in my stead.”

There came a knock at the door, and then the sound of it opening. Jax cringed and backed himself up against the wall.

“Father is going to find out…” he whispered. Kali pet his ears again.

“I assure you he won’t. Lay down, now, Jax, your body needs rest.” Alton chided.

He took out a few more cloth masks and sprinkled peppermint oil on them before heading downstairs. Pomni followed after him, only going as far as the railing of the second floor landing, peering over the banister.

Drexl, Boone and Osvaldo stood in the foyer of The Rooker Estate. Drexl watched his eldest son approach him from the stairs with his luminous eyes, hands tucked behind his back. Osvaldo coughed and pinched his nose to stifle a sneeze, Pomni feeling a pang of guilt for not warning Osvaldo about the state of the house. Boone picked up a nearby book from one of the endless reams of paper, making a noise of disgust when he touched dust nearly half an inch thick and dropped the book with a poof.

“What a hovel this place is… Jax will be recovering here..?” Boone wondered aloud, wiping his glove on the back of Osvaldo’s waistcoat, to the latter’s chagrin.

“The room he resides in is actually quite clean,” Alton said, glaring at his younger brother. “And you’re lucky the master of the house is out gathering some necessities for your sibling, Boone. Otherwise he might have heard that little remark.”

“Well, I certainly hope one of the necessities is a feather duster.” Boone replied, sneering at the gritty streaks that were left on his glove.

Osvaldo sneezed. Altonicus approached him and handed him a mask.

“Na zdrowie. There you are, Aldo, put that on before you breathe in too much.”

Osvaldo gratefully accepted the mask and pulled it on, sniffing rather wetly. He blinked in surprise.

“Peppermint..?” he said.

“Yes, in addition to preventing contagion, these are here to keep you from becoming ill from the odor. Jax has been sick several times. Here you are, father, Boone.”

Boone pulled on his mask, accidentally putting it on upside-down before readjusting it. Drexl’s mask barely fit his muzzle, but everyone present thought it wise not to draw too much attention to that fact.

“Follow after me, please.” Alton said, motioning his family forward. The four rabbitfolk walked upstairs, Boone idly picking up a bit of paper from one of the errant stacks and squinting at it.

“‘Anatomy of the crescent locust.’ Hmph. What an ugly thing it is.” Boone placed the paper on a different stack at the top of the steps.

“Mr. Rooker would appreciate it if you put that in the right place, Boone.” Pomni said.

The four of them looked to see Pomni standing in front of the guest wing corridor, her arms crossed.

“Hello again, Ms. Shutnyk,” Drexl said. “You did indeed arrive here quickly. How is my son?”

“Off-color, to say the least. He may not wish to converse for very long.” Pomni replied.

“No matter, we don’t wish to stay in here very long,” Boone said, grinning behind his mask.

“Your wit is excruciating,” Pomni said. “You may enter, but please don’t raise your voice as Jax has an awful headache.”

Pomni took a moment to look at Osvaldo. He rubbed his eyes, clearly irritated from the dust.

“Osvaldo,” she said. “There are some allergy tablets in the medicine cabinet, would you like some?”

“Y-Yes… please,” Osvaldo replied.

“Come along with me, I believe there’s a glass for you to put tap water in.”

She motioned the gray rabbit to the guest bathroom. Drexl shot them both a look before wordlessly entering the bedroom. Boone peered in after his father and followed him.

“Drexl, how kind of you to come all this way to see your son!” Pomni heard Kali say. She had an impeccably friendly voice despite everyone’s apprehension of Drexl visiting.

Osvaldo coughed quietly as Pomni led him to the lavatory. She opened the door and entered, the gray rabbit standing outside the bathroom, staring sheepishly at his feet.

“Osvaldo, you’re welcome in. There will be no sordid deeds in here.” Pomni said. She couldn’t help but smile faintly, given that she knew Osvaldo was uninterested in any “sordid deeds” regardless.

“Erm… no thank you, it’s extremely impolite to enter a lavatory with a lady, regardless of intention…” he said, a faint tint of rose on his gray-furred cheeks.

“Osvaldo, I wish to discuss our wedding with you. Without your father overhearing. Quickly, now!”

She motioned him inside a touch more feverishly, Osvaldo hesitating before stepping inside, closing the door.

“What do you wish to discuss about your wedding, Ms. Shutnyk…?” he asked.

“Is it true you wished to perform a song for us?” Pomni asked.

Osvaldo’s eyes widened, followed by him looking away and his ears drooping.

“My father disallowed such a thing, remember..?” He muttered.

“I didn’t ask what your father wants. I couldn’t care any less what he wants, truth be told. I asked what you wanted.” Pomni said.

Osvaldo swallowed rather heavily. “I… What is the point of pondering such a thing if it shan’t happen..?” he asked.

“You continue to elude my question, Osvaldo. Do you wish to perform at my wedding?”

Osvaldo coughed quietly, rubbing his eyes. He blinked rapidly, staring at the tile floor.

“Oh, Ms. Shutnyk, of course I do. You have no idea how excited I was to perform! I-I-I had the song written and everything, but Boone just had to blab-”

“Just a moment, did you say you wrote a song for our wedding? You wrote a song? By yourself?” Pomni interrupted.

“I… Well, I… yes. I-I had the sheet music all written out, I was practicing in the conservatory…” Osvaldo trailed off.

“Well then, that settles it. You’re going to perform that song at our wedding.” Pomni said.

“But I’m forbidden, my-my father, he’ll…” Osvaldo began.

“I know what your father is capable of. The night of the dinner, when I was leaving, I saw what he did to you in his office from the front garden. And it sickened me,” Pomni said. “No father should ever lay his hands on his child like that, grown or otherwise. So, here is my proposition.”

She beckoned him forward and whispered into one of his long ears. Osvaldo gasped and put a paw to his mask.

“What? Surely not! You… You hardly know me, why would you do something like that for a stranger?”

“Because…” Pomni thought for a moment. I understand what you’re going through. What it means to have a dream you can’t pursue because your parents don’t approve. I want to help you reach it, your father and his compassionless machismo be damned.”

Osvaldo kept his paw to his mask… he fanned his face and took a few shallow breaths. “I’ve never… n-no one has ever been so…”

“Osvaldo please don’t cry, it would make me dreadfully uncomfortable.” Pomni said quickly.

“I-I-I apologize. I just… I… I’m so touched…” Osvaldo tittered.

“Well, it’s not put into action yet. Don’t celebrate prematurely… But here.”

She opened the bathroom cabinet, reaching on her tiptoes and grabbed a glass bottle of tablets.

“These will at least help with your allergies. We should rejoin the others before they grow suspicious. I know you have… proclivities elsewhere, but the last thing we desire right now is your nincompoop younger brother thinking we’re having some kind of tryst.”

Pomni shook two pills into her palm and handed them to Osvaldo.

“There you are. I’m sorry, I lied about the glass, you’ll have to drink directly from the tap. I’ll meet you in the room.”

Pomni nodded and exited the lavatory, shutting the door behind her. Osvaldo looked at the pills. He wiped his eyes, took them with water before splashing some on his face, and went to meet the group. He wore a tremendous smile beneath his mask, hidden from sight.

#the amazing digital circus #funnybunny #tadc pomni #tadc jax #jax x pomni #oh no cringe #tadc arranged marriage au #tadc zooble #tadc kinger #tadc oc

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1heartfanfics · 10 months ago

Note

I’d like to request one of Derek from criminal minds where Derek is sick with the stomach flu and puking a lot and Garcia takes care of him

I haven't watched criminal minds in a while and I've also never written for garcia so I might not get their voice/vibe quite right.

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

Garcia was on her way back to her office with a fresh mug of coffee. After she'd passed by the bathrooms she stopped, paused for a moment, then backed up. It almost sounded like someone was...

"hrkllbbgg,"

Throwing up in the bathroom, yep. She walked over to the door and knocked.

"You okay in there?" she called through the door.

"...Not really," a voice answered, raspy from vomiting. That sounded like... no it couldn't be, he's practically invincible. "Derek?"

"That you mama?" Derek asked, sounding relieved.

"You want me to come in?" she asked, not sure if mr. macho man himself would be okay with anyone seeing him like this.

"yes please," he groaned.

Garcia turned the knob, surprised to find the door unlocked, and pushed it open. To her surprise, Derek was slumped in the corner of the bathroom, looking more disheveled than she had ever seen the man. His badge and gun were on the floor, along with his belt and his shoes, and his t-shirt was drenched with sweat.

"Derek Morgan what on earth happened to you?" she gasped, moving to crouch down in front of him. She placed a hand on his forehead, flinching at how warm he was. He definitely had a fever.

"Don't know, just kinda off this morning but it just kept getting worse. Thought maybe I needed to eat something but, well, you see how that turned out," he gestured toward the toilet grimly.

Garcia winced in sympathy, wrinkling her nose as she reached over to flush the toilet. "Do you think you're done for now? We should get you home," she said.

"I don't think putting me in a car is a very good idea right now he groaned, shaking his head.

"Well let's at least get you off of the bathroom floor then. How about you go lay down in your office?" she suggested instead.

"Yeah, okay," Derek agreed, figuring he could at least make it that far. "I'm gonna need a trash can though," he added, grimacing as he felt his stomach churning.

"I'll take care of it," Garcia nodded, "Now come here," she stood, holding her hands out to Derek. He grabbed her hands, letting her help him pull himself up off of the floor. He felt shaky, but Garcia wrapped an arm around his waist to help keep him steady as they made their way out of the bathroom.

As they passed through the BAU main office, a few heads turned to watch them pass. The team had gathered in the conference room and was watching them from up there. No one said anything as Garcia and Morgan made their way up the stairs and into Derek's office.

"There's a case," Derek said as Garcia helped him lay down on the couch in his office.

"Don't worry about that," she said, grabbing a blanket from the corner and draping it over him. She pulled the trashcan from under his desk over to sit in front of the couch.

"I should be in there," he protested.

"For what? So you can go puke on some crime scene photos? I don't think so. You're sitting this one out. The team will be okay without you for one case," she shook her head, grabbing a water bottle from the mini fridge in his office and setting it next to the couch.

Derek sighed, knowing she was right. "Well you should go. They need you," he said.

"I'm going," she said. "Trash can and water are on the ground right there. Drink some if you can and try not to make a mess. I'll be back," she added.

"Thanks babygirl," he called after her as she headed to the conference room.

#criminal minds #sick derek #derek morgan #sickfic #vomit trigger warning #tw: vomit #penelope garcia

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fruitycasket · 1 month ago

Text

Pot Roast! (Sunspell)

I don't know how to write people being happy... So I made a compromise with myself and had Marvin be sick, so then Moira (first) and Sunday (second) can come to his aid and make him a bit happier. Also Higgins is there being (un)helpful.

Also. I made myself hungry. Pot roast is good (and it cooks itself!). :>

(Also up on Ao3 under RottenFruitz)

“You should've called me, you're burning up!” Moira shook her head at the unseen but undoubtedly high number displayed on her thermometer.

Wow, I had no idea. Had it been anyone else, Marvin would have said that aloud. For Moira, he mumbled, "You didn't have to come over."

To that, she snorted. "Not like it's my job or anything. Can you stand?"

No. No he could not. "I'm a man, I can get m'own medicine."

"And end up crawling back to your bed?"

"Ah… well…" That was an accurate assessment of how Marvin handled debilitating sickness. Grumbling half-legible rebuttals, he sank further into bed. Perched on his chest as he had been since daylight broke, Higgins purred, the noise going steady like the hum of a generator. The cat seemed to think he was helping but the extra body heat was the last thing Marvin wanted.

He was scalding hot, sweaty, and mouthbreathing as he lay on top of his duvet. Every now and then be broke into a fit of wet, choking coughs or was seized by several sneezes in a row. What had been the sniffles yesterday was now a full-blown, disabling flu. Or something like that. Maybe Moira had told him otherwise and he hadn't heard or forgotten.

“You need is rest,” Moira chided him, "Which means you stay in this bed until you're feeling better."

"All day? I'll go mad."

"You will be if I find out you've not listened to me."

Marvin hesitated. "Yeah, I will be."

He'd only told Sunday he was ill, and had only meant for Sunday and his friends to know, but he must have sounded seconds from keeling over if the news had gotten to Moira anyway. Did one of them have her phone number? That was a little disconcerting for a reason he couldn't place. That, or they'd just gone to his mum's house, and he didn't feel better about that, either.

Moira said something about getting him medicine and water. Marvin wasn't really listening. His brain, currently cooking in its own immune response, was struggling to keep up its usual activities, and he had all but used up its computing space with that single conversation and the following bit of thinking. Moira left and she could have been gone for a minute or an hour, but when she returned, she spooned Marvin two different medicines, set a glass of cool water on his nightstand, and kissed him on the forehead.

(Then, at the cat's insistence, she gave Higgins a kiss, too.)

“You should feel less shitty in a little while,” Moira stood, "I'll be on my way, now. You get some rest like I said."

“M'kay…” Marvin said. “Thanks.”

“That’s what parents are for." She squeezed his hand, stood, and left him with one more message: "A friend is coming over to check on you later, so if you've been getting out of bed"—she narrowed her eyes—"I'll know."

Marvin sighed, then all but coughed up a lung. When he was finished, he whispered through a sore throat, "Yes ma'am."

Whatever Moira had given him, it knocked him out within the hour. With Higgins as his mildly weighted blanket, he drifted in and out of sleep for all the morning and a good chunk of the afternoon. Once or twice a noise roused him, but he was never cognizant enough to register that he was awake, or that someone might be pressing a hand against his forehead and asking him how we was doing, or that he was answering in deeply slurred words. It all felt like one long, lurid dream where his bedroom sometimes spontaneously appeared.

(It would take hindsight for him to realize it wasn't all a dream, and to realize who some of those dreams were about.)

It wasn't until mid-afternoon when his medicine wore off that Marvin started staying up for more than a few minutes at a time.

By the time he was wide awake, able to push himself up in bed, Higgins was gone.

Coughing and wheezing, he fumbled for the bottles Moira had left for him beside his bed and gave himself what seemed like an appropriate dose from both. The bitter taste was washed down with a cup of water. With that done, he tried to follow his orders—don't get up, except to take a piss or eat—but he was stir crazy and wanted to get away from the cocoon of sweat he'd made for himself. He had to move around, wander, cast a spell, something. It was one thing to be curled up with a book, snug in his bed of his own free will, but the second someone or something forced stillness upon him he got twitchy.

So, when he got sick, he usually slept as much as he could get away with, but his oppressive body heat and inflamed nose yet to be quelled by his second medicine dose. That wasn't an option.

Well, the thermostat wasn't in his bedroom, that was a good enough excuse to get up. And he could top off Higgins' food and water while he was at it.

It took a while for Marvin to peel himself off his bed. Once he was up, he meandered out to his living room. He opened his mouth to call for Higgins, and instead ended up sputtering: “Sunday?”

Sunday was in his kitchen. A pot of beef stew was boiling strong, an electric kettle was just beginning to heat up, and he was rifling through the cabinets. Higgins was up on the counter, curled into a loaf and watching the pot with hungry eyes. Sometimes the cat gave Sunday a quick glance, like he was weighing up how likely it was that he could get the lid off, steal a bite, and dart under the couch before he was caught.

Upon hearing his name, Sunday stopped his search to give Marvin a disapproving frown. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Oh, so you were—I just—I expected you'd check in and leave.”

“I have been, but I thought you'd want dinner, and…" Sunday gestured at Higgins, "…he was hungry. I can leave now, though. Stew beef basically cooks itself and it's almost done."

Marvin considered that. "No I'm—I'm fine. With you staying, I mean."

“Alright. Well, sorry if I woke you up coming through the front door,” Sunday continued speaking, “Your spice cabinet didn't have what I needed, for one thing. Had to pop out and get some things.”

“I don't have a spice cabinet.” What he had was salt and pepper.

Sunday grimaced. “Exactly.” He paused. "You headed for the living room?”

"Yeah." It was only then Marvin realized he was winded. Ugh. He'd rather not have Moira coming around and spooning him medicine like he was five years old, but she'd at least seen (almost) all the rough edges he had to offer. It was different with Sunday.

"Figured as much. Let me get you before you keel over." Sunday came closer, and rather than offer a shoulder to lean on like Marvin expected he would, put on hand on his back. "Hold on to me."

"Why?" Marvin realized what was happening too late. Not that he could have done anything about it anyway, he'd had the build and muscle mass of a stickbug before this, now he must be even lighter from sweating all his water weight into his bed. It was an (embarassingly) proven fact that, whether with magic or by physical force, he was not a hard man to lift clear off the floor. “Don’t you dare”—

“Too late!” Sunday swept Marvin's feet out from under him, lifted him up bridal style.

Marvin, foreseeing himself plummet to the floor and break a bone, clung on to Sunday as he'd been asked. “Put me down!”

“And let you fall? That'd only embarrass you more.”

Marvin prayed his face wasn't as red as it felt. “The second I get better Sunday, I”—

“As long as you wait until you’re better first.” Sunday set him down on the couch and grinned. "Wasn't so bad, was it?"

Marvin harrumphed at him.

Someone had anticipated Marvin would go nuts in his room, because there were pillows and a blanket arranged neatly on the couch already. As Marvin set about ruining it (i.e. getting comfortable), Higgins jumped onto his lap the moment the space was available, crushing his stomach beneath his soft paws in a quest to get comfortable. With Higgins help, the blankets became a cushion-y, wrinkled pile hanging halfway off the couch.

Should I say thanks? He didn't feel particularly thankful. But he also didn't feel horrible, even though he was warmer than before and also no closer to his thermostat.

“When’s lunch done?” he asked instead.

“Soon. Sooner if you don't mind tough beef. I can make you a little hot cocoa while you wait, if you’re hungry, though.”

“Sure,” Marvin said. He shrank into the couch, suddenly aware of how sore he was.

A deep ache wormed through his muscles, down to his bones, and trying to hobble into the kitchen hadn’t helped matters. Half of him wanted to pace to distract himself from it, the other half said to sink into the couch and never resurface. At least his medicine was slowly working its way through him. (Or he'd placebo-effected himself into thinking that was the case.)

Every time he recovered from an illness he was quick to forget how miserable being sick was.

It felt like this would be his life now.

Forever.

“Oi. I see you wallowing over there,” Sunday chided him as he set down a steaming cup of chocolate milk on the couchside table.

“M'not wallowing,” Marvin said.

“Suuure.” Sunday gestured towards the drink. “Drink up.”

The heat of the cup eased his soreness a little. He sat with it in his hands, relishing its warmth for a while before taking a sip. “It’s good,” he said, “And I… I was wallowing. A little.”

“Only a little?” Sunday asked as he retreated into the kitchen.

Marvin didn’t reply to that. “How long have you been here? Coming in and out, I mean?”

“Only been in a few times.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The sound of the pot lid being removed drifted from the kitchen alongside a mouthwatering smell. "Yeah this is almost good. Let me know if you need anything else."

Marvin asked for the heat to be turned down, and with that finished, silence settled over them, filled only by Higgins purring, then by the TV after Marvin couldn’t bear the quiet. Marvin wondered whether Sunday found it uncomfortable.

Should he have asked him to stay? Surely he had better things to do than keeping Marvin from going stir crazy. And, as it stood, Marvin was a health hazard. There had to be reasons Sunday had spent most of his time coming and going instead of here, and it felt odd to override those. Higgins had needed to be fed though and Marvin definitely couldn't have done that as he was.

One episode of some crime drama passed by surprisingly fast, and dinner was done.

Higgins knew it before Marvin did. He'd been watching Sunday every time he got up for signs he was going to the kitchen, and once he started taking out bowls for the stew, the cat darted across the floor to circle the man's ankles, begging for food as he came out of the kitchen with two bowls. Successfully charmed by his fuzzy round face, Sunday flung him a strip of beef after setting the food down on little couchside table.

Marvin shook his head. “You're spoiling him. Now he'll be insufferable."

Higgins inhaled the entire chunk of stew beef, tenderized by six hours of boiling in soup. When he was done, he licked his chops and sat by Sunday again, this time looking up at him with dinner plate-sized, I would die for you (so please feed me again!) eyes.

Marvin took a bite of his stew.

Damn, and so would I.

“Good, right?” Sunday was back on the armchair, attention split between Marvin and Higgins, who was poised to jump into his lap.

“It’s great, yeah.” Marvin paused. It went on for too long, and a little embarrassed that he didn’t say it before, hurried to add, “Thanks.”

"Of course it is, that's my mum's recipe."

They returned to silence, and Marvin alternated between being convinced it was awkward and thinking it was companionable. Sometimes they burst into fits of vibrant conversation for however long that lasted before drifting into quiet. Together, they burned through one third of a TV show they'd been meaning to watch, a few video essays, and a few bowls of stew beef, at which point it was getting dark, and Sunday wanted to go home. It was one of the first times Marvin had blown through a sick day so fast without the use of sleep.

It was nice.

A sick day—nice. What an oxymoron.

"Well…" Sunday stood and made a show of stretching, "It's about time I take my leave. Will you be alright here?"

I will be if you can carry me back to bed.

Marvin opened his mouth and hesitated. "I can get to bed on my own. But, yeah, I appreciate you for feeding the cat and all that."

Sunday grinned at him. "That's what friends are for. I'll see you around."

He watched Marvin head to his room, then started leaving when it seemed like he'd make it safely.

Marvin was left to crawl into bed, top off his medicine, and get as cozy as he could manage as he listened for the sound of Sunday leaving and locking the door behind him.

Once the other magician was gone, some little thrill that'd wormed into his heart died, and left behind a ghost—a notion that he'd messed something up.

Hm.

Being sick wouldn't be so bad if Sunday came over every time.

#altrverse #sunspell #void silver #sunday vs #sunspell vs #higgins vs #marvin the magnificent #I still don't know how this turned out #I find I'm a bad judge at how others will receive a final draft of a fic #But I'm doing this for free so whatever!!!#howwww do I tag this #featherweight marvin for the win #I know he's not THAT thin in the comics but. have you considered that I can do what I want with my power 🪱#okay I have like three speeches to be working on so now I depart #one of these days I need to do some Scary Higgins content

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aebi12 · 1 year ago

Text

"Resentment" - Chapter 3

Summary

He is the cause of her sufferings. He took her dragon, her betrothed, and her father. Now, he will also take away her future by having to marry him.

With so much history and bad blood between Rhaena and Aemond, their forced union has everything to fail, except that the proximity will make them discover that perhaps they have more in common than it seems.

AU - the Greens win the war.

Masterlist with previous chapters

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Hiiiiiiiiii! I know I said Sunday, but hey that was just a few hours in this part of the world so...

Enjoy!!!

Also I'm battling with a nasty flu right now, so I'm sorry if there are mistakes :(

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“Welcome to King's Landing, Lady Rhaena,” the Dowager Queen greets politely.

Rhaena looks away from the stoic prince and clears her throat so she can reply, "Thank you, Your Grace."

“I trust you had a good trip”

"I had," she nods, "Although I admit it was a long one and I'm happy to finally be in my ancestral home, and to be received by such honorable company."

The words come out more easily than she expects, empty courtesies she's practiced all her life that seem to make a good impression on the queen, who looks at her in surprise at first, before finally offering her a smile.

“We were looking forward to see you”

Beside her, Aemond chuckles, and Rhaena can't help but glance in his direction, though his gaze is fixed somewhere in the empty courtyard.

“This is my son, Prince Aemond,” the queen continues, her posture anxious as she regards the man, her lips pursed into a snarl that seems to denote sudden nervousness.

At the mention of his name, Aemond tilts his face and his eye meets Rhaena's again. For a moment, a brief moment that fills her with terror, she thinks he's going to come over and say something, but in the end, he just gives her the slightest nod and refocuses his gaze in the courtyard. Rhaena sighs, relieved, and hears Alicent sigh as well, though hers seems to be more out of frustration.

"Mother!"

Daeron's interruption saves her from having to address Aemond. The young prince, indifferent to the tense moment shared, approaches Alicent and places a kiss on her forehead before standing next to her.

“My son,” the woman smiles at him with obvious fondness, “Thank you for bringing Lady Rhaena back safely.”

“My mother is relieved every time I return to land from riding Tessarion,” Daeron comments with amusement, looking at his cousin, “Are you feeling better?”

"Are you sick?" Alicent asks, watching her expression.

“I just felt a little under the weather because of the trip,” Rhaena is quick to reply, shaking her head, “I'm not as used to dragon riding as my cousin.”

"Probably you are just hungry," Daeron says with a shrug, "It is been many hours since we've had food."

"Yes, yes, you are right" Alicent nods, "It is pretty late, we should go inside and have a proper dinner."

“If I may,” Rhaena curtsies, and walks back to the carriage, opening the door and extending her arm to Morning, who deftly climbs up to wrap around her shoulders.

The young woman returns to her hosts and suppresses a smile at the stunned look of the Dowager Queen, who takes a couple of steps back, clearly avoiding getting too close to her dragon.

“This is Morning,” she says in an affectionate voice.

"I didn't... I was not aware that your dragon..."

The queen clearly doesn't know how to go on. Morning roars in her direction, barely a playful roar, but one that makes the woman close her eyes for a moment. The sound seems to draw Aemond's attention, who this time focuses his gaze on both the creature and its rider, gazing at their proximity with what appears to be a mixture of curiosity and disapproval.

“I couldn't leave her in the Vale,” Rhaena explains, “Do not worry, though, my queen. Morning knows how to behave"

“I vouch for that,” Daeron nods.

“Fine, then…” Alicent still sounds reluctant, but she finally makes her way up the stairs to enter the palace.

The place is still as foreign to Rhaena as it was the first and only time she had visited it. The many passageways, corridors, and stairways open before her almost like a stone maze, softly lit by the torches on the wall.

Perhaps because of the hour, few are the nobles they run into, though they all look curiously at Rhaena and the dragon. None, however, makes a move to approach the dowager queen and the princes, limiting only to greet the royal family silently and respectfully. Since her relatives don't stop either, the girl follows them until they pass a wide courtyard and enter even wider corridors that she thinks she has walked in her last visit.

"You must excuse me," it is Aemond who speaks, when they stop in front of a double door, "Lord Lannister in waiting for me"

The prince offers no further explanation, just glances at his mother before turning his back on them, and walking the other way.

"My son is quite a busy man," Alicent says with a forced smile, "I am sure you know he is the Hand of the king."

“I am aware,” Rhaena nods, internally relieved by the absence of her betrothed.

"I am sure you'll have more opportunities to… get to know each other, later on"

The prospect gives Rhaena goosebumps, but she hurries to follow the Dowager Queen to the rooms.

“I thought that a family dinner would be the most suitable,” says Alicent

Rhaena briefly surveys the room, patting Morning, who growls at the smell of food.

"May I ask you, Queen Alicent, to bring appropriate food for my dragon?"

“Oh, sure, sure,” the woman frowns and calls out to one of her maids, “Raw meat, I guess?”

“That will do,” Rhaena nods.

The maid rushes to comply, and Rhaena decides to remain standing without approaching the table yet, afraid that her dragon will wreak havoc so close to the food, though she accepts a glass of wine from Daeron.

“I apologize, Lady Rhaena, for the haste with which we requested your presence in the capital,” Alicent begins.

"I admit it was quite a surprise when Lady Jeyne broke the news to me."

“I imagine so,” the queen nods absently, sipping from her own cup, “but keep in mind that we made this decision with your interests in mind, and the future of House Targaryens, of course.”

"Of course"

“After all, it is in the realm's best interests that the traditions be upheld,” Alicent continues, “You are a Targaryen, just like my children, it is only logical for you to join your lives and perform together your duty to the kingdom.”

Rhaena can't help but wonder if her words are meant to convince her or herself.

“I am honored to be able to join your… son,” she replies, hesitating at the last moment, not daring to say the kinslayer’s name out loud.

At her words, Daeron watches her with open curiosity and Rhaena thinks she sees the beginning of a smile on his lips. Her heart stops for an instant, scared that he'll mention his mother her outburst from a moment ago. Her cousin, however, lowers his gaze and remains silent.

"You must be aware of the painful circumstances that the king and his wife experienced just a couple of weeks ago"

“Tragic news for the kingdom”

“A loss we deeply feel. We hope that in the near future we will have more auspicious news to celebrate."

The queen doesn't say more, but from the way she looks at Rhaena, she can understand what Alicent isn't saying. The same thing Lady Jeyne had told her. That, from the moment she married the prince, it would be her duty to provide the kingdom with a royal heir.

The maid enters the room with a metal tray, and Morning appears to sniff at the food, for it flies off Rhaena's shoulder, who rushes over to the terrified young woman and takes the tray from her hands.

"Thanks," she says, offering her a half smile, "I'll take care of it from here."

The maid hands her the tray and quickly steps back. The dragon follows Rhaena to the end of the room, eager to eat.

“Here you go,” she tells her with a smile, whispering reassurances in High Valyrian.

"Please join us, cousin."

Daeron offers his hand, and Rhaena walks with him to the table. It is when she is finally sitting down that she realizes how hungry she is.

For several minutes they eat in a pleasant silence that is finally interrupted by the prince who talks to his mother about matters that Rhaena does not pay much attention to, her gaze going from her food to her dragon, who has already devoured all the meat and flies lazily in her direction.

“You must be exhausted,” Alicent says once they finish dessert.

“I am, Your Grace,” Rhaena admits.

“Cyndi, show Lady Rhaena to her rooms,” she orders the young maid who brought the dragon's food, “And don't worry, you will find there everything you need.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Rhaena stands up and curtsies, “Cousin Daeron”

"Cousin"

Rhaena calls out to Morning, who climbs onto her neck, then follows the maid down a long hallway to the last room guarded by a knight who bows to her before opening the door.

"Would you like me to run a bath for you, my lady?"

"Yes, please"

The young woman leaves, and Rhaena takes the opportunity to examine what will be her new room.

Your new prison, that little voice sounds in her head, but the girl ignores it as she walks through the huge space.

“It's a lot bigger than the one we had in the Vale,” she says to Morning almost in a whisper, “but not nearly as pretty.”

Rhaena goes to the only window and draws the curtains, being disappointed to find her new view will be that of a stone courtyard. Sighing, she closes them again and thinks bitterly of the beautiful mountains that were the first thing she saw every morning when she woke up.

As Morning flies to the comfort of the fireplace, Rhaena goes to the small sitting room, where a couple of sofas, and a small table have been placed. On top of that, there is an empty shelf except for a book which upon inspection turns out to be a copy of The Seven-Pointed Star. Rhaena stifles a giggle, wondering if the Dowager Queen had deliberately placed it there.

Cyndi, her maid, returns and helps her out of her riding clothes after setting everything up in the tub.

"That will be all, Cyndi, you can leave now"

Once alone, Rhaena lets out a soft moan of satisfaction as the hot water immediately relaxes her sore muscles after so many hours of travel. Closing her eyes, she massages her body and inhales the delicious fragrance of roses that perfumes the water.

For a few minutes, just a few minutes, Rhaena feels completely satisfied.

Until her mind – her treacherous mind – reminds her of her reality.

Her imminent marriage.

No.

It's not exactly the idea of marriage that she dislikes, after all, Rhaena had made the trip to the capital practically accepting the idea that she was going to marry her cousin. She just didn't expect said cousin to be… him.

Aemond Targaryen.

Your mother is dead. Vhagar has a new rider now.

The memory comes back to her as vivid as that night all those years ago, and Rhaena shudders.

Even at that time, when they were all children, the presence of her cousin had been frightening to her. The cruelty of his words, the clear satisfaction and arrogance on his face at having accomplished his feat, the ferocity of his attack… Rhaena shakes her head. She doesn't like to think about that night. She doesn't like to think about everything that followed. She doesn't like to remember her role in it.

Rhaena leaves the tub and dries her body with the linen towels Cyndi has left for her. In her bed, a simple white nightgown awaits her. The young girl rushes to put it on and crawls under the covers, wishing she could fall asleep right away, which of course she doesn't.

This could be one of your last nights sleeping alone.

The desperation is so great that she has to get out of bed and begins to pace the room, pacing back and forth as she contemplates her options.

Options. What options? A hysterical giggle leaves her lips. She has no choice but to comply. It's not like she can escape her fate. There is nothing waiting for her. She cannot return to the Vale and put Lady Arryn at risk. She can't go to Baela, who is just another guest of her cousin Alyn's. She has no other allies, only enemies surrounding her.

And the main of them all was going to become her husband.

The prospect terrifies her. Why him? Why precisely the source of all the misfortunes in her life? Why should she marry a criminal? Rhaena places her hand on her chest feeling her heart pound violently.

It had been all too easy to pretend to the others that she was the dutiful bride they expected her to be, but now, in the solitude of her room, she really begins to process what it will mean to marry the one-eyed prince. To marry the man who had killed Lucerys. And her father. The man that he had terrorized the Riverlands… to allow him to touch her

“Gods,” she whispers into the void as she thinks of what awaits her on her wedding night. The thought of a crippled Aegon sharing her bed had been tolerable. To have to let the kinslayer, violent as he was, take her, was repulsive.

“Don't worry about it yet,” she tells herself, looking at her reflection in the mirror. If the gods were merciful, she would still have time to enjoy her solitude, and get used to what would happen later. If the gods were merciful, her cousin's actions had only been motivated by the war between their families, “We are no longer at war. There is no reason to fear him. He's just a man."

A man who had simply ignored her and had not exchanged a word with her. Maybe he wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe…

She knows is just wishful thinking, but she clings to that idea to calm her mind and she returns to bed, forcing herself to repeat her thoughts like a prayer until she falls asleep.

***

A knock on the door wakes her up the next morning.

Morning, who has climbed onto her bed at some point, growls next to her.

“Come in,” Rhaena says hoarsely as she throws off the covers and stands up.

“Good morning, my lady,” Cyndi greets, “The queen has requested that you join her in the Throne Room.”

“Oh,” she replies, confused. She had hoped that the Dowager Queen would want to have breakfast with her, “Do you know what the reason is?”

"No, my lady, but…" she seems to hesitate, "The order was given to the entire Court"

Rhaena's stomach turns, and the girl bites the inside of her lip nervously.

"Thank you. Help me now, please”

The maid starts working on her hair while Rhaena eats some fruit from a tray Cyndi has brought with her.

"How early is it?"

"It's quite late, my lady," says the maid, "It's been hours since the royal family had breakfast."

Rhaena nods. She must have been a lot more tired than she imagined for her body, used to waking up at dawn, to lose track of the hours.

When the girl finishes fixing her hair, Rhaena goes to the closet and examines the dresses that have been left for her. To her relief, she discovers that none of them are green, but are all shades of red and black with House Targaryen motifs.

“This will do”

Once she's ready she goes over to Morning and pats her, “You stay here. It will be better not to terrify the entire Court”

The dragon snarls, but she makes no attempt to follow as Rhaena heads for the door.

As they proceed through the corridors towards the Throne Room, the young woman is aware of how different the Red Keep looks from the last time she visited it. On that occasion, almost all the decoration motifs had been related to the Faith. Now, different mats, paintings and the Targaryen emblem could be seen.

“Lady Rhaena Targaryen”

The Kingsguard announces her arrival, and opens the doors to the Throne Room, the huge roomthat had made an enormous impression on Rhaena, especially with the crude sight of the Iron Throne.

The members of the Court seem to make way for her, and Rhaena strides forward to the foot of the throne, where the Dowager Queen stands once more with Aemond Targaryen.

“Lady Rhaena,” greets Alicent Hightower

"My queen"

The woman smiles at her before taking her hand and motioning for her to stand next to her son.

Rhaena swallows, feeling her breath hitch as she moves to stand next to the prince, albeit at a safe distance.

Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine, she repeats to herself as she clasps her hands over her belly. Against her better judgement, her eyes drift to her cousin and her heart skips a beat as she meets Aemond's piercing gaze. For a few seconds they both simply observe each other, her cousin's face a cold mask that she can't read. Even so, she can't break contact, though she doesn't know if out of fear or because an unexpected and rebellious little part inside her drives her not to show weakness in front of him.

"It is my great joy," Alicent begins, managing to release Rhaena from her momentary outburst, "to announce to you the betrothal between my son, Aemond, and the Lady Rhaena Targaryen."

A murmur of voices runs through the room, the many eyes of the noble lords and ladies focusing on the couple. Rhaena tries to keep her calm mask and continues to listen to the queen.

“The wedding will take place two moons from now. And although circumstances do not allow us to celebrate as expected, we will have a tournament in honor of the couple."

Rhaena can swear that Aemond tenses beside her, but this time she doesn't dare look at him, instead focusing her attention on the Court's reactions, who seem buoyed by at the prospect of a tournament.

“May the Gods bless this union,” Alicent finishes. The Court murmurs in approval and the Dowager Queen approaches them. “Well, now it's official,” she says with a smile, “I trust that…”

"If you'll excuse me," Aemond interrupts his mother, "The Council awaits me."

Her cousin, Rhaena thinks as she watches him stride away and without answering the congratulations of the noble lords, always seems impatient to get away from her.

And she can't be more than relieved for it.

“Did you have a good night sleep?”

"Yes, quite a restorative one."

"Good. Come, I want to introduce you to your new lady-in-waiting."

"Will I have a lady-in-waiting?" she asks, amazed.

Ladies-in-waiting were generally reserved for the queen and princesses. She had never had one. Not even in the Vale.

Of course,” Alicent replies as if it were obvious, “You can have as many as you like, but since you don't know anyone yet, I thought I'd select one for you.”

The dowager queen descends from the stairs of the throne and approaches a young woman with light brown hair and a heart-shaped face who is wearing a striking yellow dress decorated with seashells who is clearly waiting for them.

“This is Marianne Westerling,” says Alicent, “your new lady-in-waiting.”

“It is an honor, Princess Rhaena,” she greets, curtsying.

"I am not a princess," Rhaena corrects, causing her to blush and look down, "Call me Rhaena, please."

Marianne Westerling nods and Alicent chimes in, “Lady Westerling will help you adjust to Court. I trust that she will do a good job accompanying you”

"It is an honor, my queen," repeats the young woman

Alicent seems satisfied with her response, "Now I must leave you, other obligations require my attention."

Offering them one last smile she heads towards the double doors.

"I am sorry for the confusion with your title, Lady Rhaena," Marianne hastens to say, still flushed and clearly flustered.

“No, no, please call me Rhaena,” she says with a smile.

“Rhaena,” Marianne says with a smirk, “what do you think of the Court so far?”

"I haven't seen much," she admits, "and I haven't been here in years."

Last time, she thinks, she had been in this very room to defend Lucerys's claim to the throne of Driftmark. That time, her father had beheaded a man and they had all ended up participating in a dinner that had ended in a fight.

“Well, I think you are going to like it,” Marianne comments cheerfully, “Queen Ellyn has taken it upon herself to make Court quite enjoyable for all of us who live here.”

"Enjoyable?"

"Yes, there's always something to do," she replies, "Tea parties, dances, bards, the usual."

Rhaena, for some reason, thinks about her life in Pentos. The city, vibrant, colorful and full of spectacles, had been her home for the first ten years of her life. There, too, the girl had been happy with all those distractions.

"How is the queen?"

Marianne blushes again and Rhaena sees the sadness in her eyes, “I haven't been able to visit her yet. The maesters say that she cannot receive visitors and that she must rest, poor thing. Of course, there have been rumors about her condition, but I try not to listen to them."

Rumors? Rhaena is tempted to ask what those rumors are, but she holds back. Marianne, as friendly and sincere as she appears, has been appointed by Queen Alicent. Nothing assures her that she is not her spy.

"May the Gods give her a speedy recovery"

“That's right,” Marianne nods vehemently, “So, Rhaena, where do you want to start?”

It takes the girl a minute to realize that her new lady-in-waiting is waiting for her instructions on how to proceed, “Well, I wish I could get to know the palace better. I have no idea where each room is located”

“Yeah, sure, so…”

But Marianne doesn't go on because an elderly woman, amazingly holding a pug on her lap, approaches them.

“This will be fun,” Marianne whispers in her ear.

~~~

"So, how is she?"

“Surely, brother, there are more important matters to discuss than my betrothed's appearance,” Aemond replies dismissively.

“Surely,” Aegon agrees, “but such matters don't interest me at the moment. I try to remember our cousin, but I can't,” the king frowns, “I do remember her sister. A total beauty"

Aemond decides not to answer. He has no interest in starting a discussion about the physical appearance of his cousins.

“I think she is quite pretty,” Daeron chimes in, “and she's very nice and polite.”

Aegon chuckles and Aemond restrains himself from rolling his good eye at him, though he snorts in disbelief.

"Clearly our brother does not agree with you"

"I don't see why he would, he hasn't even crossed a word with Rhaena," the younger replies.

"What? None at all?" Aegon looks amused and orders the cupbearer to refill his wineglass, "Why not?"

“I am a busy man,” he answers simply.

Busy running your kingdom, he thinks sourly as he fiddles with his Valyrian steel dagger.

"Still, aren't you curious about your betrothed?" the king continues pressing for answers, even though he knows his younger brother doesn't enjoy the topic of conversation, "I mean… you're going to have to bed her."

Aemond looks at him scornfully. As if Aegon had ever really cared to know any of the women he shared his bed with, "You are well aware that this is a mere political union."

“One that might as well be pleasurable,” he retorts. When Aemond makes a dismissive gesture, the king laughs and adds, “Well, if you're not interested, you can always send her here with me. I will gladly fulfil my duty for you."

“That is a very tasteless comment,” Daeron retorts, “You are a married man.”

"Yes, with a woman I won't be able to touch from now on"

"You should show more respect for Ellyn, she is your queen and wife"

This time it's Aegon's turn to dismiss his words, “You spend too much time in mother's skirts, little brother. Tell me, have you already visited the Street of Silk? If you haven't, I can arrange that…”

"Enough," Aemond cuts him off, "He is just a boy."

“He is nineteen years old, he is no longer a child. He is quite a bit older than you were when I helped you solve your little problem."

Aemond's hand closes dangerously around his dagger, his gaze fixed on his older brother, who seems utterly oblivious to the enormous effort the prince is making to keep from throwing the weapon in his direction.

Luckily for Aegon, his mother enters the royal chambers at that moment, and he rushes to put away his dagger.

“Ah, dear mother, ever so opportune,” Aegon greets, “is it time to sedate me again?”

Alicent seems surprised to find all three of her children in the same room, her eyebrows raised slightly, as she makes her way to her eldest son's bed, tea in hand.

"Drink, Aegon," she commands.

The king doesn't even protest, but rather drains the contents of the cup and makes a face.

"What are you doing here?" she asks looking at her younger children

“We were discussing the matter of the betrothed,” it is Aegon who answers, though his voice begins to slur, the milk of the poppy clearly kicking in, “I was telling my brothers that…”

But he doesn't finish what he is going to say because he is overcome by sleep. Alicent signals for the maester to enter, surely to tend to his brother's wounds, and Aemond seizes the opportunity to leave the room.

"Aemond, wait."

His mother's voice makes him stop.

"Mother"

"Have you talked to her yet?"

Aemond does not have to ask whom she means.

"Why should I?"

"Because she is your betrothed," she replies as if it's obvious, "You can't just ignore her."

That is exactly what Aemond intends to do.

"Why not, mother? You said yourself that I wouldn't have to see her daily, that we could keep our activities separate."

Alicent shifts uncomfortably, fidgeting with her rings, “That's not what I meant. I didn't want to…” the woman sighs, “The Court has welcomed her with open arms, the noble ladies seek her company and…”

Aemond restrains himself from responding as he wishes. Of course, the Court loves her. They're all a bunch of hypocrites throwing daggers at each other's backs. Rhaena does the same with her polite words and her apparent compliance about their marriage, showing them just what they want to see.

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"It does not reflect well on your character that you do not show any consideration for her"

Oh yeah. Again, the mention of his character, of his damaged reputation.

“The entire court knows it's an arranged marriage,” he replies, “why should I pretend otherwise?”

"Courting her for bit wouldn't hurt," she replies, “She is a naive young woman and she is alone in the castle. The fortress can be quite a lonely place despite the many courtiers within it."

Aemond opens his mouth to reply, but catches himself when he takes in Alicent's expression, her brown eyes seeming to glisten with unshed tears and not looking at him, but lost in her memories. The prince wonders if perhaps his mother is projecting her own experience onto the figure of his wife-to-be.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks, defeated, when his mother finally looks up at him and places her hand on his chest.

“For you to try,” Aemond nods and Alicent takes his hand, squeezing it, “And Aemond? Do not disappoint me again"

***

His mother's words echo in his mind as he leaves his brother's room and walks without knowing exactly where.

Although he has promised to try, it is not in his nature to recite poems or offer flowers, so all he can think of is to talk to her. That will have to suffice. After all, it's what his mother has insisted for days that he do.

"Where is Lady Rhaena?" he asks a maid, who seems utterly terrified when Aemond stops her in the hallway.

"In the garden, my prince"

Aemond balls his hands into fists. Of course she is in the garden.

The young man walks towards it with a determined step, and paces through the corridors full of trees and bushes in which several noblemen walk. The prince ignores them all and is about to just give up when he finds her.

Rhaena Targaryen is sitting on the edge of a fountain adorned with the statue of the good Queen Alyssane, sheltered from the sun by numerous trees and, as always, in the company of her dragon.

The scene fills Aemond with sudden annoyance, his good eye once again observing the ease with which the creature coils around her neck. Rhaena lifts her hand to her muzzle and offers her an apple, giggling in amusement as the animal snarls.

Pathetic.

“You treat her like a pet,” he says disapprovingly once the distance between them is closed.

Rhaena tenses immediately upon noticing his sudden presence, and Aemond finds it even comical how she immediately stands up and takes a couple of steps back.

"I beg your pardon?"

“I said you treat her like a pet,” he clucks, annoyed at having to repeat himself.

"I am quite aware that a dragon is not a pet, cousin."

"My prince"

“What?"

"You will refer to me as my prince, prince Aemond or my Lord"

Rhaena seems to take his words as a blow because a faint blush stains her cheeks and Aemond is aware of the angry glint in her eyes. Her dragon, who seems to notice her rider's discomfort, snarls in his direction. Aemond looks at the creature dismissively and chuckles.

"As you wish, my prince"

Her hostile tone of voice, so different from the one he has heard her use so far with his relatives, briefly surprises him and causes him even more dislike.

“You should leave her with Tessarion's caretakers. Keeping her by your side will only make her grow disobedient and not developing her abilities to the fullest."

“And I guess you offer your advice based on what? Your experience with the egg you had that never hatched? With raising a dragon since birth?”

Her answer hits him like a bucket of cold water. Her allusion to his incapacity for not having had a dragon linked to him from the cradle causes anger to flow inside him. Her smirk as she strokes her poor excuse for a dragon drives him crazy.

“I knew you were a fake,” he hisses, moving closer and glaring at her, “I knew all that kindness was just a well-trained mask.”

"Or maybe," she says, holding his gaze defiantly, "I am only kind to those who deserve it."

"And your betrothed is not worthy of your kindness?"

"No, not of my kindness"

"Of what then?" he asks, taking another step towards her, coming dangerously close to Rhaena and feeling her dragon's breath on his shoulder.

"My rage," she replies calmly, almost unruffled, though Aemond notes the rapidity in which her chest rises and falls from her labored breathing, "My revenge, even."

"Rhaena, I couldn't find the…"

A female voice interrupts them, breaking the tension between them and causing Rhaena to step back as a brown-haired young woman Aemond thinks he recognizes from Court makes her appearance.

“Oh, I…I'm sorry, my prince,” she says with a quick curtsy, “I didn't know you were here.”

“It is okay, Marianne,” Rhaena soothes her, “we should go, Lady Redwyne is waiting for us.”

Rhaena doesn't wait for the girl to respond, instead she grabs her arm and drags her in the opposite direction.

______________________________________________________

Next chapter probably on Thursday.

Let me know what you think so far :)

Tags:

@qyburnsghost @niocel @ammo23

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #ao3fic #prince aemond #aemond fic #resentment #aemond kinslayer #rhaena of pentos #rhaena targaryen #forced marriage #dragons #aemond fanfiction

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sesamestreep · 1 year ago

Text

there's something fiction about the way that reality's going

(read on AO3)

SUMMARY: It's bad enough that Foggy has to spend his Saturday morning giving bad news to some overly-ambitious campaign manager. It's unforgivable that he turns out to be hot, of all things. [AKA - The West Wing AU] A/N: here's part 1 of that west wing au i've been talking about writing for months. I put copious notes (including a mild content warning for the 90s as a time period in general) on AO3, so I'd recommend reading there if you want more info. big thanks to @firstelevens for talking me off several ledges during the writing, editing, and posting processes for this fic!

“You know what’s sick, Karen?” Foggy asks, as he rounds the corner of her desk.

“Sick like bad, like the flu?” she asks, not looking away from her computer. “Or sick like good, like a skateboard trick?”

“Sick like disgusting and perverted.”

“Ooh, I am not sure I want to know.”

“Too bad,” he says, as he tosses his duffel bag into his office. It collides with a filing cabinet, but doesn’t knock anything over, which is pretty good from this distance. “I have reached a new level of depravity.”

“Congratulations?”

“Thank you. Ask me how.”

“Must I?”

“Yes.”

Karen sighs. “How did you reach a new level of depravity?”

“I found myself thinking, while flying with the President on Air Force One, ‘god, this sucks!’”

“That’s your new level of depravity?” she asks, unimpressed.

“Karen, I’m telling you I’m bored of flying on Air Force One! The President’s private plane is boring to me. The novelty—of Air Force One—is gone!”

“And that’s all?”

“‘That’s all’?! Karen, I—”

“I heard you the first twelve times," she says. "You’re a real sicko, Foggy, I get it.”

“This revelation means less to you than I anticipated,” Foggy says, idly fiddling with the things on her desk.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she says, filing something. “I kind of thought you picked up a new, exciting fetish while in Pakistan.”

“Unfortunately, no. At least, not that I’m aware of.”

“There’s always next time,” she replies. “Did you bring me back anything?”

“Also no. In my defense, you didn’t tell me you wanted a new, exciting fetish while I was there.”

“A good boss would know without having to be told.”

“Oh, no. They’ll take away my ‘world’s greatest boss’ mug for this!”

“You don’t have one of those,” she says, frowning.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Looks like we’ve both got some work to do,” she says, turning her attention back to her computer.

“Speaking of that, what are you doing here on a Saturday?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Almost always, but in this case…”

Karen looks at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “Foggy, you have a meeting.”

“I don’t schedule meetings for Saturday mornings,” he says. “And certainly not after I’ve been away in Islamabad with the President for three days and on a plane for 15 hours.”

“Yes, but this is Marci’s meeting,” Karen says. “The one you promised to cover for her, since her cousin had to move her bachelorette weekend up two weeks to—”

“This weekend. Fuck!” Foggy closes his eyes. “Oh, I should not have agreed to this! This was so stupid. I’m so jet lagged right now and I’ve been wearing the same suit for like two days.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Ew, why?”

“I packed in a hurry and I miscounted—you know what, forget it! I would still smell like airplane, regardless.”

She steps around her desk to put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not even that—Good god! That is not what airplanes are supposed to smell like!”

Foggy sniffs his shirt and winces. He was kind of hoping he was just being dramatic. “Pakistan is a very populous country,” he says, weakly. “And we were in the capitol, so lots of people, in close quarters…”

“So, unless this guy has a sinus infection, he’s going to be able to smell you from down the hall.”

“Karen, please! I am begging you…”

“Do you have another suit?”

“Not one that smells better !” Foggy exclaims. “Do I have time to go out and buy a new suit?”

“Your meeting is in 30 minutes, and I’m guessing you still need to read the briefing packet Marci left you, so you know what this guy wants to talk about.”

“This is the guy from the Bryant campaign? Mitchell…something?”

“ Matthew Murdock, yes.”

“I know what he wants to talk about,” Foggy says, waving a hand at her.

“Oh, just read the damn packet!”

“I need to find something to wear that doesn’t smell like I walked here from Islamabad, okay?”

“I’ll ask around,” Karen replies. “You prep for the meeting.”

“You’re going to ask around ?”

“Yes."

“To see if someone in the building has a suit I can borrow?

“Foggy!”

“I feel like you’re vastly underestimating how weird of a request that is!”

“Not all men are as suspicious as you.”

“Most men are more suspicious than me, firstly,” he says. “And secondly, even if you found someone in this office to accept this absurd request—on a Saturday, no less!—suits are supposed to be tailored. I’m going to look weird in someone else’s suit!”

“What’s worse: looking weird in an ill-fitting suit or smelling weird in this one?”

“Maybe he will have a sinus infection,” Foggy muses.

“Yes, because praying for that is less weird than my plan,” Karen says, with an eye roll. “Wait, you have a gym bag!”

“In my office? Yeah…”

“And last week, that budget meeting got rescheduled and you couldn’t go to the gym after work because it was already closed when the meeting wrapped up!”

“Yes! Why are we excited about this?”

Karen’s practically bouncing on her feet. “Because if the bag is still here but you didn’t go to the gym, that means the clothes are clean!”

“You want me to meet with the manager for a congressional campaign in my gym clothes?” Foggy asks.

“Your clean gym clothes!”

“I can’t meet him in my gym clothes!”

“Why not?”

“It’s unprofessional!”

“It’s Saturday! You’re…laid back! You’re chillin’!”

Foggy shakes his head at her, because it’s extremely clear to him that she’s never said that word in another context before in her life. “Just chillin’ at the White House! Now there’s a TV show I’d watch!”

“ Foggy !”

“It could be like this President’s version of FDR’s fireside chats! You’re a genius, Karen!”

“I’m being helpful and you’re being such a dick about it,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You’re right,” he says, putting his hands on her shoulders in a conciliatory gesture. “And I appreciate it. But I can’t wear gym clothes to this meeting.”

“It wouldn’t be that weird! You could come up with an excuse—”

“No, I understand. It’s just—I barely look good in a suit. I can trick people into taking me seriously in a suit. If this guy sees me in basketball shorts, he’ll never take me seriously.”

“You look good in a suit, no qualifiers,” Karen says, firmly. “And honestly, it would probably be charming to him if you were in gym clothes. And lastly, you are the deputy chief of staff at the White House, Foggy. People take you seriously. You are serious.”

“That was wall-to-wall bald faced lies, but I do love you for it,” he says, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “And if I’m being honest with you, I’m nervous about the optics of dressing casually for a meeting where I know I have to give someone bad news.”

Karen frowns. “What’s going on?”

“The campaign this guy is running, it’s Bryant’s campaign in the 21st district in New York State. It’s a district that, historically, a Republican always wins. From what I know, and what Marci’s told me, this guy wants more help from us, and more funding from the DNC, to get Bryant elected instead.”

“But we’re not going to do that?” Karen asks.

“No, we’re not.”

“Why not?”

“Because Bryant sucks,” Foggy admits, with a small, mirthless laugh.

“Worse than the Republican who’s running?”

“He’s the incumbent and we know what to do with him, at least.”

“Still,” she interjects, frowning deeper, “it’s not…great…”

“It’s political maneuvering to be sure,” Foggy says, “but that’s the business we’re in, like it or not.”

“Yeah, so…”

“So, showing up to this meeting looking ready for an aerobics class and then telling this guy he’s up a creek and the DNC isn’t going to throw him a paddle might be a bad look. At least if my suit’s wrinkled and I smell bad, he can write it off as me being an overworked staffer.”

“Which, you are.”

“Exactly!”

“Yeah, okay. I get it,” Karen says, moving back to her desk.

“I have a few minutes?”

“Yeah, read the thing on your desk.”

“I don’t need to—”

“Marci wrote it so you could—”

“Marci’s secretary wrote it, and you know that.”

“And Marci’s secretary’s work has less value than Marci’s because…?”

“Ah, okay,” Foggy says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll read the thing.”

“Do you need coffee?”

“Desperately.”

She nods. “Okay, I’ll get you some, so you can read.”

“Thank you. And while you’re at it, see if Jeri’s secretary is in and ask—”

“Excuse me,” a voice behind them says, and they both startle.

“Hi, can I help you?” Karen asks, automatically and politely, as she turns to face the man.

“I hope so,” he says. “I’m looking for Karen Page.”

“Then I can definitely help you,” she replies, cheerfully. “That’s me.”

“Oh, excellent,” the man says, offering her his hand. “I’m Matt Murdock, from the Bryant campaign. I have a meeting with Mr. Nelson at 10.”

“You’re…from the Bryant campaign?” Karen asks, hesitantly.

Foggy knows how she feels. Absolutely nothing about this guy says ‘campaign manager’ except for the quality of his suit. He’s so glaringly handsome in a professional-athlete-who-also-gets-modeling-gigs kind of way that it takes Foggy a full minute to clock that he’s wearing sunglasses indoors (something a professional athlete/part-time model would do) and carrying a white cane. Bryant’s campaign manager is blind. That’s almost as unexpected as him being hot.

“Yes, I know. I’m a little bit early,” he says, either willfully or obliviously attributing Karen’s surprise to the wrong thing.

Karen recovers quickly, though. “Not to worry,” she says, finally taking his hand and giving it a polite shake. “We appreciate your punctuality.”

“Well, I appreciate that handshake,” Matt offers, charmingly. “Very commanding, very firm!”

Much to Foggy’s amusement and vague annoyance, Karen lets out a hopelessly charmed laugh at that. “Thank you, I—uh, I do my best.”

Foggy gives her a wide-eyed look, and she gives him a helpless and slightly embarrassed one back. He shakes his head before inclining it towards Matt, who either hasn’t noticed him or is avoiding acknowledging him, for whatever reason.

“Would you be so kind as to let your boss know I’m here?”

“That, uh, won’t be necessary,” she says. Karen never stammers. This is so funny. “He’s, um—well, he’s right here! Foggy, are you ready for Mr. Murdock?”

Foggy does his best to hide his smile. “Am I ever!” he says, gamely, and steps forward to shake his hand. “Franklin Nelson, at your service. Everyone calls me Foggy, so you should too!”

This, somehow, catches Matt off-guard, which given his otherwise smooth and unflappable exterior, is kind of impressive. He very clearly expected to wait to be seen, and possibly hoped to have more time to flirt with Foggy’s assistant, judging by the looks of things.

“Hello,” Matt says, stiff with awkwardness. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” Foggy replies. “Delighted to make your acquaintance! I am holding out my hand for you to shake, for the record.”

“Oh, right. I’m so sorry,” he says, as he hurries to take it.

There’s an awkward moment as he sort of guesstimates where Foggy’s hand is before making contact and Foggy’s left to wonder if he could have made that less weird somehow and feel slightly embarrassed that he doesn’t know the protocol for this situation. And he’s already feeling pretty embarrassed that he smells like a 15 hour flight in front of this very handsome stranger, who can probably smell him even more than the average person. Unless that stuff about depriving one sense making the others stronger is bullshit, which it might be. Foggy’s tempted to ask but that seems likely to make the situation more awkward still.

Matt’s palm is a little rough in places, which is kind of nice. Foggy’s is, he knows, not even a little bit rough. He’s got the smooth baby soft hands of someone who has always been an indoor kid and then grew up to be a lawyer. No calluses to speak of whatsoever. It makes him wonder where Matt, likely a lawyer himself, got his from. And now he’s been holding this hot guy’s hand for too long. Perfect.

“Well, why don’t you step into my office?” he asks, dropping it quickly.

“You’re sure? I know I got here before our appointment.”

“No trouble at all,” Foggy says, with more enthusiasm than he feels. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, yes,” Karen pipes up. “We have coffee, tea, soda, water—”

“I’m good,” Matt says, with another charming smile in her direction. Foggy’s still waiting for his. “Thank you, Karen.”

“Yes, thank you, Karen,” Foggy says brightly, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

“Actually, Foggy, could I borrow you for a second?”

“Absolutely.” To Matt, he says, “You can go right in and I’ll be with you shortly. There’s a chair in front of the desk, where…chairs normally are in an office.”

This, for whatever reason, makes Matt snort in amusement, which is somehow better than getting a smile out of him. “Yes, I think I can manage,” he replies, and moves towards Foggy’s office.

“Great. Be right there!” Once he’s gone, Foggy leans in close to Karen. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to point out that you should have listened to me and worn your gym clothes after all,” she says, flipping through a file on her desk disinterestedly.

“Yes, yes, I know. Karen Page the Wise, let her instincts never be doubted again,” Foggy says, miming genuflection.

“Do you still want a coffee?”

“I’ll grab it when I’m done. Hopefully, this won’t take long,” he says. He leans in even closer and drops his voice to a whisper. “By the way, is this guy a real campaign manager or is he just auditioning to play one on TV?”

“ Foggy ,” Karen exclaims, with an eye roll.

“I’m sorry, but he’s, like, stupid handsome!”

“I hadn’t noticed,” she sniffs, feigning disinterest.

“Uh huh,” Foggy says, unimpressed. “Well, he noticed your firm handshake, that’s for sure.”

“You really are more perverted than when you left, aren’t you?” Karen says, amused. “Now, get in there and disappoint that beautiful man.”

“Lucky for him, that is something I’m very good at.”

Karen snorts at that, and returns to her work. Foggy goes back to his office and is pleased to see that Matt has managed to find a seat.

“Sorry about that,” he announces, as he settles into the chair behind his desk. “We’re a little bit scattered this morning. I just got back from Islamabad about twenty minutes ago.”

“Well, I appreciate your time.”

“Don’t mention it. Listen, Michael…”

“Matthew,” he says, surely seeing through the power play but not pointing it out. “Matt, if it’s all the same.”

“Right, sorry. Hey, at least, I knew it was one of the gospels from the Bible, right?”

The unbothered, generically pleasant expression on his face doesn't falter as he says, evenly, “There is no gospel according to Michael in the Bible.”

“Maybe not in yours,” Foggy replies, hoping he covers his nerves well enough that Matt can’t hear anything in his voice. “There’s a Saint Michael, though, right?”

“Yes,” Matt says, cracking a barely-there smile. “He’s an archangel, too.”

“An angel and a saint? Sounds like a lot of work. What’s his deal?”

“His ‘deal’?”

“Yeah, like what’s he the saint of?”

“Oh, like his patronage?”

“Yes,” Foggy says, snapping his fingers. “Like is he the guy to pray to when I’ve got a hangnail or a flat tire?”

“No,” Matt laughs, shaking his head. “He’s considered the patron saint of police officers, the military, paramedics, the protector of the Jewish people and the Vatican, as well as Germany, the Ukraine, and Brussels.”

“Wow, can you do that for all the saints?”

“A good amount of them,” Matt replies. He shrugs before adding, “I went to Catholic school.”

“That must come in handy.”

“You’d really be surprised how little it comes up,” he says, drolly.

“Really?" Foggy asks. "Not even when you have a flat tire?”

“I would probably call AAA first, in that scenario. The saints tend to take their time.”

“Solid point.”

“Listen, Mr. Nelson—”

“God, please, like I said: call me ‘Foggy’. I’d do the classic ‘Mr. Nelson is my father’ bit but I’m pretty sure no one calls him that either.”

“‘Foggy?’ Really?” Matt repeats, incredulously.

“Yes, it’s—not important why. It’s just—it’s what everyone calls me.”

“Fine,” he says, leaning forward in his seat. “Foggy, then. As much as I appreciate the opportunity to show off the benefits of my Catholic upbringing and education, I didn’t come here to talk to you about the patronages of various saints.”

“Yes, I knew that, actually. I’m sorry. I was stalling.”

Matt slumps back in his seat at that. “You’re going to tell me you can’t help me.”

“Listen, if this had been my meeting from the start, I would have told you not to bother coming down.”

“In your colleague’s defense, she did tell me that.”

“Well, then, I’m surprised you did it anyway.”

“You wouldn’t be, if you knew me better,” Matt replies, with so much confidence it borders on cocky. He gets five percent hotter in Foggy’s mental estimation from that alone.

He clears his throat. “Your candidate is running for a seat in New York’s 21st district. Democrats never win in the 21st. It’s simple math.”

“Yes, historically, this district goes red in elections, but that doesn’t mean, with the right democrat and proper funding from the DNC—”

“That’s true,” Foggy allows.

“So, what’s the issue?”

“You don’t have the right democrat.”

“I…what?”

“I’m saying, Bryant isn’t the democrat to flip the 21st.”

“According to whom?”

“According to me.”

“Is there anyone else I can talk to, then?” Matt asks, clearly keeping his patience on a very tight leash if the state of his jaw is any indication. Not that Foggy is admiring his jawline at a time like this.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Foggy, I came down here—”

“A waste of time, as promised, but hey, at least you made a new friend!”

“You and I are not friends.”

“I meant you and Karen," Foggy says, blithely, "but ouch.”

Matt's jaw somehow clenches even tighter. “I want to talk to someone who’s going to take me seriously!”

“You are talking to someone who’s taking you seriously,” he says, earnestly. “Trust me, Matt. It’s not you, it’s your candidate.”

“Well, that’s a new one,” he says, deflating.

“Bryant is a centrist—”

“It’s a Republican stronghold!” Matt exclaims. “Who else has a chance to flip the seat? Do you want to put a diehard socialist on the ballot instead and see how they do?”

“More than anything in the world, yes,” Foggy replies. “But this isn’t about what I want.”

“The incumbent is a right wing clown and he lends legitimacy to their rhetoric. I think the country would be better off with him out of a job. I’m sorry that the White House and the DNC disagree, but—”

“You’re right.”

“I’m right?!”

“You’re right,” Foggy says. “With an asterisk.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Just a tiny footnote, really. He is a right wing clown, and he should be voted out of office, but he’s also a boon to the DNC.”

“How exactly does that make sense?”

“Every time he opens his mouth, the DNC pulls a quote, puts it on a direct mail campaign, and raises tens of thousands of dollars off of their members’ outrage. As long as we keep him in front of a microphone, we can basically print money for ourselves.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “What a reassuring thing to hear from a representative of my government.”

Foggy laughs, unexpectedly, which just makes Matt glare in his general direction. “Technically, we are the only ones who should be printing money, but that’s beside the point.”

“Are we at least approaching the point sometime soon?”

“You’re familiar with the phrase ‘better the devil you know…’”

Matt sighs. “‘Than the devil you don’t’. Yes.”

“Bryant’s the devil we don’t know. Dashwood’s the one we do.”

“Bryant is a democrat, Foggy.”

“Barely, and I don’t want it to be my job for the next six and a half years to make sure he’s not going to be the swing vote on every measure we want to get passed through the House. And it will be my job, Matt.”

“Well, if you keep selling out viable democrats like this, I don’t think you can count on re-election as a matter of course like you just did, so let’s call it two and a half years to be safe.”

Foggy leans forward onto his forearms. “Sweetheart, you don’t have a viable democrat on your hands, and that’s the nicest way anyone in this building is going to put it, so let’s quit while we’re ahead.”

“Easy for you to say,” Matt replies, standing. Foggy mirrors him. “I appreciate the condescension, by the way. No one’s called me ‘sweetheart’ in a long time.”

“No trouble at all,” Foggy says. “Feel free to stop by anytime you need your ego stroked.”

Matt laughs, or really huffs, putting his hands on his hips. He’s either getting a second wind on this argument or they’re about to get into a fistfight. He might have made that last retort too flirty. Some guys, by which he does mean most straight guys, will really take any opportunity. Luckily, a knock at the door cuts their standoff short.

“Foggy, the President wants anybody who’s available in the Oval Office in five,” Marci says as she barrels in without waiting, before her eyes land on Matt. “Oh, sorry to interrupt.”

“Marci, this is Matt Murdock, from the Bryant campaign,” Foggy says, begrudgingly. “Matt, this is Marci Stahl, deputy communications director. I believe your original meeting was supposed to be with her.”

“Yes. Hi,” Matt says, cheerfully enough, but the set of his shoulders remains tense.

“Matt, so nice to meet you,” she trills, giving Foggy a wide-eyed look over his shoulder as they shake hands. Of course she immediately clocked how attractive he is. Sometimes he thinks that an unfortunate side effect of them dating and then staying friends for so long is that they basically have the same brain. “I’m so sorry for sticking you with Foggy here. There were some scheduling issues with my calendar.”

“Not to worry,” Matt says, tightly. “Foggy’s taken excellent care of me.”

Marci purses her lips in amusement. “Isn’t he just the best?” she says, grinning at Foggy sadistically. “If I had my way, I’d foist all my downer meetings on him, because he always handles people so gently. Not my strong suit, I’m afraid.”

Foggy rolls his eyes, but Matt beats him to the punch. “‘Downer meetings’?” he asks, deceptively pleasant.

“Yes, well, it’s a pity about Bryant, but you’re young, as I can now see. You’ll have other campaigns, ones you can actually win.”

“We haven’t technically lost this one yet.”

Marci gives Foggy a look, before shaking her head. “So true,” she says, giving Matt’s arm a squeeze. “Anyway! Safe travels! Foggy, like I said, five minutes.”

“I’m in the middle of a meeting,” he replies, annoyed.

“It’s the Cruz case.”

“That’s going to—”

“It came back 5-3 against,” she says, cutting him off with a significant look at Matt. “That’s why I canceled my trip. We’re all hands on deck.”

Foggy sighs, but only because it would be inappropriate to swear. “Okay.”

“Five minutes.”

“I said, ‘okay’.”

Marci nods and departs in her usual cloud of Chanel perfume and hyper competence, her heels clicking down the hallway until the sound fades completely. Foggy rubs his face, thinking miserably about how this is just the beginning of what will most likely be a very long, bad day. He’s going to need to send Karen to his apartment to get him some clothes. He’s going to need twelve coffees, ideally right now, but he’s got to deal with Matt first. When he looks over at him, he’s standing there, shell shocked.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, because he honestly is. “She’s—it’s not always like this.”

Matt seems to spring back into action like a spell has been lifted. “It’s fine,” he says, picking up his briefcase and his stick. “You have to get going.”

“It’s not—”

“Don’t say it’s not important, for my benefit. It sounds important.”

“I can walk you out,” Foggy says, coming around the desk towards him.

“I can manage on my own,” Matt says, not unkindly but not meekly either. The implication that he wants to end this interaction sooner rather than later is barely implied.

“Of course. It was, uh, lovely to meet you.”

“Sure,” he replies, not reciprocating the sentiment but extending his hand as they pause in front of Karen’s desk. Foggy takes it and gives him a firm handshake.

“Karen, could you—?"

“I’m fine,” Matt interrupts. “Thank you, though. Karen, a pleasure.”

“You too,” Karen offers. “The hallway behind you leads right to the exit. You’ll need to sign out with security.”

“Thank you,” he says, and departs without further fanfare.

“How’d he take it?” Karen asks Foggy, once he’s gone.

“Super well,” Foggy chirps. “In fact, we’re thinking this summer for the wedding.”

“That’s fast,” Karen says, barely hiding her smile.

“What can I say? When you know you know.” He sighs deeply. “Marci told you about the Supreme Court thing?”

“Yeah. You want me to go grab you a change of clothes from your place?”

“Yes, please. You need my keys?”

“I have your spare still,” Karen says, as she gets up and puts on her coat. “Need anything else while I’m out?”

“The world’s largest coffee, with as many espresso shots as the law allows.”

“Got it,” she replies with a nod. She’s already on her way out when he grabs her by the elbow to stop her.

“Am I, like, the world’s biggest asshole?” he asks, earnestly. “And be honest, because I feel like the world’s biggest asshole right now.”

“You’re not,” Karen says, immediately, squeezing his arm. “You’re the best person I know, but you’re jet lagged and overtired and stinky and now you have to spend the rest of your day talking about the death penalty. That would put anyone in a bad mood.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “Thanks.”

He lets her go, then, because they’ve all got work to do, but her words don’t reassure him like they usually would.

Foggy waits on the sidewalk out in front of St. Patrick’s the next morning with ten minutes to spare before the 10 AM mass gets out. He finds himself wishing he had cigarettes, which he only ever wants when he’s nervous and needs something to do with his hands. He’s complained about this before, unwisely, with his mother in earshot, which had led to her snapping at him to take up knitting if he needs something productive to do with his hands. The worst fight he can ever remember having with her was when she found cigarettes in his room when he was home from college once. What is it about being within spitting distance of a Catholic church that brings up all his repressed guilt like that?

He probably could have brought coffee, but he’s not sure if Matt declined yesterday to be polite or if he genuinely doesn’t drink it. Either way, Foggy couldn’t begin to guess how he’d take it, so it’s probably better to just skip it entirely. He doesn’t need to bribe him, and he doesn’t need anything to occupy his hands. He’s senior staff at the goddamn White House. He doesn’t need to be nervous.

Over his shoulder, he hears the sound of voices starting to drift over from the doors and of footsteps on the stairs. When he glances over, he sees crowds starting to form at the entrance. He remembers, suddenly, from a few christenings he was forced to attend for various cousins, how much people like to stand around and gab after mass and hopes that, by virtue of not being at his own church, Matt won’t be stuck talking to a bunch of old ladies for too long.

Thankfully, it’s only a few minutes later when he emerges from the crowd, easy to spot with his glasses and his stick, head down and separate. Foggy hesitates for a second, worried this will be an intolerable intrusion on something, well, sacred, but he did go out of his way to talk to him. It will be even less excusable if he doesn’t go through with it.

Matt’s head swivels in the correct direction when he hears his name called and Foggy would guess he’s good at identifying voices, both in general and in his line of work, where schmoozing and networking are so essential. Matt’s already at a disadvantage, not knowing people by sight, so he can only imagine he’s found a way to compensate for it. He’s guessing he knows who it is before Foggy even says, “on your right,” and approaches him.

“Foggy?” Matt asks, and he’s not sure if he’s guessing or just expressing surprise.

“Hi,” he says, and it comes out weirdly shy, because of course it does. Matt’s still dressed nicely, like he was yesterday, though he’s ditched the tie and thrown a sweater over his dress shirt instead. It’s like he knows about Foggy’s childhood crush on Mr. Rogers.

“Hi,” Matt says, with a laugh. “Did we—don’t tell me this is your church.”

“Yes, I moonlight as an organist at St. Patrick’s. Just for the tips, though.”

“I—what?”

“Sorry, I’m kidding. I don’t go to church here. I went to see you at your hotel, I was hoping to catch you before you checked out, and the receptionist said I’d just missed you and that you’d gone to church.”

“She told you where to find me?”

“No, I guessed. I mean, St. Patrick’s is the closest Catholic church—you mentioned Catholic school yesterday, so I figured it was the best bet—and of course, it’s, you know, historic and beautiful, with all that stained glass and the, um…”

Matt tips his head to the side, considering him as he fumbles for words. He looks amused, at least, and not deeply offended, which is probably a good sign. He also looks like he’s waiting for Foggy to admit defeat, which is never going to happen.

“The acoustics are probably also good,” he finishes, pathetically, and Matt laughs, not like he did yesterday, all guarded and cynical with disappointment. He laughs big and unrestrained and maybe even delighted. Foggy gets the sense that he’s a little surprised by it himself.

“Yes, the acoustics were wonderful,” he says, and his eyes are crinkling attractively at the corners.

“I’m an idiot,” Foggy says, in the direction of his shoes. He doesn’t need to hide a blush from Matt, he figures, but he does it anyway.

“No, that was…” Matt takes his time searching for the word, and Foggy’s heart races. He shakes his head, helplessly. “‘Acoustics.’ You're cute.”

“I…” Foggy has fully lost his train of thought. He tries to remember a single time he has said something coherent in his entire life and fails. His brain has shut down, possibly permanently and forever.

“Sorry, that came out wrong," Matt clarifies, after a moment's pause. "What I meant was, that was a cute thing to say.”

The part of Foggy that was wondering if it would be weird to ask a guy who just got out of church if he was, perhaps, a friend of Dorothy immediately withers and dies on the spot. That was the straightest point of clarification he’s ever witnessed in his life.

“Well,” Foggy says, remarkably normally after the emotional journey he just went on, “you don’t know this, since you can’t see, but you were right the first time. I am adorable.”

Matt, thankfully, laughs at that too. “I’ll defer to your expertise on the matter.”

“I appreciate that.”

“So, you were looking for me at my hotel?”

“Yes!”

“Can I ask why?”

“I—right. That is the sort of thing that requires explanation.”

“Yes, it is,” Matt says, patiently.

“I wanted to…apologize for yesterday,” Foggy says, letting the words flow out on an exhale. “You didn’t catch any of us on our best day, and while nothing I said to you was factually incorrect or inaccurate to our position, I feel like you weren’t treated with the respect you deserve and I really regret that. None of that is how we do things, and it’s not who we are. I hope, at my best, it’s not who I am, either.”

Matt doesn’t bother to hide his surprise. After a moment, he says, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t worry about it. I fully acknowledge that I ambushed you—at a church, of all places—so I’ll just…”

“I appreciate it,” Matt says, suddenly. “The apology, not the ambush. Although, I guess they’re sort of intertwined at this point…”

“Sure,” Foggy laughs.

“You really didn’t have to—”

“I felt bad. It was badly done, and I wanted to try to make it right.”

“Still, I’ve been in professional politics for almost a decade now, and I can count the number of heartfelt apologies I’ve received on one hand. It’s not the sort of thing everyone does.”

“Well, it’s a thing I do, when I’m wrong. And I was. I’m genuinely sorry.”

Matt acknowledges this with another tilt of his head. “You weren’t wrong about everything, unfortunately.”

Foggy frowns, trying to parse what this means. “I’m not sure I—oh my god! Matt!”

He winces. “Do not gloat!”

“I’m not!” Foggy practically shouts. “I won’t. I promise! But, if I’m understanding you correctly, you know?”

“About Bryant? Of course I do! I work for him!”

“That begs the question of why?”

“Why do I work for him?”

“Yes!”

“I’m not in politics just for the love of it, Foggy. I’m a professional political operative, I need the work!”

“Yeah, but Bryant?”

Matt makes a face at him. “Do you imagine there’s a seller’s market out there for blind campaign managers?”

“No, but—” Foggy pauses and really considers this. Matt keeps things upbeat, from what he can tell, brushing off references to his disability easily enough by all appearances, but it must actually be brutal out there for him. “No, you’re right. It’s got to be tough. Even for someone as good as you.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it to flatter you. Considering you’re working in a district that virtually always votes red, and you’ve got a dud for a candidate, your numbers are very impressive. I mean, unless you’re handing out headshots at campaign stops, I don’t understand how you’re doing it at all.”

“Headshots?” Matt asks. “Of me?”

“Okay, don’t you dare try some sort of aw, shucks routine with me. I know you know you’re handsome.”

Matt laughs, tucking his chin in a remarkably shy gesture from such a confident asshole. “That’s a good one, though. Headshots. I’ll have to write that down.”

“Maybe the 21st district will flip after all.”

“Okay, I know I’m not that handsome.”

Foggy wants to argue the point, but he’s also done enough embarrassing himself for one day and it’s not even noon yet. He’s got to stick to the matter at hand. “Listen, what I said yesterday—”

“Consider it forgotten. Really.”

“No, uh, what I said reflects the opinion and the decision of the White House, even if the delivery left something to be desired. But the administration, specifically the President, wanted me to be clear with you that, Bryant aside, if you ever found a viable candidate, we’d get interested in a hurry. We remain very impressed by your work, if not your candidate.”

Matt appears intrigued by this. “Did anyone happen to specify a better candidate by name?”

“Well, the suggestion was raised that you might fit the bill.”

“Raised by whom?”

“That I couldn’t say,” Foggy demurs, and Matt does that little head tilt again, so he mimes locking his mouth and throwing away the key before he realizes Matt can’t see or appreciate it. It’s also a very dorky thing to do, so that might be for the best.

“You want me to run for office?” Matt asks, instead.

“It’s just a suggestion,” Foggy says, putting his hands up defensively. “Something to think about for the future.”

“The distant, distant future, maybe…”

Foggy shrugs. “Sure. Either way, you’ve made some friends in D.C. this time around. Your next campaign will be easier, I promise.”

“Well, I have to make it through this one first,” Matt says, grimly, running a hand over his jaw in distress. God, even distressed, he’s still ridiculously handsome.

“Hey, if all else fails, you can always pray to Saint Thomas More.”

Matt gives him a baffled look. “What?”

“You know,” Foggy says, putting his hands in his pockets, casually, “the patron saint of statesmen and politicians.”

Matt’s smile of delight and comprehension is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, which is a sentiment Foggy would have dismissed as overly and unnecessarily poetic and saccharine probably twenty minutes ago. His words to Karen yesterday— when you know, you know— come back to haunt him and it is so unfair and yet completely expected that this would happen to him, of all people. He’s known this guy for probably thirty minutes total and still, he knows Matt is special. That this is the beginning of something, even though it probably isn’t going to be what he wishes it could be. This is, bizarrely, a talent of his. He knows when someone is going to be important to him, usually right from the start. He knew it with Marci. He knew it with Karen. He knows it now too.

Son of a bitch, he thinks. This might hurt.

“Where did you learn that?” Matt asks, his voice gone kind of breathless around his smile.

“Not to brag, but I have access to many things in my line of work,” he replies, trying to stay casual, despite the revelations, “including several volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica.”

“Fancy,” Matt says, with a laugh. “I appreciate the tip.”

“I couldn’t find the saint to pray to specifically for car trouble, but Saint Christopher or Saint Frances of Rome are the patron saints of drivers and Saint Catherine of Alexandria is the patron saint of mechanics, so any of them would do in a pinch. In case you were wondering.”

“Saint Christopher,” Matt replies, “is the patron saint of all travelers, actually.”

“Show-off!" Foggy exclaims. "You didn’t even have to look that up!”

“Every Catholic household has a medal or something for Saint Christopher kicking around,” he says, with a smile. “You didn’t stand a chance, I’m afraid to say.”

“What gave me away?”

“Oh, everything. I can spot a Protestant at fifty paces, especially the Christmas-and-Easter variety. It’s like the first thing they teach you in Catholic school.”

“Sure. I mean, what else are they going to do with all that time they’re not teaching you how to put condoms on bananas?”

Matt laughs another one of those big, unexpected laughs, almost staggering back with the force of it. “Yeah, abstinence only makes for very short lesson plans.”

“I’m guessing you all managed to figure out the basics anyway, just from the CDC data I’ve seen,” Foggy says, fully blushing all over with the pride of making Matt laugh and his own stupidity at bringing up Sex Ed in a moment like this. Sometimes he just truly cannot stop himself.

Before Matt can confirm or deny that he knows how to use a condom (seriously, what’s the matter with his brain?) Foggy rushes to add, “Also, thank you for giving me the credit of going to church on Easter. My mother will be pleased to know I’m fooling people into thinking I’m a nice young man, rather than being obvious with my true heathen nature.”

“You are a nice young man,” Matt says, softly, with the appearance of having sobered slightly. Maybe Foggy shouldn’t have called himself a heathen. Maybe he was being too obvious, the coded aspect of the code word too unfortunately crackable. Oh, well. “At least, I assume you’re young? I’m guessing, from the sound of your voice.”

“I am. I mean, I guess I am. Is 34 young?”

“For the deputy chief of staff for the White House?” Matt asks, eyebrows raised. “Yes! Are you serious?”

“Well, then.”

“You’re my age.”

“And?”

“You’re very successful.”

“I got lucky," Foggy says, with a shrug. "I was in the right place at the right time. That’s all.”

“Yes, because being in the right place at the right time is something to scoff at in our line of work,” Matt says, looking unimpressed. “And definitely completely negates the fact of you being good at your job.”

“I don’t know if I’d call that a fact, per se…”

“I’ll settle for it being my professional opinion, then, and people generally pay me good money for that kind of thing.”

“Well, I left my checkbook at home, unfortunately,” Foggy quips, and is rewarded with a sharp, almost shark-like smile from Matt. “All I can offer you is my gratitude. I mean, unless—?”

“Yes?” Matt asks, when he doesn’t immediately finish his thought.

“Well, you probably have to catch a flight or a train or something soon, right?”

He nods, brow furrowed. “Yeah, my train is out of Union Station at 1:30. Why?”

“Nothing, I—I’m sure you’ve got to—and I should, probably—”

“You should probably just say whatever it was you were initially going to ask me,” Matt says, head tipped, once again, with interest.

“Right,” Foggy laughs. This is so, so stupid. “I was going to say, if you had time, I could buy you a cup of coffee, to complete my apology for yesterday and to chip away at your consulting fee.”

Matt visibly hesitates, which, of course he does. Foggy made the world’s worst first impression and insulted him yesterday. He apologized for that, sure, but Matt’s still probably not pleased about the DNC’s decision and this wasted trip to D.C. to talk about it. One pleasant conversation doesn’t make them friends or anything.

“That's not necessary," he eventually replies, though not with a great deal of conviction, which is strange. With anyone else, Foggy would assume they wanted him to insist, but somehow he has trouble imagining that's the case here. "I'm sure you'd like to get back to your Sunday plans."

"My Sunday plans are this conversation and going into the office to debate the finer points of the death penalty. You have a pretty low opinion of yourself if you think your company ranks lower than that."

Matt seems to relax at that, oddly enough. “So," he says, with a self-deprecating smile, "this is probably the part where I should admit to an unhealthy amount of curiosity about where you’re at with the Cruz case.”

Of all the things he expected Matt to say, that certainly had not occurred to him, which means he blinks in surprise for what turns out to be a little too long.

“Sorry,” Matt says, mistaking Foggy’s pause for something it isn’t and wincing in apparent embarrassment, “I heard about it on the news. The Supreme Court’s decision, I mean, and I’ve been following the case for a while. When Marci mentioned it yesterday—I shouldn’t have said anything, but—”

“No, not at all,” Foggy says, hurriedly. “I’d honestly love to get your opinion.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I mean, you just admitted to following the case, and you’re a lawyer by training, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“Right, so that, and you know the political landscape we’re situated in at the moment as well as anyone, running this campaign, dealing with the DNC. Even if you want to give me your opinion as a Catholic, I’ll take it. It’s…we’re basically taking all bets, at the moment, if that’s not insulting to admit.”

Matt laughs lightly. “Not insulting. I think on average there was a majority of flattering sentiments in there.”

“Good,” Foggy says, sighing in relief. “That’s how it was intended.”

“I take it the President hasn’t made a decision on whether to stay the execution or not?”

“No, that’s why I’m heading into the office on a Sunday. We’re all trying to figure out our options.”

“Well, I have thoughts.”

Foggy laughs this time. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“I will, however, defer to you on the subject of where to get coffee in this neighborhood,” Matt says.

“Oh, right. Well, actually, if we cross up here—”

Foggy steps forward to gesture in the direction he means before he remembers that it won’t do much good. At the same moment, Matt steps forward too, towards Foggy, and holds out a hand in what looks like a conciliatory gesture. Foggy pauses, waiting to hear his objection or question, and not thinking too hard about how close they are now.

“Could I—that is, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, as we walk, could I hold onto your arm?” Matt asks, and he doesn’t sound embarrassed so much as tired. Foggy gets the sense that he doesn’t like asking for help or relying on people very much. “It makes navigating the sidewalks and everything easier. If not—”

“That’s fine,” Foggy interrupts, feeling only slightly bad that he’s this eager to comply. He’s mostly doing it to be nice, but there is a small part of him that’s excited because a cute guy will be touching him, which feels sort of bad. “I mean, I’m happy to—”

“Thanks,” Matt replies with just a small quirk of his mouth. If he’s noticed Foggy’s eagerness, he’s not calling it out, which is kind of him.

“Do you…know where my arm is?” Foggy asks, like a moron, making Matt laugh.

“It’s, well, it’s in this general vicinity, right?” Matt’s middle finger ends up jabbing into Foggy’s stomach, which is ideal, of course. Now Matt knows he doesn’t have abs of steel, a thing he was definitely going to pretend to have until directly contradicted. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Foggy says, and just grabs Matt’s hand to get it over with. It’s not important or monumental in any way—they shook hands yesterday, so it’s not even the first time they’ve touched—but his pulse starts to race nonetheless. He places Matt’s hand on the crook of his elbow as quickly as he can without making it weird. Except that now he’s trying to remember the last time he held hands with someone and upon consideration, he thinks it’s been a while, which makes him sad to think about.

“That’s my elbow,” he says, stupidly, because anything else he could say at this moment would somehow be more embarrassing, which is impressive.

Matt laughs, just a little huff of amusement, but his eyes crinkle adorably again and that’s good enough. “I figured that out,” he says. “Thank you, though.”

“Right. Um, so as I was saying, if we cross the street here, I know a place only a few blocks away. Hopefully, it won’t be too busy on a Sunday morning for us to get a table.”

“Okay,” Matt says, nodding. “I’ll follow your lead.”

“Great,” Foggy says, but doesn’t move. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, not sure where this temporary immobility is coming from. “I, uh, I’ve never done this before.

“Gotten coffee?”

“No, uh, that I’ve done, actually, if you can believe it," Foggy says, with a laugh. "I’ve never led someone before? I just don’t want to make you trip or anything.”

“It’s just an extra precaution,” Matt explains, calmly. This is probably something he explains a lot, Foggy realizes with some amount of shame. “I can get around fine on my own, but especially someplace new, this helps.”

“Should I point out obstacles or something? Does that help at all?”

“You’re taking this very seriously,” Matt says with a smile that might be at his expense. In which case, Foggy thinks, it is fully worth it. It’s a good smile.

“Yeah, sorry, I just—”

“You can point things out, that’s fine, but I trust you won’t lead me into any open manholes or anything like that.”

“That’s a lot of trust, man,” Foggy says, and Matt laughs. “I mean, you’re talking to someone who loves some Looney Tunes shenanigans.”

“Well, then I guess if someone paints a wall to look like a train tunnel, we’re both in a lot of trouble.”

“I’ll try to be strong,” Foggy says, “and vigilant.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Foggy realizes this is probably the moment they need to actually start walking, otherwise they’re just two guys who have linked arms outside of a church. He moves hesitantly in the direction of the crosswalk, tugging Matt gently along with him, and it doesn’t feel anywhere near as awkward as he was expecting. It just feels nice.

“You see?” Matt asks, leaning against his arm. “It’s just like walking with a person!”

Foggy digs his elbow into Matt’s side in retaliation, which just makes him ping-pong away from him before bouncing back, already laughing. “Have all the fun you want,” Foggy says. “Just remember, your life is in my hands.”

“And how very capable they are,” Matt says, mildly, still grinning.

Foggy feels himself blush and he’s very thankful at this moment that Matt probably can’t tell. It’s the only advantage he has in this situation. Naturally, of course, he decides to cancel out that advantage immediately by saying something stupid.

“By the way, this is what I normally smell like,” he says, as they wait for the walk signal.

Matt raises his eyebrows at him. “Oh?” he says, while giving nothing away, like a total bastard.

“There’s a lot of good reasons not to take a meeting straight off of a fifteen hour flight, it turns out,” Foggy says, trying not to die of embarrassment. Maybe Matt hadn’t noticed. He thought he’d just been too polite to say anything. “I want it on the record that I, you know, shower regularly and wear deodorant and everything.”

“Noted,” Matt says with another cryptic smile. He might even inhale a little bit deeper, though Foggy might be imagining that.

“Fine, I might even smell a little better than normal. But that’s all you’ll get out of me!”

So what if he had put on cologne that he usually forgets to wear? It was a drop if it was anything. And he only did it because of what a clusterfuck yesterday had been. He’d felt he had something to prove to Matt after that conversation went so poorly.

Matt, of course, seems to be enjoying himself immensely. “I’m impressed,” he says, as they cross the street. “If you’re willing to go to these lengths for the likes of me, I can only imagine what you’d do for someone important.”

He doesn’t mean it like that, Foggy reasons. It wasn’t intended to make him sound like, well, a bit of a whore, but it lands like that, for whatever reason. Like he’d been strategically deployed by his superiors to smooth things over, to butter Matt up to avoid burning a bridge they might want to cross someday. But, as much as he’d love to slather him in butter right now, that is not the case and, unfortunately, it’s also not a way that Foggy’s allowed to think about this person.

“You’re important,” he says, after a moment’s pause. “We’re fucking democrats, Matt. Our whole thing is that we think everyone is important, right? And, even if you somehow weren’t, I’d still be here. Even if no one asked me to be.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Of course not,” Foggy says, more breezily than he feels. “But my point still stands. I know all this stuff with the DNC is discouraging, but don’t let it sour you on all this. You could very well be the future of the party.”

Matt laughs, nervously. “I don’t know about that.”

Foggy shrugs, which he trusts Matt can feel. “I’ve been told I have good instincts for this kind of thing.”

“Now that I can believe,” Matt says.

When Foggy turns to look at him, he finds Matt already regarding him with interest. He thinks again of his conviction from earlier that this is no irrelevant run-of-the-mill meeting—one of dozens he'll take this week, and hundreds he'll take this year—but rather the beginning of something important. He feels certain that this won't be the last he sees of Matt Murdock and wonders if the same thing is going through Matt's mind too as they walk together. If he's willing to be honest with himself, he can admit that's not just something he suspects will be true; it's something he hopes will be true too.

🏳️‍🌈 💖

#i don't enjoy formatting fic for tumblr but it's part of the posting process for me #in case some people prefer to read here #anyway please enjoy and happy pride to whatever these two got going on #daredevil #foggy nelson #matt murdock #karen page #matt x foggy #mattfoggy #ship names remain my mortal enemy when it comes to tagging #whatever yall call it...it's them....the BOYS #the west wing au #this is my first non-prompt fill fic in literally so long i've forgotten how i format this stuff normally #homelywenchsociety #that’s my writing tag! don’t worry about it!#series: a more perfect union

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lovewriting-5 · 2 years ago

Text

Faith:

4. Miracles

6. Brothers in Arms

5. Open Hearts:

Karen drives us back to her motel room. Sean and I walk in and not sure what to do. Karen tells us “You two can get cleaned up.” I tell Sean “You can go ahead and go first.” He says “Okay.” He heads into the bathroom and I hear the shower running. Not really sure what to do, I stand by one of the beds. She tells me “Make yourself at home.” I set my backpack down on the bed. She asks “How do you know Sean?” I tell her “I’m his (girlfriend/boyfriend), (Y/N).” Karen says “Nice to meet you, I’m Karen. So, you have been with him on this journey. Is that right?” I tell her “Yes.” Karen grabs a few things and tells me “I’m going to the store and pick up a few things. When Sean gets out of the shower, let him know I’ll be back in a little bit.” I say “Okay, will do.”

Karen leaves. Sean steps out of the bathroom in clothes that Karen gave him. He says “Man, didn’t clean the pain away, but that felt good.” He looks around the room, asks “Where’s Karen?” I tell him “She went to go get a few things. She said she’ll be back in a little bit.” He says “Yeah…like I haven’t heard that one before.” I say “She wants to help us.” He rolls his eyes.

I head to the bathroom and get in the shower. While the water is running over me, I ask myself “Wonder how long Karen has been here? Did she see one of Daniel’s…’miracles’?” When I was done, I put my jeans and t-shirt back on. When I walked out of the bathroom, I was dabbing my hair with the towel. I saw that Sean was reading a note. I ask him “What’s that?” He tells me “It’s letters between Karen and Jacob.”

I sit on the bed across from Sean. He picks up the phone and dials Jacob’s number. Sean says “Jacob? It’s me, Sean and (Y/N) is here too.” Jacob said something. Sean says “Yeah.” A few more conversations then Sean hangs up. He says “Damn…he couldn’t really talk…all this is so messed up.” I ask “What’s up?” He says “Something seems weird. Jacob wants us to meet him tomorrow at noon on Brandy Highway by a Wild Mice Ranch.” I say “Okay.”

I hang the towel in the bathroom. When I come back out, I say “Let’s just rest while we wait for her.” Sean adds “If she comes back.” I sigh and shake my head. Sean lays down on the bed. I lay on the opposite one. We fall asleep.

After some time, we are awaken to the sound of Karen re-entering the room with several shopping bags. She tells us “Hey, sorry it took so long. Fucking store was packed.” We sit up as she places the bags on the desk by the television. Karen asks “How you two feeling? Nothing broken? Altar boys don’t fight fair.” I tell her “Nothing broken.” Sean says “Yeah, I’m okay.”

She pulls out two fast food cartons. She says to Sean “Double cheese, no onions, right?” Sean stares at her for a few moments and then grabs the carton from her, says “That’ll do.” Karen then tells me as she holds the second carton out to me, “I also got you double cheese.” I take it, say “Thank you.” We open the cartons and begin eating.

Karen says “Got you some gauze and, uh…anti-bacteria stuff for your eye.” It looks like the two of us haven’t eaten in days because we are chowing down on the burgers. She tells us “Hey, don’t wolf that down…Or at least take a breath.” I pause, swallow what I just ate, set the burger back in the carton and wipe my mouth with a napkin. Sean says “Like you care.” She says “Sean…I do…”

“Come on, Karen. Don’t act all hurt. It’s too late.” Sean says. Karen looks down and I look at Sean. I see tears forming in his eyes. I place a hand around his right forearm. He continues “Where were you when I broke my leg when I was 13? Not with me…When Daniel got a bad flu a couple years ago, you didn’t sleep next to him every night…Where were you?! Where…were you?” Karen says “Fair enough. So let’s talk. Because we do have to get your brother out of a cult.” I say, calmly “We’re listening.”

She asks “How did you three survive alone on the road for that long?” Sean tells her “We just got lucky, and got some help along the way. Total strangers…We even had our own little family.” Karen asks “Good. How did you go to Beaver Creek?” He says, blatantly “You know I don’t have to answer your questions, right?” Karen looks at us then says “You’re right. So tell me what you want from me, Sean.” He says “Nothing, Karen. I mean, what do you want from me? A fucking hug?” She says “Hey, I just want you to know what I did and why. If you care. So, ask me anything.”

Sean pauses then asks “All right. Why did you bail on us?” Karen lets out a breath, tells us “I wasn’t meant to be a wife…or a mother. I thought I was supposed to…I tried to pretend for many years…but I was unhappy and the urge to leave became unbearable…I had no other choice.” He says “Are you serious? You chose this life! You fell in love, you made your own choices. Right?” Karen tells him “Making your own choices doesn’t mean you can never fool yourself, Sean…After I had Daniel, you were about eight and Esteban’s garage was getting busy. There was so much going on around me yet somehow I just…felt that my own life was just slipping away. Felt like an empty shell. Sean, it was the hardest decision I ever made. I knew I might never see you all again, but I took that responsibility.”

“Did Dad know about all this?” Sean asks. Karen explains “I was honest with your father. We did family therapy, but it wasn’t about him. It was me.” He says “He was heartbroken for months after you left. Years.” She says “I was too. I was in love with your father. He was the best person I ever met.” He tells her “But just not enough for you…” She tells him “Something was missing from the equation, yeah. I was.” This is all things Sean never wanted to talk about. I never pushed.

I ask “Karen, if you don’t mind me asking…So what exactly are you doing in Nevada? You live around here?” She tells us “No, I’m way out in Arizona. I told you. Your friend Jacob wrote my P.O. Box and said Daniel was in trouble. That’s it.” Sean says “Arizona? Holy shit, it’s just lizards and rocks.” She says “Guess I found something there. New York didn’t really do me good, so…” I move my hand to his right wrist and slide it slightly to on top of his hand.

Karen explains “I didn’t have a choice, Sean. We only have one life, and I didn’t want mine to be spent in regrets. For years I’ve fooled myself, thinking I’d find satisfaction into what society expected me to be, and that was my mistake. I hope someday you can understand that…but I never stopped caring about you…For what it’s worth, I am sorry for hurting you and Daniel…and Esteban.” Sean says a little understanding “I know you are, Karen. That still doesn’t change the way I feel…” She says “Of course not…I know I can’t change the past, Sean.” He says “I don’t think you would…I need some air.” Sean pulls away and heads for the motel door. Karen and I look at each other. She heads outside to join him. I say to myself “I’ll give them a few minutes.”

I walk to the door and join them outside. I sit on the sidewalk to Sean’s left and face them. Sean asks “I mean, I get you wanted to leave and stuff…Okay. But why ghost us like that? Not even a fucking birthday card.” Karen says “I just…I thought if I vanished, you would all move on. But I wanted to contact you guys so many times. I almost did.” He continues “But you wanted a clean break…” She continues “I didn’t want to be a part-time pissed off mother. Not fair to any of you. I left when Daniel was still very young so he wouldn’t remember me.” Sean explains to her “Yeah, I wasn’t so lucky.” She says “Oh, Sean, I know. Do you want to tell me how you felt, then? Or now?”

I sit cross legged and move some rocks around on the ground. Sean explains “I felt guilty that we weren’t enough for you.” She says “No, no. You guys were the reason to stay. I left because of me.” He says “Whatever…You sound so careless. It’s like you can’t even realize how much pain you’ve caused.” She says “I do care, that’s why I’m here…To help you, and your brother…If I didn’t step up to help him now, I couldn’t live with myself.”

She takes out a cigarette, lights it and takes a drag. Sean asks “Hey, um…mind if I bum a smoke?” Karen says “Sure. Still got a few left.” She holds the cigarette pack out to him. He takes one and then she offers me one. I say “I’m okay but thank you.” Sean puts the cigarette in his mouth and Karen offers him her lighter. He declines and pulls out his own. Karen says “Wow…” I look at Sean to see what she’s referring to. She continues “Haven’t seen that lighter in ages…you dad loved that thing.” He tells her “I know. Only thing I have left of his…” I give him a small smile.

Karen tells us “Oh, man, Esteban hated when I smoked…He didn’t want me to die an early death…Fuck…life can be so cynical, sometimes…” He tells her “I remember he would smoke sometimes…long ago…” She explains “We didn’t fight much, but when we did…I would go out on the porch and light up so I could calm down…Esteban would come over and ask for a drag. Then we’d just look up at the sky and watch the stars…or the planes…I do miss that.” Sean tells her “I used to do the same with (Y/N) and our best friend, Lyla…Sitting on the porch, just letting time go…”

A memory just popped in my head, The three of us sat on the porch, Sean and Lyla sat in the two chairs. I sat on Sean’s lap as the two of them smoked. We just shot the shit, as Brody would say. When Lyla would go in the house to do something or to see Daniel, Sean and I would make out. Karen says “That’s when you know they are good to you. When you can just sit together…shut up and let the universe do its own thing.” She gives me a reassuring and approved smile. I give her a smile back. We sit there for a little while longer as they finish their cigarettes. Sean says “We should go back inside. I gotta change this dressing.” I say “Okay. Let’s go.”

We go back inside. I close the door as Karen says “Sean, I know I can’t change the past…or what I did…but this is about helping your brother. You gotta trust me.” As he sits on the bed after grabbing the bag of supplies, he says “I know…it’s still hard…” I add “We have to be a team to rescue Daniel.” Karen sits down next to him. I lean against the motel desk. She says as she places a hand on his leg, “We can do it.” Sean lifts her hand away and asks “Okay…how?” She tells us “We need to get in touch with this Jacob. He obviously knows a lot more than us about the church.” I say “Well…Sean called him when you were out…we can meet him tomorrow.” Karen says “Okay, good. I also got these,” as she pulls out walkie-talkies and adds “Just in case.” Sean says “Okay…better take care of the eye.”

Karen asks “So do you…need any help with that?” He says “Yes…thanks.” She asks “So…you feel like telling me the story here?” Karen carefully removes the bandage from his eye. He tells her “When we have time.” She says “Gotcha.” Karen gets his eye clean and then pulls out an eyepatch from the bag. She tells him “Here. Try this on.” Sean puts it on, ask “How do I look?” Karen says “Great.” I say “Badass.” He says, sheepishly “Thanks…” Karen tells us “Big day tomorrow, so we should get some rest.” I say “Yeah.” Sean says “I’m ready to get Daniel.”

The rest of the evening, we go over the plan to get Daniel back. When the sun started going down more and was getting dark, we got ready for bed. It was a little awkward but Karen didn’t have a problem with Sean and I sharing a bed. The three of us go to sleep until the next day.

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