#and I have a one shot written where he desperately tries to win a staff for Jade's mage kid via drinking contest and it just goes wrong | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ithebookhoarder · 4 years ago

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Chapter 11: A New Equilibrium. (The Gangster’s Daughter)

Masterlist:

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Warnings: Original Character(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Explicit Language, Gangsters, Period Typical Attitudes, Parent Tommy Shelby, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent.

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Life adopted an unusual but steady rhythm the following weeks after the mens return home both in and out of Watery Lane.

Business was booming again, with the Shelbys at the helm. Men, all eager to enjoy the spoils of life back home in the city, eagerly filled the shop day after day, money in hand and bets ready to be placed.

There was something celebratory about it all. About seeing the hope in mens eyes as they’d handed over their bets. About hoping their luck had changed, even in most cases it hadn’t. Still, every win was significant as the staff handed over the winnings with a happy grin and handshake.

The staff in the shop felt similarly. Many hadn’t seen one another since the start of the war, having been assigned to various regiments. For those men, to be reunited again was something they’d been dreaming of. There were cheers and hugs as they’d arrived their first day back, laying eyes on the lucky souls who’d returned.

Not everyone had been so lucky, as the vacant desks reminded them. Of course, there were plans to find people to replace their positions but it was obvious it would be no small feat. There may have been hundreds of men desperate for work, but none of them would be those brave souls who had perished in France, all in the name of king and country.

Still, everyone did their best not to dwell, as was the way of life in Birmingham.

The Shelbys, in particular, had had a lot to catch up on. Four years worth of stories and news was quite a lot, even with the letters they’d been writing back and forth.

For example, Evie told them all about her schooling, and the fact she’d managed to secure a prefect badge for the final year. She couldn’t help but beam as she saw the pride swell in her father’s face - even if John and Arthur laughed themselves sick at the thought.

“A Shelby prefect? Ha! Now I have heard it all.”

She paid them no mind, finding it a little funny herself. At least she gave them something to laugh about, considering the bleak stories they’d shared. Granted, they made a valiant effort to try to liven them up, with the odd joke or two but even that couldn’t mask the death and horror of war, written all over their faces. Finally, something the Shelby smile couldn’t hide.

It was the same look Evie saw in John’s eyes when she went with him to visit Martha’s grave. They’d chosen to bury her in the cemetery just outside of the city, knowing she would have liked the fresh air, and rolling green fields around them, full of flowers. Evie had been to visit many times during the war, using it as a chance to escape when the house and the people in it had become too much.

She’d often sit and speak to Martha, telling her about what John had written in his latest letter, or even bringing her newborn child to see her. Evie knew Martha would have liked that, to see for herself that they were alright. She also knew Martha was probably happy to see John here as well, to know he was back in the city and safe.

So, she pointed him to the grave and left him to talk privately, knowing he probably had a lot to say. Four years was a long time after all.

There were other small changes too, since John, Arthur and Tommy had returned. The fact people tipped their caps at Evie when they saw her in the street - police included - was enough to make her falter. She’d hadn’t noticed it these past years, or if she had it had never been repeated enough to spark her attention.

It was as if the whole city knew the Shelby men were back. As if, the whole city was watching. Waiting.

Waiting for what?

It was an odd feeling. One Evie was quick to bury. No matter what Polly may have said had she known, there was too much to be happy about to let something as trivial as a premonition ruin it.

What good was superstition anyway? It was all rubbish.

Wasn’t it?

——

Evie should have learned a long time ago not to dismiss the idea of the supernatural, or that her aunt had a scary habit of being right.

She should have listened to her aunt’s warnings of premonitions. Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t have been so startled when she awoke one night.

It had been weeks now, since her father and uncles had returned to Small Heath.

Evie bolted upright, panting as she tried to work out what had woken her. Normally, she was a deep sleeper. It took saucepans or someone jumping on her to wake her from a good night’s sleep. However, tonight, something had yanked her from unconsciousness.

Then she heard it again: the muffled screams from down the hall.

Evie felt her blood run cold. Never before had she heard a sound so full of pain and fear. It rattled her enough that she gasped, feeling a tremor run down her spine.

It wasn’t a ghost or some demon in the night. This wasn’t one of her books, after all. The sound was painstakingly real and loud, echoing through the wall behind her. Wait. That was her father’s wall? Did that mean-?

Evie was already out of bed.

She didn’t even think as she bolted for the door and towards her father’s room. Her trembling hand reached for the doorknob and threw it open, preparing herself to see some horrific scene or someone attacking him.

But that wasn’t what she saw.

Evie gasped at the sight.

“Dad?”

She assumed it was her father, but it was hard to tell in the darkness. All she could see was a pale figure thrashing about on the bed before her, illuminated by the thin strips of moonlight pouring in through the window.

Tangled up in his sheets, a thin sheen of sweat plastering his body, Tommy Shelby almost looked possessed. Sobs and half formed shouts escaped him as his limbs thrashed about, reaching for something Evie couldn’t see. Some invisible demon.

It terrified her.

What did she do? Her instinct was to rush to his side, to try and gently shake him awake.

“Dad?” she encouraged, trying and failing to release him from the mental torment he was trapped in. How had he done it, all those times before, when she’d been small and similarly afflicted?

Evie couldn’t remember. Her panic was too strong as it rang in her ears, muting out anything that wasn’t her father.

“Dad! Wake up! It’s ok,” she pleaded. “You’re home. You’re safe. Wake up.”

His eyes snapped open. A sudden cry escaped his lips, sending her staggering backwards in a panicked daze.

“Dad. Stop. It’s me,” Evie began.

However, her words clearly had no impact on him. He was a man in a trance, still gripped by whatever terror was still inside him as he flung out a hand onto the bedside cabinet and bolted upright.

His eyes whirled to her.

She then noticed what was in his hand… The gun was pointing directly at her.

She screamed.

It fired.

Her legs gave way as she dropped to the floor, covering her head as she felt herself go numb. The sound was deafening, the shot ringing in her ears as she stifled a sob of panic.

Plaster showered down on her head from the bullet hole above her.

The sound apparently woke her father from his terror induced haze as she heard the gun clatter to the ground. She felt it as he hurried to her side, cursing and trying to get a look at her trembling body. “Where are you hit?”

He repeated it again and again as he tried to get her to respond. It took a minute before Evie could even look at him, let alone move her tongue. “I’m fine… you didn’t hit me,” she stammered, pushing his hands off of her.

“Thank God,” he croaked, his tone suddenly sharp. “What the hell were you thinking?”

What had she been thinking? Better yet, what had he been thinking? Or feeling?

“You tried to shoot me?” Evie gasped. The moment finally seemed to reveal itself to her in painstaking detail. She didn’t know what to say. All she could do was repeat the statement over and over again. “You tried to shoot me. With a gun. A real gun.”

“I didn’t know it was you. I wouldn’t have fired if I’d known,” her father pleaded, his voice trembling as relief and remorse flooded through him. “Listen to me, Evie. Never come in here again if you hear me like that. Understood?”

Evie nodded dumbly. “But… I thought… I thought you were in trouble.”

By then, she heard footsteps and knew they were no longer alone. The gunshot would have been enough to wake the whole house. If any were brave enough to investigate it was different.

“Tommy?” That was Arthur’s voice, bellowing from the doorway. He looked almost comical in his pyjamas, gun in his hand, ready to fight. He would have been more menacing if his hair wasn’t poking up in all directions. “You alright?”

“Fine, Arthur. Go back to sleep.”

“I heard shots.” That was Ada, accompanied by a frantic looking Finn.

“It was a mistake. An accident, but it’s all good now, eh?”

Was it? Was it all good? Evie knew no one better at saving face than her father. She’d learned that a long time ago even if she had yet to perfect the art.

Somehow, he managed to settle everyone and send them back to the rooms in the time it took Evie to calm her breathing. She had only just regained control of her limbs when he re-appeared, slowly easing her up off of the cold floor.

This wasn’t right. She was supposed to be the one comforting him? Not the other way around.

Yet, despite shaking still and panting as if he’d been running a marathon, Tommy began to escort her over toward his bed.

“Evie. Look at me,” he soothed, brushing his hand through her hair and gripping her chin so that she couldn’t hide from him. “I’m… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened but it was like I was floating, looking down at my body. I didn’t even feel the gun in my hand. You know I’d never hurt you, eh? Never.”

“I know,” Evie whispered. A small nod was the best she could offer as proof.

“It won’t happen again, alright? You have to stay out if I have another nightmare like that. I… I can’t control myself or my actions.”

“But-”

“Promise me,” he begged.

She’d never heard him so scared before in her life. His grip was tight on her, but not painful as he held her, held until she gave her word.

It was clearly all she could do to calm him.

“Y-Yes,” Evie gulped. “I promise.”

Thankfully, she saw the relief her answer gave to him. It was as if a literal weight had rolled off of his shoulders.

Finally, he finally seemed calmer. Able to let go of her and resume something of normalcy. It was why he switched back to his paternal nature, reaching past her to light the the lamp beside them a moment later. He then leant back, pulling the covers aside so that they could both clamber into the bed.

Evie wanted to laugh. The last time they’d done this, she’d been much smaller.

“Are you sure?”

Tommy nodded. “Would I offer it otherwise? We could both use some sleep and maybe with each other to protect us we’ll have no more interruptions.”

Evie hoped so.

“Alright then,” she shrugged, nestling her way under the covers and curling up beside him. If only the others could have seen it. Tommy Shelby. Sleeping with his daughter curled in his arms. It was enough to make even the hardest of men melt. “Just don’t hog the covers.”

“It’s my bed, thank you very much miss. Should I read you a story?”

“Don’t push it,” Evie sniggered, even if a small part of her was tempted to say yes. She was curious which one he’d have chosen.

However, as it turned out, it would have been pointless even if she had asked him. She’d only been in bed a moment before her eyes drooped closed. Apparently, coming off of such an adrenaline high was exhausting.

So it was, Evie fell asleep that night, nestled in her father’s arms. Even asleep, her grip was deathly tight as she clung to him, as if trying to prove he was safe beside her.

She only hoped when she opened her eyes in the morning, it remained true.

This was one dream she didn’t want to wake from.

——

Tommy was gone when she woke.

The empty space in the bed beside her told Evie that fact immediately as soon as she’d opened her eyes. However, her heart stopped racing as she noticed that along with her father, his boots were also gone - the boots her father normally wore when heading down to the muddy stable yards. His cap and coat was also missing.

He must have risen early and decided to go for a ride. It was the usual Shelby tonic for most troubles, after all. No war could change that. If anything, he’d probably missed the horses and the chance to ride them for fun, not as part of a cavalry charge or supply chain.

Evie calmed down immediately.

If Tommy had ever needed a ride, it was probably that morning. Evie wouldn’t forget the look of horror she’d seen on his face the night before. The ghosts that appeared to be weighing on his soul as he’d pulled that trigger and sent them plummeting into chaos.

It would take a while for all of them to adjust. Evie was under no illusions of that and last night had made it all too clear.

She sighed. She peeled back the covers, padding over toward the window and pulling the curtains back to let in the sunlight.

Everything looked pale and starker in the sunlight than it had during the night. Then again, she’d never been in her father’s room enough to notice. It was his space. His sanctuary. One, she had always been eager to respect. He’d done the same. It was only right and fair.

Well, until last night.

It felt uncomfortable to be there without him. It had been one thing to intrude last night when she’d thought he needed her. But now… now she felt like she was somewhere she didn’t belong. Like she was about to be caught and scolded.

Her uneasiness only grew as she turned back towards the door; the bullet hole directly in her eye-line.

There was no way to avoid it.

The hole in the wall was obvious. It was hard to miss, with the ripped wallpaper and plaster powder marking it for all to see.

Evie couldn’t bear to look. Then again, at least it could be filled and mended, hidden away beneath plaster and paint. If only all such scars could be fixed as easily.

With a soft sigh, she hurried out of the room and back to her own to dress, ready to face the day as best as possible.

——

“Morning.”

“Morning, Pol,” Evie mumbled, skipping her way down into the kitchen. She wasn’t surprised to see her aunt there, pottering about as if she owned the place. She was there most mornings, choosing to come early before the shop opened. Then again, she only lived a few doors away. It wasn’t as if she had far to travel.

“Breakfast’s on the table if you want it.”

Evie smiled gratefully, perching in a chair and beginning to fill her plate with toast and jam. It was her go-to in the mornings, and after last night, she didn’t know if she could stomach a fry up.

By now, Evie knew someone would have filled Polly in on what had happened last night. Even then, Evie wouldn’t put it past the woman for her to have found out through some supernatural means. She had an uncanny habit of doing that, always knowing what Evie was going to say before she even said it.

This morning was no exception as Polly made her way towards the now cooling pot of tea on the side and began to pour herself a cup. “I heard it was an exciting night last night.”

Evie chose not to say anything. She didn’t know where to begin and honestly, she was too tired to start what was sure to be a long conversation. All she wanted was to get to school and pretend like the night had never happened.

“You could say that.”

“I could. I could also say that, from what Ada told me, it sounds like your father gave you quite the fright.”

“I don’t know if nearly being shot by your father counts as simply ‘quite a fright’,” Evie grumbled, aggressively biting the edge off of her toast. “I didn’t… It’s not his fault, I know. It was stupid of me to think he could go off to war and come back the same person but I did. Alright? I did and now I don’t know what to do, Pol.”

Her aunt sighed. She gently perched herself next to Evie as she listened to her confession. She then pushed forward a bowl of porridge as an offering and made sure Evie ate some before talking.

“You’re not stupid, Evelyn Shelby. You’re a lot of things and stupid isn’t one of them, alright?” she began calmly. “Secondly, I think you were being hopeful before, when you thought about your father coming home. You were just a child, Evie. What did you expect? There was nothing wrong with hope. God knows we needed as much of it as we could get with everything happening over in that Hell Hole. Your father did an admirable job hiding any details from you in his letters, but I’ve heard people talk. I know the horrors he must have seen.”

Horrors that now continued to plague him, or so Evie suspected. Why else did he sleep with a gun so close by?

“You both did what you needed to survive, Evie. Now that everything’s changed, the war’s over and we’re trying to pick up the pieces of our lives,” Polly continued firmly, making it clear she didn’t want to hear her niece berating herself again any time soon. “There is no right or wrong way to feel. There isn’t a guide book on how we’re supposed to behave and act. It’s down to us to listen to one another. To protect each other and support our family."

She made it sound so easy. Evie didn’t even know where to start with such a request. Wasn’t it her need to make sure her father was ok that had got her into that mess last night? How was she supposed to support a man who wouldn’t even tell her the first thing about what he’d been through or how he felt?

Then again, it wasn’t exactly as if she was going to win an award anytime soon for her emotional honesty. She’d inherited that much from him.

Evie sighed. She bit her lip as she tried to control the urge to cry. “Will we ever get back to how we used to be, before all this?”

“I could read your leaves but even then it isn’t a guaranteed thing,” Polly exhaled, letting loose a plume of smoke from her lips. “There are somethings even the spirits can’t help with or answer. This is one of those things… There’s a darkness in men, Evie. They each have their own demons to fight, just as we women do too.”

“Demons?”

Was that was she was calling the nightmares plaguing her father and uncles? It wasn’t fair. Hadn’t they all done enough fighting for a lifetime. They didn’t deserve to come home and have to continue fighting for their sanity as a result of a stupid war they hadn’t even started in the first place. To have their choices on the battle field haunting them. To have their sins linger…

“Does - does that mean,” Evie stammered, “being a soldier, he must have killed. They all must have. Dad almost did last night… Is he a good man?”

It was the first time she’d ever uttered those words aloud, the first time she’d been brave enough to truly want an answer. Even after all she’d seen since she’d entered Watery Lane.

“War changes men. I don’t think there is a set definition of ‘good’ but I know he loves you. He loves you so much he was willing to go off to war and be shot at for you,” Polly sighed, squeezing the girl’s shoulder comfortingly. “That’s all I care about and all you need to know right now. Your father needs to handle all of this, his own way. Give him time.”

“I gave him four years, Pol,” Evie sighed. “How much more time am I supposed to give?”

Nevertheless, she knew better than to argue any further, so merely looked back down at her porridge and ate silently. It was only as she went to place the dish in the sink that she finally saw the man in question.

Her father was always a composed man, no matter how rushed he was. This morning was no exception. Despite the fact he was already running late, and hadn’t even done up his waistcoat yet, Tommy Shelby strolled about with utter composure.

“Morning all,” he greeted, reaching for the teapot and a cup. His chipper tone was completely at odds with his exhausted appearance. The bags alone under his eyes alone made him look almost ill, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“It lives,” Pol remarked, even if living was a bit optimistic for the state he was in. “Some of us have been up for hours, you know. John and Arthur are outside waiting to open. It was payday yesterday and half the town are banging on the doors.”

“What are you keeping the good people waiting for then?”

Polly rolled her eyes, murmuring something under her breath about Shelby men and curses as she stubbed out her cigarette and marched out of the room. It was time to unleash the masses and like a tidal wave, they would come, money in hand, bets ready to be placed.

Hence why Evie was more than eager to make her escape. The last thing she needed was to be trampled to death in a stampede of factory workers and drunkards. So she hastily grabbed her bag and coat off the hook by the door, slipping both on as she made her way past her father and toward the rear exit.

“See you later,” she gasped.

However, she hadn’t even made it to the door before she heard her name called. She paused, looking back over her shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I want you home straight after school tonight,” Tommy began, his tone oddly calm. “Alright?”

Evie paused. “But I was going to go by the yard-”

“Well, change of plans,” Tommy interrupted, smiling as he tried to soothe the sting in his words. “Look, these streets have changed since the men came back. I don’t feel comfortable with you wandering out there on your own.”

“But I wouldn’t be alone, I’d be with Uncle Charley-”

“It’s not up for debate, Evie.” His tone was starting to grate on her nerves, as was his distance. It was like when she’d first joined them all over again, barely seeing him except when he needed something or wanted to check she was still breathing. “I mean it,” he repeated, watching her for her acceptance. “For the time being I want you to come home straight after school. If you want to go by the yard then one of us can take you, but I don’t want you out there alone.”

Maybe it was last night that had rattled him. Evie couldn’t be sure, but if coming home meant he would relax for even a moment then it was the least she could do. “Fine,” she conceded, rolling her eyes and stealing a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” he echoed, a smile cracking his otherwise cool expression. “Now go and show them other kids what Shelby brains are capable of, ey?"

“On it.”

——-

Ever since that night she’d avoided his room or even discussing anything related to their nighttime conflict. Of course, she still heard the odd moan, thud or cry. Only the odd night or so passed without a sound coming from her father’s room, but Evie wasn’t blind. She knew nothing had improved, even if he had found a temporary relief.

Evie, however, had found no such relief.

She was starting to go stir crazy in this house. It was now so loud, so crowded. Even though she wouldn’t have changed having them home for the world, she could have done without the noise and interruptions her father and uncles brought with them. Especially when she had work of her own to do that didn’t involve horses, betting or being a Blinder.

She’d resorted to studying at Polly’s sometimes after school. She’d also resorted to utilising the Garrison during the quieter periods, when she knew almost no patrons would be inside. Harry never minded, in fact he was rather supportive, letting her and Lara (when her brothers drove her mad) utilise the private room for her study sessions.

At least they both understood the struggle of a busy, testosterone fuelled house. They also understood the necessity of having female allies to get through it all.

Like now, Evie had strategically placed herself in the parlour where Polly just happened to be sprawled out by the fire, a book in one hand, a cigarette in the other. She felt somewhat bad, utilising Polly as a human shield like this, but considering it was that or failing her maths test, Evie would take her chances.

“All done, Pol!”

Her aunt was quick to appear over her shoulder, glancing over at the girl’s work for herself. It was only after she’d given her nod of approval that Evie closed the book and put it back in her satchel by the door.

“Lord only knows where you get yer brains from because it certainly isn’t your father.”

“What can I say?” Evie grinned, trying not to let the praise make her too giddy. It wasn’t often anyone ever received it in this house, let alone from someone so important - or at least in Evie’s eyes. Her Aunt was one of the people she most admired in the world, and one day she’d have the confidence to say it to her face. “I’m a natural. Must be the Shelby luck.”

“It’s something alright,” Polly smirked, lighting the cigarette she’d had perched between her lips. “At this rate you’ll sail right out of Birmingham and to the stars one day. There’ll be no stopping a smart woman like you, not in today’s world.”

Evie secretly hoped she was right, even if she felt guilty at the thought of sailing beyond the smoky horizons of Birmingham one day. “If we can now have a woman in Parliament then who knows what’s waiting for me out there?”

“Amen to that - but don’t let the others hear you saying it.” Polly smirked again before shaking her head as her name was bellowed from somewhere else in the house. “Now go on. Get out of here, I don’t need anymore Shelbys under my feet.”

Evie didn’t need to be told twice.

She was quick to gather her things and run them back upstairs, to her room. As usual, she placed them back by her bed, spreading the rest on her makeshift desk by the window. She loved that spot. It always managed to catch any sunshine the city offered, as well as offering a decent view of the houses nearby.

It was a great spot to think in. To write. To dream of a world beyond the smoky streets of Birmingham such as the one Polly had just described. As she argued, there was nothing wrong with her dreams and she knew it. It was more the guilt at thinking of needing anything other than what Evie had here that kept her quiet.

She knew her family would never see her desire for more as anything other than insulting. Or nonsense. So, she was content to keep such dreams to herself, mere scribbles in a journal. Mere stories she wrote by candlelight and stored in her desk, under lock and key.

Maybe one day she’d do more with them. Publishing them had always been a possibility, as had living them to the best of her abilities.

Why couldn’t she have daring adventures?

She was a women. Yes. She was young. Yes. But why should that stop her from doing anything?

Evie chuckled at the thought, hurrying back out onto the landing. She couldn’t see her family sharing her opinions, other than maybe Polly and Ada. She knew giving them her copy of Mary Wollenstonecraft had been a dangerous idea.

Speaking of dangerous, Evie couldn’t help but pause as she reached her father’s doorway, staring inside. She hadn’t dared step over the threshold since the other night and the ordeal she’d experienced inside. It wasn’t one either of them had been willing to repeat. Even now, she knew she should have turned away and kept walking.

However, curiosity had always been a weakness of hers.

Her eyes flickered toward the nightstand.

It was as if a siren’s call echoed from it, coaxing her in, coaxing her closer.

Before she knew it, she had strolled over, opening the drawer and staring inside. Just as she’d suspected, her father had left the gun tucked away, wrapped in a cloth and out of sight. He would never agree to throw it out entirely but at least they’d found a compromise. The bullets loose in the drawer were all the proof she needed that the previous threat had been eliminated. If he now woke up and tried to fire, the worst he’d be capable of was giving someone a fright.

The wall, and the family’s sanity, were most grateful not to be at risk anymore. Despite that realisation though, Evie felt a sudden urge ran through her to hold the gun.

She knew better than to touch it, even if a part longed to. To examine the item that had almost ended her life. To know what it felt like to hold one, to know what damage she could inflict upon an other if she so chose.

She shook her head.

She’d stayed long enough as it was.

Yet, as she went to close the draw, something caught her attention. Something she hadn’t expected to see.

A pipe?

Since when had her father moved from cigarettes to a pipe?

Evie paused, checking the coast was clear before she picked up said pipe and held it up to the light. Almost immediately her face dropped. She didn’t have to be an idiot to know what was inside wasn’t tobacco. In fact, it was a smell she knew uncomfortably well from the streets of her old home in London.

Opium.

It had almost been a pandemic in London. She’d heard enough talk of dens that had opened and of the roaring trade being run through the docks of the stuff. Her neighbours had always been ones for gossip and there had been more than enough of it to go around regarding the filthy stuff that appeared to be flooding the streets.

She’d heard what it did to those consumed by its enticing grip. She heard of their decay, physically and mentally - if they escaped being caught taking it and sentenced to prison.

She’d even witnessed it first hand. The amount of times she’d seen addicts, penniless and lining the streets as they begged for money to fund their habit, was heart breaking. But such was London. It was a place for both the elite and the tormented souls that comprised the lowest rungs of society.

Evie’s blood ran cold to think of such a substance in her house. To think of someone she loved taking it.

Anger flooded through her, followed by disappointment.

She didn’t know what to say or think. Instead, she chose the safest option for now, which was putting the pipe back inside the drawer and closing it shut. Out of sight, out of mind, or so she told herself, hurrying out of the room.

Confused was an understatement for how she felt right then. Did she say anything, even though that would prove she’d gone into his room?

Did she not mention what she’d seen and simply hope her father would confide in her?

Or, maybe he’d simply stop taking it?

It was official. Being a Shelby was too complicated. When had this become their life? Where had the care free, simpler version of their family gone? The family who had spent summers cloud watching, and made each other laugh so hard they peed. They were never perfect, but no family was.

But nightmares and opium? It was a world away from what Evie was used to.

She didn’t care what Polly had said. Giving it time wasn’t something she believed she could do. Not when it made her heart race and her palms sweat. First, she had been shot at and now her father was an opium addict…

She had to get out of the house - preferably before she lost her sanity.

——

She wasn’t the first Shelby to escape the house by covert means.

Evie had discovered that fact for herself some time ago, after catching her Aunt Ada doing just that one night.

Ada had often been off by herself, enjoying the higher sides of life in the city - or so she said after being caught by Evie one night, shimmying in the bathroom window. Apparently her window had jammed shut, leaving her caught off guard.

Of course, Evie hadn’t said anything to anyone, finding the whole thing rather hilarious as Ada tried to gracefully sneak in, her fancy dress and mud stained heels doing their best to give her away.

In exchange for mutual silence, they’d agreed a plan. From then on, Ada had been all too willing, assisting Evie in selecting something appropriate to wear. She’d also been the one to give her the first pair of proper heels she’d worn too.

“Here,” she’d smiled, offering a slightly worn navy pair of t-strap shoes. “They’re your size but I haven’t worn them in ages. They deserve to see some fun again.”

And, boy - had they seen some fun since then. It was that same fun Evie longed for then, staring out the window and sighing. Another night of house arrest was akin to torture, especially if there wouldn’t be anyone home with her anyway. Polly would be at her home, Arthur and the men would be down the Garrison, and she suspected Ada was going to be out herself. That only left her, and her father, if he didn’t have some last minute business to attend to. That, or if John and Arthur tag teamed him.

It was Saturday night. Was it truly so bad for her just to want to have some normality in her life, some excitement? Most people she knew would be out on the town… and now, so would she.

Her plan made, it had almost been too simple to get away with it. After all, Lara had been begging her for a night out on the town for weeks now. She’d called her friends when it had been quiet, and agreed the details as per their usual routine.

All she had to do now was sit back and wait - a task she didn’t realise would be quite so challenging. Not when every moment that passed made her all the more tense and itch with a need to escape the house and the chaos within it.

For example, the meeting that had been happening across the house was making Evie’s mood steadily worse. Even sat with Finn by the fire in the parlour, it was hard to miss a word being said.

They had been discussing business for the last hour, debating races coming up, issues with the office and staff, as well as a few skirmishes here and there. Apparently the Shelbys weren’t the only ones interested in expanding their business and takings now that the war was over.

“We’ll need their support if we want to keep that side of the territory,” her father explained, watching a very irate John and Arthur rile themselves up at the prospect of a fight. “We need to offer an alliance to the mill workers. They know what’s going on in that part of the city, as well as the fact they sit dangerously close to the Lees.”

“We can’t let those bastards snatch their support,” Arthur roared. “We need man power. Tom’s right. We need to send over an offer of peace.”

“I can do it.”

“You, Tom?” Arthur blinked. “It’s dangerous territory over by the Mill. Let one of the other lads deliver the message. It ain’t worth the trouble.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem, eh?”

“Tom-”

Tommy shook his head, chuckling as he patted his older brother’s shoulder. “Come on, Arthur. I can take care of myself. Besides, there’s three Shelby brothers. Mum had her heir and John can be the spare if anything happens to me. What’s one less Shelby?"

The laughter from the group was instantaneous. Except for Evie. In fact, she could feel her blood boil as she turned and stormed from the doorway. Any guilt that had been lingering in her gut about her nocturnal plan had evaporated at the comment.

How dare he? How dare he prance about like some king of the castle? He’d swanned off for four years, leaving everyone and everything behind as if they had been a pair of old socks.

He could risk his life in the trenches?

He could disrespect the miracle of his survival, something so many had been deprived, by risking his life again now?

He could take opium whilst ordering her about? Lecturing her about self preservation?

The hypocrisy was nauseating.

Evie swallowed, her fists clenching as she ignored the urge to say something stupid and start a fight she knew she would never win. There was stubbornness and then there was Shelby stubbornness. Instead, she stormed down the hallway, heading towards the parlour.

It was official. If Tommy Shelby could do whatever the hell he wanted, then so could she.

#ithebookhoarder #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby #john shelby #arthur shelby #thegangster'sdaughter

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all1e23 · 5 years ago

Text

Code Date Night [One-Shot]

Summary: Sparks ruin date night.

Warnings: A little bit of angst. Lots of fluff. Sweet, protective Bucky.

A/N: A new Astrophile drabble! YAY! As a warning, Bucky is injured on the job in case that’s a trigger for anyone. No death. There is a bit of angst, but it’s still Astrophile fluff. It takes place roughly 5/6 years after the epilogue. Write me a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me if you like it. If you have not read the series Astrophile, THERE WLL BE MAJOR SPOILERS.

Catch up on the series here!

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!*

Bucky leans forward in the back of the truck, adjusting his boots. His feet are killing him, and he just wants to be off this damn job. The love he has for his career and his brother runs deep, but he’s so ready to get home and see his wife. That is something he never thought he would say. He’s always loved work more than most things in his life, but here he is desperate to get back to the station so he can see his girl. He settles in next to Steve and continues to hum the same tune he has been humming for the last several turns. He pulls his hair into a tight bun at the base of his neck and continues humming. In just under eight hours, his shift will be over, and he will be holding his sweet Beck.

The tune repeats once more from the start, and the moment it finishes, Bucky glances at the men around him.

“Okay, what’s it from?”

Steve leans his head back against his seat and fires off a guess without any real pause to consider the melody. “Flintstones?”

Clint tears his eyes from the road for a split second and sets Sam with a flat look. “Flinstones? What the hell? Sam, you need to sit down and teach your husband a thing or two.”

Sam chuckles and sends a Steve wink who promptly blushes at the gesture.

“It’s Happy Days.” Sam glances at Bucky for conformation. “Right? Happy Days?”

Bucky chuckles and leans forward to give him a high five. Same dumb game every shift. They have to do something to pass the time when things are less than exciting, and it never fails to end the same way. Steve never guesses right, Clint makes fun of him, and Sam wins.

“Yeah, it’s been stuck in my head since yesterday morning. It’s on all night on that rerun channel, and the twins have decided four in the morning’ means it’s time to get up.”

“Let’s be real. You get up that early, or is Y/n getting up?” Sam asks with a snort, disbelief, and humor filling his words.

“Screw off. I’m gettin’ up. I get up every time my babies cry, punk. What about you? You get up with Stevie over here?”

Steve rolls his eyes. This happens every shift. Every damn day. “Of course, Sam wakes up when I do, Buck.”

“Damn right, but we are kind of passed that stage, dumbass.” Bucky lurches forward and knocks his helmet off his head. Sam whips his gloves into the backseat catching Bucky on the side of his head. Bucky jumps ahead, but Steve grabs him by the back of the jacket and jerks him back into his seat.

“Hey, guys…” Clint shouts over their scuffle. “As fun as this round was, we got a real problem coming up on the right.”

Steve leans forward to see a thick cloud of black smoke rolling out of the windows of a small four-story apartment building. The bronzed painted wood paneling on the outside of the broken windows is quickly turning black from the flames burning through the wood framing. Steve sits back and gives Sam an order before slipping his helmet on.

“Call it in. I’ve got a feeling this one is going to be ugly.”

By the time the truck came to a stop, the windows on the fourth floor had shattered. Bucky and Sam rushed in to pull out as many people as they could. The bottom two floors were cleared, the tenants could feel the heat before it ever reached them. Even with his gear, Bucky could feel it. Sam took the third floor, and Bucky ventured up to the fourth, pulling out a woman in her late forties who was trapped in her bedroom thanks to a fallen beam.

Steve waited for their all-clear before he breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone was out, and they could focus on putting the fire out, not carrying out bodies.

Steve made eye contact with Sam and shouted over the noise surrounding them, “Get that redline in here! We can get it under control before it spreads any further.”

The woman Bucky had pulled out of the flame is sitting on a stretcher, fighting against the EMTs and clawing to get to Bucky. She kept shouting about going back in, and Bucky tried five or six times to tell her there was no way anyone could go back in now until they got the flames under control.

“I don’t know what you’re saying with that mask on! My kitty is in there!"

Bucky yanks his breath mask off in frustration and tosses to Clint standing nearby. He is not in the mood. He’s already running late for date night, and all he wants to do is get a shower, eat some damn pasta, and make love to his wife on the one night his kids spend at Aunt Natasha’s.

Now he’s got to deal with a fire that the Gods had to dump in their laps.

As much as he would love to save this woman’s cat. They can’t go back in. All they can do now is put out the remaining flames and go in once it was safe.

"Ma'am, I understand but–"

"Mom?!"

The unit looks up and sees a little girl about nine standing on the fire escape, and the woman’s voice catches Bucky’s ear. "I told you! My kitty! She was hiding in one of the cupboards!"

"Shit.” Steve steps back from the truck. “Get the ladder!“

There isn’t enough time. Bucky shakes his head and makes a run for the fire escape on the side of the building. He Jerks the rickety metal ladder down and starts to climb up to meet the little girl. She is frozen from fear, and he wouldn’t leave her up there all alone and scared like that. He can hear Steve ordering him to back off, but he can’t. What if it was Orion? Or his sweet little Cassie trapped up there? He can’t just stand on the ground and watch.

"Buck! Watch out for the–"

——–

“He climbed up the fire escape to help the nine-year-old girl down before the building collapsed. The heat had cracked the window she climbed out of, so he covered her with his jacket before moving her to a safer floor. Flashover shattered the window, and that’s when he got the burn to his left shoulder and upper arm. There was a lot of smoke covering them for a good minute. Not sure how much he took in.”

“Okay,” the emergency room doctor sighs and glances up at Steve. “We’ve got it from here. We can notify his family if you don’t–”

“No.” Steve’s voice cuts through the room, and he attempts to soften it. “I’ll call. We are family– I’ll handle it. He’s in my company.”

The doctor nods. He understands. He deals with injured emergency servicemen and women more than he would like, so he understands Steve wants to be the one to make the call. They are a family in the way none of the hospital staff could understand. He leaves Steve to make the call and makes his way back to where Bucky is fighting against the heavy sedation they pumped into him. Steve doesn’t waste another second and heads for the elevator, but Sam catches his wrist before he can get far and pulls him back just a step or two.

"Where are you going?” His voice is soft and warm. He’s speaking as a husband, not a member of Steve’s company.

Steve gives his partner’s hand a squeeze and pulls his arm free of the shorter man’s grip. “It’s Tuesday. That’s their date night. I’m not going to call her in the middle of the restaurant and tell her what happened. It’s not far from here. I’ll tell her in person.”

Sam doesn’t try to argue with him; just simply nods. Once Steve’s made up his mind about something, there is no changing it. He watches Steve go and then turns his attention back to Bucky, watching through the glass wall that separated them.

"BP is good. His vitals are stable despite the injuries and smoke inhalation.”

The words coming from the blond nurse on Bucky’s right sound far away and almost muffled. As if his head was underwater, or the way Leo sounds from under his Spider-Man mask. For some reason, Bucky can’t work out, she continues trying to talk to him despite his drowning. The white lights flashing over his eyes make him wince, and his eyes focus on the room around him. He quickly recognizes where he is. He’s in the hospital, and that means… No, this isn’t good. Bucky has to get up and get out of this bed right now.

He has somewhere to be and someone he can’t let down. He can’t let her down like this.

Bucky groans and tugs at the tubes in his nose as he struggles to sit up. His left arm burns, but he ignores it. There is a pinch every time he tries to move his shoulder to pull out the IV. It doesn’t matter. He has somewhere to be. A gentle hand lands on his chest, “Lieutenant Barnes. You have to sit back for me and keep that in your nose. We need you breathing clean air.”

With the weight of the hand and whatever medication they gave him, he is too weak to push back against their gentle urging. Bucky falls back against the bed, but he continues to try to pull the sheets off his leg to climb out of the cold hard bed – nothing like his bed at home, it’s warm and soft and filled with the people he loves most. He wants his bed, not this sad excuse for one.

“You don’t understand. I got a date– My wife–”

“We can call your wife and let her know. I’m sure she will understand. You can go on your date another night.” The kind-looking nurse on his life cuts in.

Bucky shakes his head rather quickly, making his head spin and tugs at the plastic tube in his nose again. He can feel his chest tightening at the thought of Y/n, his Beck, sitting alone waiting for him to show up. He needs to make sure she is okay.

“No, you don’t understand. My wife wrote it on the calendar. We have a calendar in our kitchen and, and she wrote it down for tonight. She– she wrote in pen, okay? I can’t not show up. I can’t.”

“Mr. Barnes–”

“I promised my wife I wouldn’t–” He takes a deep breath and repeats, forcing his panic down. “She wrote it in pen.”

——–

Y/n glances at her watch once more and drums her fingers along the stem of her wine glass. She’s not nervous. Bucky is only forty-five minutes late. The large glass door at the front of the dark restaurant swings open, she sits up straighter, and a small smile starts to curl up the corners of her mouth until she realizes it’s no one she knows. It’s certainly not the man she’s eagerly waiting on. She huffs out a breath and slouches back down in her seat, grabbing her phone to check for any missed texts – not that there will be, that phone hasn’t left her hand all night.

She takes a picture of her nearly empty glass of pinot noir and sends it to Bucky with a small warning following the image, I’m on my second glass. If you don’t get here soon, I might have to find someone else to take me home. They both know she would never, but they tease each other and the foundation they’ve built all of this isn’t shaken by something that silly. It’s one of the things she loves most about their relationship. She’s never had that before, but she likes it, and she likes that it’s with Bucky.

No reply. No phone call, and it doesn’t look like he has seen the picture she sent. Her thumb hovers over Steve’s number, but she quickly talks herself out of it. This is getting silly. She doesn’t need to be that wife, the one that calls the second her husband is late and makes a fool of herself. Bucky said he would be there, and he will. He would never let her down, it’s not in him – his heart would never let him do anything to hurt her.

Everything is fine. He’s just late. She isn’t worried in the least. It’s perfectly normal for him to be a little late every now and then. Only three weeks ago, he had picked up an extra shift out of nowhere, making up for someone on day shift that needed to trade out. It’s part of the job, and she knows that. It’s not like Bucky is an accountant, working a simple nine to five and home at the same time every night without question. She knew that going in and saw it several times with Nat and Orion before she even met Bucky.

There is nothing to be concerned about. He’s merely running late and will be there soon. He promised, and he always keeps his promises.

She is not worried.

A tingle runs down her spine, giving her goosebumps and causing her to look up only to find Steve strolling towards her. The sight of the blond makes her breathe a sigh of relief. If Steve is here picking up dinner, everything is fine, and Bucky will be there in no time.

“Steve, what are you doing here?” Y/n asks, forcing a relaxed smile despite the way her heart is pounding in her chest. “Picking up dinner?”

“No, Y/n. I’m not here for dinner.” Steve holds out his hand for hers and nods towards the exit, gesturing for her to get up and follow him. “I called Nat, and she said she would sleep at your place tonight with the kids and take them to school the next few days.”

“W-what?”

Her heart sinks into her stomach, and her fingers instantly start to tremble. There’s a buzzing in her ears that won’t go away with a few shakes of her head like she hoped they would. Steve’s gaze doesn’t leave her, but he’s not giving anything away; his face is utterly blank. Whatever he needs to tell her he doesn’t want to do it here, in front of a restaurant full of people and that makes her stomach churn even more. She hesitantly reaches up to take the hand that Steve is holding out for her.

“Why does Nat– Steve, please… Where is Bucky?“

The panic seeping out from her chest is starting to slip into her voice. She can’t help it. Steve came to get her, her husband is for all intents and purposes missing, and he never ignores her calls like this. Something is wrong. Steve squeezes his fingers around hers and pulls her up. His arm tightens around her waist to keep her on her feet.

Just in case.

"Steve… Where is he?”

The crack in Steve’s demeanor tells her everything she needs to know before he gets a word out. Bucky’s hurt. He’s not making it to date night. Calendar and pen could do nothing to change that.

“He’s at the Brooklyn Methodist. He’s going to be okay, but we need to get you there.”

——–

“Mr. Barnes. For the love of–”

A deep sigh leaves the young nurse attending Bucky’s bedside, and it sounds as if she wants to throw her scrubs in the bin and never come back. It’s late nearing the end of her shift, and Bucky isn’t exactly the easiest of patients at the moment. “I know you’re upset. We’ve called home for you four times. The quicker we get you patched up, the quicker you can get out of here and back to her.”

“I have to see my wife now. Not in’a couple of days. She, She can’t go through that again. I know this sounds crazy, and I am sorry I am being a pain in the ass, but she wrote it friggin’ pen! Just give me the paper to sign that says I’m refusing care–”

“I don’t think so, Lieutenant Barnes.” Bucky’s head snaps up at the sound of her voice, and his whole body relaxes at the sight of Y/n standing in the doorway, she’s not smiling, probably because of what she just heard, but she’s wearing that little red number he loves so much. It’s the one that falls off her shoulders and hugs every inch of her body, and it’s really got him regretting missing date night.

“You’re not going anywhere, and you’re going to let them do whatever they need to.”

Bucky glances up to see the nurse smirking at how quickly he settles back against the pillow because his wife told him to. That might bother him if Y/n wasn’t walking around the slightly uncomfortable hospital bed and taking his right hand in hers. She regards his left arm, carefully. There’s no hint of what she feels, which is unusual for her. Bucky can nearly always tell what she’s thinking because she wears every emotion right there in those pretty eyes. If you just look close enough you can see everything that’s written on her heart.

The white bandage, littered with splotches of yellow and light red, is wrapped around his bicep and extendeds up his shoulder spreading towards his chest, and her eyes trace every inch of it. The stretch of the injury explains the lack of a shirt on her husband. Whatever happened though left the tattoo on his arm untouched and she breathes a sigh of relief, not only would that hurt Bucky, it would break Ori’s heart to see it gone from her father’s arm. Y/n’s hand finds its way into his hair, and she gives a gentle tug until his head falls against her chest.

“Beck,” Bucky whispers, whimpers, really, but no one is going to call attention to it. The way he’s clinging to her is for a husband and wife only, and those left in the room take the hint. Y/n runs her fingers through his hair, and he takes a deep breath before whispering against her skin, “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t– I tried to get there.”

Y/n’s hands freeze in his hair while he babbles on about missing ‘it’ and apologizing for hurting her. She can’t work out why he is apologizing until she hears him say, I know I promised and you wrote in pen and ‘m sorry I made you worry. Bucky, her sweet December, is lying in bed with what could very well be third-degree burns on his arm, and he’s concerned about pens, past hurts, and the promise he made to never leave a similar scar on her heart.

All he cares about is the damage done to her.

“It’s alright,” She assures him with a simple kiss to the top of his head, his temple, and his cheek, right over the stray tear that slipped out before he could force it back. "We can do it another night. There are plenty of empty spaces on the calendar.”

"But–"

"I’ll draw an arrow to a new night. In pen.” She sinks down next to him on the stiff bed and leans her forehead against his. “I don’t care what night we do date night as long as you’re the one I’m meeting.”

“You better not be meetin’ anyone else,” Bucky whispers in her ear. There is a hint of playful teasing in his voice, and it makes her grin. He is attempting to quell her unvoiced fears and give her back some of her equilibrium in the wake of what could have been their end, and she loves him for it.

“I hear you had two glasses of wine tonight and were lookin’ for someone to take you home tonight? Whaddya say you come home with me darlin’?”

“Mmm.” She considers the offer with a soft giggle and pecks his lip softly.

“That can be arranged, handsome. Let the doctors give you a once over and make sure you’re okay, then I’ll let you take me home, December.”

“Whatever you want, Beck.”

——–

Four days it’s been since Bucky was admitted to the hospital. Four days since he’s been allowed to sleep in his own bed or be able to really hold his wife. It has been four tortuously long days since he’s seen his kids and Bucky won’t make it another day without seeing their sweet faces.

Y/n wanted to bring them in, but the first few days he was in a lot of pain, and he didn’t want them to see him like that. It’s not something his kid should ever have to see. Ori was old enough to understand it was a burn and that he got injured on the job but that she meant she understood. Bucky is worried if she knows all the details, she will panic every time he leaves for work, and she may be that much closer to being a full-blown teenager, but she’s still his baby, and she should get to be a kid, worry-free for as long as she can.

As for the twins, they wouldn’t fully understand, but he didn’t want them to be scared of him. He was hooked up to a lot of machines, and he didn’t want them to have nightmares. It was better to wait.

Thankfully, today was the day. Bucky gets to go home, and Uncle Steve dropped all three troublemakers off about twenty minutes ago. Cassie and Leo ran straight for his bed and climbed up on his lap to smother him in hugs and kisses, which he happily accepted and returned. Orion, though, she hung back with Y/n at the foot of the bed, holding her mother’s hand and avoiding Bucky’s gaze.

He really hates it, not because she’s choosing her mom over him or something as petty and trivial as that. Orion chooses Y/n over him more often than not, and he’s okay with it, loves it in fact, but she’s avoiding him because she’s scared and upset, and he hates that he’s the cause of ache in his daughter.

Once they get home, they will have to talk, just him and his comet, but for now, he keeps it light for the twins.

“What have you two been doin’ without me? Drivin’ your uncles and sister crazy?” Asked Bucky, forced humor therein his voice that only Y/n catches.

Cassie doesn’t say anything. She curls into Bucky’s right side, under his arm, and hides her face in his shirt. She was scared, still is. She’s been terrified since Uncle Steve picked her up from Aunt Nattie’s and said daddy was sick at the hospital, so she would have to stay at their house till he got better. She cried the last three nights in a row and slept in her uncle’s bed, snuggled between them.

Leo isn’t oblivious to what’s going on around him. He is just as upset, but he doesn’t show his feelings as quickly as Cassie does. He tries to be strong for his mama and sisters – just like his daddy does! So, he sits on Bucky’s lap and nods, “I slept with sissy and Oviver at Uncle Stevie’s house."

"There’s an ‘L’ in Oliver, buddy. You slept with sissy, you said?” Bucky questions, and his eyes shift to Orion, who is trying her hardest not to cry and scare the twins any more than they already are.

“You’ve got a pretty awesome big sister, huh?”

Leo nods and beams at Orion, who gives him a small smile back.

Bucky raises his left arm, ignores the burning on his chest, and ushers her over with a wave of his hand. Orion didn’t have to be told twice. She dashes over and snuggles into his left side, careful of the bandage on his chest and arm. It isn’t anything too serious. Second-degree burns that may not even leave a scar, and he gets to be home with the kids for two or three weeks until it heals fully. Bucky is thankful it’s nothing compared to what it could have been because he could have been so much worse.

Still, he knows it looks pretty scary to his kids.

“Okay, you three know I’m alright, don’t ya?” Bucky places a kiss on Ori’s forehead and the top of Cassie’s head. He motions for Leo to lean in and when the four-year-old does Bucky’s lips land right in the middle of his forehead, making him giggle.

There is a muffled yeah from his girls, and Leo nods hesitantly. Bucky sighs and catches Y/n’s eye, silently begging for help. She’s better at this, better at the whole words thing. As much as he tries, Bucky isn’t as good as Beck – regardless of what she thinks. Cassie looks up at Bucky and tugs his shirt, grabbing his attention.

“Daddy?” The small voice coming from his side makes him drop Y/n’s gaze, and he finds Cassie staring up at him wide-eyed and curious.

“Yeah, stardust?”

“Your arm hurts?”

Bucky shakes his head and gives his shoulder a couple of shrugs to prove his point. There is a little bit of pain if he keeps it in motion, but Cassie didn’t need those details. She just needs to know her daddy is okay and all good for their nightly cuddle sessions.

“A little bit, baby. It’s just a little burn, but as long as I keep it clean and wrapped up, it will be alright. I promise I’m okay. Just need rest and cuddles from my babies, and I’ll be right as rain.”

She nods seemingly approving of the answer and then pipes up again, “Can we all cuddles in bed tonight?"

Leo appears to like the idea because he scoots further up Bucky and lays his head on Bucky’s stomach. Ori glances between her parents, waiting for what she clearly hopes is a yes. Bucky catches Y/n’s eye and grins. She grins right back and shrugs just light enough for Bucky to spot but not the kids.

“Of course.” Y/n says with a smile and a wink for Ori. “I always want you three snuggled up with us. We might need to invest in a bigger bed, though, with our two little bed hogs.”

Bucky chuckles and tightens his arms around his kids. “Nah, we will be fine, Beck. Just gotta cuddle real close, and everything will be just fine.”

#Bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #fireman!Bucky #Firefighter AU #daddy!bucky #no longer single dad AU #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #astrophile files

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captain-danwilds · 4 years ago

Text

I’ve been waiting for so long (to feel like I’m home)

A RBB 2021 Fic AO3 Accompanying Art by @mareofthesky

Summary: Palmetto Public Hospital was just supposed to be another meaningless stop in Neil Josten's life. He doesn't have a reason to keep running to a new hospital every few months, but that doesn't mean he's learned how to stay. And there's something about the rest of the staff on the burn ward that makes him want to try, especially the physical therapist.

This fic was written for the 2021 AFTG Reverse Big Bang. Thank you @gluupor for organizing! I had the joy of being paired with @mareofthesky. She’s absolutely incredible, both as an artist and as a human being. I seriously couldn’t ask for someone better.

This work takes place in a hospital in pre-COVID times. I am not a nurse, doctor or physical therapist, let alone a burn survivor. I do not know everything they go through. I’ve tried to be as accurate as possible, but recognize that I’m going to be wrong about some things. There’s only so far research can take you.

While I don’t think this work is more graphic than canon, it does deal with some distressing stuff, namely: burns, blood, hospitals, child abuse, violence, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, torture, mutilation of corpses (referenced) and Baltimore references.

Nathaniel Wesninski was thirteen when his mother almost died.

In another universe, this would have been the thing that killed her. She would have gotten her hands-on fake passports and they would have traveled across Europe until he was fourteen and Stefan got shot in Germany. But they would have still ended up in Seattle, her blood spilling on the leather seat as her son drove down the coastline.

In this world, their plans to head to Europe fell through quickly. There hadn't been a couple million dollars to pave the way, just two desperate souls fleeing in the night because Nathaniel couldn't live up to the standards his father set for him.

Nathan Wesninski was the head of his own empire, eager for his son to take over. There was no Yakuza demanding a show of loyalty. If Nathaniel had shown promise, he would have been able to take over the family operation.

The problem was, in both worlds, Nathaniel hadn't shown promise. It took years for him to learn how to watch his father butcher a man without crying. He could never master Lola's style of knife play, refusing to draw out the pain any more than strictly necessary. As he got older, his eyes would go stony, his hands moving automatically. But he was moving through water. He barricaded himself into his own head so that he didn't register the stickiness of the blood on his hands until he'd left the basement. The sound of screams became so ubiquitous, he could tune it out. There was no joy, certainly no drive to continue the Butcher's legacy.

He had merely nodded when his father had announced he expected Nathaniel to take care of the traitor in his ranks. He kept his feet trained on the floor, on the puddles of blood slowly inching toward the central drain.

But Mary saw the gleam on her husband's face, the unspoken or else. She also happened to know the traitor in question. One of the servants who liked to sneak Nathaniel snacks while he worked on his homework. There was no way that Nathaniel could force himself to do it. He'd be left with new scars if he was lucky. Knowing her husband and his current frustration over territory losses, Nathaniel wasn’t going to be lucky.

So she'd grabbed what she could, contacted the few contacts she had with her family that could do good work for cheap and escaped into the night.

When they met Nathan and his ilk in Seattle, they had only been on the run for three years. Linda and Alex, their 8th set of names, had settled into the type of neighborhood where no one noticed another kid with desperation in their eyes, where no one had the energy to poke into anyone else's business during the break between second and third jobs. Alex was fine, good at following orders, a natural at stitches. He could blend in just fine, answer questions the right way, but he certainly wasn't ready to start out on his own.

For every time they successfully changed identities, he complained about not joining the track team or jostled against the restrictions of coming home directly after school without hanging on the monkey bars or meeting friends. For all their time on the run, for all the times she'd tried to beat it out of him, Alex was still a child.

And even if he had been ready to stake out on his own. A child, especially one as small as Alex, would always draw attention when traveling alone.

Despite that, he had been able to drive the beaten down car, the phone book stacked beneath him giving him just enough extra height to see the road. His maneuvering was perfect as he weaved through traffic. They hadn't spent weeks training as Caroline and Sam in backroads lined with corn in Iowa for him to fail when escape was their only option.

Mary applied pressure to the bullet wound with one hand and frantically called the local FBI office with her other. Her family might have been able to help her, but she wouldn't live to see them arrive from England. In dire circumstances one had to make do.

And Mary had years’ worth of insider information of her husband's dealing she could easily trade for her treatment at a hospital and her son's continued safety.

So Nathaniel was 13 when his mother almost died, and he entered the witness protection program. He was thirteen when he became Neil Josten.

"Isn't it too similar to his real name?" Mary huffed, giving the trio sent to her hospital room a jaunty smile.

The mousy-haired social worker pushed up her glasses as she gave them a placating smile. "We find young children tend to adapt better when allowed some connection to their genuine selves."

Mary had rolled her eyes, but Neil had merely frowned. He had no idea what she meant by genuine self. Was he supposed to be like creative like Sam? Or logical like Owen? His life had been a mass of contradictions. The only thing he knew for certain was he didn't want to be brutal like Nathaniel.

The only thing he'd consistently been his entire life was scared.

He was fifteen by the time arrests were started to be made in Baltimore.

"You needed two years for that?" Mary spat as she talked to their handler over the phone from their Millport townhouse. "Fucking Moorhouse and Redler?

Neil dutifully filled out his homework as he sat sprawled out in the living room with the patio door open so he could smell his mother's cigarettes as she badgered tonight's lucky caller.

"I would have thought that you'd have something more to show for yourselves. Truly the incompetence is astounding."

Neil smirked as Mary's natural brogue colored her words. She could speak half a dozen languages with the precision of a local but rile her up enough and anyone would be able to tell she’d spent her childhood running wild in Manchester.

Neil pressed his pencil hard into the paper as he underlined yet another one of the rules for pickleball. Sure he couldn't even run around the neighborhood anytime soon, let alone play a game he's actually interested in, but the epitome of his online gym education truly was learning rules and regulations for sports he wasn't even sure were real.

"I'm allowed to lie on this one right?" He sarcastically asked his caseworker as he laid out the exercise tracker worksheet. "Like I'm not about to put myself in federal custody for claiming I have access to an Exy court? Since you guys said I had to be totally honest and everything"

She had rolled his eyes at him, but she didn't ask about Mary's late night phone calls to Uncle Stuart, so Neil took it for the win it was.

In another world, he was nineteen when his father’s people found them. Instead, he was fifteen. Fifteen with a limited skill-set since there are things that can be taught on the run that can’t be taught in a small flat under government surveillance.

The only bright side was that in this world, there was no car. He was not crammed in a trunk with Lola tool close, practically grinding on top of him as she reminded him how much he looked like his father. It’s a small victory.

Instead there’s screaming and knives and he had to watch. He had to watch with his heart in his throat as Romero showed no mercy. Watch as his mother died, watch until he can’t recognize her corpse anymore.

They took enjoyment in this. Lola’s practically laughed as he slammed into the wall, as she dragged her knife down his chest.

Neil spit in Lola’s face as she poured the gasoline. With his squirming, it only managed to douse half his body, but it was enough to finally wrench the screams from his throat as the flames bit into his flesh.

He was scared. He fought back anyway.

But that really wouldn’t have changed in either world.

The bullets that finally came, that finally bring everything to an end, did not come from his Uncle in revenge.

Instead they are fired by federal officers aiming to main so as not to lose the opportunity to interrogate the criminals that might have enough knowledge to bring all of East Coast’s organized crime to its knees.

The weeks that followed weren’t kind to him. Neil saw the pictures later and he didn’t even recognize his own face.

But for once, the people were kind. Kind enough to give him hope even as the rest of the world collapsed around him.

Somewhere else a scared boy finds his family and himself at nineteen on an Exy court. In this world, Neil Josten is twenty-six and finds them in a hospital. This is that story.

"It really was lucky that we found you with such short notice."

In general, Neil Josten didn't believe in luck. He certainly wouldn't call it luck when Palmetto Public Hospital had posted exactly the type of job he looked for on all the travel nurse job boards. Just desperate sounding enough to cause people to not ask too many questions, while professional enough to not make a big deal of his scars.

Neil took Chief Nurse Danielle Wilds' hand with a carefully constructed smile on his face. "I'm glad I'm able to help. Although I was under the impression, I'd be your replacement."

Wilds let out as a laugh as she seemed to instinctively cradle her baby bump. "My husband, Matt, you'll be working with him too, thinks I'm being ridiculous, wanting to show you around myself, but I'd truly hate for you to get the wrong impression of us."

Neil just barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. Every hospital thought they were so special. Like a family or some shit. Every hospital was wrong.

Procedure might differ slightly, and some places had more people worth avoiding. But in the end, all that mattered was that the nurses showed up, did their job and offered some kindness. Even if he’s no Abby, even if his version of kindness wasn’t so much sympathy as it is experience, kindness was essential.

He can never claim to know exactly what the patients are going through. Even if they showed up with third degree burns down half their body, a punctured lung, a broken arm and some knife wounds, he wouldn’t really know. He’d just know they’d hurt like hell. Even if the injuries were the same, their story would be very different.

No one breaks the same way.

Still the things a broken person can say to another broken person can often carry more weight.

It’s one thing to offer sympathy. It’s another entirely to nod in understanding that your body doesn’t entirely feel like yours anymore, that it might never feel like yours, but you just have to keep going forward.

Over the years, Neil got very good at moving forward.

Neil tossed his running shoes by the door. It took him less than ten minutes for Neil to add his things to the furnished apartment. He'd discovered only two hospitals ago that people ask less questions if his clothes weren't covered in wrinkles from staying packed. So Neil haphazardly moved the folded scrubs onto the cheapest hangers he could find.

3:08 PM I'm all moved in.

The responding string of smiley faces to Neil's message was instantaneous despite the fact it was the middle of the afternoon and Abby was likely still on shift. (Or maybe precisely because she was on shift and had her phone on to stay up to date on patients as opposed to cutting herself off from the rest of the world to try and squeeze out some sleep.)

He didn't feel guilty per say as he closed his phone. Abby knew better to expect much from him.

"Kiddo, I'm going to take what I can get. I understand you aren’t used to having someone in your corner." She said as she bundled him up for college, doing far more than anyone had expected of her.

Well he should have expected it of her. Abby had practically laughed in his case worker's face when Cindy had brought up the different moveout options for when Neil turned 18.

It was a strange thing to have someone, even if he kept her at arm's length.

It's for her own good. The little traitorous voice in his head whispered.

Logically, Neil knew that Abby was already in too deep. Anyone, including any of his father's men seeking retribution could find her by simply looking for his file. He didn't need to maintain a relationship with her in order for Abby to be at risk. She had housed him during the trial. That would be enough for them. There was no need to push her away, to prevent her from actually knowing him.

But he felt a little bad that she knew him well enough to not ask why he had a new number or what his address was. Moving so soon after getting a housewarming package of cookies hadn’t been an overreaction and he stood by that.

When he finally met him, Matt was more of an overexcited puppy than an actual person. He dragged Neil down to the cafeteria every day they shared a break. Matt carried the conversation easily needing only the slightest input from Neil to keep going. He talked about any and everything, from college exploits to TV shows to worries that he wouldn’t be a good dad.

“It’s not like I had the best example, you know?” Matt joked even as his eyes are serious.

Neil nodded, understanding a bit too well. “Still an example. Just an example of one way to fuck up. You’ll be fine.”

He ducked his head as Matt beamed too brightly at him.

Words were a weapon he’s used to, but everything about conversations with Matt felt wrong.

Matt made him feel unbalanced. He offered up genuine parts of himself so easily. Neil wished he had something to give him in return for his easy friendship and trust, but even what was safe to say felt like it belonged to a different person entirely, a person he didn’t want to be anymore.

And what was left after that? The fact he didn’t like books or movies or vegetables. It wasn’t a fair trade. Matt shouldn’t be content to accept the breadcrumbs Neil offers in return for his raw insecurities.

But he was.

And that made Neil want to try. Try to force himself into a person Matt deserved, someone real.

Creating that person was fucking exhausting.

After two weeks, he had more than enough. Neil had a bag lunch and a mission.

Neil slipped into the stairwell without anyone spotting him and headed up. He might be able get onto the roof. But he would settle for just one of the upper floors. As long as there was no well-meaning coworker attempting to engage him in the break room or bring him down to the cafeteria, Neil would consider it a win.

The door marked “Roof Access – Maintenance Staff Only" looked like it should be locked. But a few jiggles of the handle had it opening easily enough.

The roof wasn't empty like he expected. Instead there's a figure sitting cross-legged near the front edge of the roof. Even from here, Neil could tell the man is short. Small but not delicate. Probably a former athlete from the width of his shoulders, the bulk visible even through the loose black scrubs. His short blonde hair is slightly windswept, enough so that he can see the man’s black earrings.

Neil tried to place him. He is not the best with names. He didn't see the point of attempting to remember when he’d be gone soon. But Dan had wanted to introduce him to everyone, saying something about them not being a whole bunch of "do-nothings" and it would do him some good to know the typical inhabitants of the burn ward.

Allison had taken that a step farther. Probably because she wanted gossip and hearing vague descriptions wasn't very helpful to her.

Neil stared for a second, cataloguing the man from behind, before it clicked.

Andrew Minyard, Physical Therapist.

”Monster Minyard” Allison said as she brought him around with her one day, telling him everything he should know about his new coworkers. “Bites worse than his bark. If he wasn’t so good with hopeless cases or getting rid of particularly overbearing visitors, I wouldn’t even know why we kept him around.”

The little Neil’s seen already was more than enough to know Andrew’s good.

The only way the nickname seemed to fit at all was that the man was intimidating when he wanted to be, that he could turn himself into a threat with ease. Neil had seen him practically threaten a relative with a scalpel to the chest before turning on the dime and gently helping the patient bend the joints covered with skin grafts.

But the most remarkable thing was how Andrew always let his patients set the pace.

There were sections of his own skin where Neil had lost sensation. There were days when they'd ache or itch, but he couldn't feel much beyond heat. He'd nearly decked the first doctor who touched his arm without warning him. Neil hadn't even realized he was there until the hand moved to a less ravaged spot. Everything about it had made him feel unsteady. He couldn't rely on his body to stand guard for him anymore.

But Minyard never let his patients be surprised. He narrated everything he did before he did it. Nothing was a surprise. They could say no if they didn't feel ready or if something hurt particularly bad that day. He was flexible with the patients in a way he never was with the staff.

Neil hadn't actually heard Minyard utter a word that wasn't directly related to their jobs. He moved silently through the halls, meeting attempts to socialize with deep scowls.

Maybe he'd be better off scouting out somewhere else. There was no rule that Minyard owned the roof. But Neil was also used to spotting dangerous people and everything about Minyard screamed trouble.

“What are you doing up here?”

Neil hadn’t realized Andrew had even known he was up here yet. He didn’t bother turning when Neil forced the door open.

“Trying to avoid company.” Neil moved across the room until he sat next to Andrew. They’re not quite at the edge, but there’s no guardrail. It’s unnerving.

Andrew gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement, still not looking at him.

“What are you doing on the roof?”

“Used to smoke. Never broke the habit.”

Neil merely nodded as he unwrapped his sandwich.

Andrew tilted his head just slightly to the side. “I thought that you’d be put off by smoking.”

“Is it bad to say I like the smell?”

Andrew’s nose scrunched ever so slightly. "You lie. All the time."

Neil only nodded again at the accusation.

This time it isn’t quite a lie. He did like the smell. It’s not quite the same as the Lucky Strikes his mother would blow through after she thought he was asleep. But it’s close, certainly a lot closer than the smell of burning human flesh.

But it's not like Minyard's wrong either. He did lie all the time. Sometimes it felt like lying came easier than breathing.

The rest of the staff hadn’t seemed as bothered about the lies. They were practically amused by them. Neil had smirked when he passed the break room and overheard them sharing some of the most outrageous ones.

“I heard him say to 402’s kid that he was trying to steal treasure from a palace guarded by lava, and he hadn’t been able to jump far enough on his way out.

“At least that one’s child appropriate, he told 407 that was a victim of secret government trials of new chemical warfare weapons. As if anyone with a brain couldn’t tell those were accelerant flame not pure chemical burns.” Allison added.

No one mentioned “International Jewel Thief tortured for trade secrets.” And Seth didn’t bring up “I dabbled in porn to get through college. Got a bit too into temperature play” even if it had made patient 406 laugh uproariously. It was almost a shame his best lies were unappreciated.

They’d even started a bet on what the real reason could be. It would never be settled since it required asking him directly and none of them would do that. They all liked to pretend to have morals even as they bet on everything under the sun. Besides what sort of example would it set to their patients? The one staff member that actually looked like them and yet they couldn’t even show basic decency with regards to his privacy.

Maybe they have a whole separate bet about who’s finally going to work up the courage. Neil didn’t think any of them had put money on that person being Minyard.

Minyard turned to face Neil for the first time, "Tell me something true."

It wasn’t concern on Minyard's face. The look in his eyes barely qualified as interested, but Neil still wanted to answer him. He didn’t know what to say but he can't dismiss the fact that he wanted to answer. It was easy to admit to himself he doesn't typically want anything.

"I don't see the point of icebreakers."

Minyard tapped his fingers aggressively against the roof. "I'm not asking for party tricks. I'm asking for something true."

Neil wasn't sure he even had something true to offer. What does that mean when he existed as a lie stacked atop another lie? The things he’s already told Matt don’t hold enough substance to be something true.

"I didn't even think about becoming a nurse until after all this." He gestured to himself. He can't call it an accident even if that would make it simpler.

It was no accident where Lola pressed the dashboard lighter into his face, no accident in the way she poured the gasoline. Every one of her actions had been designed to cause him the maximum amount of pain. This wasn’t an accident.

"My roommate forced me into PT. Thought that since it was his new purpose in life, it would be mine too."

"It's not like he was wrong."

"You disgust me Josten."

"I mean you can't be so good at your job without feeling something."

"It's more interesting than other options."

"So you like it then." Neil teased easily.

“Give me one good reason to not push you off the side.”

"Just try. I'd drag you with me. It's a long way down.”

It grew from there. Going to the roof was no longer about avoiding the others by spending time with Minyard, but instead about just talking with Andrew. Eating on the roof together felt easy. The conversation had rules. Answer for answer, truth for truth. There was no awkward imbalance or a desire to be something more for Andrew. They could just talk.

Neil practically collapsed into his spot on the roof with his lunch in hand. He was painfully aware of how he’d gradually crept closer since their first conversation. "Why'd you choose Palmetto?"

"Brother didn't want me in Chicago."

Neil’s head shot up from the banana he was peeling. "You have a brother?"

Andrew glared as if to say it isn't your turn idiot.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "All right I get it. Go on. Ask your question."

"And if I think we should be done for the day?"

Neil shrugged. "I can wait."

And he could. With each day spent on the roof, Neil only craved to know more about Andrew. But he liked what they had and wouldn't dare ruin that with his impatience. The roof felt safe in a way the rest of the hospital didn't.

Andrew grunted. “What's with the orange?"

Neil rolled his eyes. "You gave me a hard time for my question and you're asking that?"

"That wasn't an answer."

"And if I just like orange?"

"You're being ridiculous."

They sat in silence for a while before Neil offered up more.

"College colors. Just never outgrew them I guess. They make me feel..."

Safe wasn't the right word. He practically spent all of college categorizing every exit on campus. Like he was a part of something feels wrong too. He left his apartment for class and an ever-changing cubicle in the library. There wasn't a whole lot to be a part of.

But Andrew nodded anyway like he actually finished the thought instead of trailing off into silence. "Feeling is dangerous."

Andrew's words were simple, but Neil could tell from the way he looked at the edge of the roof that they meant something more. It was a confession and an accusation wrapped all into one.

"So is not feeling. What are you supposed to keep living for if everything is grey and I say that as someone who actually likes grey."

Andrew scoffed, but didn’t say anything more.

Even knowing that Andrew had a mysterious estranged brother couldn’t make Neil break the silence. It wasn’t that he was afraid of pressing too far. Andrew wouldn’t let him. But he knew what it’s like to feel exposed and Andrew had already shared more than usual today.

They sat in comfortable silence until a pager goes off.

Neil wasn’t sure what the others think about the two of them.

The hospital chaplain with her oddly died hair likes to smile at him whenever she came to their floor. He thought she might be friends with Andrew, but he didn’t really care what she thought as long as she stayed out of his way.

Matt complained that he never got to eat with his new buddy anymore, but Neil wasn’t sure the rest of them even noticed.

They must have though, because their friendship was no longer confined to the roof. There were conversations in the hallways, extra food left in the break room that Neil certainly hadn’t brought himself, jokes cracked in the locker room when only Neil could hear. What they had wasn’t something that could be easily hidden away.

It certainly helped that they shared patients. They could walk down the hallway, a patient between them and debate plans for the zombie apocalypse. 402, Luis Hernandez, was a particular good sport about it, even if he was a bit too moral about the end of the world.

Neil did not have soft spots for patients. He was the epitome of professionalism. But he could admit that he liked how he had an excuse to talk to Andrew longer with Hernandez around.

"You don't have to like your scars you know?" Neil said lightly as he perched next to Hernandez’s bed, grabbing more antibiotic for the man's face. "Don't have to hate them either."

Hernandez gave a half-hearted shrug, clearly trying to stay still while gesturing to the brochures in his lap. "Everyone keeps bringing up plastic surgery."

Neil hummed. “They're going to keep doing that. I'm not saying they're an eyesore or even particularly noticeable.” He uncapped a new jar of ointment. “It’s just easier for them if they can pretend it never happened. No scars. No problem.”

“But that doesn’t mean-“

“I’m not saying it would. People are just good at ignoring what isn’t directly in front of them. And if they’re forced to see it, they have to actually acknowledge you’ve been through some shit.”

"It doesn't change what happened."

“They see something wrong, keep trying to find ways to fix things even if you don't particularly think you're broken.”

"And if I want to be fixed?"

"Then that's on you. You're recovering quicker than we expected. I don't see why you wouldn't respond positively to cosmetic treatment." Neil sighed as he laid down the old wrappings "You've just got to be the one to want it. You've gone through too much to want to start living for anyone else now."

He heard a cough behind him and only barely resisted the urge to whip around. Instead he waited until he’d finished smearing the antibiotic across this section of the man’s chest. He turned to see Andrew leaning easily against the doorframe.

“You’re good to take lunch when you’re done here.”

Neil looked upwards and Andrew nodded.

It took very little time for Neil to finish knowing that Andrew would be waiting for him on the roof.

“Did you seriously believe all that shit you were telling Hernandez?”

Neil looked at his lap where his unopened lunch sat. He suddenly wasn’t feeling particularly hungry. “People always look at the scars. Drove me mad with their staring. Hard to be invisible when you’re this fucking distinctive.”

Andrew snorted. “The scars are the least of your problems then.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Neil felt the weight of Andrew’s stare as it slowly scanned up and down his body. He huffed, wanting an actual answer.

“Are you an idiot?”

“Considering you call me that about six times a week, yes?”

Andrew angled his body toward Neil instead of the steep drop of the roof. “People find you attractive.” He shrugged, “I’d blow you.”

The confession was dropped in the middle of the conversation so easily as if it didn’t send Neil’s entire world spinning. He dug his hands into his legs trying to focus himself in any way he could.

“You like me."

"I hate you," Andrew corrected him, but Neil barely heard him, even as the other men left.

Neil got to work slightly ahead of schedule, rolled his eyes slightly at the night nurse giving him the pedantic recap of today's patients, somehow managing to drone on for ten minutes without saying anything of actual value.

Andrew would be in later, he thought absentmindedly as he washed his hands. They might be able to coordinate their breaks if he was lucky. And you might even be able to convince him at gunpoint that lately he was pretty lucky. (Although that might also be because Matt was managing the schedules and his smile was a bit too knowing.)

Still today shouldn’t be too bad. There was only so much on the burn ward he hadn’t seen before and if they had had new patients, they weren’t any of his.

412's patient was a finnicky older woman who only seemed to be living out of pure spite. She'd been in a few days now and Neil's sharp tongue had done little to endear himself to her. So it was truly a matter of his job security to get in and out as quickly as possible. If he had to hear one more complaint about ungrateful grandchildren or idiot politicians, he would snap.

The television was turned up loud in order to reach the women's bed. Despite insisting her hearing was just fine thank you very much, this meant the news could be heard down the hall. Still, Neil had gotten used to putting his head down and doing his own business.

There were enough signs that he should have known. After all, he knew it had to be interesting in order to keep Linda from complaining about the slight pinch as he repositioned her IV.

He should have heard it before he turned around to see his father's face plastered across the screen with the bold red font "Serial Killer Nathan Wesninski found dead in Baltimore Penitentiary." They'd chosen one of the trial photos as opposed to the mugshot. He looked handsome in his expensive suit with the smile he only pulled out at the business parties that left Neil sore for days.

His feet were moving before he fully registered what the headline read.

It was pure instinct to put as much distance as he could between himself and his father as possible even if it was just the picture.

Neil couldn't hear the clatter as he knocked over one of the vases. He was sure Linda was having a conniption, but he couldn’t hear it. He’s not here anymore.

He was thirteen again. And his father wore a much more dangerous grin, the kind that meant no mercy.

Neil's hands were covered in blood as he dragged his mother to the car. Hands digging into her chest as if he could force her to stay with him.

He was eight and his father had crossed the line that was even too much for his mother.

His hands shook as he tried to thread his own needle. He held the needle with his mouth, trying to thread it with one hand and using the other to force the wound together. There was just so much blood and not enough time.

You can't stop running.

He thought he heard someone calling his name. Too close. He’s too close.

You're never safe.

He darted through the closest door. It was a dead end, but it was out of sight.

When you fight back, do so quietly and quickly. You cannot risk attracting another opponent Abram.

He forced himself into the corner. There should be something here, anything really to block the door. But he didn’t see anything, and he heard footsteps. Resounding thuds against the linoleum floor. They were too close.

And if you can’t run. You hide. You hide until I come get you.

There’s space on the lower shelf. It wasn’t very big, but he’s always been small. It should be just big enough. Neil shoved the folded bedsheets and patient gowns out of the way. He would look out of place, easy enough to find if someone cared to look hard enough, but for now he just hugged his knees to his chest.

Everything felt like it’s moving too fast. His heart was pounding so loudly he’s sure it’s about to give him away. His mind wasn’t even forming full thoughts anymore, just racing ahead of him. He squeezed himself even tighter as if he can force out the emotions.

He only vaguely felt his right hand digging into his left arm over the burn scars. He knew he should stop. He hadn’t picked at them in years, tried not to irritate them more than necessary so they didn’t draw attention to him. But it’s not like it mattered now. He’d be dead soon. He should be worrying about if Abby would be able to find the body and how long it’d take the hospital to notify her since after everything she was still his emergency contact.

He should have tried to think his way out of this.

But he couldn’t get his thoughts to stop for a fucking second. Just one second might be enough to find a miracle. But even if Neil Josten had ever deserved a miracle, he’d used up his share. He’d made it to twenty-six. But now, he was going to die.

He knows it won’t be a painless death. There’s only so much a human body could take, a line at which point the mind can’t comprehend the pain anymore. But Nathan Wesninski knew the line and played it like a violin. He’d want to take his time, really make his son feel every inch of his displeasure. There was no way Neil would be able to contain his screams for long enough to satisfy him. His father would risk getting him out of this hospital if it meant he could take his time.

Neil wouldn’t let himself be taken. To lose consciousness now was to accept a long painful death. He would not leave this hospital, not ever again. He would take a quick painful death over a long painful one any day.

But to get a quick death though he needed to be here. And he couldn’t seem to force himself to be. He kept seeing flashes of other moments.

Blood snaking down toward the drain of their concrete basement. Romero’s fingernails digging into his skin as Lola brandished her knife. His father’s grin menacing and horrible.

It spoke to his terror that he didn’t notice when the door opened.

"Hey." The voice is soft, gentle in a way the Butcher of Baltimore was never capable of sounding even when he was playing pretend as a productive member of society.

Still the sound has Neil's head shooting up, just to be sure. Andrew is standing with his back to the door.

"You're Neil Josten. You're in the supply closet at Palmetto Public Hospital. You're safe." The words wrapped around him like a caress.

It felt less like he was drowning.

Neil still couldn’t move, so he just stared. Stared as Andrew moved forward, every step light, his arms raised in front of him to show his empty hands.

Andrew repeated the refrain as he squatted down near Neil's hiding spot in the linens. His hazel eyes stared into Neil's. They're warm like sunlight, like they could cut through the shadow of Neil's soul.

"It’s over. You're safe. Can you breathe with me?"

Neil didn't move. He couldn’t force his tongue to wrap around the words, couldn’t even decide what the words should be.

"We're going to do this together." Andrew shifted from his squat to sitting cross-legged next to him. He's close to the shelving unit, but he wasn’t trying to force Neil out. Andrew exaggerated his own breathing.

He didn’t know how long they sit there before Neil feels his own breathing falling in sync. They're not deep breaths. Just shallow rasps, but he's trying.

Andrew put his hand out in front of him. "Can I touch you?"

He nodded haltingly.

Neil didn’t move away when Andrew gently cupped the side of his face, running a finger over the puckered skin. “You’re not there.” His voice was soft, but it practically echoed in the small closet.

When Neil nodded this time, it feels more natural.

Neil shifted in his position on the lowest shelf. He wiggled his limbs slowly, taking stock of all ten toes and fingers. He's all in one piece. He's fine.

He didn’t know what Andrew sees in his glance, but he's happy when Andrew backs up so he can crawl out of the shelving unit. "Yes or no?"

He hated how broken his voice sounded. His father wasn't even here. His father was dead. He shouldn't sound so lost.

Andrew's stare was penetrating. "To what? I'm not going to kiss you. You're having a mental breakdown Josten."

Neil bit his lip. That hadn't been what he was thinking of at all. He almost wished he had been, because it would have been nice to just lose himself in the sensation, let his body be consumed with raw need for Andrew until there was no room for fear.

"Just touching you. Leaning on you."

Neil knew Andrew didn't like being touched. It felt wrong to want to envelop himself in Andrew, to even ask knowing that, but he's desperate.

"It's a yes," Andrew said as he settled down again legs extended in front of him.

Neil curled easily against his side, Neil's head resting in the crook of his neck. It's nice to sit there just listening to Andrew breathing, knowing that there will never be a future where Nathan Wesninski will get his hands on this bright spot in his son's world.

"I should be happier."

"Bullshit. There is no should."

"He's dead. He's finally dead. That has to mean something."

Andrew adjusted himself to free one of his hands. He threaded it easily through Neil's hair. "Maybe someday it will. When was the last time you thought about him before today?"

Neil wanted to snap back that he'd never stopped thinking about his father, that every decision he made was just one in a long way of keeping himself safe from Nathan Wesninski and his subordinates. But he couldn't. For the last month or so, Palmetto had felt safe.

He'd spent nights marathoning movies in Andrew's apartment and stolen moments on the roof. He treasured Matt's laughter and the yell of joy at grocery deliveries that was quickly hushed because babies are fickle things that never stop crying. He even thought of Allison trying to convince him to let her take him shoe shopping.

Slowly Neil had built something, something untouched by his father. And then his gloating face had come crashing into it, ruining something even in death.

Andrew took his silence as a sign that he was right. “They come where they aren’t wanted. Doesn’t mean they get to stay.

Neil hummed and leaned more of his weight onto Andrew.

“Do you have any other clothes?”

Neil looked up at him confused.

“You’re not staying here,” Andrew said as if talking to a small child.

Neil pushed himself into a standing position, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet to try to give credence to his protests. “I’m fine. I’ve got a whole shift ahead of me.”

Andrew glared. “I’m taking care of that.”

Neil wanted to call bullshit, but he didn’t.

He let himself be manhandled into the locker room where Andrew tossed him some clothes. The black sweats are too short, but the sweatshirt hung comfortably off him. The grey material smelt like Andrew, so he hugged it tighter to himself as he waited for him to get back.

He didn’t jump when Andrew wrapped an arm around him and directed him toward the parking lot.

Maybe he was just done feeling, because he couldn’t even find it in himself to be surprised by the GS Andrew pushed him into. It was much nicer than anything a PT should be able to afford.

They drove in silence. At first, Neil stared out the window letting the surroundings blur as they got on the highway. Eventually though he shifted to stare at Andrew. Neil wasn't sure how long it had been when Andrew finally pulled off the highway into a dingy gas station. The sun had set at some point, but that wasn't much of a clue. Neil didn't even bother to check the clock when Andrew turned the car back on with his hands full of junk food.

"Do you want to go back to your apartment?" Andrew asked as he viciously bit into the twinkie.

"No." The answer was instantaneous even if Neil didn't know why. He should want to go curl up in the far corners of his bed with the door locked and the world unable to touch him. But the thought of leaving this moment, leaving Andrew felt like too much.

He didn't know when Andrew turned into a safe place. Neil was used to standing on his own, but now it felt like he didn't have to. It wasn't just today. Andrew had been there today, but the trust had been building gradually until Neil realized it felt like Andrew could protect him from the world.

"Kevin's going to ask questions."

Neil barely stifled his groan. While he'd only met the man a handful of times, Andrew's roommate was a common topic of conversation on the roof.

"Why do you even live with him if you hate him so much?" Neil asked.

"Don't ask stupid questions." Andrew said his eyes still focused on the road.

Because he's one of yours. Neil thought to himself.

Kevin was Andrew's in a way Neil could never be. Kevin was the person who stayed even after he fulfilled his end of a deal in college. Andrew may complain about his constant nagging, his hypocrisy when it came to Andrew's sweet tooth, his attempts to get Andrew to join his countless intermural sports teams. But at the end of the day, even when Aaron rejected him, Kevin stayed. And for that Andrew would never let him go.

Still the thought of dealing with Kevin’s seemingly endless energy felt like too much right now.

"The hospital's fine. I can get home from there."

Andrew gave him a disparaging look. "Now is not the time Rabbit. Give me the address."

"I'm surprised you don’t already have it. The lock on staff records too hard to break?"

Andrew snorted as he changed lanes.

He still felt rubbed raw from the way he'd broken so easily even if it had been nearly six years since he'd been near his father at all. So he knew Andrew was right, he couldn’t handle other people. He gave his address even as Andrew smirked.

After leaving the safety of the car, he'd ran about eight miles on the treadmill that had certainly seen better days. Typically he'd prefer to run outside and let the breeze carry his worries away from him. But the thought of people made him want to shrink. He'd take the cheap gym with locker rooms that smelt vaguely of mold if it meant he could avoid interactions with all but two people.

He ran to the hospital the rest of the week too. It wasn't worth trying to navigate the subway when he'd be looking over his shoulder the entire way.

Neil wasn't being paranoid. His father was dead. So were Romero and Jackson. Lola and the majority of the minions he'd met were in prison. But there had to be some he hadn't met. People the FBI hadn't even thought to warn him about. He hadn't expected to live this long and if he had to keep one eye over his shoulder, his duffel bag always packed and a new city every few months to keep living he'd do it.

But for now, he had time. He could make the most of his time at Palmetto.

He knew now that Andrew wanted him, and even though he’d never given the thought of kissing much thought before. He was suddenly desperate for Andrew’s lips on his. Andrew made him feel like he didn’t have an expiration date, like the future didn’t actually matter. For someone always thinking three steps ahead, that felt entirely new. But he thought he could get used to it.

Neil had just finished helping Hernandez check out when Dan walked back onto the unit for the first time.

He did a double take at first. He still had three weeks left on his contract and being reminded of just how little time he had left made him grit his teeth.

Typically he’d already have his next location lined up, but Neil hadn’t even sent in his application yet.

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew prolonging the inevitable wasn’t a good idea. Pretending he could stay long enough to memorize the feel of Andrew’s hands on his scars and their mouths pressed together desperately would do him no favors. Neil knew when he started that anything they started had a clear expiration date.

But seeing Dan with her little yellow bundle made him realize how close that date actually was.

Luckily Neil was spared from giving Dan more than a cursory nod due to Allison practically sprinting down the hallway to the front desk.

Allison’s smile was dazzling as she gestured toward the baby. “I’m so glad to see you. Now give me my niece.”

Dan merely rolled her eyes. She looked more tired than the last time Neil had seen her, but also happier. The dark bags under her eyes were matched by a brilliant smile.

When she hesitated to hand her newborn over, Allison put her hands on her hips. "You're in a hospital Dan. It's not like we don't know how to take care of her"

"And when was the last time you did an OBGYN rotation?"

Allison flipped her blond ponytail dramatically. "I'll have you know I could do it any day. I just like you too much to be reassigned."

"And you'd be a bitch to replace. Here." Dan smirked even as she handed over the baby.

"Oh She's absolutely precious, Auntie Allie's going to absolutely spoil you. Yes she is" Allison cooed as she held the newborn.

Dan watched her with a smile. "Randy's a lifesaver, but I'm not about to say no to more babysitters."

"Wait until she's older. I’ve got enough diapers to change as is.”

Dan snorts.

"So when are you back officially then? I need my bestie back."

"I'm still working out the details."

Allison snorted.

Neil busied himself with sorting through the pain medication records for 409, pretending to ignore the weight of Dan's stare.

But Allison had no intention of ignoring it. "You mean we get to keep him?"

"Honestly Al, he's not a stray cat."

"So?"

"And I haven't asked him yet, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't scare him away in the meantime."

"Of Course Dan. I wouldn't dare." Allison smiled again at the baby before announcing that clearly Auntie Allie was the only one who could give a proper tour and that maybe "We'll even find daddy in time for him to change your diaper."

Dan rolled her eyes but wasted none of her newfound baby-free time in waiting to approach Neil.

"I'm so glad I was able to catch you. I've heard nothing but good things about you since you started."

Neil glanced up from the paperwork, but kept his fingers wrapped tightly around the clipboard. "Most of them from your husband I assume."

Dan laughed good naturally. "You’d certainly think so. I swear if I hadn't already cemented myself as his favorite person, I'd be worried."

Neil grimaced.

"But it isn't just him." Dan stepped closer. "How are you enjoying Palmetto Public Neil?"

"It's fine."

Despite his lackluster answer, she seemed undeterred. "I'm glad to hear it, because we've been so happy to have you here. And since we're always short-staffed, I was able to get the board to approve your transition to a full-time position if you want it."

Neil swallowed, a pit already forming in his stomach. "That's-"

"You don't have to give me an answer now. I was just stopping in today and wanted to let you know as soon as possible so you could get your affairs in order."

She smiled so eagerly at him. He almost felt guilty when he said, "No. I'm grateful for the offer and all, but I can't stay."

"Oh." Dan's voice was so small. She looked absolutely heartbroken.

He grimaced again.

"Well, if you change your mind, just know you're always welcome here."

Neil forced himself to turn back to the paperwork to give her a chance to slink away. He wasn't actually reading, probably couldn't even if he tried.

They wanted him to stay.

And that very fact made him want to run until he couldn’t move anymore.

Neil at least stopped himself from running out of the hospital. He went to the roof, where things had always been just a little bit clearer. Maybe if he could just think, he could make his heart stop pounding.

"Why are you being such an idiot?" Andrew's voice was angrier than he'd ever heard him as he slams the door open. "I can't believe you."

"What's there to believe?"

Andrew stalked across the room toward him. Neil knew what angry men could do, but he wasn't afraid not even as Andrew practically spit in his face. "That you're just going to run off again like a fucking rabbit."

"It's better for everyone." His voice sounded empty even to his own ears.

Andrew dug his hand into Neil's shoulder. "Don't give me that shit."

Neil looked at him blankly.

"He's dead."

"So?"

"So stop running."

"I don't know how." The words were small, but he felt the truth in every ounce of his body. He's never had somewhere worth staying or anyone worth staying for.

Abby had tried, tried so much harder than anyone else. But it wasn't the same. He couldn't stop feeling like the scarred boy who'd come into her care determined not to need anyone. And she was all too willing to watch him walk away. He didn't need to stay anywhere to be worth something.

He couldn't explain why this time was different. Why he ached at the thought of never listening to Allison tease him. Why never talking to Matt again made him want to curl in on himself. He certainly couldn't explain why the thought of not being able to laugh with Andrew, not being able to see him every day physically pained him. He needed Andrew in a way he hadn't needed anyone since his mother died.

Neil was desperate for him to understand. "Tell me to stay. You have to tell me to stay."

"Why should I? Nothing will come of it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Neil wanted to scream. Scream that maybe if Andrew just asked he'd be able to. He'd be able to force down all the impulses telling him to run, just like he was able to stop himself from running out of the hospital entirely at Dan's offer. Instead he ran to the roof, where it was safe, where Andrew made it safe.

Andrew pushed him away and Neil already felt himself stepping forward unconsciously, trying to close the distance between them.

"It means I'm self-destructive, not stupid. I'm not going to ask when you clearly don't want to. I won't make you."

I'd never make you.

Andrew didn’t say that, but Neil heard it anyway. Because Andrew never pushed when it came to consent, to wanting this thing between them.

It's why he's so desperate for Andrew to understand now.

"It's always been 'go. It's always been 'lie' and 'hide' and 'disappear'." Neil gestured wildly as if trying to grab the words from thin air. "I've never belonged anywhere or had the right to call anything my own. You can't expect me to just know how to-”

Neil trailed off when he saw Andrew's face. It was stony even to his impassioned plea.

He didn't know how he could fix this. He felt like he was hanging on by a fraying thread as it was. "I'm so tired of being nothing."

"Then stop making yourself be nothing. Let yourself have this."

Neil felt himself floundering even more. "It's not that simple."

Andrew huffed and turned away from him. "I don't have time for rabbits or idiots."

He let the door slam as he left.

Getting through the rest of the day was a blur. Neil just kept thinking about Andrew walking away from him and the rooftop door echoing too loudly as it closed. His apartment was no better.

There was nothing in the little apartment that Neil was renting that looked remarkably like home. He was used to packing his life up in to the grey duffel bag every few months. Nothing he bought couldn’t be replaced at any big box store.

It never really bothered him before.

That wasn’t to say he hadn’t noticed how other people’s spaces seemed to fit them. But he had spent so long trying to blend in that he wasn’t even sure what he could add to make the space feel more like him.

He didn’t have the college pictures to string along his wall like Dan and Matt. He didn’t even have the dime-a-dozen motivational posters that Kevin seemed to favor the few times he’d been to the apartment he shared with Andrew. He certainly didn’t have the wall of books that Andrew kept in his own room.

Up until recently he wouldn’t have cared.

But for the first time in his life, Neil was starting to feel like a real person. A real person was supposed to have something that other people could remember them by, to identify them with. Neil had his job and the scars on his face.

And Andrew. Andrew who didn’t seem to care about either.

If anything Andrew scoffed at the desperation he brought to his job when they both know that you couldn’t save everyone, and that most of the time you couldn’t save the people who deserved it either.

But Neil could see the way he cared even if he didn’t make it his entire personality or guiding force. His chart notes were too detailed. His frown all the deeper when things went wrong. He was too good at his job to not care at least a little bit. And there was no one at Palmetto that could deny that Andrew was brilliant at his job.

While others could look at Neil and see nothing but his injuries, there was a way that Andrew looked at him, his eyes pooling like honey that made Neil feel like Andrew was seeing everything but his scars.

Somehow he even looked happy with what he found.

It made him want to stay, to take that little feeling and nurture it until Neil could see something in himself too. Something worth being happy about.

He sent out three texts one right after the other.

The first was to Andrew. “I’m not an idiot or a rabbit.”

It was simple, but it said everything. Neil wasn’t running from this, wasn’t running from Andrew. Tomorrow they could talk, but for now it had to be enough.

“Can I really stay?”

It was less professional than it should be, considering Dan would be his supervisor if everything worked out. But he didn’t have another way to ask. It felt like pulling teeth to even write those four words.

Neil shouldn’t have turned her down so quickly this afternoon. He should have let himself realize how much he wanted this, realize how forcing himself to move again felt like he was leaving a part of himself behind that he didn’t even know he had before.

But he needn’t have worried. Dan’s reply was practically instantaneous. “Of Course!!!! I’ll make sure to go over all the paperwork tomorrow.”

The last message was one he should have sent twelve weeks ago. It was only his address. But Abby would know what it meant. She always did.

#rbb 2021 #aftg #aftg fic #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #andreil fic #hospital au #so many potential triggers so please read bolded list #blood #burns #torture #panic attacks #are the big ones

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jimtheviking · 4 years ago

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So now that it's been a while since the ST ended, I'm gonna talk about why, of all three movies, the only one that worked for me was TLJ, and why The Mandalorian, Rogue One, Rebels, and Clone Wars are the best bit of New EU out there.

Okay so, first off, the basic thesis of this is that, when Star Wars works, has always been a story about one thing, and one thing only: Hope. And when it hasn't worked, it's been about how Cool and Badass and Edgy and Dark things can be in the Galaxy Far, Far Away.

So, let's start with the beginning, shall we?

The Force Awakens is a bad remake of A New Hope. And I don't say that just because JJ Abrams can't write or direct for shit (he can't, btw, but I'll get into that later.) I say that because, well, it's true. It's almost a shot-for-shot remake of ANH, except that unlike ANH, there is no sense of hope in the entire movie. Rey, Finn, and Poe are thrown into a Terrible Situation and they never once have any display of fear or doubt. They're confident and plucky and ready to win the day. At every point, even their lowest, they're plucky and scrappy and fighty and are never allowed to feel anything. And that means they can't hope for better things, they can't fight for a better world, because to their characters the better world is already there. It's the world they're in, because they can get what they want through Pluck and Scrappiness and Fighting Spirit, and never have to worry that it won't be enough.

Don't get me wrong, TFA is, of the two JJ films, better by a mile. Mostly because it has a coherent plotline. But it's still not good. Even when Han is killed, there is no chance to mourn him. There is no "I just can't believe he's gone" moment. There's a duel and a celebration. Leia feels his death and that could have been interesting to explore, but nothing gets done with Rey or Finn. Rey attaches to Han as a father figure, but it was Finn whose character was hamstrung most by Han's death. Finn should have been mentored in the ways of Roguish War Heroing by Han, just as Luke would mentor Rey in Jedi-ing, and Leia mentored Poe in Leader-ing. That is how the new Trio was shaping up to relate to the Original Trio, and should have gone that way. But no, JJ had to kill Han off for absolutely no purpose.

And there was no purpose to Han's death. I will get to that in a minute.

When Obi-Wan died, he died knowing he was buying the Trio time and that his sacrifice would help the Rebellion destroy the Death Star and ultimately prevent future Alderaans from ever happening again (and it did!) Obi-Wan dies in A New Hope because he knows that, like Leia said, he was her only hope. The only hope for the Rebellion. For the Galaxy. And, right after Scarif, he was the only hope she had. But now? On the Death Star? Surrounded by Storm Troopers, facing down his old padawan, his brother, his best friend? Now there is A New Hope (see what they did there?) and it's in Luke and Han and Leia and he doesn't die in vain. He sacrifices himself and that lets hope live on.

When Han died, it was, thematically, the exact opposite of Obi-Wan's death. Because Han wasn't expecting to die. Han's whole walking to meet Ben thing was him expressing hope - hope that his son would return to him, that there was good left in him - and then he was killed. Hope gets you killed in this movie, and it doesn't help anyone do anything. It doesn't save uncounted billions. It doesn't stop an evil Empire from terrorising the Galaxy. It doesn't inspire other people. It just gets you a lightsaber to the belly and kicked into an abyss. Han's death served no purpose except to show that Ben was evil. As if massacring untold hundreds of civilians to find the location of Luke wasn't indication enough. We knew Ben was evil. It was the entire point of the character. Killing Han was just to reinforce that hope is foolish.

Luke, as well, was terribly served in TFA. Luke Skywalker, who triumphed over evil despite hovering so close to the edge of it time and again, who does the right thing all the time, who every chance he gets tries to help and save people? That Luke Skywalker? He just fucked off to who knows where. Gone. Entirely. No explanation. Luke, who constantly failed in his Jedi training, but never gave up hope that he could become a Jedi, like his father before him. Luke, who knew he wasn't ready to confront Vader on Bespin but hoped he could get there soon enough to save his friends. Luke, who knew that there was no way he would be leaving Jabba's palace without a fight but still had hope that the Hutt could be negotiated with. He just...gives up. No explanation or reason given. Just...goes.

And that is the most wildly, painfully out of character moment in the entire ST for me. Because Luke was always Hope in the OT, and in the Filoni shows, and having him become Hopeless and leave? An absolute affront to the character.

But I digress.

I won't get into what TLJ did right (almost everything re: Luke, Rey, Leia, and Poe, and that throne room fight especially) and wrong (the handling of Finn, Space Monaco) but suffice it to say that TLJ at least understood that Hope was what made Star Wars good. Because Luke's sacrifice at the end of it was done just like Obi-Wan's. Luke did what he did, knowing he would die, but also knowing that it would buy time for Leia to escape. So long as Rey could get to her in time. He had Hope in Rey, and he had Hope in his own actions, and that Hope was rewarded. Luke dies, and dies a hero, dies giving Hope to the Resistance, dies a meaningful death for a hero to die.

And then we get to TRoS.

Oh god TRoS.

So, you know how I said JJ can't write or direct for shit? Here's a great example. Because we had Rey, a Jedi now like Luke had been, and ready to discover what being a Jedi means to her, and how she fits in the wider, larger Galaxy as a nobody, as a regular person who somehow became Greater than she started. As someone who isn't from a line of Force Users or other Super Special People becoming a hero and finding her place. Rey, who began her story on a desert planet, hoping desperately to be a part of some bigger dynasty, not having any confidence in herself being Rey from Nowhere, finds out she IS Rey from Nowhere, Daughter of Nobody, but becomes a Jedi, a Protector of the Galaxy, an important person in her own right, the Saviour of the Resistance. And then we find out she's the granddaughter of one of the most powerful Force users ever. And she makes herself a part of the Super Special Force User Dynasty. Completely destroying any character growth from the previous movie, because it's no longer Rey succeeding on her own, it's Rey being a Dynastic Heir.

Rey begins on a desert planet, digging things out of the sand, and ends on a desert planet, burying things in the sand. Rey begins not knowing who she really is and desperately wanting to, and ends up finding out, rejecting it, and claiming some other random legacy. Rey is no longer Rey from Jakku, she's Rey Palpatine and she wants to be Rey Skywalker so she just...claims it. There was a chance for Rey to be a beacon of Hope for other people who aren't from Force user lineages. But no, she's the child of a clone of the Emperor and decides she's a Skywalker because of an unexplained phenomenon that linked her to Ben. So without the Super Special Lineage, what hope does anyone have of changing the world for the better? None.

And, back to character deaths, Leia and Ben dying were two of the most hopeless scenes in all Star Wars. Entirely without hope. Utterly.

Why?

Well, let's start with Leia. Apparently, in the novelizations, she'd been forcing herself to stay alive to run the Resistance because no-one else could (despite like, a massive increase in operations staff, and, you know, Poe having been Leia's protogée in her Leadership Crash Course) and had been hearing Luke tell her it's okay to just let go and become one with the Force (what??) And so when she does decide to do that, it's when she transfers her life-force to Ben, to redeem him (maybe? At that point Ben hadn't had his weird Harrison Ford dressed up in Han Solo's costume hallucination, and it's not really clear why she's doing this in the film) and thus have him the Galaxy. Okay, that could work, but then Ben dies. And then dies again. Twice. (Though, really, only once, because apparently he got caught on a rock and broke his ribs and twisted his ankle when he fell in the pit, but you only learn that in the novelization. But I digress.)

So Leia's sacrifice to redeem her son is ultimately futile, because Rey managed to kill Palps on her own anyway, with the help of all the Jedi in the Force, and Ben was mostly dead. Then Rey dies from the exertion of it all, and that would be a shitty enough ending, bleak and hopeless - the only way good triumphs is by destroying itself - but then Ben comes back! And saves Rey using the healing powers Obi-Wan Kenobi used on Luke in A New Hope and Rey used earlier in the movie! Leia's sacrifice was meaningful! It redeemed Ben, who saved someone's life!

And then he dies.

Which makes Leia's death pointless again. Because she used the last of her life force to make her son Good, and then he just...dies.

And Ben's death is Hopeless in and of itself too. I'm not a Reylo fan - that dynamic just does not do it for me, generally, though there are some few well-written execptions - but how do you begin to say "The Power of Love can triumph over everything, even death!" and then kill off the person who did that? Like...that just says that Love and Sacrifice for others is pointless. That Hope is pointless. Because with Ben dying, Leia's sacrifice means nothing, and his own death means nothing because Dying Saving Someone You Love is just Suicide with Extra Steps if there's no Hope of Survival to it. The tragedy happens when a character dies hoping they can still make it back to the person they love. Ben, on the other hand, just...dies. The movie tells us that he's not worth surviving this, but Rey is. And so what, exactly, was the point of either Leia's sacrifice or Hope for her son?

Now let's get to the Filoni shows.

Clone Wars was a tragedy. Clone Wars, from the very beginning, was going to end badly for everyone involved. And it did. But even up to the end, they held out Hope that it wouldn't. And even after it happened, the survivors still Hoped that they could bring a return to Good. Obi-Wan sees literally everyone he loves die in front of him. Whether it's Satine or his fellow Jedi or Anakin, they all die. And yet he continues to Hope that the Light Side will prevail. Ahsoka loses everything and leaves the Order, but she still has Hope that she can make the Galaxy a better place. Rex loses his entire family, but Hopes that there are others out there who, like him, were able to avoid Order 66.

Rebels shows us that Ahsoka and Rex's Hope wasn't misplaced. That there was still a chance for them to do Good and for the Galaxy to resist the Empire. For Rex to find other Clones. For Ahsoka to find a purpose again. The crew of the Ghost hoped that what they would do would bring about a positive change. Kanan sacrificed himself knowing that Ezra, Hera, and Sabine would be able to help the Rebellion. Like Obi-Wan, he knew that he was not the only Hope - that Ezra and Ahsoka and Obi-Wan would continue on the path of the Jedi, even if the latter wouldn't join the Rebels, and that Hera's leadership ability and Sabine's connection to Clan Wren would help the Rebellion in coming battles. He died hoping that there was a greater good being served with his sacrifice, and it wasn't that he wanted to die - him looking back to Hera was all the proof that was needed - but that the survival of Hope was important.

Rogue One is pretty self-explanatory. Rebellions are built on hope. What did they send us? Hope. Always, every time, when it comes to it, Hope for the better is what people sacrifice themselves for. They don't do it because they don't feel like their lives are worth it. They do it because if they didn't, then Hope would die instead. And Hope is what makes life possible.

The Mandalorian keeps up this trend, too. Din was doing his thing, collecting bounties and not caring about anyone or anything but The Way until he meets the Child. And at that point, he feels something, a greater purpose, and when he's given his task by the Armourer, he accepts it. At first, he wants to complete a Quest, but as time goes on, he bonds with the Child and, once he realizes that, everything from that point forward is Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, a faceless and ruthless hunter, hoping that he can make this child's life better in some measurable way. When Din finds a settlement that's in trouble, he could just get what he comes for, but he knows that the people are suffering and you can't ignore that he has the Hope that the Galaxy will, one day, be a better place, and he can make it a bit better by doing what he does. So he does it. And keeps doing it. Because the people are hoping for salvation and, even if he's not what they want, he can at least fake it well enough that they don't realize it.

So yeah.

Hope is what good Star Wars media is about. It's what it's always been about. And when it's ignored, we get TFA and TRoS.

#Jim rants #about Star Wars #I'm not tagging it as Star Wars #because I don't want to get into Discourse with folk I don't know #but hooooooo boy

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nazyalenskyism · 4 years ago

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Can’t Fall in Love Tonight (3/3)

Description: Chapter 3 of a modern Zoyalai political AU. Nikolai is running for office and Zoya is has been his right-hand woman since University. Feelings are finally realized and Zoyalai banter.

A/N: This is chapter 3 (the final chapter) of Can’t Fall in Love Tonight! I hope you enjoy and the rest of the fic is under the cut! My ask is open if you ever want to send prompts or questions!

Ao3: Can’t Fall in Love Tonight

“Could we— I just need a moment,” Nikolai said quietly, he felt strange, a little lightheaded, anxious and maybe panicked. Zoya looked at him, picking up on his frown, and in that moment he saw that she understood. She shot out of her seat, heading for the front of the room, commanding everyone’s attention with the authority of a general.

“Right,” she snapped, clapping her hands together, “everyone clear out.” She was met with a sea of disbelieving faces, they’d all expected that the worst of the night was over and that they could simply sit and watch the results. “Did I not make myself clear?” she enunciated slowly, “everyone get back to work. We haven’t won yet, there’s no use in sitting around with your mouths open like a group of guppies when there’s still important work to be done. You can watch the results roll in from your stations, why do you think every wall in this office has a tv screen? Now get back to it!”

Nikolai felt a rush of gratitude for Zoya as everyone started to trail out of the room, looking tired, but buzzing with anticipation for the results. He wished he could have as much faith as them, but he was worried. In the midst of all his negativity, something rather rare for him, he felt nervous too. Every time he looked at Zoya, he couldn’t help but feel nervous. Something had shifted between the two of them these past few weeks, it felt like something had been lying dormant for so long and had chosen now to make itself known. Every moment between them felt charged,

When the room had cleared out, Zoya made her way to the door as well, about to turn the knob when he spoke, “...Zoya.” She knew he would not ask, it wasn’t in his nature, but she also knew that he wanted her to stay. And so she would. She poured two mugs of coffee and sat beside him, fighting to ignore the jolt she felt when he took the mug from her, fingers barely brushing hers. They sat in silence as the tv displayed new results every few minutes, Nikolai’s fingers clenching and unclenching around his drink. She couldn’t ask him if he was okay, he would resent that she asked, believing that she saw him as being weak, but she also knew he couldn’t sit like this for the next hour. She furrowed her brow, unsure about what she could do.

Nikolai felt his heart beating in his throat, his tie was too tight, his jacket was too hot, his mind was racing too fast. The decaf coffee Zoya had handed him had done nothing but give him another thing to worry about, was it actually decaf? The way his heart was pounding, it didn’t feel like it. He was usually composed, calm, in charge of a situation or on his way to getting everything under control, but in this moment, he was anything but. He knew that losing was not the end of the world, that he had a good chance, but more than his personal defeat, he was worried for what it meant to his friends, and the people he promised to help. If his opponent won, the Darkling would be pulling the strings, using Demidov as a puppet to do his bidding, and almost all of his policies were the opposite of what Nikolai believed in, what he fought for. Not only that but he could see the disappointment on his friends’ faces, they loathed the Darkling, and this had been a way for them to finally beat him in a meaningful way. And none of that would happen if he lost. He knew he could do what was needed, he just hoped other people voted like they knew it too.

There was another aspect about losing that worried him, what would happen after. He needed to win this position so that he would have the adequate experience for the next, and if he lost he would have to run again in four years. Even if he went back to practicing law, he knew his team wouldn’t be working alongside him. Genya was talented and highly sought-after, she and David would have no issue finding work, same with the twins. And then there was Zoya, whose whole job was to manage political campaigns, and she had made amendments to her title so that she could be Nikolai’s chief of staff, something she would never consider doing for anyone else. He was beyond lucky to have her by his side, but if he lost, he knew she had been getting calls from senators, international dignitaries, hoping that she would join their campaigns. If he couldn’t pull this off, he might not see her again, not for a few years at least, and at this point in their lives, in two years Zoya might be married and living in London while running some big campaign on the other side of the world.

Looking at her, her eyebrows furrowed, head resting on her hand, he decided her absence would haunt him the most. He’d come to spend the last few years relying on her in his work, in his daily life, as the voice in the back of his head. He didn’t want to know what it would mean to achieve the things he wanted so desperately without her next to him to celebrate with. Maybe it was the tired, scared part of him that acted next, tired of being alone, shutting out feelings he knew he possessed, however deep he tried to hide them.

Setting his coffee down, he reached out tentatively, before realizing that hesitant behavior wouldn’t be appreciated, instead moving confidently, seizing her hand in his own. She gave him a look that not even he could read, maybe some worry, and surprise. He made to pull back, but she squeezed his fingers tightly, sliding just a little bit closer to him, enough that he could smell the wildflower perfume she wore on special occasions drift over. For once he didn’t want to speak, worried it would break the fragility of the moment, so they sat in silence, hand in hand until the projected results rolled in nearly an hour later.

Zoya let out a shriek, jumping out of her seat, her hands flying up to her face in shock. “Nikolai,” Zoya said, her blue eyes brilliant with excitement, “Nikolai, you did it.” Her hands slid up to cup his face, her palms on his cheeks, “Nikolai, you won!”

Nikolai brought his own hands up resting them on top of hers, “Zoya, we did it. We did it.” She was beaming at him, he’d never seen her more elated, and he found himself grinning too, her smile was contagious.

“We did it, we bested him, we showed them all, we did it,” Zoya repeated, her head spinning. She had to repeat it or else she was afraid it wouldn’t be true. She let out a dazed laugh, letting her hands slide down from Nikolai’s face to his shirt, clenching the material. She let her forehead fall to his chest, letting her head catch up with everything that had just happened. They’d won, against all odds, they’d won. She felt his arms wrap around her, and they stayed like that, embracing for a blissful moment before Zoya remembered herself. ‘One. Two. Three.’ she counted before she started to untangle herself from him. He must have been counting as well, as he pulled away at the same time.

“Right, well.”

“Zoya I—”

“Nikolai! You did it!” Genya hollered bursting into the room, her red hair a banner streaking behind her as she launched herself at him. He stumbled back as the rest of his friends streamed into the room, David quietly closing the door behind them. The next little while was filled with them embracing, celebrating, and Nikolai promising that they could all get drunk after he gave his victory speech. Zoya slipped out of the room as they all celebrated, dropping off small thank-you gifts they’d spent the night before putting together for all the staff because none of them could sleep. She got surprised looks from some of them, and attempts for hugs from others, and she nearly laughed. Despite what everyone thought, she was not heartless, and she did want to thank them for their competency, even if they chose not to utilize it at times. When she finished, she grabbed Nikolai’s speech from her office and made her way back to her friends. He almost always wrote his speeches on his own, asking them to review them, but three nights ago he’d pulled her aside and asked her to write one from scratch for him. Well, technically two, a victory and a concession speech. Everyone broke apart as Zoya came back in, heading to the ballroom where Nikolai would be making his victory speech. They trailed far behind the rest of them, as Nikolai read through what she’d written for him.

“ ‘While my good looks may have helped a bit, I know my team was instrumental to my success, even if they didn’t approve of my runway dreams and of me modelling on the August cover of Vogue.’ I like this,” he chuckled, absentmindedly running his thumb over his lip. “And this part here, ‘as I like to say, we hope or we falter,’ very true Nazyalensky.”

Zoya flashed him a quick nod, trying to distract herself from his stupid mouth. She found herself doing it more and more often since that night in his apartment, distracting herself from the way the light caught off his golden hair, the way he smiled when he saw a friend no matter how tired he was, the way his fingers brushed his lips when he found something amusing. Everything he did was infuriating beyond belief and sent burning waves of irritation through her— or at least she claimed it was irritation. She was glad that the election was over, at least the next few weeks wouldn’t be as stressful, and she could stop her mind from crumbling to the pressure and doing something as stupid as she had almost done that night. She chose to ignore what had just happened while they were waiting for the results, alone in that room together. She would have done it for any of her clients— no she wouldn’t have. She would have done the same for her friends— although maybe without the hand-holding. ‘Yes’ she said to herself. She would have done the same for the others, there was nothing special about that moment. She tried to convince herself that she was right, but she knew otherwise. Damn him.

Nikolai paused outside the backstage door, his mind racing. He was still jittery from his win, even more so now that he was about to face a crowd of supporters and several news cameras. David was giving the speech that would introduce Nikolai to the stage, as Nikolai turned to face Zoya, “ After this,” he gestured to the stage door, “before we go to the victory party, can I read my concession speech? I want to know what it said.”

Zoya hesitated, her nerves buzzing. What she had done had been a classic Nikolai move, which meant that he might not be a fan, it wasn’t what he expected of her. But he wanted an answer and so he’d get one. “I didn’t write one,” she said sharply, looking up at him through her lashes. “I didn’t think you’d need one.”

Nikolai felt a rush of gratitude at her words. Ever-practical, the realist between them, Zoya, believed in him to this extent? Yes. She believed in him more than anyone else ever had, more than his flightly mother and inane father ever had. She’d stuck by him through the ridiculousness of this election, the madness of the last seven years. He let his head reel at that fact while he let his heart make the first move, grabbing her face in his hands, pausing for a split second and pressing a swift kiss to her mouth. She froze against him, and he began to pull away right as her hands grasped his arms pulling him back to her. Her hands slid upwards, tangling in his neatly styled hair, and he grinned, normally she’d be the one killing him for having a hair out of place.

“This is a terrible idea,” Zoya gasped, pulling back slightly.

“Really? I consider this one of my best yet,” he laughed as she hit his chest, drawing her close again. One of the biggest moments in his life was scheduled to happen in minutes and he couldn’t find it in himself to be anxious about it, not when he’d been waiting years for this.

She pulled him close this time, throwing her hesitations out the window, pressing her fingers to his cheek. Her other hand moved to help him shrug off his suit jacket, letting out a breathless laugh against his lips as it refused to come off.

“Seems I’m a bit stuck,” he whispered, eyes sparkling as he rested his forehead against hers.

“Seems you are. Try—” she was interrupted by the sound of footsteps quickly approaching. Nikolai flung himself in front of the stage door, barricading it with his body as Zoya began straightening out his clothes, pulling the jacket up, straightening his tie and trying to flatten the strands of hair she’d mussed only moments before. ‘Now I remember why this was such a bad idea,’ she thought, fixing her own appearance with one hand, Nikolai intertwining the other with his as Genya knocked on the door.

“Nikolai you’re on in a minute!”

“Thank you, Genya dear,” he shot Zoya a wink, pressing a quick kiss to her fingers before pulling her through the door behind him. ‘Shameless,’ she thought, pulling her hand from his before they ran into their friends, ‘that man is completely shameless.’

“Good night, and thank you.” Nikolai called, letting the cheers of the crowd wash over him. He had accomplished many things in his life, each more grand than the last, but this win felt different. Maybe it was the fact that he’d finally managed to figure out if Zoya shared his feelings, or the fact that in an hour he would be getting drunk at their victory party before heading to a surprise karaoke party being thrown for him which he’d already found out about from a sleep-talking David. He knew he must be grinning like an idiot as he and his team headed back to his limo, waiting for Demidov's congratulatory call. Tolya popped open a bottle of champagne as Demidov graciously accepted defeat and talked Nikolai’s ear off for twenty minutes about how he was going to go be C.E.O. of his father's company specializing in something or the other, and how he’d love to get lunch with Nikolai and talk about contributing to his future campaigns. His arm was draped over the back of Zoya’s seat, something he always did, but a gesture that felt electric tonight. He wanted nothing more than to go back to what they had started earlier, but he was sure that Zoya wasn’t ready for anyone to know quite yet. And so they passed the rest of the ride listening to David’s enthusiasm about how many votes Nikolai got, his eyes meeting on hers time and time again. As Genya chimed in, Nikolai moved, subtle enough that no one else noticed when he daringly slipped his hand down around Zoya’s shoulders. She relaxed ever so slightly, looking up at him with an arched brow before leaning into him in the slightest of ways. Nikolai suppressed a grin, tonight was something out of his most wild dreams.

As they approached the skyscraper where the party was, Zoya’s phone rang out shrilly, the tone for unknown callers playing. She frowned, the only people who had her personal number were either sitting in this car, or at her aunt’s house, and she had them all saved in her phone. Reaching into her clutch, she pulled it out, there was no caller ID. Nikolai raised a brow at her taking a sip from his glass, all of the others in the car watching curiously alongside him. Normally she wouldn’t bother to pick it up, but she’d never gotten a spam call on this number, and she wouldn’t mind berating someone tonight, that and the tiniest worry that something had happened to her aunt or cousin and for some reason they were using a different number.

“Who is this?” she said, by way of greeting.

“Zoya, such a pleasure to hear your voice.” she froze.

“No.” She pulled away from the phone, moving to end the call when he spoke again, loud enough that she couldn’t hide who it was from the rest of them.

“Now, now Zoya, I just wanted to congratulate you on your win, you always were my most capable student, although Safin did serve her purposes too, until she decided to betray me.”

“Shut up,” Zoya hissed, feeling rage coursing through her veins. How dare he say Genya’s name, how dare he call her, tonight of all nights. How had he gotten this number? Everyone who had it hated him more than the next.

“You did a good job, Zoya. I’m excited to see what you do next. I’ll have a front row seat, naturally.” He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, if she tried to speak right now, she would scream instead. When he realized she wouldn’t he continued, “Jarl Brum has asked me to be his new chief of staff, and since his office works closely with Sobachka’s— your golden boy’s district, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of one another.” She heard Genya gasp, Tolya growl, Tamar reach for her holster, and from the corner of her eye she saw that Nikolai was watching her, a worried crease between his brows. “Listen you bastard,” she began, ready to eviscerate him. She thought tonight’s victory would be enough, but here he was again, taunting them again. She would not let him have the upper hand. “If you so much as think about any of us again, I swear to the Saints that I will rip your t—” Zoya stopped as Nikolai’s hand touched her arm gently shaking his head once, a simple warning. She knew he was right, they were in the business of politics, and he already had enough reasons to make their lives miserable. She wouldn’t let him see how angry she was. She would wait, quietly, until the moment he least expected it, and then she would end his career. ‘I will drag him down like he deserves. He won’t be able to hurt them again.’ she vowed.

“Lose this number. Don’t cry too much over the big bonus check you would’ve gotten if you had half the brains I do and had won. Goodnight Alexis.” Zoya spat, hanging up before he spoke again. She tossed her phone onto the floor carelessly, she had no use for it anymore, not when that snake had her number. Tamar let out a whoop as Tolya and Genya began clapping.

“I can’t wait to see you kick his ass in person!” Genya sang, slipping out of the car not waiting for the rest to follow, and Zoya heard her voice continue, moving away from them. When it was just her and Nikolai left, she began to stand, halting as his hand slipped to her knee. She didn’t want to hear him ask if she was okay, she loathed to think that any of them had to see that part of her. Instead, he surprised her.

“I didn't get to thank you yet.”

She snorted, “thank me for what? Almost threatening to murder a man on the phone?”

He made a face, “no, for helping me win.”

“ You would’ve definitely lost without my help.” “Undoubtedly.”

After a brief silence, they both spoke at once, “what now?”

He let out a strained laugh, looking weary as he asked, “do you want to do this Nazyalensky?”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he breathed, cupping her face with a hand, “yes.”

She swallowed, turning her face into his palm, she had pretended she hadn’t wanted this for so long that she was afraid to question herself now. Did she want this? She did, but she was also scared. Scared to ruin what they had, scared it wouldn’t work out, scared he would be just another person who left her behind. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the night, or the glimmer in his eyes, but she didn’t care. She wanted this, that much she was sure of.

She nodded once, smiling at the dorky look on his face, sliding her hand into his coat pocket and typing furiously into his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Telling Genya we left something at the office. That buys us 30 minutes before we have to actually go up.”

“Clever, Nazyalensky.” he chuckled, tapping a finger against the divider, asking his driver to circle around the city for 30 minutes. He smiled as she tapped her glass against his in a cheers, falling back against his outstretched arm, letting him pull her closer against his side. When she tilted her head up, she tasted sweet like champagne, though she was anything but, and Nikolai knew he could definitely get used to this.

#zoyalai #zoyalai fic #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #kos fic #kos au #kos #zoyalai au #tgt

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ankhlesbian · 7 years ago

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FE Femslash Week 2018: Day 7

Prompt: None

Fandom: Fire Emblem Fates

Ship: Mitama/Soleil

Title: Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue

AO3 Link: Here

Mitama agrees to go on a date with Soleil under one condition: She must first bring her an original poem that meets her standards.

“Mitama! I want to court you!” Soleil declares, pointing dramatically at said teen. Mitama looks up from her writing and stares blankly back at her.

“Pray tell, what would this entail?” Soleil flashes a grin, gesturing emphatically with her hands as she replies.

“I’d bring you flowers and gifts! Homemade pastries, fresh roses, stuffed animals, the whole five yards. I’ll stand wistfully outside your window, reciting heartfelt poetry to make you swoon.” Mitama taps her quill against her lips thoughtfully.

“Poetry, you say? I shall accept your offer, under one condition.” Soleil bursts out into happy cheering before she can finish speaking. Mitama clears her throat. Soleil snaps her mouth closed and mimes locking it shut, throwing the invisible key away behind her shoulder.

“To me you must bring / An original poem / To earn a first date.” She bounces on her toes, saluting eagerly.

“You won’t know what hit you!” She promises, dashing out of Mitama’s room so she can get started. She’s halfway back to her own room when she realizes a major problem with that request. The last time she tried to read a poem to a girl, she had been laughed away and had promptly burnt the cursed thing to ashes. She’s going to need assistance, or Mitama’s going to never want to see her ever again.

“Ophelia!” She wails, knocking on the mage’s door furiously. There’s no response, so she presses her ear against the door to listen for any sign of life. It’s possible Ophelia’s out, but she can always just wait here.

The door swings inwards and Soleil stumbles forward. Ophelia raises an unimpressed eyebrow at her.

“I take it you want something from me?”

It’s kind of embarrassing to be figured out so quickly. Soleil clutches at her chest, eyes filling with sorrow.

“You wound me, dear Ophelia! I can visit my bestest friend whenever I want with no ulterior motives whatsoever.” Ophelia crosses her arms.

“I am always willing to provide my assistance to the less gifted, but I cannot help if you do not tell me what it is you seek.” Soleil sighs.

“Mitama said she’ll date me-”

“Congratulations! You’re pining was becoming insufferable.” Ophelia interrupts, eyes sparkling with mirth. Soleil scowls and elbows her.

“But I need to impress her with a poem first. You like books and scrolls and stuff, yeah? So you can help me write one!” Ophelia purses her lips.

“It is true that my Chosen status blesses me with an unprecedented way with words….” Soleil clasps her hands together and gives Ophelia her best puppy dog-eyes.

“Oh, alright. Stop it with the pathetic look, and let’s get writing!” Soleil hugs her tightly.

Within a few hours, they manage to come up with a draft of a poem. Soleil knew that Mitama liked to write haikus, and Ophelia assured her that they could easily write something that fit that format.

It isn’t even dinner time when they finish. Soleil stares uneasily at the piece of parchment in her hand.

“Do you really think this will work?” Ophelia pats her on the shoulder reassuringly.

“If not, we can just write another one.” Soleil takes a deep breath.

“Alright. I’m off, then.” She leaves before Ophelia can attempt to cast a good luck charm on her. The past few times she did all turned out disastrous.

She finds Mitama lounging near a practice field, her staff resting idly in her lap.

“You completed a poem so quickly?”

“You come up with them on the spot all the time. I may not be as good at them as you, but I’ve got charm and determination to make up for it!”

Mitama gestures for her to begin. Soleil unwraps the scrap of paper that she’d nervously crumbled while searching for Mitama and smooths it out. She can’t bring herself to look Mitama in the eye while reading it, which is really for the better since she doesn’t have the thing memorized.

“It’s a haiku,” she explains before clearing her throat. “Maiden born under heaven’s stars / Healing innocents of ravaged lands from afar-” Mitama whacks her on the head with her staff. The paper flutters to the ground as Soleil clutches the lump on her head pathetically.

“That was not a haiku. And it wasn’t even written by you.” Soleil deflates.

“How’d you know?”

“Vocabulary / Unique to only a few / Among them not you.”

“I consulted Ophelia,” she admits. “I figured she’d be better at writing poems than me. I’m rubbish with artsy stuff like that.”

Mitama stands up, waving her staff as a second thought, healing the bruise she caused.

“Do not overthink this. However, it wasn’t the worst first try I’ve ever seen. Effort expended / A reward to encourage / Future endeavors.”

Soleil cocks her head in confusion. Mitama places her staff under Soleil’s chin and tilts it upwards, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.

“After one that meets my standards, we can get tea. I’m off to bed now. Slumber beckons me forth.” Soleil gapes at her as she leaves. Mitama really does like her back! That just means she needs to step things up in the poem department. She needs to pull out the big-boy tomes. Consult people close to Mitama, and then do something of her own.

This time, she’s going to hunt down Shigure.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Shigure covers a laugh with his hand when she tells him about Mitama’s challenge.

“You’re her brother,” she continues, undaunted. “Surely you know what she’d like.” He takes a moment to think.

“You could try singing to her. She always tells me that singing is its own form of poetry, and it would show creativity.” Soleil considers it. She’s far from the world’s greatest singer, but maybe Mitama will appreciate her willingness to embarrass herself.

“Do you have a song I could use? I’ll pay you back somehow, I swear.” Shigure smiles softly.

“I know just the thing. And don’t worry.” His smile grows wider, scarily wider. “As long as you make her happy, you don’t need to do a thing.” The aura he’s giving off promises terrible things in her future if she doesn’t. She salutes, too frightened to speak. He turns away to rummage through his desk.

“Here. I sung this to her all the time before bed when we were children.” Soleil takes it and examines it closely. Theoretically, she knows how to read sheet music. She can make this work.

The next morning, Soleil heads to Mitama’s room bright and early. It’s easy to get up early when you didn’t sleep. She’d spent all night practicing, and needs to perform before she forgets it all. She rounds the final corner only to trip, her face smashing right into the stone ground. Her hands come away from her nose streaked with red, which she immediately tries to rub off on her pants.

“I am awakened / Fortuitous accident / Good morning to you.”

The thing she tripped over was Mitama, who mumbled out her haiku while still curled up on the ground. Soleil turns to face her. This is her chance.

“I hope you’re ready for this. Listen up!” She doesn’t have paper to stare at this time, so she focuses on the wall behind where Mitama’s sprawled. She’s sure her voice is out of tune, she knows she can’t keep up the rhythm of the song, but she gives it her best shot. When she finishes, her voice is dry and raspy from the effort.

“How was that one? Mitama?” She looks back at her and…. She’s asleep. “Mitama!” The only response is a snore. Soleil sweatdrops. Well, that was a bust. She wipes the remaining blood from her nose and pokes at it, glad it’s not broken, then sits in silence, just watching Mitama. It dawns on her that this is probably a little creepy.

She gets to her feet, ready to go crash herself, but something stops her. Mitama’s still in the clothes she saw her in yesterday, meaning she’s probably been here since before dinner. Even though Mitama can sleep anywhere, the floor can’t be comfortable.

Soleil crouches down and hooks one arm under Mitama’s knees, the other around her shoulders, and lifts. She staggers the last few steps to Mitama’s room, but the bridal-carry doesn’t leave her hands free for door-opening. Instead, she kicks the thankfully unlocked door open. There’s some clutter on the floor, including, bizarrely, a couple of swords.

She makers her way to Mitama’s bed and sets her down gently. She pulls up the sheets to Mitama’s chin and combs her hair out of her face before withdrawing. She’s already turned away when a hand grasps at her shirt. Mitama’s looking at her blearily through one eye.

“I give you my thanks / A lullaby so peaceful / Made sleep’s grip too strong.” Soleil feels her lips turn upwards. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about her singing. She takes Mitama’s hand in hers, and she knows exactly what move to make to charm the pants off Mitama right now. She kisses the back of Mitama’s hand before returning it to the bed, and then leans over her to kiss her forehead.

“Next time I’ll have one that keeps you wide awake,” she promises before taking her leave. She’s ready to crash too, but she’ll do that in her own bed.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

She spends the next few days trying to think of a poem that Mitama’ll like, that expresses how she feels about it. She doesn’t know if there’s any words out there that can capture that, but she has to try something.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. She loves her dad, she really does, but he’s not the best at wooing ladies. But, he did manage to win over her mom, so he must have some wisdom to impart.

He nods sagely as she explains.

“You need to do this yourself.” She goes to interrupt, and he holds up a hand to stop her. “You’re my darling daughter. I’d listen to you even if you were talking about the most boring topic on the earth. It’s the same principle. She just wants to hear something from your heart, even if it isn’t a top quality poem.” It makes perfect sense.

“You’re the best!” She latches onto him for a hug. He returns it fondly.

“Anytime, sweetheart. Now go make Daddy proud!” He flashes her a grin and a thumbs up.

She doesn’t bother with paper this time, and heads straight for Mitama’s room.

She knocks on the door boldly, standing at her full (unimpressive) height.

Mitama opens it and smiles. Her hair is sticking everywhere, like she was just napping. The sight makes Soleil’s heart weak.

“My hair is pink / Your hair is blue / I’m crap at poems / But I like you / Let’s go on a date / It’ll be great! / We can drink tea / Just you and me.” She goes silent. Mitama lights up, eyes sparkling, and claps.

“Absolutely delightful! A poem so heartfelt / I cannot help but agree / We should be girlfriends.” Soleil grabs her hands and squeezes them tightly.

“I can’t believe that worked,” she confesses. Mitama swings their hands between them.

“I will admit to mostly wanting to see you splutter.” Soleil fakes a scowl.

“Rude!”

“You’re awfully cute when you blush.” Soleil goes red.

“Ah, yes. Just like that. Now, what were you saying about tea?”

Soleil knows the perfect place, in a town not too far from their base’s current exit portal.

“They’ve got an open floor for poetry and fiction reading tonight.”

“Then let us make haste.”

Soleil turns to lead the way, tugging Mitama’s hands along with her. It’s going to be the best first date ever.

#fefemslashweek #mitama (fe)#mitama #soleil #soleil (fe)#soleil/mitama #mitama/soleil #it writes

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