#and I took a solid four hours to compose my reply because most of it was “listen here you little boot sucking Stazi wannabe motherfucker”

[disappearinginq]

Nothing like having the one guy in my chain of command that I ever respected tell me Elon The Goddamn Nazi Musk has our best interest at heart by dismantling Medicaid and stealing literally every scrap of information from American citizens make me want to fucking punch something in the face.

Namely, that guy.

[monsoonblooms12]

Detectives By Chance: Chapter 3- Lifeless

A/N: Hi, how is everyone doing💫💛? Today I have the 3rd chapter of Detectives by Chance. This fic was one of my personal favourites to write, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Forgive any mistakes and happy reading💛💛!

Thank you so very much @ohramsey​ for pre-reading and making my day many times better with your lovely comments🤍❤.

Series Summary: It was supposed to be a usual weekend for the four. Coffee, fun, friends and love. But an unexpected case changed their lives in a way they had never imagined. A mystery - a murder - many secrets… Will Ethan, Pooja, Alexandra and Mark, be able to survive? Or will the circumstances twist and break their lives forever?

Pairing: Ethan × f!MC (Dr. Pooja Sharma)

Disclaimer: PB owns most of the characters. I only own the OCs and my MC.

Word count: 1.7K 

Triggers: Mentions of blood, murder

A gloved hand moved steadily towards her. It held something that glistened under the obscure luminescence of the surroundings.

It was, It was a knife. And something was trickling from it, something scarlet.

Blood. Fresh Blood.

The gloved hand came closer and closer. The blood on the knife in that hand glinted.

And then, a croaky, vicious laughter reached her ears.

The growly voice professed “ I began the game, and I will complete it. You are going to die, I WILL KILL YOU!!” and another hoarse laugh followed.

Then the knife was in front of her face, near to her throat. She wanted to throw it out of that hand, but she couldn’t move. Something invisible tied her to her place.

So she screeched, she shrieked but to no avail.

“NO! Please don’t do this, please don’t do this, I don’t know you, I didn’t do anything, please don’t do this, PLEASE!!!”

“Pooja??”

“Don’t do this, No, please don’t do this….”

“Baby? POOJA?”

“AHHHHHHH! Leave me, leave me alone.”

“Pooja, Sweetheart, Wake Up!”

“Go away, go- Ohh, Ethan!” Pooja finally woke up from her nightmare.

She hugged Ethan tightly, too frightened to let go, the visions of her nightmare still fresh in her mind. Even on a cold night like that, she was sweating profusely.

“Ethan, I saw it again. The same nightmare. Every single night since that day. I- I am really scared.” Pooja mumbled, slightly tearing up on the thought of the nightmare. She had always thought of herself to be a headstrong lady. And now these nightmares were making her feel like a dastard, snatching away her confidence.

“Baby, I am here, I will always be here, by your side. I love you, and I won’t let any harm even look at you, let alone touch you.” Ethan murmured in her ears and cradled her to sleep. Feeling secure in his arms, Pooja slowly slipped into a silent slumber.

Three days ago:

Pooja and Alex stood at the door, their eyes wide, hands shaking obscurely and their face pale. They couldn’t think of anything, nor could they move. It felt as if somebody had stuck their feet in place.

Mr Davis’s body was in a horrific condition. The most prominent was the slit throat, but there were many cuts and marks on his hand and face. It was clear that he was not the man behind the notes, because seeing his condition, he had been dead for at least 5 hours, and the blood on the note was relatively fresh.

Finally, succeeding in breaking from the haze, Lex ushered Pooja away from the room and closed the door. She took her to the nearest water fountain, made her drink and sat her on one of the hospital seats. Pooja was slowly breaking from her haze, but the sight made her remember one of the most terrible incidents of her past. One she had always wanted to forget. One she had hidden deep in her heart, but she couldn’t forget it.

Lex pulled her phone out and shot a text to Ethan and Mark asking their whereabouts. Their replies came almost immediately. Ethan was in the diagnostics office, whereas Mark was collecting some results from the lab. Their next text was the same, “What happened?”

Alex told Mark to come ASAP to the diagnostics office, and then she took Pooja and set off for the same destination.

In 5 minutes, all the four were in the diagnostics office. From the looks on Pooja and Alex’s faces, Mark and Ethan could tell something grim had happened.

“Lex, what happened? Is it another note? Did somebody do something to you both? Just say the word, and I will make sure that they don’t see the end of this” Mark fumed, clenching his fists.

“M, first I need you to calm down. The person, whosoever they are, they are very dangerous. They have a sinister ploy, and it seems like they are coming for us.” Alex said, with a sprinkle of uneasiness. She shuddered ever so slightly, but it was enough for Ethan, Mark and Pooja to notice. Pooja put a hand around her.

“That is okay, but can you tell us what has happened? You two look like you have just seen a ghost.” Ethan asked concernedly.

“W-We went to check on Mr Davis-”

“Mr Davis, who?”

“Mark, focus, it is the name of Poo and Lex’s Patient.”

“Oh! Okay sorry, continue.”

“So we went to check on Mr Davis in the morning. When we went to our lockers, there w-was another n-note in my locker” Pooja presented the note as she spoke.

Mark took the note from Pooja while Ethan held her by her shoulder. The situation had hit her much harder than the other three. It brought grim memories of a past she never wanted to remember again.

Alex continued, “After getting the note, we went to check in on Mr Davis, to make sure he was alright and also to check if he was instigating all this or not. However, when we reached his room, it was locked.”

“Okay, that is wrong. Patient rooms are never locked, as doctors and nurses have to go in and out quite often” Ethan stated.

“Exactly! That was the first suspicion. Then I went to get the key from the nurses’ office. And it appeared that they had lost the original one. The nurses spent five freaking minutes in searching the duplicate one.”

“Okay, definitely fishy,” Mark remarked.

“Yup! So then I arrived with the key, opened the door, and-” Lex stopped abruptly. The next words were arduous to say even for her.

“And we saw, Mr Davis, lying dead with his throat slit. His body was all bloody. W-we were so horrified that we c-closed the door and left.” Pooja completed, somehow mustering up courage, but losing it all once she had finished speaking.

These words seemed to take a toll on Mark and Ethan too. The thing they all took for an imprudent joke was not a joke at all. They were dealing with a murderer and a treacherous one.

“We have to inform the Police. This is not something we can manage alone” Ethan asserted, breaking through the silence that had settled in the room. They still had some time before the morning shifts started, and if they hurried, they could also find some vital clues from the dead man’s room.

“Let’s go to Dr. Banerji and inform him what happened. Then till the time the Police reaches, we can look around the room for any clues we might find” Pooja suggested, composing herself and the 4 of them rushed to the Chief’s office.

After recounting everything to Dr Banerji, who assured that the Police would be informed to come as soon as possible, Mark, Ethan, Alex and Pooja set out for Mr Davis’s room.

Alex unlocked the door with the duplicate key she still had, and the four of them entered.

For the first time, Mark and Ethan came face to face with the dead body, and the sight made them discomposed. They had seen many patients dying, but to see someone dying due to an illness and to see someone killed cold-bloodedly is very distinct.

The four of them started searching the surroundings. Their eyes had trained to observe the details, so they didn’t have to touch anything. But nothing seemed suspicious. Nothing looked out of place. Well, nothing except the dead man.

However, in the corner of the room, something caught Pooja’s attention. A note. No, Another note. It looked the same as the previous ones.

“Look!” She said to get everyone’s attention. The other three turned and went to where Pooja was standing.

“Another one?”

“It looks like the murderer knew that we were gonna come to investigate”

“Should we pick it up?”

“I think we should. But I am not sure.”

“Let’s pick it up, coz we know well the Police won’t share their investigation with us.”

Pooja picked it up lightly.

Suddenly Ethan called out, “Wait a sec, what is that?”

Ethan bent down and picked two more pieces of paper. One looked like a receipt of something, and the other one was a visiting card.

“A visiting card! Look if there is any name or any identity?” Lex and Pooja asked

Mark analyzed the card and said, “Nope. The name is too faded to read. But-”

“But what?” The other three asked in unison.

“But if we look closely, we may be able to deduce the address written on it.”

“So are we keeping these stuff?” Ethan questioned, slight uncertainty evident in his voice.

“For now. But if the Police doesn’t get any other solid clue, we can present them these along with our research.” Mark uttered.

“Alright. But lets going before we get suspected” Pooja said, ushering them out.

“Mark, Ethan, you two take these and keep them with you. We both will go and drop the spare key at the nurses’ office.” Lex mentioned, and the four of them left the room.

Now:

The Police were now regular visitors at the hospital. Although the case was supposed to be highly private, the hospital gossip spread like wildfire, and the fear was evident in the staff.

But that didn’t mean any decrease in rush at the hospital. As the new week began, the workload increased, and everyone drowned themselves in it to keep unpleasant thoughts at bay.

Pooja and Alex had been questioned by the authorities multiple times, obviously because they were assigned the case, just before the murder.

However, they couldn’t help much. They told the officers about everything they knew, except for the notes. Mainly because they didn’t have time to research the evidence they had found in the room.

But what had happened had pulled forgotten strings in Pooja’s heart. The nightmares began, and they got worse and worse every single day.

Finally and luckily, Ethan and Pooja had a day off together, which was rare. So, they decided to sit down to research the clues they had collected.

However, what they hadn’t realized then was that even tiny bits of paper, can bring out dark reminiscent of a forgotten past.

PS: So that’s all for chapter 3. If you enjoyed the story, please like, leave a comment or reblog. Your feedback keeps me going 💕. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a great day ahead.💕💕

Tags: @bbrandy2002​ @kaavyaethanramsey​ @ohramsey​ @ohvamsey​ @hopelessromanticmonie​ @trrfanaddict @nervoussaladsludgeopera​ @imonlybibecauseofethanramsey​ @lovablegranny​ @bellcat2010​ @gkittylove99​ @kingliam2019​ @3riche @chetachisblog​ @starrystarrytrouble​ @arcticrivers​  @aylamreads​ ​@drariellevalentine​ @mvalentine​ @aestheticartsx​ @angela8756​ @schnitzelbutterfingers​ @choicesficwriterscreations

[each-uisge-enthusiast]

sum tired writing for y’all

——————

suga would be lying if he said he wasn’t tired. he hadn’t slept properly since exam season rolled around.

the amount of extra studying he was forcing into his schedule, combined with practice and trying to control the first and second years, seemed to have simply sucked his will to work.

“seemed to” was the wrong terminology. it definitely had. he’d been staring at the same page of this stupid math book for an hour. he’d reread the first line about twenty times, and so far hadn’t managed to get half way down said page without realising, his brain had been elsewhere, and having to start from the top again.

so yeah, he was pretty tired. suga was pretty damn worn out.

honestly, if he hadn’t seen that it was daichi’s name glowing out from his phone screen, he wouldn’t have picked it up. but, it was daichi, and suga was more than aware that if he didn’t pick up, daichi would be hammering down his door within the hour.

he took a split second to compose his voice. if he sounded as dead as he felt he’d be yelled at for not sleeping enough.

“hi daichi!” the chirpy tone to his voice didn’t sound forced in his mind.

“hey suga,” daichi said, in such a way that suga knew daichi knew he was sleep deprived.

suga’s eyes moved toward the alarm clock that was glowing beside his bed, the bright green numbers burned his eyes.

23:45, which was an entire hour later than he’d thought.

“what are you even doing up at this hour daichi?” suga asked, leaning forward on the table, carefully propping his head up on one hand, the other hand holding the phone to his ear.

daichi laughed, rather stupidly, before responding. “you know, i actually rung you to ask that same question.”

suga’s tired brain wasn’t quite sure it fully understood what daichi had said. “how did you even know i’m awake? what, do you have cameras in my room?”

“what, no-”

“oh my god! you’ve been stalking me! daichi how could you?”

“no! it’s nothing like that!” even through the phone, daichi sounded flustered. “and keep it down, you’ll wake your parents up.”

suga rolled his eyes. “yeah yeah, but, seriously, how did you know i was still up?”

“went on a stress jog.”

“at quarter to midnight?”

“shut up, like you haven’t rung me at this hour whining about tv shows.”

suga huffed. “okay, fair, but may i ask if there was a purpose for this call, other than insulting me?”

“yeah, i’m still outside your house, i figured if neither of us are sleeping we might as well do something.”

“oh? what on earth might you be suggesting daichi?” suga purred, adding a teasingly lilt to his voice.

“get your brain out of the gutter, suga,” daichi snapped, suga only snickered in reply. “i was just thinking, i don’t know, we could go see if that twenty four hour ice cream shop is open.”

“repeat that sentence to yourself a couple times,” suga said, flicking his eyes back to the alarm clock, before letting out a light sigh. “i’ll be down in a minute, just let me get a jacket.”

he didn’t let daichi get a response in before he hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket as he stood up.

he paused to glance in a mirror. he looked like a lunatic. there were seriously heavy shadows under his eyes, and his hair looked like a bird nest. eh, he was pretty sure he was rocking the look.

despite that, he did pause to try shove his hair into place. he told himself it was because he didn’t want to walk around in public like that, even though he knew it was far from the truth.

he snatched up a pale yellow jacket off his bed, as well as an equally pale grey scarf, tugging them both on before slipping out of his room and down to the front door.

“daichi!” he hissed into the cold air, white clouds forming in the air when he spoke.

“wow you really haven’t been sleeping huh?”

suga pulled a face as he turned to look at his friend. “you aren’t any better,” he said, a hand snapping out to hit daichi in the side. daichi shifted to dodge, successfully.

that was a lie. daichi looked, well, suga’s drowsy mind couldn’t really pull the right words. handsome? pretty? somewhere in between?

he was hardly dressed to the nines, but as usual he looked drop dead gorgeous in that stupid all black jogging outfit. suga would have been jealous, had he not enjoyed looking at daichi as much as he did.

daichi rolled his eyes at the comment, letting out a vaguely unamused huff. “i’m sure,” he drawled, before grabbing suga’s hand and dragging him forward. “come on, then, i’m craving cream anmitsu.”

“i don’t understand how you like the chestnuts so much,” suga mutter in reply, his tone hardly matching the bouncing steps he was taking as he followed after daichi.

daichi rolled his eyes rather dramatically. “says the one who always steals them.”

suga huffed, and his free hand swung out to smack daichi’s ribs, this time daichi failed to dodge, and let out a grunt as suga made solid contact.

“i’m not apologising,” daichi snickered. “hitting me is not going to help.”

“blah whatever. i stand by the fact that chestnuts are gross.”

“yet you eat more of them than i do.”

a puff of white air was all daichi got in response.

the bantering continued most the way to the store, though at some point their positions had shifted, suga’s arms ended up wrapped around daichi’s waist, and daichi’s arm was slung over the silver haired boy’s shoulders.

the girl sitting behind the counter gave them a grin as the bell rung. suga thought it looked a little more genuine than most customer service smiles, and he wondered if they were the first customers she’d had.

“hey boys!” suga decided they were definitely her first customers. her tone was too chirpy.

“it’s a bit late for ice cream is it not? you’re the first not-drunk customers i’ve had since i took up night shifts,” she continued.

the poor kid can’t have spoken to anyone for awhile, because the minute daichi responded, and gave their orders, she was off. didn’t shut up. not that suga minded all that much, she was friendly, mainly groaning about trying to keep up with sleep while she worked night shifts and spent six hours at school. then about how she didn’t have much choice because she had to get money somehow.

suga, who was very much used to his teammates ramblings, ended up droning her out while he sat at a tiny table, daichi seemed torn between doing the same or entertaining her, suga was pretty sure she was just using them as an excuse to talk. he honestly doubted she’d care much if they didn’t listen.

quite honestly, suga was rather distracted watching daichi’s expressions. the way his lips twisted into a smile every time he tried to not laugh at the employee’s struggles, the roll of his eyes as he got caught up in her stories. she seemed to notice suga’s eyes, a quiet quirk of her eyebrow snitched on her for watching him just a little too closely.

“anyway, i just haven’t spoken to anyone outside of classes in, like, two weeks.”

suga snickered as he heard daichi’s terrible attempt at stifling a sigh of relief.

“so thanks for not telling me to shut up! enjoy your ice cream boys! and uh, might i recommend getting home soon? it‘s a friday,” she paused to look at a clock, “a saturday morning. there’s gonna be drunk idiots running around and believe me, they aren’t fun to deal with, particularly when, well,” she flicked a hand towards the pair. something in the movement made suga wonder if she played volleyball.

daichi turned to say something to her, but she’d already disappeared out back. suga took advantage of his distraction and snatched a chestnut out of his bowl.

“hey!”

“you know, she has a point about drunk idiots,” suga mused, glancing out to the dark streets.

“think we’ll run into coach ukai and takeda?”

“hah! they’ll both be in ukai’s house getting wild by now!”

daichi made a face of disgust and threw a scarf at suga’s face. suga simply laughed.

by the time they’d finished their ice cream, and opted to just try and sprint full pace back to daichi’s (which was closest, suga sent a text through to his parents, as he had already decided he was not going to try reach home in the dark), the subject had somehow switched to what school ice cream girl had gone to.

“she had a shiratorizawa look.”

“isn’t it a boarding school? she wouldn’t be able to work a night shift if that was the case. she looks like an oikawa fangirl, seijoh.”

“she was pretty cheery, johzenji?”

“nah she looks like she’d hate the colour yellow.”

“how?” daichi tilted his head, squinting his eyes.

“the shadows under her eyes were too purple for her to be the kind of person who would willingly be near that uniform,” suga shrugged. “seijoh.”

daichi, seemingly unable to argue that, hugged and nodded. “okay you win. for now, we can probably just ask her next time.”

“next time?” suga smirked at daichi. “my my, is Mr. Responsible Team Captain really suggesting he’s going to take me on a second irresponsible midnight date?”

as he spoke, he tilted his head down, staring up at daichi with a jokingly flirtatious face, hoping it would smother the pure joy his heart felt, or at least stop it from shining through on his face.

daichi made a strangled noise, his hands moving to hide his face. suga could see the red colour burning the tips of his ears, even with the miserable lack of lighting.

“don’t say it like that,” he mumbled, sounding less like an intimidating captain and more like an embarrassingly lovestruck teen, which had suga giggling.

“you really are easily flustered daichi,” suga murmured, leaning gently into the other’s shoulder. “it’s cute, really.”

the rest of the night lapsed into a peaceful sort of quiet, the sort that one could only ever really feel with someone they were entirely open and comfortable with. the rare kind that regularly reassured suga that he and daichi would be beside each other forever.

[spideyfic]

I’ll Sign My Name on the Rooftop in the Snow

For @seek-rest, who is a delight and an actual ray of sunshine, and also happens to write wonderful, beautiful stories that either break my heart or make me smile. Merry Christmas, lovely. Thank you for welcoming me into our little corner of fandom with open arms. <3

When swinging home after a late patrol on the first Christmas Eve post-Blip, Peter spots someone suspicious on a rooftop. 

Peter hadn’t planned to stay out so late, but as Christmas Eve ticked over into Christmas Day, he found himself crawling up the side of an apartment building, buffeted by an icy wind that carried the promise of snow.

“KAREN, would you please text May and tell her I’ll be back by 1am?” he whispered as he neared the roof.

“Message sent, Peter.” His AI went silent for a moment. “May has replied ‘OK baby see you soon x x x blue heart emoji, red heart emoji, Christmas tree emoji’.”

He set his web shooters to restrain before hopping over the wall and landing silently on the roof, creeping up on the man who’d caught his attention when he was swinging back to the tower.

Short, round and dressed entirely in red with a black leather belt wrapped around his domed belly, the man was trying to cram himself into a chimney without much success. A bulging red velvet sack tied with a thick gold cord sat on the roof within his reach.

He was really committed to his Santa aesthetic, Peter had to give him that. Even if he was a lousy thief breaking into homes on Christmas.

Peter took aim and hit his target, binding the man in a cocoon of webbing, his arms trapped against his sides. He released the webs, circling to stand in front of Bad Santa, who smiled at him from behind the most magnificent white beard Peter had ever seen. His eyes twinkled, circled by gold wire-rimmed glasses, and a bushy white pompom dangled from the end of his red, fur-trimmed hat.

“Dude. Sneaking down the chimney on Christmas Day to steal things? Not cool. And like, I admire your effort, but we both know you’re not gonna fit in there.” His Spidey-sense flared, like something was breathing down his neck, and he swore he heard a snort, but when he turned to look behind him there was nothing to see other than the first few flakes of snow drifting lazily in the air.

“Dear Spider-Man, I can assure you that I am not planning to steal anything,” the man said, his voice gently jovial. “I’m merely delivering.”

“So you’re a reverse-thief? You break into people’s homes and leave stuff? What’s your name – ‘Santa Claus’?” Peter scoffed, crossing his arms.

The man nodded. “Yes, that’s one of my many names. You may call me Nicholas, if you prefer.” He was entirely too composed for someone wrapped in web and stuck in a chimney.

“Like Saint Nicholas, right?” Peter nudged at the sack with his foot. “And I guess this is full of gifts?” The bag topped sideways with a solid sounding thump that was disproportionately loud for its size.

“Correct on both counts, Peter.”

It took a moment for Peter to register that ‘Nicholas’ had said his actual name. “Uh – what did you call me?”

“Your name, Peter. Unless you’d prefer I call you Mr. Parker, but that feels a little formal, given that you have me restrained in a chimney.” Nicholas chuckled, a deep, rich ‘ho ho ho’ that made his belly jiggle beneath the webbing like – well, like a bowl full of jelly.

Peter crossed his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. “How do you know my name, Mr. Nicholas?” The snow was falling harder, thick, wet flakes that were perfect for snowballs and snowmen, and he turned on his heater to ward off the chill.

“I’m Santa Claus. I know far more than just your name.”

That sounded a little threatening, but Peter shrugged it off, brushing snow from the top of a maintenance hatch and sitting down. “You’re really expecting me to believe that you’re Santa? I’m sixt – uh, I’m not six. It’s been a long time since I wrote a letter to Santa.” He made a show of nonchalantly writing ‘Spider-Man’ in the snow he hadn’t swept away, the warmth from his heater melting the icy crystals beneath his finger. Even though the man couldn’t see his face, he didn’t look up, worried that he’d lose his composure if he made eye contact.

“Seventeen years, to be precise. For me, at least. For you, it was eleven years ago.”

Peter’s finger stopped, and he looked at the man in shocked disbelief. “Mister, I don’t know how you know that, but I’m pretty sure tampering with the mail is a federal offense.”

Nicholas had lost his twinkle, his face sad. “In 2006, you wrote five letters to me. The first was dated July 23rd.”

“Stop,” Peter whispered. “You can’t know that. Nobody knows that.”

The man pushed on. “The second letter followed on your birthday, August 10th.  Another, November 23rd, then again on December 15th.”

Peter was suddenly on his feet, fists clenched and his breathing rapid. “Stop. Stop it. Just – just don’t. Don’t.” His voice broke, and he blinked away the prickle of unexpected tears. “Please. Please don’t say it.”

“You wrote your last letter to me December 26th.” Nicholas’s voice was so kind, so gentle, but Peter wanted him to shut up. “You were five years old, but your intellect meant you were able to write at a standard far above your peers, and you made it very clear that you didn’t believe in me any longer. But you asked me for something I couldn’t possibly deliver, despite how very much I wanted too.”

Peter dragged his mask off. Nicholas knew his name, so the man seeing his face was the least of his worries. He pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, the pressure making flashes of light dart across the black. “I don’t understand how you know all this,” he rasped, unable to keep the tears at bay any longer. “Who are you?”

“Open your eyes, Peter,” Nicholas said, sounding closer, and Peter did as he asked, finding the man standing next to him, free of the webbing and holding out a handkerchief. “You know I’m telling you the truth, Peter Benjamin Parker.”

Peter scrubbed at his face with the handkerchief. “You can’t be Santa Claus. He’s not real.”

Nicholas snapped his fingers, and Peter flinched at the sound, momentarily taken back to a battlefield and the sight of Tony on his knees, but that was forgotten as the snow suddenly stopped falling. Not because it had stopped snowing, but because the snow hung motionless in the air, a million bright white flakes suspended in a moment of time. It was beautiful.

“You first asked me to bring your parents home for Christmas the day after they died,” Nicholas said, placing his hand on Peter’s shoulder, and it was oddly comforting, full of love and compassion. “The first four letters were full of hope that I could bring Mary and Richard back to you. The last was full of grief and anger, written the day after your first Christmas without them, when you realized that you weren’t going to get what you wanted.”

Peter vividly remembered that first Christmas without his mom and dad, five years old and suddenly realizing that he was never going to see them again, and that Santa Claus couldn’t be real, because if he was, his parents would have been waiting by the tree for him on Christmas morning. He remembered feeling a crushing sense of betrayal, and it was like losing his parents all over again, for good this time, finally understanding that there was no bringing them back. Years later, most of his early childhood memories - including those of his parents - had faded, but that one was almost crystal clear, kept fresh by his adamant refusal to go visit Santa every Christmas that followed.

He'd never told May or Ben about his letters, written in the small, still hours of the night when he was supposed to be asleep. He’d left them on the windowsill of the spare room that hadn’t felt like his, with its oatmeal-colored walls and a floral comforter on the Queen-sized bed that was too big for him. The letters had disappeared by the time he woke up, and he’d always assumed that his aunt or uncle had found them when checking in on him, but apparently not, if Nicholas was to be believed. And a part of him was beginning to think the man was telling the truth, as crazy as it sounded.

“I just wanted my mom and dad,” Peter said, twisting his mask in his hands. “They weren’t religious, so I didn’t pray or anything like that when they died, but writing to Santa just seemed right.” He shrugged, but didn’t feel self-conscious admitting something so personal to a complete stranger. It felt easy to talk to Nicholas, like he’d known him his entire life.

“Many children see me as someone who can grant impossible wishes, Peter. Those are the letters that stay in my mind, the pleas for something I can’t give, knowing that my seeming indifference will cost a child a portion of their innocence, take away the magic of Christmas.” Nicholas sat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and he felt like an old friend, reassuring and familiar. “I wish I could have given you what you wanted, Peter. You, and the millions of children who make similar requests every year. But death is final. Immutable.”

Peter wanted to argue that death wasn’t final - he’d died five years (two months) ago, turning to dust in Tony’s arms on an alien planet, and he’d returned to life, but he knew that hadn’t been a natural death or even an actual death; it had been more like being put on indefinite pause.

“I miss them,” he confessed quietly. “I don’t remember their voices or their hugs or their laughs but I miss them. All I remember is that they loved me.”

“They did love you. They loved you very much, and they would be so incredibly proud of you,” Nicholas said. “They were always on the Nice list, just like you.”

Peter turned to face Nicholas. “You’re serious about this Santa thing, aren’t you?”

“I am. Just listen to that boundlessly loving heart of yours, Peter Parker. It knows.”

He was actually starting to believe Nicholas. He’d seen and accepted weirder things, and that wasn’t even including the stuff he’d experienced as Spider-Man. Aliens and Gods, and time travel and magic – with all of that, who was he to say that Santa wasn’t real?

He laughed, breathless and wonder-struck, giving himself over to just believing. He gestured at the snow, still hanging motionless in the air, reaching out to poke a flake. He was on board with the whole Santa thing, but he was still a scientist, couldn’t resist learning whatever he could. “Can you manipulate the space/time continuum? Do you use quantum tunnels, or are you present in multiple planes of existence simultaneously? I guess you could use magic like Doctor Strange. You must have to visit thousands of homes per second.”

Nicholas clapped him on the shoulder, letting out another of his wonderful chuckles. “Yes.”

“Yes to what? The quantum tunneling? Because quantum physics would totally allow you to be in multiple places at the same time, but it doesn’t explain why you go down chimneys when you could just phase though walls. Unless it’s for the …”

“The aesthetic,” Nicholas finished. “I don’t need to use chimneys, but I like to every so often, because I do so enjoy popular culture’s artistic interpretations. And to answer your question -  just yes. Yes to everything you said, and many things you didn’t.” He waved a hand, and the snow began to fall again. “I placed us in a little pocket of time, just a Yoctosecond for the rest of the world, but about thirty minutes for us. It may take me nearly seven months to complete my deliveries, but that’s thirty-one hours in real time.”

Peter felt something breathe down his neck again, but when he turned this time, he saw a reindeer standing behind him. He didn’t even question why a reindeer would be on an apartment rooftop, because that was just how his night was going, and he’d made a decision to surrender himself to the impossible and go with it.

The reindeer huffed at him, and pushed its muzzle against his face, nuzzling his cheek. Peter gently stroked its snout, receiving a lick in return. “Hey, big guy,” he cooed, smitten with the animal, who had absolutely no business being on the rooftop, but whatever. He was stroking an actual reindeer. “He’s beautiful,” he said to Nicholas as he sank his fingers into the reindeer’s mane, scratching gently and making it toss its head in delight.

“He’s a she,” Nicholas corrected. “This is Prancer. She’s an inquisitive one, aren’t you, girl?”

Prancer snorted, bumping her nose into the palm of Peter’s hand. He could feel the damp heat of her breath even through the fabric of his suit. “Where did you come from, buddy?” he said, stroking her ears.

“She’s been here the entire time, Peter. You just couldn’t see her until you believed.”

Peter had obsessively watched The Polar Express as a child, despite his low-grade animosity towards Santa Claus, and he’d thought that the mark of belief was hearing the ringing of a golden sleigh bell, but apparently it was seeing reindeer in Manhattan. “How was I able to see you before I believed? If people could see you all the time there’d be photos of you all over the internet.”

“I wanted you to see me. I have a message for you to pass on to someone who requested something I could fulfil but couldn’t gift-wrap or deliver.” Nicholas stood, brushing snow off his rear. “When you see Morgan Stark in a few hours time, please tell her that her Christmas wish has been granted.”

Peter watched Nicholas take hold of Prancer’s harness and lead her across the rooftop. As they walked, the air shimmered and a sleigh and eight other reindeer appeared, who snorted softly as Prancer took her place back amongst them. “Mr. Nicholas?”

Nicholas turned to look at him, his hands working to secure Prancer’s harness to the reins. “Yes, Peter?”

“What’s Morgan’s wish?”

Nicholas tapped the side of his nose. “That’s top secret. I’d never disclose the nature of any Christmas wishes I receive. She’ll know what you’re talking about, I promise you, and you’re the very best person to deliver the message.” He picked up the sack that had been left next to the chimney and slung it over his shoulder. “Forgive me for rushing you Peter, but I have deliveries to finish, and it’s getting late – your aunt is waiting up for you.”

Impulsively, Peter caught the man up in a hug. “I won’t remember any of this, will I?” He didn’t know how he knew that he’d forget, but he was certain that he would.

Nicholas patted his back fondly. “No. You’ll remember to tell Morgan about her Christmas wish, but you’ll forget our conversation, and what you saw this evening. I do hope you’ll think more fondly of me, however.”

Peter stepped out of the embrace. “I hope so too,” he said quietly. “It was nice to meet you, Mr.Nicholas. I wish I could remember this.”

Nicholas touched a gloved hand to his chest, just to the left of the spider emblem. “You’ll remember right here, when you’re with your loved ones. Merry Christmas, Peter.”

“Merry Christmas,” Peter echoed, as Nicholas climbed back into the chimney. This time, the brick work expanded to accommodate him, and he slid smoothly in, pausing to smile at Peter.

“Goodbye, Peter. You’re a good boy, and you’re going to be a great man.”

“Bye, Santa.” Peter suddenly felt much younger than sixteen, full of awe and wonder.

Nicholas disappeared completely down the chimney, and with a faint sparkle, the reindeer and sleigh disappeared from view once more, leaving Peter seemingly alone on the rooftop.

He looked around him, wondering what had drawn him there. Nothing caught his eye; it was just a deserted, snow-covered roof, with only his footprints disturbing the otherwise pristine blanket of white.

With a shrug, he tugged his mask back on and jumped up onto the wall, flicking through his web shooter settings and letting out a test burst of web fluid before stepping over the edge, a web catching on the building across the street. As he swung through the falling snow, he happily hummed Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer under his breath, staying close to street level and trading Christmas greetings with people heading home. Spirits were high ten weeks post-Blip, the world still celebrating the return of half its population, and Peter found himself filled with fondness for his fellow New Yorkers.

The tower was bright in the distance, calling him to his temporary home, and he swung faster, wanting to pull on the Christmas Eve pajamas May always bought him and drink a cup of hot chocolate before heading to bed.

His aunt was waiting for him in the cozy little living room of their borrowed apartment, and two mugs of hot chocolate sat on the coffee table. The soft warm glow of the tree lights was the only source of illumination in the room, adding to the coziness. “Hey, baby. Good patrol?”

He flopped next to her on the sofa, pulling his mask off and resting his head on her shoulder. “Yeah. Pretty quiet. Sorry I’m back so late, I thought I saw something, but it turned out to be nothing.”

She pressed a mug into his hands. “It’s only a quarter after twelve, you’re back earlier than I expected. Fifteen minutes is fine if you give me a heads up.”

He felt like he’d stayed out at least an hour past his curfew, but he wasn’t about to argue with his aunt. “Thanks, May. I’m gonna go get changed for bed.”

She sent him off carrying his new pajamas, which matched hers – made of soft, warm, green flannel, with a pattern of tiny candy canes. A hasty shower, and he returned to the living room and the blanket nest May had constructed in his absence, snuggling in beside her. She wrapped her arm around him, pulling him close, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head as she played with his damp hair.

They sat in contented silence, watching the yule log channel playing on the TV, the gentle crackle and pop of the virtual burning wood filling the room and making him sleepy.

“We should go to bed so Santa can come,” he yawned, his mouth running on autopilot.

May laughed, throwing the blankets off and pulling him to his feet for a hug. “Haven’t heard you say that for a long time, sweetheart. But you’re right, we should call it a night. Morgan will probably wake us up at the ass crack of dawn.”

They each went to their own room, making a valiant effort to pretend that Peter wouldn’t crawl into May’s bed in a couple of hours seeking comfort after a nightmare. He was sixteen – he was Spider-Man – and he hated that a bad dream made him act like a child, but May was the only way he could calm down, banish the memories of disintegrating on a dead, orange planet, a billion miles away from home.

He curled up under the comforter, closing his eyes and listening to the faint rustle of May carrying bags of gifts out of their quarters and over to Pepper’s apartment. He’d offered to help before heading out on patrol, but May was insistent on keeping that part of their Christmas tradition going, even in the unfamiliar luxury of Stark Tower. She liked to set the gifts out after Peter went to bed, then get up before him to turn the tree lights on, keeping the magic going even though he was a teenager.

He was full of quiet, drowsy contentment, and an almost nervy anticipation for the morning, excitement he hadn’t felt for years. He loved Christmas and the way his world slowed down for a while, allowing him to spend time with May eating too much food and watching cheesy holiday movies. Their shared losses meant they doubled down on trying to make it special, keenly aware of the fragility of life and how it could all change in (the stopping of) a heartbeat. But it had been a long time since he’d felt like this – desperate for the morning to come, convinced that he was never going to be able to fall asleep because he was just too excited.

But he did sleep; deep and dreamless for the first time since being Blipped back to life, not even stirring at the soft, delicate peal of bells from the roof of the tower. He only woke when a pair of bony knees pressed against his lower back, and a shrill little voice shouted his name directly into his ear.

“Petey! Petey, wake up!” the voice screeched, as the blankets were pulled down from around his shoulders. “It’s Christmas!”

He opened one eye to look at his phone, groaning when he saw how early it was. “Mo, it’s not even seven yet. You should be in bed.” He turned underneath her, catching her around the waist, and she shrieked as his fingers brushed against the ticklish spot right beneath her ribs, turning into three feet and thirty pounds of wildly squirming four-year-old.

“FRIDAY opened the door for me,” she said, laughing fit over. “Mommy told me to come and get you.” She was wearing pajamas that matched his, and brand-new Tsum Tsum Spider-Man slippers, which he was going to need a Peter-sized pair of immediately, because he was never going to get over the fact that there was actual Spider-Man merch.

He flung a blanket over her, making her giggle again. “Oh she did, did she?”

“And May said you need to get your lazy ass out of bed.” Morgan dragged the blanket off, her hair fluffing out around her head in a cloud of static, and frowned at Peter. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He schooled his face into a look of mock seriousness and swept her up in a bearhug before rolling them out of bed, Morgan clinging to him like a koala, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “Sorry, Morgie.”

“Your breath smells,” she informed him, and he threw her back onto the bed with a mock growl.

“That’s because you woke me up and I haven’t cleaned my teeth yet.” He left Morgan bouncing on the mattress and hurriedly used the bathroom, freshening himself up before returning to catch her mid-bounce, swinging her up onto his hip. He huffed a breath out right in her face. “Better?”

“Better,” she nodded. She planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek, then squished their faces together and began to twiddle one of his curls around her finger. “You smell like candy canes.”

He’d only known Morgan for two months, but he already knew he’d die for her without a second thought.  She was a loving, affectionate, scary-smart ball of crazy, and he absolutely adored her, had done from the very first moment he met her, when she’d crawled into his lap, called him Petey, and demanded that he tell her what it was like to swing from a web. Tony had apparently been telling her bedtime stories about both Peter Parker and Spider-Man since she’d been born, and she’d grown up thinking of Peter as her big brother. He was more than happy to fill that role in her life.

He carried her out of his and May’s quarters and across the hall to the rear entrance of the Stark suite. The door opened up into the back of the apartment, and the two of them padded silently along the lushly carpeted hallway, past the bedrooms and then out into the huge living room with its floor to ceiling windows and twelve-foot Christmas tree. May and Pepper were waiting, both wrapped in fluffy dressing gowns and hugging cups of coffee, and the bottom foot of the tree was completely hidden by presents.

He looked down at Morgan, expecting to see a look of wonder on her face, but instead he saw her dark eyes welling up with tears, her bottom lip trembling, and she hid her face in his shoulder as she began to cry. “Morgan?” he said, looking desperately at Pepper for help. Something was sparking in the back of his mind, something he needed to say, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

Pepper swooped in, taking Morgan from Peter and holding her close. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Morgan was sobbing incoherently, her shoulders shaking with the intensity of her cries. Pepper sssh’d her, rubbing her back and trying to soothe her as she cried for her daddy. They’d known this was going to be a difficult Christmas, but they’d hoped her age would protect her a little, even though Peter knew from his own experience that it likely wouldn’t.

He suddenly knew what he needed to say, the message bursting out of him without any conscious effort on his part. “Morgan, your Christmas wish has been granted.” Even as the words left his mouth, he made a face. “Huh?”

She stopped crying, a look of fierce determination on her features, and she wiggled in Pepper’s arms. “Put me down, Mommy.”

Pepper did as she was asked, and then Morgan was off, heading for the elevator with purpose. “FRIDAY, take me to the med bay, please.”

The three of them gaped at one another, and then moved as one to Morgan’s side as the elevator doors opened and she marched in.

Pepper crouched in front of her daughter, wiping her damp cheeks with the cuff of her dressing gown. “Baby, it’s too early to go to the med bay. They won’t be ready for us.”

“Peter said my Christmas wish has been granted, so I have to go to the med bay,” Morgan said, and Peter hoped his face and shrug conveyed just how very confused he was. He didn’t know why he’d said that – the words had sprung fully-formed with no thought, but they felt right.

Before they could make a move to leave the elevator, the doors closed and the cab began to smoothly descend. “FRIDAY, please take us back up to the residential level,” Pepper said.

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Boss, but I do not seem to be able to override Little Boss’s original command,” FRIDAY apologized as the elevator reached the med bay floor, the doors opening automatically.

The med bay was usually quiet and hushed, the silence broken only by soft music and the sporadic bleeping of medical equipment, but this morning, it was quite the opposite.

“My family. I need – where are they? Please. Let me – I need to see them. Let me up.”

The four of them collectively froze in the doorway of the elevator at the sound of the familiar voice. A voice they hadn’t been sure that they’d ever hear again, a voice that had fallen silent on a battlefield as an arc reactor dimmed and died, leaving a badly injured man barely clinging to life.

“Mr. Stark –“

“Don’t Mr. Stark me. I need Pepper. Where is she? And Morgan. Pete. Happy and Rhodey. Please, I have to see them. I need to know they’re OK.”

“Daddy!” Morgan was the first to move, running into the bay and heading straight for the screened off area at the back of the room, Peter and Pepper on her heels as she fought with the curtains. “Daddy, I can’t find you.”

Pepper pulled the curtain back and her hands went to her mouth, her knees momentarily buckling as Peter supported her with an arm around her shoulders. “Tony,” she whispered brokenly as Morgan scrambled up onto the bed, tucking herself against her father’s side.

“Hey Pep,” Tony croaked, and that was all she needed to stumble towards his bed and fall against him, his one remaining arm coming up to cup the back of her head, Morgan squished between them. “You’ve caught me a little unarmed,�� he joked, and Pepper made a little sound that was half-cry, half-laugh, grasping at the front of his pajamas.

Green, candy cane bedecked pajamas.

Peter looked at May, who was talking quietly with the two nurses on duty, and tearfully watching the family reunion. She smiled. “What? I couldn’t leave Tony out. I snuck them down here last night and asked Candace to put them on him.”

He moved to stand next to her and she linked their fingers, her other hand coming up to wrap around his arm. “We should go,” he said quietly, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment, but then Morgan was there, tugging on his free hand.

“Daddy wants to see you,” she said, pulling him towards the bed. “Come ooooon, Petey.”

He stood awkwardly next to Tony and Pepper, Morgan still clinging to his hand. “Hi, Mr. Stark.”

“What happened to calling me ‘Tony’, huh?” Tony held out his hand, Pepper moving to sit by his knee. “Bring it in, kid.”

Peter was drawn into an awkward one-armed hug, one knee up on the pressure mattress so he could lean in, ending up half-sprawled against the man’s chest. “You’re awake,” he said, Tony’s chuckle rumbling under his ear.

“Astute as ever.” Tony patted his back, and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “Uh – why are we all wearing matching pajamas? Is it Christmas?”

“Astute as ever,” Peter teased, pulling away. “But yeah, Merry Christmas. You can thank May for the PJs.”

“You’re my Christmas wish,” Morgan piped up from her seat at the foot of Tony’s bed. “I asked Santa to wake you up and he did.”

“Is that right, Maguna?” Tony said distractedly, looking over at Pepper. “I’ve been out of it what, ten weeks? Longer? It’s still ’23, right?”

“It’s still ’23,” Pepper confirmed, her fingers stroking the now smooth side of his previously burned face. “We got you back from Wakanda last week. They fixed you up as best they could, and sent you home to finish your recovery. We’ve just been waiting for you to wake up.” She noticed Tony picking at the adhesive dressing holding his NG tube in place, and pushed his hand down. “Leave that alone,” she scolded.

He instead reached across to touch the empty sleeve hanging from his right shoulder, the excess fabric neatly folded up on itself. “Guess they couldn’t fix everything.” His face betrayed nothing of how he was feeling, but his fingers twisted tightly in the sleeve, and the numbers on his heart monitor began to climb.

Morgan crawled up the bed to snuggle up against his right side, resting her head against the stump of his arm without any hesitation. “You’re like Mrs. Nesbitt,” she said, fiddling with one of his pajama shirt buttons.

Tony’s face went soft, gazing at her with a look of awestruck tenderness. “Yeah baby. Just like Mrs. Nesbitt.” He glared at Peter. “I blame you for this. I showed her Toy Story because I knew you’d insist it was part of her classic movie education or some shit like that.”

“’Shit’ is Mommy’s word,” Morgan chirped, making Peter cackle.

“Yes, and only Mommy gets to say it, remember? And May, May gets to say it, but not you, or me, or Pete.” Tony did a good job of hiding his amusement, but Peter could see it in the way the corner of his mouth twitched. “Pete, don’t suppose you’ve started designing me a new arm yet?”

Pepper shot Peter a fond look. “Started? He’s on, what now Peter, Mark V?”

“VI,” Peter said. “But I have a few ideas for Mark VII that should improve the grip force regulation.” He noticed Tony staring at him, slack jawed, and he blushed. “School hasn’t started up again. What else was I supposed to do?”

“I was joking, kid,” Tony said. “You really designed an arm?”

“He basically taught himself how to build a neuro-prosthesis in a week,” May said proudly. “We could hardly get him to eat or sleep, and then he crashed for two days solid. He’s picked up too many of your bad habits.” She didn’t mention that the week in question was immediately after the battle; Peter had dealt with his grief and trauma by hyper-fixating, and his sole focus had been creating an arm for Tony, unwilling to face the fact that he might never recover enough to use it.

Channeling his inner Elle Woods, Peter brushed the praise off. “What, like it’s hard?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on the snark. “Thank you, Pete. When they let me up out of this bed, we’ll have some lab time, give your designs a test drive.” He paused. “Wait, you’re both living here, right? Pepper wouldn’t let me buy you an apartment, so the plan was that you’d live here when you came back until you could find a new place for yourselves.”

“That’s because Pepper knew I’d kick your ass if you bought us an apartment,” May said. “But yes, we’re living here. We should be able to move into our new apartment by the end of January, so we’ll be out of your hair soon.” She stepped forward, and quickly hugged Tony. “Thank you. If it hadn’t been for you and Pepper, we’d have been out on the streets.”

“You might have noticed we’re pushed for space around here, so it was a slight inconvenience,” Tony joked. “Seriously, you’re welcome. You and Peter, you’re part of the family, you know that, right? I wouldn’t let many people get away with dressing me in off-brand flannel pajamas.”

“Walmart’s finest,” May sniffed haughtily. “100% cotton for your delicate rich-person skin, I know polyester gives you hives.”

“You know what else gives me hives? Being in med-bay.” Tony gave Pepper a look that was truly pathetic, and she rolled her eyes at him. “Pep, spring me out of here, wouldya? It’s Christmas.”

“Tony, you’ve been unconscious for over two months. You’re not going anywhere until a doctor has checked you over, and even then you’ll need rehab, PT.” At her husband’s crest-fallen look, she continued. “I’ll make you a deal. You try and sleep for a while, and we’ll move the celebrations down here. Deal?”

“Deal,” Tony agreed. Peter could see that he was starting to tire, his face losing the little color it had, and his eyes heavy. “Morgan, what do you say to having a nap with your dad?”

Morgan answered by burrowing under the covers, her head on Tony’s chest. “Mommy, can you bring Daddy’s presents here?” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and let out a fake snore. “We’re nappin’.”

Pepper tucked the blankets around her husband and daughter, and kissed both of them on the forehead. “We’ll bring all the presents here, baby. Make sure Daddy stays out of trouble, OK?”

“OK,” Morgan echoed. “Daddy, you need to be good.”

Tony was all but asleep, and he murmured his assent, his hand coming up to stroke Morgan’s hair. “Hmm. Be good.”

Once she was certain that Tony was resting, Pepper checked in with the nurses to tell them the plan and ask for Helen Cho to be called in, and the three of them returned to the penthouse to start the mammoth task of moving the gifts down to the med-bay.

They began grouping presents by person, sorting them into the heavy-duty trash bags Pepper had grabbed from the kitchen. Peter glanced up to find Pepper staring at him. “You OK?”

She gave him one of her piercing looks, the kind that Tony had always said he found equal parts scary and attractive. Peter found it 100% terrifying. “How did you know Morgan made a wish? She didn’t write ask to write a letter to Santa, and she wouldn’t tell me what she wanted this year. She said it was a secret and it wouldn’t come true if she told anyone.”

“I – I don’t know. I just knew I needed to tell her that her wish had been granted.” He fiddled with the ribbon on a parcel addressed to May, rubbing the smooth satin between his thumb and forefinger. “But Santa really came though this year, huh?”

“For a kid who stopped believing in Santa at the age of five, you sure have talked about him a lot since last night,” May said, from behind a stack of gifts. “You made a Salvation Army Santa cry once. What’s with the Santa love all of a sudden?”

“I decided he’s not that bad after all. It’s not his fault that he couldn’t bring my mom and dad back to life.” He saw May’s face fall and realized what he’d said. “Uh – that’s what I asked him for when they died. I wrote him like five times that year, and when Mom and Dad weren’t there that first Christmas morning, I wrote to tell him I didn’t believe in him anymore. Which doesn’t make any sense when I think about it, writing to someone I was sure didn’t exist, but I was five.”

“Oh, baby. I didn’t know.” May swiped at her teary eyes and sniffed. “You were so little, just Morgan’s age. I thought you figured it out because of how smart you are.”

“Hey, it’s OK. He was never going to be able to make my wish come true. He’s Santa, not – not  Jesus or Bruce Banner. He can’t bring people back to life.”

Pepper was squinting at him again. “You’re talking about Santa like he’s real.”

“He is.” For the second time that morning, Peter was surprised by the words leaving his mouth, but he knew they were true. He felt it in his gut, despite the lack of empirical evidence. “I can’t tell you how I know. I just do. Santa’s real.” He finished packing up the gifts and looped multiple bags along his forearms, the sacks completely surrounding him as they settled alongside one another like knots of dough in monkey bread.

May and Pepper wore matching skeptical expressions as they picked up their own sacks, one in each hand, clearly humoring him as they headed back down to the med bay.

They’d been gone a little less than an hour, and Tony was softly snoring. After two months of seeing him unconscious and completely still, it was reassuring to notice the little shifts and movements of his body in natural sleep.

Morgan was still curled up against him, wide awake and watching a projection of The Polar Express, the sight making Peter momentarily pause, like a thought had slipped in and out of his brain before he could catch it.

There was a small Christmas tree – well, it was six-foot tall, but small compared to the one upstairs – in the corner of the room, and as Morgan carried on watching the movie, they piled up the gifts around the foot of the tree.

Peter had just finished emptying the last sack when one of the nurses walked up to Pepper with a hessian bag in her hand. “Ms. Potts? I found this behind the nursing station. I don’t know how it got there, I don’t remember seeing it earlier.”

Pepper took the bag and looked at the tag. “’To the Stark and Parker families – Merry Christmas. Love from Santa Claus’,” she read out, before smiling. “Peter, was this you?”

At his blank look, Pepper put the sack on the floor and stepped back. “FRIDAY, please scan this for anything suspicious.”

“Scan completed, Mrs. Boss. Nothing suspicious detected,” FRIDAY said. “The sack contains five parcels.”

Pepper undid the red ribbon bow that cinched the neck of the back closed, and slid five beautifully wrapped gifts out onto the floor. “There’s one for each of us,” she said, examining the gift tags.

“They’re from Santa,” Morgan said, sitting up as the movie credits began to play. Tony stirred as she moved, opening his eyes and stifling a yawn.

“Time is it?” he asked, knuckling sleep from the corner of his eye. “Did I miss Christmas?”

May helped him sit up, dropping right back into nurse mode and supporting him with carefully placed pillows. “It’s just after nine. All you’ve missed is Peter showing off and carrying a dozen Hefty bags full of gifts. I took a video for you, he looked ridiculous. He had to do this weird little shuffle because the bags were bouncing around his legs.”

Tony snorted as Pepper placed his mystery gift in his lap. “I’ll add it to the ‘Preposterous Pete Playlist’, we’ll have a screening later.” At Peter’s noise of protest, he grinned widely, before his smile became something softer. “God, I missed you, kid. You’re gonna have to stick close for a couple weeks, until having you back doesn’t feel like something I dreamed up in my coma.” He winked at May. “Missed you too, Aunt Hottie.”

She tutted at him as Pepper passed over her gift. “I was gone five years and you still know how to grind my gears, Stark.” There was no heat in her words, just affection, and Tony gave her his trademark smug grin as he began to pick at the tape sealing his present shut.

Following his lead, they piled on his bed, Morgan and Pepper at his shoulders, Peter and May by his feet, and started tearing into their own gifts.

Tony somehow managed to open his first, holding the edge of the paper and letting the weight of the present unfurl the wrapping, the contents dropping into his blanketed lap. He picked his gift up, a little frown of confusion knitting his brows.

“Is that a 1977 Kenner Star Wars Han Solo figure in its original packaging?” Peter moaned, his own gift sitting forgotten. “And a Leia? What the fuh … uh, heck.” He moved to pick one up, and Tony bundled them protectively against his chest.

“Back off, Underoos. These are mine.”

“But you don’t even like Star Wars,” Peter pouted, trying to get a better look at the packaging.

“Uh, says you. Kid me thought Star Wars was amazing, Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher were my first crushes. I really wanted action figures that Christmas, but my dad said I was too old.” Tony let the blister packs rest back in his lap, and ran his finger across the plastic. “These look brand-new.”

Tony would have been seven the year Star Wars came out, and Peter felt a moment of sadness for the little boy who’d been told he was too old for something he loved. That same little boy was looking out through the eyes of his adult self, childlike wonder on his face.

May had finished unwrapping her gift. She laughed, and held the box up. “A Bionic Woman wrist radio! My mom and dad tried to get me one but it was sold out.” Much like Tony’s gifts, the packaging was in mint condition and looked like new.

Pepper showed off her gift, and Peter had another bout of fanboy envy. More vintage action figures in their original packaging – Egon Spengler and Slimer from The Real Ghostbusters. “Pepper, you liked Ghostbusters?” He couldn’t picture Pepper as a child – she was the most grown-up adult he knew, so composed and polished that it was easy to imagine she just appeared fully-formed one day, wearing a pair of killer heels and a tailored suit, completely skipping childhood and marching into Stark Industries to make Tony sort his shit out.

“I had all the comics and recorded the cartoon every week. I was in love with Egon.” She turned the boxes over, looking at the back cards. “Mom didn’t have much money when I was growing up, so I never asked for anything for Christmas. She always got me a few little things, tried her hardest, but she couldn’t afford things like this.” She choked up, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I’ve never told anyone I wanted these.”

Morgan was already hugging her gift – a Spider-Man plushie that matched her slippers. “How did Santa know?” she murmured, wide-eyed. “I only asked him to wake up Daddy for Christmas.”

All eyes shifted to Peter, the only person yet to unwrap his gift. He felt the weight of expectation as he peeled the tape away from the small parcel.

A simple silver photo frame lay nestled in the paper, displaying a picture of Peter as a toddler, sitting on Santa’s lap with his mom and dad standing either side of him, the three of them wearing matching sweaters and cheesy grins. He hadn’t seen the photo before – his parents had lost almost all their possessions in a house fire the year before they died, so the only pictures Peter had of himself before the age of four were limited to the few May and Ben had taken.

He wordlessly held the frame out to May, and she took it, letting out a little gasp. “Oh, Peter. Look how tiny you were.”

Something tinkled inside the discarded paper, and when Peter shook it out, a gold sleigh bell about the size of a tangerine tumbled onto the mattress with a soft chime, followed by a slip of paper. He picked the bell up in one hand and the paper in the other.

The paper had one word on it – ‘believe’.

“Told you,” he said, shaking the bell next to his ear and listening to the sweet, gentle peal.

He knew it in his bones. Santa Claus was real. He had his tangible evidence now, in the form of gifts that were meaningless trinkets for most, but full of sentiment and nostalgia for the recipients, things that represented their childhood longings, left behind but never forgotten.

Tony gave him an odd look as he continued to ring the bell. “Kid, I think it must be broken. Doesn’t matter how hard you ring it, it’s not going to make a noise.” He held his hand out and Peter leaned forward to place the bell in his palm, watching as Tony shook it. “Nope. It’s a dud.” He tossed it back to Peter, his aim pretty accurate given he was using his non-dominant arm.

The bell jingled again as Peter caught it. “How can you not hear it? It’s really loud.”

May gestured for the bell, and it was her turn to shake it. “Nothing.” She passed it on to Pepper, who repeated the motion.

“Sorry Peter. I can’t hear a thing.” Pepper handed the bell back.

Morgan left Tony’s side to deposit herself in Peter’s lap, and she took the bell from him. It was big enough that she needed to hold it with both hands as she made it ring. “It sounds really pretty,” she said, tipping her head back to look up at him. “It’s OK, they’re grown-ups,” she whispered conspiratorially.

He held her close as she played with the bell, the chime pure and clear, something magical in its tone. Their little shared jumble of a family regarded the two of them with obvious affection, Tony in particular watching with a fierce intensity that Peter could see was a mixture of pride and love.

He didn’t know what had changed, why he suddenly just knew that Santa was real, but he knew one thing for certain.

He believed.

[banshee-cheekbones]

standrew + sasha sloan - runaway (angsty af) ┰ω┰

hello friend, this is so delayed and I am so sorry!

anyways, four months to the day after I posted my last fic, I’m back, with a metric ton of angst and unresolved romantic tension! set in the days leading up to Steven’s move to New York! 

~4k, on ao3 here. the song that inspired this can be found here.

run away, runaway.

The Uber that picks Steven up at six o’clock in the morning smells like fresh leather and pine air freshener, like it rolled off the lot of a dealership only a few minutes ago. The inside is completely lacking in personality and customization. There are no trinkets on the dashboard, nothing dangling from the rear view mirror, nothing but NPR piping from the speakers.

Frankly, it’s almost strangely appropriate - a brand new car come to ferry him away to a brand new life.

The driver briefly greets him before pulling away from the curb and lapsing into silence, and Steven doesn’t try to pursue a conversation. For starters, it’s too early, and he’s too damn tired; he’d gotten maybe an hour of solid, decent sleep last night, even though he turned in around midnight. Most of his time in bed had been spent tossing and turning on his narrow couch, trying to find a spot that would send him off to sleep despite the racing of his mind and the way it had been desperately replaying every minute of the night’s events.

As the driver turns onto another street, one of a handful that will eventually lead to the interstate and then LAX and then New York City, the night starts unfurling again in the confines of his mind. He doesn’t bother trying to shove the recollection away, doesn’t try to distract himself with staring out the window at the passing scenery; it’s probably better that he get the replay over with now, so that he can get some sleep on the airplane and try to prepare himself for the hectic days and weeks to come.

So he closes his eyes, leans his head back against the firm leather of the seat, and lets last night (and the events that led up to it) wash over him in a wave composed of nothing less than pure and utter regret.

—

It’s Adam’s idea to have a farewell dinner.

He brings it up at lunchtime, a week before Steven’s official last day in the LA office, while they’re sitting at one of the picnic tables outside, sheltered from the sun by a massive umbrella and gorging themselves on food truck tacos. He says it so seriously that, for a moment, Steven can’t help but wonder if Adam has somehow misunderstood, that he’s gotten the impression that this is a permanent goodbye.

“You know I’ll be back here like, once a month, right?” he asks, wiping guacamole away from the corner of his mouth. “Probably more than that, actually.”

“I know,” Adam answers with a slight shrug of his shoulders and a fraction of a smile. “But still.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Andrew chimes in from Steven’s side. Despite the fact that each side of the table could easily fit three people (or four if they squeezed together), Andrew is pressed against his side, elbow to elbow and thigh to thigh, like they’re filming an episode of Worth It, warming Steven even more thoroughly than the sun. “Who knows when we’ll be able to hang out again? We’ll probably be too busy working on the show whenever you come back.”

“I’ll make time,” Steven replies, feeling a frown tugging at his mouth. The three of them had discussed the logistics of his move, how it would affect the show, in fair detail when he’d initially told them about it, but he can’t help but feel that he’s missing something here, that he’s maybe overestimated how well they took the news. However, going down that path seems like it could be a tangent that could drag them all down in the dumps, so instead, he plasters a smile onto his face and leans across the table to steal a piece of chicken that has fallen out of Adam’s taco. “But sure, we can do dinner. Where do you want to go?”

“You should pick,” Adam says, carefully pulling his taco back so that it’s out of Steven’s reach. “You pick, and we can make the rest of the arrangements.”

Even though it’s really not that big of a decision (especially when compared to the decision that precipitated it, the decision to move across the country on what is really a hunch and a feeling), it distracts Steven’s mind for the rest of the day. Every time he opens a tab on his laptop, intent on researching something or checking his email, he somehow finds himself looking up restaurants both new and old, places they’ve visited over the course of Worth It and places he’s had on his must try list for months. No matter how hard he tries to concentrate, it keeps happening, over and over again, and finally, when five o’clock comes around, he throws in the towel and dedicates himself fully to the task.

After half an hour purely devoted to research, he makes a decision.

He’s just grabbed his phone to text Adam and Andrew when the latter comes up the stairs from the lobby, burying a yawn into the crook of his elbow. His shirt is dotted with dark stains and dustings of flour, and his hair is a strange mixture of flattened and spiky. Per the usual, Steven’s heart skips a beat at the sight of him and, also per the usual, he forces himself to ignore that particular skip so that he can speak without fumbling every word from his mouth.

“Think Adam would be down with Le Petit Paris for dinner?”

“For next week?” A small smile forms on Andrew’s mouth as he drops down into his seat at the desk beside Steven’s. “Yeah, definitely. Good pick.”

It’s such a casual phrase, really means nothing in the grand scheme of things (frankly, Steven is pretty sure that he could pick most any restaurant in the city, and Andrew would think it was a good pick), but warmth still flickers in his cheeks and chest all the same.

“Thanks,” he replies, busying himself with packing up his laptop so that he doesn’t have to focus on trying to pull his gaze away from Andrew’s smiling face. “See you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early. Night, Steven.”

There’s always been something different about the way Andrew says his name, something that makes it so much more than an absent minded way to end a sentence. It’s almost feels considerate, somehow, coming from Andrew’s mouth, and Steven has to swallow heavily before he answers.

“Yeah. Night, Andrew.”

&.

The week seems to pass in the blink of an eye.

Every available moment is filled with something to do. When he isn’t at work, he’s at home, figuring out which of his possessions should go into storage for the time being and boxing up the rest, or he’s out with his friends or people from the office, soaking up every last bit of California sun, because he doesn’t know when he’ll be returning for more.

By the time Thursday morning comes around, his apartment looks like he’s just moved in. The only article of furniture still in one piece is the couch, which he’s been sleeping on for a few days. He spends the first half of the day keeping track of everything as movers load the carefully packed cardboard boxes and furniture into a truck, ready to take it across the country. When they drive away, his apartment is so empty that every sound he makes, every footstep and hum, echoes back at him.

Even though there’s probably some more cleaning he could do, the echoing starts to get at him, and he heads into work shortly after lunch, aiming to have a productive afternoon, to wrap up some stuff that will be easier to handle in person than from a few thousand miles away.

Instead, he spends the afternoon saying goodbye to what feels like seemingly everyone in the LA office. He picks up stakes a few times, moves to a different part of the compound so he can maybe have a better chance of focusing, but each time is to no avail. Someone, whether it be Jen or Kelsey or Garrett or Alix, always finds him.

At four thirty, he gives up. He isn’t going to get anything done, not now, and besides, their dinner reservations are in an hour; even if he didmanage to buckle down and focus, he’d get torn away again just as he was starting to hit a groove. So instead, he heads back upstairs to his desk to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, to make sure he hasn’t left behind a mess for whoever will be taking his place.

He hasn’t. It could use a quick wipe down, but other than that, he’s already managed to remove all traces from it. The little trinkets that have accumulated on it over the years are gone, removed one at a time over the past few weeks. The drawer underneath it is empty of any personal effects; there are a few pens and other supplies rolling around, but he decides to leave them there as a kind of housewarming gift for his replacement.

Compared to Andrew’s desk on his left, with its box full of plushies and the photographs carefully peeking out of books, it looks downright sterile. At the sight of it, Steven’s chest grows momentarily tight, and he forces himself to tear his eyes away.

He’s not going to let this be a problem. He’s spent years carefully keeping his emotions at bay, keeping his feelings for Andrew tucked away the best he can. On the few occasions that they’ve escaped, he’s always been able to come up with a reasonable excuse, always been able to explain them away as a bit for an episode or the result of one glass of wine too many.

As much as it aches to swallow them down now, he’ll be damned if he’s going to let them slip out on today of all days.

Leaving his desk behind, he heads across the compound until he reaches the studio where Eating Your Feed is filming. He can hear laughter leaking out through the door, and part of him wants to slip inside, wants to watch his friends having fun, wants to watch Andrew having fun. Part of him wants to simply memorize the smile that’s no doubt gracing Andrew’s face, wants to keep it close to his chest so that he’ll have it on the long nights between now and the next time he comes into town.

But, as nice of a memento that would be, it would also hurt, having that smile living in his mind but not being able to access the real thing, and while Steven may be many things, he’s not that much of a masochist.

So instead, he leans back against the wall opposite the studio and distracts himself with his phone while he waits for filming to finish up. Thankfully, he only has to wait about twenty minutes before the door opens, and Niki and Rie come out. He says yet another round of goodbyes to them, and they’re just heading down the corridor when Adam, Annie and Andrew come out as well.

“Ready for dinner?” Adam asks.

“Whenever you are. Do you guys wanna change first?” Adam and Annie shake their heads, but Andrew nods emphatically.

“Yeah, please. That room is way too hot.”

“That room is the perfect temperature,” Annie responds, deadpan. “You just sweat more than any human being should.”

Andrew shrugs. “You’re not wrong. Meet you guys out in the parking lot.”

Adam is the only one of them who drove in today (Steven sold his car last week, and Andrew’s is in the shop), so they wait by his car, leaning against the hood and talking about how the shoot had gone. The evening looks like it’s going to be a beautiful one; the sun has begun to slip towards the horizon, still providing illumination but with less of the heavy heat that’s been sitting low over the city for the last few weeks, and there’s not a cloud in the sky, no sign of any rain that might put a wash on the evening.

Really, he couldn’t have asked for a better last night.

But that’s before Andrew comes out of the building.

At the sight of him, the words Steven was planning on saying to Adam and Annie die in his throat. Andrew’s plain white t-shirt is gone, replaced with a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the cords of his forearms and the watch strapped around his wrist. It looks like he ran water through his hair as well; it’s slicked over to one side, flyaways tamped down for the time being, although Steven wouldn’t be surprised if they reappeared soon.

Simply put, even though there’s nothing particularly new or unique about the outfit, nothing out of the ordinary, Andrew looks amazing, and Steven suddenly feels like this is a horrible idea. He feels like he should come up with an excuse, any excuse, to get out of dinner, because this is going to be painful. This is going to hurt more than he’s prepared to deal with.

But it’s too late to back out. Andrew has already reached the car, and Adam has dug his keys from the depths of his pocket. If Steven were to flee now, he’d be hurting his friends, and he wants that like he wants a hole in the head.

So, with his heart heavy in his chest, he slides into the back beside Andrew, tries not to catch the scent of Andrew’s cologne (and fails), and attempts to portion off the part of his brain that has a thing for Andrew, that has had a thing for him pretty well from the first day they met.

&.

Remarkably, he manages to keep himself under control for almost the entirety of dinner.

They keep the conversation light, turned away from the real reason they’re there. They talk about work and movies and the amazing food in front of them, about Andrew’s new cat and Adam and Annie’s new apartment, but they do not talk about the move.

Nor do they talk about the fact that there’s something between Andrew and Steven, something hovering between them like an unseen fifth person, something that has Steven’s nerves pulled taut.

The tables at the restaurant are not unreasonably small, but somehow, Steven finds himself repeatedly brushing against Andrew. When they move to grab a piece of cutlery or their respective glasses of wine, their arms touch, and it feels like fire singing Steven’s skin. Even when they’re eating, Andrew’s knee keeps bumping against Steven’s.

But even more so than that, Steven can feel Andrew staring at him, almost from the very moment they sit down. Andrew’s gaze has always heavy, borderline overbearing, but Steven thought that he’d become accustomed to it, that he’d become adept at shaking the weight of it off like it was no more than a feather.

Apparently not.

It has to be obvious to Adam and Annie, but neither of them say a word or draw any attention to it. What they do do, however, is conveniently excuse themselves to the washroom once they’re finished up with their meals, leaving Steven with no way out and nothing to focus on.

Nothing but Andrew.

He knows that something is going to happen; it has to. Something has to happen, something has to pop the tension that’s coiling tight around his chest like a predatory snake, threatening to take every inch of breath he has. If something doesn’t happen, he’ll suffocate.

“I can’t believe it’s tomorrow,” Andrew says quietly. His knee is pressed against Steven’s again. Steven is looking at Andrew’s scraped clean plate, but in his peripheral vision, he can see Andrew tilting his head to look at him. He can feel Andrew’s gaze on him. “I thought…” Andrew pauses for a moment, and his fingers momentarily twitch on the clean white linen of the tablecloth. “I don’t know. I thought we were gonna have more time, you know?”

“Andrew…” Steven doesn’t intend on letting the word leave his mouth, but it exits all the same, hangs heavily in the air between them, as visible as a gaudy ornament on a Christmas tree. Now that it’s out in the open, he can feel himself tiptoeing towards the road he promised himself he wouldn’t go down, for both of their sakes.

But then again, would it really be so bad? Would it really be so bad if, underneath the warm-toned lighting of the restaurant, surrounded by the peaceful murmur of other patrons and faint string music, he simply confessed everything? If he finally told Andrew everything that’s been filling his mind, to some degree or another, for the past few years?

He could finally say I love you. I’ve loved you for so long. He could finally say, I think we could make a life together, or you make me feel safe, or you make me want to stay.

Or maybe he could simply look up from the table, catch Andrew’s unwavering eye, and finally kiss him, the way he’s dreamed about for literal years.

Would that be so bad?

The answer, of course, is yes.

Even though the words ache to spill from his lips, even though he is fairly certain that his feelings would be reciprocated, throwing all of that on Andrew now, the night before he leaves, feels like a special kind of disrespect. It feels completely and utterly selfish.

It feels cruel.

If there’s one thing Andrew doesn’t deserve, it’s cruelty.

“Yes?” Andrew says. His fingers have moved to Steven’s side of the table, and they’re curled into the thick fabric of the tablecloth. There’s a hopeful note in his voice, something that almost makes Steven reconsider, makes him say screw it and lean in anyways.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he mutters, “Never mind. I forget what I was going to say.” He flicks his eyes away from Andrew’s fingers and back to his own plate, where he spears a noodle and shoves it into his mouth.

Even though the sauce is exploding with flavor, decadent and creamy, he can barely taste it over the sour taste flooding through his mouth.

Adam and Annie return moments later, and after settling their bills, they step back out into the night. The evening has grown cool, and there’s a stiff breeze that makes a chill run down Steven’s spine, breaking through the uncomfortable warmth that’s been stifling him ever since his aborted confession.

“Want a lift home?” Adam asks once they’re outside. “Or to the airport tomorrow? I can come pick you up.”

Adam’s companionship would probably beat the hell out of an Uber driver, but Steven’s decision to shake his head is twofold: he doesn’t want to drag Adam out of bed that early, and he knows that if Adam comes, so will Andrew, and Steven isn’t sure he could deal with going through yet another goodbye.

If he has to do that, he thinks his willpower might finally snap.

“I’ll be fine,” he answers. “But I’ll let you all know when I land tomorrow, alright?”

“You better,” Annie responds, pulling him into a quick hug. Adam follows up, grabs him tight and thumps him on the back hard enough to make Steven cough with surprise. After he steps away, he glances over at Andrew.

“What about you, Drew? Want a lift home?”

“That’d be great, actually. Be there in a second.” While Adam and Annie drift over towards the car, Andrew comes to stand in front of Steven. There’s no escaping his eyes now, nowhere Steven can look that won’t make it painfully obvious that he’s avoiding eye contact. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he glances from Adam and Annie to Andrew.

The breath does almost nothing to prepare himself for the depth of emotion written in Andrew’s eyes, on his face. It’s not quite sadness; if anything, it might be closer to regret, tinged with a bit of weariness.

Steven is willing to bet that he’s probably wearing a similar expression.

Without warning, Andrew pulls him into a tight hug, and Steven’s walls temporarily fall down. He fully melts against Andrew, wraps his arms around his neck and hauls him in close, until he can feel Andrew’s broad chest expanding against his own. This close, he can smell Andrew’s cologne, along with a hint of wine from dinner, and he knows that smell is going to transfer onto his own clothes, that it might very well be the first thing he smells when he wakes up in the morning.

“You can always talk to me, you know,” Andrew murmurs. The words brush warmly against the side of Steven’s neck. “Doesn’t matter what time it is. I’ll always answer, Steven.”

“I know.” The words have to traverse a lump in Steven’s throat in order to leave his mouth. “I’ll reach out if I need anything. I promise.”

“Good.”

They stay like that for a few more moments, fully wrapped around each other, Steven’s mind empty of any thought that doesn’t directly relate to how wonderful Andrew feels pressed up against him. Eventually, Andrew’s grip slackens, and Steven loosens his own arms in anticipation of stepping away.

Andrew steps back first, and as he moves away, he turns his head and brushes his lips against Steven’s temple.

It’s too gentle to be much of a kiss, but gentle or not, Steven feels it as viscerally as a punch to the jaw, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from reeling backwards, from simply dropping to the ground.

“Have a safe flight,” Andrew says, cheeks faintly tinged pink. “I’ll see you soon?”

Steven can’t speak. All he can do is nod, so overwhelmed with the urge to lurch forward and kiss Andrew that it physically hurts to restrain himself. With a slight smile, Andrew turns and walks over to Adam’s car.

It’s only after he clambers inside that Steven starts breathing again. As soon as he takes in a deep breath, warmth starts pricking at the corners of his eyes, and he refocuses all his energy on keeping that warmth from spilling over.

He’s successful up until the moment he gets through his front door.

From that point on, there’s no stopping it.

+++

He can’t see the terminals yet, but LAX is still looming before him, present in the freeway signs overhead and the sight of planes taking off, disappearing into the sky.

He glances down at where his phone is resting in his lap. It’s still too early for Andrew to be up, but Steven can’t help but play with the idea of texting him, of saying something.

But what would he say? Everything that he wants to say is too long to be distilled down to a single text message, or even a string of them. He supposes that he could just say that he’s sorry, but that isn’t nearly enough. It’s not good enough. Not good enough for Andrew, who deserves nothing less than the entire world and all the joy in it.

Maybe one day, he’ll tell Andrew. Maybe one day, the spires of New York will no longer feel like home, and he’ll come back for good to the smog and sun of LA. Maybe he’ll come back, ready to spill everything, ready and willing to tell Andrew absolutely everything.

But maybe, by that point, Andrew won’t want to hear those words. Maybe he’ll have found someone else. Maybe he’ll have simply moved on, the distance between them, despite Steven’s occasional jaunts home, having killed off whatever exists between them. Maybe the distance will have killed or, at the very least, quieted everything that Steven is feeling right now.

With one last glance at the screen, Steven pockets his phone and sighs.

As painful as the thought may be, for the sake of both his own happiness and Andrew’s, he really, truly hopes that that ends up being the case.

[timelordthirteen]

His Girl Friday 2/3

Malcolm Tucker x Sam Cassidy, Mature

Summary: Malcolm Tucker needs a PA. Sam Cassidy needs a job. It’s kismet.

Chapter Summary: Sam's first few day of work are mostly what she expects, but in Malcolm Tucker's office one must always expect the unexpected.

Notes: Thank you for the lovely comments on the first chapter.

[AO3] 

Malcolm tried to go easy on her the first few days, but the fucking twats surrounding him just wouldn’t allow it. It was the morning of her third day when she overheard her first official Malcolm Tucker bollocking. Part of him wished he could have seen her face when he called a junior minister in Health and Safety a lying, useless sack of old chewing gum, and threatened to wad the idiot up and stick him on the underside of his desk so the moron could stare at his balls all day. But another part of him didn’t want to know what she really thought of his less than respectful language and foul imagery, and didn’t want to see the cringing or the disappointment on her face. He didn’t know why that seemed to matter.

“Get out of my fucking sight!” he yelled, turning away from the waste of skin causing the stabbing pain in his temples.

He could hear the hurried footsteps and the sound of the door opening. His fingers pressed to his forehead for a moment, and he let out a breath before moving to the door, already composing a pseudo-apology to Sam.

“Sam, I - oh...”

He stopped and barely avoided running into her, but she swayed out and around him, moving through the doorway into his office with a mug of coffee in her hand and a folder tucked under her arm.

“I thought you might need a recharge after that,” she said, striding over to his desk to set the cup and folder down. “Four and a half minutes, almost non-stop. Impressive.”

There was a quirk to her lips when she turned around, and he smiled and shrugged.

“The twats just bring it out of me. I can’t help it.”

She hummed and smiled, gliding out of the room with the same grace she entered. Malcolm shook his head and flopped in his chair, reaching out for the fresh coffee she’d left him.

Four days and no fuck ups. In fact, it was the exact opposite. She had sorted through files until the boxes and folders that had been piled around his office since he moved in were collated, labeled, and slid neatly into drawers. She already remembered how he took his coffee, and didn’t seem to be the least bit phased by the continuous stream of expletives that flowed freely in the Department of Communications.

It wasn’t just remarkable, it was a fucking miracle.

“Fucking hell, Jamie, you couldn’t keep him from fucking up for two hours?”

Sam heard Malcolm before she saw him, and while that wasn’t unusual at all, it was the second voice that made her look up sharply.

“I went to take a fucking piss, Malc! I come back and the cunt is flappin' his gob to some twat from the Telegraph about how the numbers aren’t really the fucking numbers.”

“Look everybody knows the fucking numbers are massaged a little before they go to the Treasury, right?” Malcolm said as he rounded the corner. “But everybody’s supposed to know not to fucking talk about it!”

They stopped by her desk and Sam finally got a look at Jamie, whom she’d only heard about in these first few days. He was Scottish, obviously, a little shorter than Malcolm, and younger too, she guessed. His hair was dark and curly, and from head to toe he looked disheveled, with his wrinkled shirt, tie just a little loose, and no jacket.

They kept going, back and forth at each other, the amount of swearing steadily increasing until they abruptly stopped like they’d finally realized she was there.

“My god, there’s two of you now?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at Malcolm. The slight curve of her lips let him know she was joking, and he smirked in response.

“Who’s the new bird?” Jamie asked, looking from Sam to Malcolm and back again.

She frowned at him, but before she could say anything, Malcolm tapped Jamie sharply on the back of the head.

“Mind your manners,” Malcolm said, glaring. “She’s my new PA.”

Jamie seemed to get the message because he straightened up just a bit, tugged his tie so it was askew, and turned to Sam. “Jamie McDonald.”

Sam glanced at his outstretched hand, then up to his face, and finally reached out and shook it. “Sam Cassidy.”

A beat later she added, “So, you’re what, the enforcer’s enforcer?”

He laughed. “Something like that yeah. I just whack whoever the big fucker tells me to, and throw the bodies in the Thames.”

Sam grinned and turned back to her desk to retrieve two messages. “Calls from the Telegraph and the Mail,” she said, handing over the slips to Malcolm. “And the Tom wants to see you in thirty.”

Malcolm nodded, thanked her, and then grabbed Jamie by the arm, picking up his berating right where he left off, as he pulled his fellow Scotsman into his office. Sam sat back in her chair and shook her head.

The first time he hollered Sam loud enough for her to hear it through the closed, solid wood Georgian door, she jumped and nearly spilled her coffee. She had the sudden fear that he was furious at her for something she did or didn’t do, or failed to do properly. In a way it seemed like it was inevitable because he was known to be a difficult person, and despite giving it her absolute best, and not really feeling like he was actually all that difficult, there were so many moments where she still thought she was floundering helplessly in deep water.

There had been a minor disaster in Defense that morning, two staff forced to resign to protect a minister, and in turn protect the PM from looking like an idiot for appointing another idiot. who apparently appointed even more idiots. She wondered if every week was going to be like this cluster fuck of idiocy, but she was also afraid of the answer.

He yelled again, and she stood up quickly.

It was late in the day, almost seven she noticed, and she sighed heavily. She should have gone home an hour ago, or at least called Will to tell him she’d be late for dinner. Her palms pressed over her thighs as she made the short walk around her desk and into his office, the door creaking a little as she pushed it open. She strode in trying to appear her usual confident, composed self, despite the fact that her brain was running through everything from the past two days looking for the thing he might hit her with first.

“Is there any coffee left?” he asked, looking up from a pile of papers and an open binder.

His hair was slightly mussed, tie loose around his neck with the top two buttons undone, and his jacket was draped over the back of his chair. He sounded so hopeful at the prospect of a hot cup, and she wanted to laugh out loud and the pathetic a picture he made.

She smiled. “I’ll make some fresh.”

When she returned a few minutes later with a steaming hot mug in her hand, his thank you was one of the most grateful sounds she’d ever heard from another human being.

The next day, she made sure there was a fresh pot brewing by five, just as she wrapped up her work and cleared off her desk, tucking folders and notebooks into her top drawer to keep them away from any prying eyes. She slipped into his office, while he was on the phone, his chair turned away from the door, and set another cup down on the corner of his desk, next to the lamp.

By the time he turned his chair around and noticed the red mug sitting there, she’d left for the day. But the contents had cooled to the perfect temperature, and after the first life giving sip he swore she might be psychic.

Malcolm was a classic Type A workaholic, prone to working much later than he should or than was healthy, and Sam decided early on that part of her job would have to be making sure he took care of himself before he fell apart. She figured he couldn’t very well keep all the morons in line and keep the country running if he was malnourished and low on caffeine. Before she left everyday, she checked on him, tried to find out how late he was staying, offered to order take out if he needed it. He was always grateful, but most of the time he just told her to go home, in that crass, sweary way that only he could and still somehow have it feel friendly.

Then came a day Malcolm actually left at the same time as she. He caught up to her in the hallway, taking a few quick strides to close the gap.

“Leaving early?” she asked with amusement.

He smiled, still working his arms into his wool overcoat. “I think it’s what normal fucking people call on time.”

She laughed lightly, and he bumped her arm with his elbow.

“You have plans then?” she asked. The immediate look on his face said yes, but she was curious if he’d tell her anything.

“No,” he replied just a little too quickly. “Just needed to be out of this fucking place for a change. You?”

“There’s some play Will wants to see,” she sighed. “I’m not much for theater, but -” She shrugged.

He gave her a look, but she couldn’t quite decipher if it was surprise or something else. “Boyfriend?”

She nodded, and they were comfortably silent the rest of the way to the back exit of Number Ten. When they reached the pavement outside, Malcolm stopped her with a hand at her elbow.

He leaned in close to her, pressing his arm against hers so he could speak quietly. “Congratulations.”

She gave him a questioning look, and turned, taking a step back. “For?”

“One month,” he replied. “Impressive.”

She laughed a little and ducked her head briefly before meeting his eyes again. “It’s not that impressive, Malc.”

He grinned. “Oh, but it is. Since apparently you’re the only one who can fucking stand me for that long.”

She rolled her eyes. “Jamie’s been with you longer.”

“Yeah, but Jamie’s Jamie, you know. He’s a bit too fucking much like me.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, and for a moment she thought he looked almost hesitant. “You’re different.”

“From Jamie? I should hope so.”

They both laughed, and she eyed him a little as he shook his head and stepped close again, reaching out to give her shoulder a little squeeze.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said, and the small confession made his throat tighten unexpectedly.

She didn’t know what to say. The gesture felt more intimate than it should, and even after his hand had retreated to his coat pocket once again, she could feel the weight of it and the pressure of his fingers, his thumb rubbing lightly over her coat before he’d pulled away.

“Good night,” she managed, with a small smile, and then she turned quickly and headed down the narrow back street.

“Night, Sam,” he replied, feeling oddly thankful that she didn’t look back.

Malcolm watched her walk away until she reached the corner and waved her arm for a taxi. When she was out of sight, he sighed and pulled out his Blackberry, scanning the new messages that never seemed to stop piling in. Then he turned around to head back inside.

There was always too much work to be done.

[nrsranger]

3.3

The Outer Rim

Arbiflux

Tarn’s Family farm

1000 hrs

Coming into land on Arbiflux Tarn had two options, one to land at the sector space port, but it was nothing more than a concrete slab sitting in the middle of a grass field, no tower, no controller and 50 kilometers from his family farm. For that reason Dorman choose to land on his family’s property. His family owned about 130 square kilometers of farmland, a small estate consisting of the Farm house, a bunkhouse, a garage and several storage sheds all arranged in a loose rectangle. Dorman landed his X-wing where his right S-foil was three meters from the outer edge of this rectangle. As he climbed out his Ma and Da were standing just beyond the gate that separated the farmland from the estate. Climbing down from his X-Wing Yarn’s little black book weighed him down like a tombstone stuffed in his pocket. Reaching the ground, his Ma and Pa opened the gate and hugged him.

“We heard about the Hosian system and we feared the worst, are you ok?” His Ma asked

“Yeah, I’m alright I’m alive” Dorman said reassuring himself.

“And how’s Yarn Ma Tarn said

“Uh Ma um that’s why I’m here..” Dorman said, his voice trailing off.

“Please don’t say……” Pa Tarn said

Dorman didn't say a word, he just shook his head and cried.

“Come in son, your brothers and sister should be coming back any time now, then we will head over to the Belmic’s” Pa Tarn said, putting his arm around his son and escorting him inside the home. As they entered Dorman controlled his tears and sat at the kitchen counter. When his Ma filled a cup and placed it in front of it, he took it and took a long drink.

“Jawa Juice, just the way you like it” His Ma said

“Ah Thanks Ma” He said finally composing himself

“I bet the Military life doesn't make a cup of Jawa Juice as good as your mother’s” Pa said

“No, no they don’t” Dorman said.

Just then, the front door slid open and Dorman's younger sister Court walked in.

“Hey! I saw the X-Wing out front is Tarn home?” Court said as she walked through the house to the kitchen placing the keys to the family’s speeder in a drawer. “Oh it's just you Dorman, what’s up”

Dorman stood up and went in for a hug “Nice to see you to sis”

Returning the hug, she asked “Where's my boyfriend?”

Dorman said nothing, just hugged her tighter.

“Dorman, where is he?.... is he ok,..... is he alright? Just tell me he’s safe” Court sobbed, shooting off one question after another in response to Dormans continued silence.

“Court, take a seat, I’ll pour you a cup of Jawa Juice” Ma said

Unaided Court took the seat next to Dormans and drank from her cup. A few moments passed in silence as each member of the family sipped the drinks processing their grief. The sound of a speeder’s repulsar hummed in the distance steadily growing louder.

“That must be your brother’s” Ma said

“Did they tell you that they have farms and families of their own now? Mel married the Oldest Kalven girl and has about 30 acres. Delvin has two kids and 40 acres and Robert just finished his apprenticeship with Doc Teyrmin and now has his own office and who is he Courting?” Pa asked

“The, ummm Adams Girl, the third one I think?” Ma said

Just then the Door Opened and the three brother walked in and seeing the sad faces and half empty jug of Jawa Juice

Mel said jokingly “Who died?”

It took Pa moment to huddle up his three clueless sons and in a hushed tone explain to them the situation. Mel apologise, and each brother took their turn hugging Court and Dorman.

“We're going to head to the Belmic’s to break the news, do you guys want to come with?” Pa said. Mel, Delvin and Robert glanced down then Delvin said trying to cheer up the mournful faces.

“We’ll wait here and prepare a lunch on top of the hill, we can celebrate his life the way he would want us to, we’ll bring our families and have a good ole time”

“Let me grab a shower and get out of this stinky flight suit,” Dorman said.

“Yeah sure I’ll warm up the speeder” Pa said.

Dorman blankly gazed off in the horizon zipping past grain fields until they arrived at the Belmic Family Farm. He rubbed the cloth on the chair in front of him desperately trying to dry his palms. As the speeder winded down Court, Ma and Pa all climbed out and approached the front door in his sharp dress uniform and that little black book in his right hand.

“Hey Traya,” Mrs. Belmic said, opening the door, then she noticed Dorman’s dress uniform and she said “Dorman! It's so nice to you again, How’s my son?”

Dorman cleared his throat, “Mrs. Belmic, that is why we are here, can we come inside.”

“Of Course, Is Yarn ok?” Mrs. Belmic said suspiciously opening the door for all the Tarns. “Kits in the kitchen, making some lunch”

“Can we speak to your entire family?” Dorman said

“Yeah sure thing! Kit! Call the kids!” Mrs. Belmic said

“Ok?” Kit Belmic said drying his hands and grabbing his comm link.

A few moments later Mr and Mrs Belmic were sitting in the living room surrounded by four kids aging from 8 to 17. Clearing his throat Dorman stood up reading the concern on the faces of every person in the room.

“On behalf of the New Republic, I extend my apologies for the loss of your son, he died in the line of duty, protecting the people and interests of the New Republic he died on ------ of the ------ ABY at approximately 0740 hours. He fell in the remains of the Hosnian System, protecting Raysho Station.” Dorman recitied. To occupy the time in hyperspace he read and reread Yarn’s little blackbook and on the front cover sat the official New Republic condolence letter.

“Were, were you with him when he---” Mrs Belmic said wiping tears from her eyes and clutching Mr. Belmic

Dorman’s crestfallen face fell even more. “yes, yes, I was”

“Did you hear his last words, What were they” Mrs. Blemic asked

Replaying the moment in his head, the TIE Fighters Opening fire Yarn screaming his name as his X-Wing burst into a short lived fireball disintegrating his body

“Yes….he said, tell my family not to be sad, for I die for a worthy cause” Dorman lied.

“Thank you, Dorman” Mrs. Belmic said grabbing Dormans hand and squeezed it.

“I know you need time to process this so let me know if there is anything I can do for you.” Ma Tarn asked

“Ummm thank you Traya, I will” Mrs Belmic said blankly nestling up against her husband “we knew the risks Kit we knew the risks but we let him go anyway, why did we let him go!?”

“Because, he made his own decision and he knew that he might have to lay down his life to protect the Republic.”

“I don’t know what it feels like to lose a son and I don’t want to try, but we are organizing a little get together, just your family and ours, around noon, and let us honor Yarn’s last request, it's what he would want” Mrs. Tarn said timidly

“Thank you, Traya, we will be there, we might be late, but we will be there,” Mr. Belmic said, gathering his children around his feet and his wife in his arms.

“Every Service man carries a little black book with them, this contains their last Will and Testament, I wanted you all here because every one he made an entry for is in this room.” Dorman said, handing over Yarn’s little black book.

“Thank you Dorman,” Mr. Belmic said standing up and accepting the book “now if you excuse us, we have prepare for your get together.”

“We understand Kit” Mr. Tarn said standing up marking the end of conversation, hugs and condolences were traded Mrs. Tarn was the last one out the door giving Mrs. Belmic one final hug.

When Court, Ma, Pa and Dorman returned back to the family farm, the house was bustling more than usual, with two kids running around and playing around Dorman’s X-Wing. As the speeder came to a halt kids disengaged themselves from their game of Rebels and Imperials and ran over shouting

“Uncle Pilot! Uncle Pilot!”

Lifting the black feeling his heart held, the children lighten his mood as he swooped down and lifted the oldest child up!

“Hey!!, I forgot your name,” Dorman said, setting him down in line, “lets see, your Ich” he joked pointing at the oldest kid aged about eight.

“No!” he said in a way only a kid can say “I’m Kip, that's Ich” he said pointing out the youngest kid around four.

“Wow! Are you sure? Because last time I saw Kip, I could do this!” Dorman said, tickling Kip to the point where the eight year old almost wetted his pants.

“Ok, Ok Gr ma walking through watch out” Dorman’s Ma said sliding through the tickle torture. Just then Delvin’s wife Trina walked out and said to the kids

“Alright kids, let's get ready to go to the hill!, Doorman! Are you hurting my child” She accused playfully

“No more than he deserves Trina!” Dorman said matching his tone to hers, this time not faking any tone but dread. “Where’s Mel and Cali?”

“There already up at the hill setting things up” Trina replied sleeping Ich’s arm through his jacket sleeve and buttoning it up.

“What can we do to help Trina” Ma asked

“Well Mel and Delvin forgot to bring up the desert and the roast Iggunt” Trina said multitasking as she put on shoes and tied knots.

“Yeah, Pa can grab that, Court can you help your Dad?” Ma said, walking over to Trina and helped her with getting the kids ready.

The Hill was like the name implied a hill sitting out of the Tarn’s homestead rising a solid 20 meters from the surrounding land, it offers the best view of the mountains on one side and the small city of Maldoca where the family did most of their business. On the crest of the hill sat a large picnic table built by the Tarn and Belmic families as they sat on that hill for many hours when Dorman and Yarn were little kids. Sitting around the table was the little Tarn clan, Ma was moving around the table filling every slightly empty cup full of her sector wide famous Jawa Juice, Pa, Mel, Delvin and Dorman were sitting on one side catching up, On the other side, Cali (Mel’s wife) and Trina (Delvin’s wife) were talking with Court about whatever inlaw’s talk about during family gatherings. Kip and Ich ran around the table sometimes eating and sometime chasing each other around. Robert and his Girlfriend Amildal Adams were laying on the slope talking cute Kip ran up to within earshot of them, made a face and ran back to his uncle “pilot” saying

“Uncle Pilot, Uncle Pilot, why don’t you talk like uncle Robert?”

“Well I just haven’t found someone special like your uncle Rober has” Dorman said

“Well they're talking about gross stuff, is that what you talk to your crush about?” Kip said

Dorman looked up to his 2nd oldest brother who made a face communicating his reluctance to answer that question, “Umm go ask your Mother about that” Dorman said before he refocused on the conversation that centered around the attack on the Hosnian System and the surrounding rumors.

“I heard the New Republic has fallen and is no more” Mel the oldest brother said

Pa uncharacteristically broke his silence and said “Rip from the city, we sell about 30 kilos of grain to him yearly said that the New Republic is a lost cause, as there is going to be some new Galactic Alliance to address the First Order Threat.”

“Pa, I find that hard to believe because who would dare oppose the First Order with the power they have” Mel said gently

“I have three Star Cruisers and a shipyard of people who do” Dorman said

“Well, yeah but like on a planetary level, I heard on the holonet the Coursant, Naboo, Ord Mantell, Corellia and Ringo Vinda have already joined the First Order.” Mel said

“You can’t trust everything you hear on the holo news” Delvin said scoffing “I think only half of those systems have even made a decision, but maybe we might put some of these rumors to rest, Dorman, what do you know?”

“Well I’m not privy to the senior staff meetings but this is what I know. The entire Hosnian System, has been destroyed, and if anyone believes that New Republics is defeated, well lets just say that I’m pretty sure that Admiral Thadmin has a few surprises up his sleeve.”

“Ah the New Republic is lost, with our Capital destroyed, what can they do?” Mel said. By this time Robert and Amildal walked over hand in hand and joined their conversation.

“What are we talking about” Robert asked

“The New Republic and First Order” Delvin answers

“Oooooo, I heard that within the first twenty four hours of the Hosnian System attack if not all but most of the Planets have withdrawn their allegiance.” Robert said

“I only have one question, will there be a war?” Pa asked

“No!” Mel said

“Maybe” Delvin said “It depends if other Star Systems can rally and provide a sufficient counterattack”

“Jyn Erso once said during the First Death Star Crisis, it’s not about what chance we have, but what choice we have,” Amildal

“Well said,” Robert said with a wink.

“Yes!, there will be a War, scratch that, WE. ARE. AT. WAR. ” Dorman said “and I will be on the front line” he continued feeling a bit heated “they just murdered my best friend, when he did not even pose a threat, and someones got to stop them.” as he finished all the family sitting at the table stared at him in awe of his resolve, the silence hung like a curtain until his Ma walked over to him and gave him a well needed hug but then the conversation turned to interior politics and what the planetary governor will do Dorman lost interest at this point, and focused more on the melon type fruit on his plate, but his concentration was interrupted as his comm link beeped. He looked down and picked it up, as he looked up every adult stared at him knowing that this was a professional call.

“Ensing Tarn?, This is Sub Lieutenant Harlow of the Ranger” The female voice said

“Yes Sub Lieutenant, this is Ensign Tarn” Dorman said

“Commander Mauz regrets cutting you leave short but you are needed back at Raysho station ASAP” L.t Harlow said

“Understood, L.t, I will leave within the hour, and will be arriving, tomorrow at 1400 hours” Dorman said checking his wrist crono

“The sooner the better Ensign” L.T Harlow said

“Yes Ma’am, and if you can pass on the message to the CAG that he was right.” Dorman said

“I will Ensign,” Lt. Harlow said.

Dorman looked up and all eyes were on him.

The silence was broken when Mel said

“Ok, I’m just saying what we were all thinking; she sounded hot”, that earned him a punch in the shoulder by his wife.

“Well, you're not wrong Mel, but she married, so that's a no go.” Dorman said but then his voice darken as he said “I wish I could stay but I have to go,”

“I know son, but I..I...I don’t, I don’t want this to be the last time I see-” Ma stutterd

“Don’t worry Ma, I will return home even if I have to win the war single handedly, I will return home” Dorman said

“You do that” Ma said, wiping tears from her eyes. Then came the time everyone dreaded; the Goodbye hugs. Dorman stood up with everyone else and he first hugged Mel, and Delvin, he then turned around and hugged Cali Trina. Next Dorman stooped down and caught his nephews and they ran and gave him a kiddy hug. He then stood up at turned to Robert who said

“Woah, Woah, Woah, calm down there Mr, huggy Amildal and I will drive you to your X-Wing. Dorman smiled and withdrew his hands and went up to his Pa, and threw his arms around him and hugged him tight, just as Dorman thought his day would never let go, his grip slackened. He then looked toward his younger sister and gave her a side hug and nested his head against hers. Then came the moment he dreaded, he look at his Ma and immediately the tears started streaming, but he walked up anyway and wrapped his arms around her and rocked back and forth,

“I will come back Ma, I promise” he whisper resting his head on his Ma’s shoulder. They held each other for a few more moments then they release and Dorman in his crisp formal uniform turned about faced and march down to where Roberts speeder waited. Robert, Amildal and Dorman climbed in and zoomed off. As they hit cruiser speed, Robert turned toward Dorman,

“I’m joining” he said

“What!?” Dorman said

“The New Republic Navy, I’m joining as a medic” Robert clarified

“what , what, what about Amildal?” He stammered

“He already talked it over with me, I’m joining to, as a medic as well we know the risk, but people need help, and your brother and I have been trained as doctors, we have taken an oath to help those who need help, and we will help those who will fight oppression now matter the cost” Amildal said

“O.k have you?” Dorman said before being cut off

“Finished the paper work? Yep our shuttle is arriving at 1800 hours the day after tomorrow. I have now told Me yet but I will eventually”

“Well the New Republic could use you, we are going to need medics and pilots alike” Dorman said ominously

“Well here you are” Dorman said pulling up to Dorman’s X-Wing

“Yeah, let me go inside, grab my stuff and change into my flight suit.” Dorman said

“Sure thing brother we’ll wait here and see you off.”

A Few moments later Dorman stepped out of the main house in his orange flight suit and he stored his bag in the nose storage compartment. Then he face his brother, “You know you have always been my favorite.”

“I know,” Robert said confidently “before you go let's take a holophoto.

“Oh come on, I need to go!” Dorman said rushed

“I know, I know but it will only take a moment” Robert said pulling out his holo cam recorder and setting it the the proper mode and setting it to the approtate height. He then pulled his arm around his brother and the other around Amildal. Dorman let a genuine smile across his face, with his X-wing standing behind him, his brother next to him, and his brother's girlfriend who was always looking out for him and his family.

“I’ll send it to you, now get going” Robert said

Dorman climbed in his X-wing and completed his preflight check started up his repulsor engines until he was a few meter off the ground then he gently applied power his sublight engines and took off, before he left the atmosphere, his data pad buzzed and he pulled it out, it was the holo photo his brother took. With the picture still on it, he placed his datapad in the right corner of his cockpit, he glanced at it then layed in a course to the Raysho station and engaged his hyper drive.

[blame-canada]

Quarter Rests: Adapt

The CMV Mutation Pandemic swept across the globe so quickly, society as they knew it was doomed to fall. While the world came crashing down around them, Craig and Tweek tried their best to survive, and to love endlessly, in spite of it.

Hello friends! For the September 2017 South Park Drabble Bomb, I’ve decided to use all five prompts to write for the Halfway universe- which means everything here is canon to that fanfiction and its timeline! I hope you’ll tune in to catch a few little tidbits here and there about this universe I’ve lovingly crafted into my own. Link to the fic on AO3 here!

Chapter Two: Adapt

In all of her years, Helen had never felt so hopelessly out of control as she did now. She felt frozen, as though she were a solid marble pillar in the center of her living room and time was moving twice its regular speed. Her family was weaving around her, zipping by much too quickly for real time, like she’d hit fast-forward while they were packing up the truck that would carry them and their most precious and essential furniture a few blocks away. It was not a long way to go, but it felt like oceans, and each ghost of a wall decoration on old paint felt like another stark reminder that times were certainly changing.

They had gotten notice that all utility services would be shut down for the property one week prior. Theirs was not the only home to be targeted, as was evident by the sudden migration pattern of the outermost circles of South Park inward. Nearly all of their immediate neighbors had either passed on or moved closer to the town’s center, where power would remain on.

She sighed, allowing her normally perfectly straight shoulders to sag with the defeated motion. Though she felt exhausted, her mind felt hopelessly immortal, and was something she could only dream to turn off in the quietest hours of the universe. Instead it kept her up at night, asking her where she would get her pills refilled, what would happen if she had to stop taking them, and if she would be okay.

As if reading her mind, Richard startled Helen by coming up behind her to hug around her middle, burying his nose in the ends of her hair that tickled her shoulders. “Darling, you’re staring.” His voice was so loving, so mellow and gentle, that Helen had never stopped growing butterflies in her chest when he murmured to her ear alone. “Did you take your medicine?”

“Yes, dear,” she sighed. She relaxed into his hold, placing her hands over his where they rested over her stomach. She remembered standing like this with a swollen belly decades ago, only a few years before moving into this very house. Her baby was fully grown now, though, and was set to arrive home in only a handful of hours, but it wouldn’t be to their home; it would be to the Tuckers’. In a way unjustifiable, this disturbed her.

“I know it’s quite a change,” Richard whispered, “but we should try to embrace it as a fresh start. Fresh, like the savory, slow-roasted blend of-”

“Oh dear,” Helen cut him off, fighting off hysterics, “our coffee business is long gone. Hearing you speak of it is upsetting.”

Richard paused, then pulled away from her with hesitant, disappointed slowness. She knew that it hurt him when she said these things, but it hurt her to hear them now too. She hoped he understood.

Helen twisted on one kitten heel to face him and wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling momentarily sixteen and foolishly in love again. The movement reminded her of junior prom. Oh, she’d been approached by so many suitors, so many hopeful boys with hungry, wolfish grins, but it was this one with a mumbling voice and a mouth full of odd metaphors that she had chosen. She was grateful for her choice.

To further the memory, and cement the suspicion that he was recalling the same one, Richard took her hand and slid it carefully up to the side, slipping the other around her waist and beginning a rocking slow dance. The floorboards beneath them creaked and protested, but they hadn’t a care for it. No, Helen didn’t care at all, because if the floor was to break beneath them, it would help make their move feel a tiny bit more justified, and so she pressed down with her feet a little harder than usual. Instead of placing her hand on his shoulder in traditional form, she cupped it against his cheek, and relished in the feeling of his prickly chin hair scratching at her palm as they shifted together. Like this, Helen could forget the other three people moving around them in the house.

“I don’t want to say goodbye to this place, Richard,” she mumbled into his neck, and he inhaled deeper than normal in what was likely a suppressed sigh. He hummed on the exhale.

“I don’t either, my love, but we must.” She hummed back, and they rocked in circles in the center of their mostly-empty living room. Helen closed her eyes and pressed one ear to his chest, listening to his heart beat steadily on and his lungs fill deeply with air. Always so mindful, so soft he was to her, and it made her so emotional. Before she knew it, her eyes had welled up with tears, and they began to fall despite her silent protests.

Richard didn’t say anything, but he did bring his hand up from her waist to brush the tears from her cheek, and it acted as a quiet acknowledgement of her suffering.

“The Tuckers are so lovely to be taking us in, aren’t they?” she said, speaking mostly to herself as she composed herself, but Richard still nodded.

“I can’t say as I’d expected such a turn, but I���m not disappointed. They’ve been nothing but sweet to us. Sweet, like the all-natural sugar we supply at Tweak bros- ah, right.” Helen giggled quietly at his unending quips, and he ran his fingers through her hair, looking down at her with a gentle smile. “Sweet, like the honey-brown seas in your eyes and roasted chestnut hair.”

She rolled her eyes, but she knew that he knew she was kidding. “You are an insufferable starving artist. How we made it so long, I’ve no clue.”

“That’s a lie, darling,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss in the center of her forehead, “because you would have left me long ago if you didn’t find charm in me. You had many more boys just as eager to take you out.”

“Oh, but I didn’t choose many more boys now, did I?” Helen teased, and Richard shook his head, the smile never leaving his lips. “I chose your little wisp of a self in high school and I watched it grow into a man worth ten times as much as any one of those tiresome boys up my skirt.”

“Was I not also reaching up there myself?” he murmured, his tone turning sultry, and Helen was only vaguely aware of Ruby Tucker exclaiming exaggerated disgust as they chuckled and touched noses.

“How I love you, Richard,” she gushed, the smile evident in her tone, and they stopped their moving to stare directly into each other’s eyes. His brilliant green color, the one passed partially down to their son, still sparkled behind the wrinkles that had piled onto his face over the years.

“And I, you, Helen,” he replied, and with one gentle, chaste kiss to her lips the spell was broken, and the commotion of a move restarted around them. Ruby and Laura were carrying out boxes of picture frames side-by-side. Though her heart ached to watch them leave her front door, she was thankful to have a place to take them. They would adjust, of course, to broadened communal living; of that she had no doubt. She just wished it could be under other circumstances.

Helen stepped out of Richard’s arms, and took one deep, steadying breath with her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she placed her hands on her hips and popped her shoulders back. “What more is there?” she asked, but Thomas appeared from around the corner to shake his head.

“The house ‘s cleared, Helen,” he replied gruffly, “we’re ready to roll out when you are.”

Helen took one last look at this place where she had raised her beloved son. Though they had moved here four years after he was born, it was as close to a lifetime as he would get, and she had no doubt Tweek would miss this place too. He was more like her than Richard, after all. He got sentimental in the same unfortunate ways.

“We can come back to tend to the roses,” Richard said, and as though they were the magic words, Helen nodded. He managed to make things feel alright when they were irredeemably wrong, which was just another way that she loved him. She loved him so many ways.

“I’ll be honored to share your kitchen, Laura,” she said with a smile, looking to the woman beside her daughter in the foyer, and Laura let out a good-natured chuckle.

“You’ll use it more than me. I’m hardly a cook.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Ruby drawled, and Laura smacked her playfully on the back of the head. “Hey!” The flipped each other off, and though the exchange was odd from the outside, Helen and Richard both laughed.

“Please, tell me that won’t be a habit we pick up,” Helen playfully chided, and Thomas smirked.

“If my son can pass it to your son, anything’s possible,” he said, and then, as though it meant nothing at all, they filed out.

Helen turned back one more time to look at her front door. The welcome wreath remained; she’d refused to take it. Without it, she’d argued no one would know the property was theirs, and that a family had once lived happily within that house’s walls. There were not many other ways she could think of to mark her memories besides the promise of tending to the roses in the spring, and so she left it to rustle in the wind when the gusts pressed too closely against the door’s refined wood. Only the ghosts would hear it scratch its surface from the dining room table.

The next time Helen saw her front door, it was as she rushed to the hospital emergency room with two of her most precious people fading in her arms. Roses had never been so far from her mind.

[dezsasdfghjkl]

 **You never got to finish reading my letter. I know it’s a long shot, you’ve been trying to stay away from social media, but I hope you get to read this. I’m sorry if I’m too much of a coward to send this to you or even want to see you again. I’ve grown tired of your inconsistencies. It took me a long time and a lot of strength to say no to you. As much as I still want to be the person you call when you couldn’t sleep at night or when you’re wasted, I have realized that I deserve a better friendship from you. With everything you have put me through this year, I am exhausted and finally empty. I don’t regret knowing you but I think I have played my part in your life and you have done your part in mine. I hope you find happiness, contentment and love, one that wouldn’t give up on you. I’m sorry if I did. 

You asked me how I was through a message in facebook.

 Seeing our chatbox cleared of our past; the flirting, our inside jokes, date plans and arguments replaced with a “Hey, how’re you?” now felt like it was the first time all over again. I felt giddy opening a message from you, which I haven’t done in a month. But this time anxiety has crept in.

 I stared at the grey bubble for five solid minutes, going back and forth with: “I’m great!”, “ I’m not doing so good.” Or “I don’t know, how do you think I should feel after you cut me off?”. I stuck with “I’m great” because I think it was what you needed to hear.

 Maybe you needed to know that I was doing better than you expected, that I can do well without you, that I have moved on and what you did hasn’t affected me at all, that I can barely feel your absence because you weren’t really present in my life for the past six months.

 Maybe you needed to be assured; to clear your conscience or maybe you genuinely cared for me. But the last one is too far fetched, that’s what I keep telling myself. I just don’t want to hope anymore.

 For a few hours I was content in giving you that answer. It was true to some extent, I was doing a better job at moving on than most girls are. But there are days when I am unable to go forward.

 Out of all the trial and errors of relationships I’ve been in, I was proudest of ours the most. Although it doesn’t fall into the category of relationship norms society deems acceptable, I have come to love you and what we were. It was unconventional, yes, but for me it was the simplest and most genuine of all.

 I have never been as honest with the guys I dated as I was with you. And I have come to believe the truth that you were honest with me too. Looking at my reply now disgusted me. Lying to you would be a disservice to the trust you have put in me and our friendship.

Honestly, I am okay but some days trying to be okay exhaust the crap out of me.

 When you told me you were ready to love again just not with me, you broke my heart the second time that night. The moment I read your message, my tears just wouldn’t stop flowing. I cried on the way to the mall, I sobbed while waiting in the cinema and even more when my friends and I were watching a movie. I cried for four hours until there were no more tears left to shed. Fortunately, I haven’t cried since then.

 I couldn’t understand why I was crying, what I was sobbing over. I know you didn’t feel the same way or if you did it was short lived, in the first few weeks we dated. I have accepted that my feelings for you can never be reciprocated or if you actually do love me back, it will be far too complicated to pursue a relationship with me. I knew all these even before I told you I love you.

 I was contented with what we were, understood what we are not and knew what we can never be. I was happy enough to have you in my life as a friend and even felt blessed to able to do so. But you said things and for a little while I let myself entertain the possibility of us, again.

 I guess I placed you on a pedestal when I sent those drunk messages thanking you for letting me love you. It took two days for you to reply, it was probably hard for you to send your reply knowing it might break me. (Or maybe not?)

 A day after the drama, you cut me off. You told me once you can never cut me off unlike other girls you dated. I believed that. I felt stupid for doing so.

That day I was mad at you. I have never been mad at you, frustrated, yes but never angry.  I hated that you made me look like a foolish girl who trusted you not to do the one thing you said you never could do to me. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. All the truths I came to know about you seemed made up. I kept thinking about the times we spent together and tried to pin point at which time I became blinded by the fictitious conversations we’ve had. I couldn’t.

 It turns out I was never blinded by your words, I just chose to forgive you and give you another chance because I saw the good in you that others couldn’t. You went against your words the first time, what the hell made me think you wouldn’t do it again, I don’t know. I just had faith in you.

 By the end of the day, I was over it. I had to take responsibility of my pain too. You pushed me away countless of times before but I remained obstinate and stayed, waited for you to need me again. I could have walked away anytime but I did not. I knew what I was getting myself into and I chose to be momentarily happy with you, to be there for you even if I predicted the fall out to be much harder than the first time. Depressing, right?

 The next days have been easier. I have someone to distract me. I admit it isn’t healthy but it’s a distraction nonetheless and I am eager to think about anything else. But there are days when distractions don’t work and pretending takes a toll on me. There are times that I couldn’t focus on work and I become unproductive, mostly just staring into space.

 My professor in literature once said, “No one writes when they’re happy, they write when they’re sad.”. It was true. Before you, I could write poetry just by focusing on a poignant day I got to spend with a person. Even if it was just an uneventful one, lying around and talking, I can weave a heartbreaking story out of that memory. But I was naive back then; writing was too easy for me, I did not know real heartbreak from romance yet.

 They say that writing is a curse and a gift, a curse because you relive every pain when you write and gift because it eventually frees you from that pain. Writing this letter took me a long time to compose and a harder time to organize, in fact the memories I’ve written down are jumbled but are consistent with one thing, truth. I do hope you finish reading this no matter how long it would take you. It took me three days to write this, unable to finish in one sitting because the memories can be too much for me or I just want to hold on to them longer. I write this in hopes that I can make sense of what happened that you’d take time to understand why I felt the things I felt.

December happened and it wrecked me. I opened up to you. I let my guard down and showed you how screwed up I was underneath the charades I perform for people who’d prefer the spontaneous me sans the drama. That was the first time I truly let anyone in on my shit. Sure, my friends have an idea about what I go through but I couldn’t let them see me break like that. I’ve always been the stronger one, the person they can call anytime and lean on to, the cheerleader who pushes them to go on. I was surprised with myself that within less than a week of knowing you I told you things about me more than some of my friends know. There was something about you that made it easy for me to be honest. You allowed me to be weak and vulnerable around you. And despite everything I told you, you asked me what I wanted. I told you I wanted you to stay, you promised you would and you did. For that, I’m thankful.

 Everything that followed happened so fast. It was a blur of lunches, doubts, promises, extreme joy and fights. I couldn’t understand why we were moving past the speed limit, it was dates then sex, I love yous and a sudden “We’re too different, I don’t think we’ll workout.” in less than a month. It was a roller coaster of emotions for me, that was the craziest ride in my entire life and I would do it all over again.

 So that was what they meant by freefalling. There weren’t any of the calculated guesses, precautionary measures or exit plans I was used to. It was just like floating in the ocean, one minute you trust the waves to lull you softly, then without warning, big waves drown you and the currents take you further away. There is no escape in the ocean, no land to swim to safety. One can only learn to trust that its ebb and flow will take them home someday. I may have been left gasping for air in the end but I have never felt more alive. Thank you.

 When you decided to end things with me last year, I half expected you to communicate with me again. You wanted to have me once more but this time it was different. The lunches we used to have were replaced with midnight rendezvous and takeouts. Gone were the sweet messages, now when you call me it’s past 11 pm on a party-less Friday night. There were no good morning texts that ever followed.

  I promised myself I would never be the kind of girl who will settle for less just to have the guy that I love for a few hours every two weeks, but I became exactly that: a booty call.   The movies made it sound sexy and exciting but it wasn’t at all fun. I always woke up tired the next day and I would sleep through all my classes. There were times that I would pity myself and question my principles. Where was the strong woman that I worked hard to become? She got tired of being tough. She found safety behind the red flags and she succumbed to her heart’s desires.

 It was stupid and reckless but I stuck with you for another five months but I needed a way to detach myself somehow. There were other guys who wanted to date me when they found out we stopped seeing each other. So I went out with them in the hopes that their attention and efforts were enough to sway my heart. But not one of them felt like home

Yes they listened to me, tried to fathom my wreckage but the only things they could see was my brilliance, charm and wit û all but the bad things I have become.  As romantic as those compliments sounded, I needed someone who knows the hell I’ve been through and the horrible person I have become but is still willing to give me another chance.

Back then, during the first week we dated,  you found out I slept with your friend before and that I was still texting him, hell broke lose. You drove back to my house, returned my phone and wanted to forget everything that happened between us (which were 5 consecutive dates that week). But there was something holding you back from totally leaving. You asked me why I lied to you. I am not fond of confrontations and I know you saw that when I told you why. --- All of it; why I became what I am today, why I didn’t trust you enough that I still wanted to see other guys and why I was so guarded. You patiently listened, not once did you interrupt me. I finished my monologue tearing up and repeatedly telling you that I was tired of everything about dating: the lies, the games, boys and sex. Despite what you heard, you decided that I was worth another shot. You even promised me that you were “all-in”. Thank you for taking a chance on me, I hope I didn’t fail you.

             There is just something beautiful about being with someone who has seen all your cracks and flaws without needing to cover them up with this perfect idea they have of you. But knowing that your imperfections, choices in the past and the mistakes you have to live with will always be a part of who you are. And when you find someone who embraces your true self, without question or any justification, you are blessed. I was blessed to have you for a while.

 They say that nothing good ever happens past 2am, but man they were wrong. The nights and early mornings we spent together from January till May were the best memories I have of you. True, I may have lost track of who I was but I gained something in return, you.

 I remember the first night we saw each other in January. I was drunk from drinking tequila with my date that night and I was too tired to even get up but my phone buzzed at almost 12 am, it was you. You haven’t contacted me in days and I was ecstatic to hear from you again. Despite the intoxicated and sleepy state I was in, I told you that you can come over. Within 20 minutes, you arrived blasting your hiphop music in your car. Every night since that night, you would always ask me how I was first. I told you a short recap of what happened in the past two weeks we haven’t seen each other. I told you that I came from a date, that we walked from Lahug to SM and that I really had a great time with the guy. You got pissed at him. “Fuck that guy.: you said. And you didn’t meant for me to screw him, you were just annoyed. I found it funny and sweet that you would get irritated by another guy you barely even knew just because he and I went out a couple of times. I asked why you reacted the way you did, you just said “samok”.

 I didn’t probe any further. We proceeded to talk about what was going on in your life. You gave me your normal spiel about how everything is okay with school and friends. But you were tired. You were exhausted of the city and partying, of the fact that you had to follow your Dad’s footsteps in politics and business and that the future was all mapped out for you. You were suffocated with everything about your life that you wanted to escape. I stared at you in awe. I thought to myself; “Here beside me is a guy who was handed down everything in a silver platter but wanted none of it”.  I wanted to fly us out of the city, far away where none of your problems can reach you but at that moment all I could do was hold you and tell you “You know that I’m always here for you right?” You thanked me. Until now, it still stands true. From that night onwards, I have grown to love you a little more each time we saw each other.

 Our midnight rendezvous wasn’t a regular thing. We would sometimes go on for two weeks or a month at most without seeing each other. I’d see you around sometimes, always in the same street where students from our university and yours would converge. In those moments, there is a clarity in those scenes which would surprise me no matter how mundane it has become in our lives. See, we were like two parallel lines in a sphere, coexisting in the same space yet rarely do we intersect. Looking at you from afar in broad daylight made me realize how much of an outsider I was despite knowing you intimately. You’d ask me sometimes why I never say hi when I see you, the truth is it never felt right to be with you again during the day.

 I got used to seeing you in the shadows the same way I got used to you calling me only when you need me. On the nights that we did, either you would come over to my place or I would go to yours, my heart always pumps a faster and my nerves would not calm down from the excitement of seeing you. Despite the adrenaline rush, I found solace in the dark knowing I’ll find you there. There was more to it than sex. You said it yourself: “It’s not just the sex.”We can never pinpoint the ‘more’. You couldn’t even believe yourself when you started telling me your secrets, heartbreaks, hopes and dreams that were unknown to some of your friends. And I liked that I made you feel that way. I took pride in the trust you’ve given me. Slowly, I got to unravel the real you underneath your collector’s caps and expensive shoes. Every time you shared me something precious to you, I felt like I was unwrapping a gift on Christmas Eve. Little by little, I saw snippets of your life that I could never witness up close.

 I got to know so many versions of you and fell for each one. I got to know the kind you who was polite to every person you meet on the streets. I met the humble you who would never say no to eating proven or giving back. I argued with the smart version of you who talks about business and politics., I found it cute every time the impatient you couldn’t wait for me to listen to your favorite songs despite our bad internet connection at home. I became frightened of the scary you who cusses a lot and says the most hurtful (but true) things. But most of all I adored you when you showed me how broken you were when you lost the love of your life because you were living in a hazy dream for the past three years. And I have loved every version, even the worst one.

 My friends would always ask me what I saw in you. Everything! But they would have just gotten more mad at me had I said that which will just lead to me saying “Okay, okay I won’t see him na lagi.” I love your beautiful mess and I loved you more when you were trying to fix it. You told me once that I inspire you. I melted right away. Thank you, but I can’t take credit for your progress, it was all you: your determination to be the best version of yourself and your ambition to reach your dreams. I don’t know what made you say that but I am very grateful you saw me in that light. All I did was just listen and be there for you. I didn’t even try to change your mind but I’m glad that you have appreciated the things that I did.

 Recently, my senior at work asked me what the difference of Love and Infatuation is. I replied proudly that unlike infatuation which selfishly wants the person to be his or hers only, Love is an unconditional selfless act that would want the other person to be happy and free even if that means you won’t be together. Loving you made me realize that romantic love isn’t far from the love I have for my friends and family. Again, thank you for letting me love you.

 All I have said before and all I have written now will always be true. Life may take us farther from each other, me (hopefully) in books and magazines and you to the skies, but know that I’ll always be there for you whenever you need me. Journeying through life will not be easy, but know that you have your family and friends who without hesitations or judgment will always support you. Openly show the world who you really are, I saw a beautiful soul in you and I’m sure they’ll see it too. No matter what people say and how you think of yourself: gwapo jod lagi ka! You are a whole universe babe, let people in and explore every planet.

 Wishing you the best, always.