#and almost invited them over. or that I no longer walk barefoot through the city at night by myself (usually)

[loumauve]

the goddamn toast water post just made me utter "history is fucking real" in the most solemn and serious tone of voice, out loud, to myself, in the goddamn bathtub

[naberiuz]

drowning in the depths of you (don’t save me)

[mafia + modern fantasy + mermaid guan shan AU]

Chapter 5: An Unexpected Visitor

Unexpected visits in unexpected circumstances. Guan Shan just keeps getting more confused.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Read on AO3

AN:

We love a fast-paced story. But we hate a slow-ass author.

I'm really sorry guys. I fell into a slump midway into last year's semester and had a major burnout. But surprise, I'm back kinda lol.

Yes, I'm updating this fic in 2020 quarantine arc. No I'm not dropping this, I have this baby planned out all the way to Chapter 11. Also, I made some slight revisions in the previous chapters, but they're not so significant that they changed the plot.

It might take me until 2021 to finish this. *shrug* But what did Confucius say? It doesn't matter how slow you go as long as you don't stop?

---

That night, after He Tian left to head home, Guan Shan dreamed about the ocean.

He woke up with the feeling of rushing water fresh on his sealed gills, as if he had just taken a dip. Already does he no longer remember the exact details of his dream, only that he knows vaguely that he felt the ocean calling to his heart. He rubs his eyes blearily, feeling comforted even though the experience hadn't been real. With a final yawn, he decides to return to work and went about his morning routine.

He felt incredibly apprehensive making his way to the restaurant, given that the incident from the other night was still fresh from his mind. He was restless as he travelled, feeling antsy at every cursory glance towards his person. He'd even bothered to wear a cap and pair of aviators, feeling extra paranoid about his appearance. He also made sure to avoid the alley where the incident took place. ‘The fuck I’m ever going to walk through that. Or through any alley ever.’

He arrives as the restaurant without a hitch. The day proceeds normally, with Xui Hong checking up on him in the morning. He waved his concerns off with a monotonous ‘I’m fine’ and blaming the flu.

The first few hours of the day ticked by quickly, with seemingly nothing out of place.

Too normal. I feel too normal. A whole day has almost passed and Guan Shan still feels jittery with nerves, stomach tight in anticipation as if something unknown was to strike at him. His paranoia spikes up when he remembers that someone might be watching him in that very moment.

The chime rings as he cleans a table. He turns to greet the new comers and almost drops the rag in his hands.

“Welco…”

 ‘What the fuck?’

The words die at his throat the moment his eyes land on the newcomers. There, at the entrance were two striking individuals. One of them was a stoic-faced man with unruly brown hair, but Guan Shan was more concerned with the other man. White hair and white eyes, sharp nose and a dainty, small face, almost an otherworldly beauty.

That said man was unmistakably Jian Yi, the man pictured with He Tian in the magazine.

He Tian's supposed fiancé.

“Table for two please!” Jian Yi chirps with a wide smile. Guan Shan nods at him dumbly.

His day just took a turn towards the abnormal.

---

The day is not normal for He Tian.

He’s woken by the incessant ringing of his doorbell. He wonders just exactly who has the audacity to be ringing him at a time like this as he walks barefooted on the marble tiles of his penthouse. He doesn't even bother to think about his current state of half-nakedness, having been rudely awakened from his precious sleep.

He opens the door to reveal broad-shouldered white-haired man. He Tian almost rolls his eyes.

“Qiu-ge. What a surprise.” He Tian says monotonously, leaning his back against the wall. The other man gives him a glare before inviting himself in, heavy combat boots clacking loudly throughout the apartment.

He Tian realizes inwardly that he already expected this happening, though not so soon. Qiu was the person closest to his brother, and for him to suddenly appear in Hong Kong only means one thing.

“Your brother is pissed.” The other man says unceremoniously, burly arms crossing in front of his chest as he leaned on the back of his couch. He Tian doesn't look at him and walks languidly towards the bar adjacent to his living room and pours himself a glass of water.

“Hm. Is he now?” He Tian replies, his annoyance at the situation starting to grow. “If this is so serious that he had to send you, why couldn’t he be here instead?” He continues icily, crossing towards the large floor-to-ceiling windows to peer at the city below him.

“Be serious for once, He Tian.” Qiu bites back. He Tian half-turns to look at him disinterestedly.

"So? What did he want you to tell me?"

Qiu breaths a sigh and rests his hands on the couch. 'Annoying brat...'

“The Hong Kong triads are starting to know of your father’s condition." He says, noting the lack of reaction from He Tian. "They will see this as a weakness, then they’ll start coming for you.”

I know that already. He Tian inwardly sighs and doesn’t reply for a few moments. The triads sure move fast, him having already received messages of faux sympathy and support, followed by thinly-veiled questions of what He Tian is set to do, “I wish your family are doing well, and rest assured we shall remain close by shall you need our assistance in the near future.”  

Or in other words, “We’re watching your every move.”

“Why should I leave?” He Tian replies, sounding far too nonchalant for someone who has a hundred targets on his back. “I’ll let them come to me, show them that we are not so weak even with that bastard being good as dead.”

Qiu fixes him a disapproving glare. He Tian thinks he’s about to admonish him about talking that way about his father. He silently dares the other to prove him wrong.

The other man doesn't, however. Qiu scratches irritatedly at his buzzut blonde head before replying. "I don't know what you're planning, but I hope you realize you're pretty much screwed here."

He Tian chuckles mirthlessly and shrugs at him. "Why, are you worried about me?"

Qiu rubs his temples before sighing exasperatedly. “Just go home." He Tian turns away from him in reply, going back to drinking his water as he gazed at the Hong Kong cityline. “Your brother is becoming impatient. Leave before things turn complicated.” He says with one last pointed glance at He Tian, starting to walk away, his heavy footsteps reverberating throughout the penthouse

"Hm. How about you go home instead. The full moon's right around the corner isn't it?" He Tian replies, still with his back turned. Qiu looks behind him with a glare. He can't see his face, but he's absolutely sure the younger man is smirking from behind the glass. You think that's funny don't you...

He doesn't say anything in reply and instead opens the heavy door of He Tian's apartment.

“Troublesome siblings.” Qiu mutters under his breath, letting the door slam behind his back. He curses both brothers, the older for reducing him to a messenger boy for his little brother, and the latter for being eternally stubborn.

---

Guan Shan stares at the two people seated on the table.

What the hell is HE doing here?

The two men were currently reading through the menu. Jian Yi points at something on the menu and asks his companion, quite loudly, if they could order that. The other man just grunts a whatever in response, preoccupied with a game on his phone.

He looks at them more closely. The man with spiky brown hair sports a glinting silver chain necklace that contrasted nicely with his black turtleneck. And Jian Yi…well literally everything about him is flashy designer. Gloves, coat, shoes, and all. Although the all white get-up is a little too much even in Guan Shan's opinion.

He huffs, having fully expected them to be of He Tian’s ilk.

Tch. They’re perfect for each other. Snotty rich bastards. He grumbles to himself, resuming to wipe at the table in front of him.

Did He Tian really have to tell his fiance where he works so he could show off? What am I even to him? Does Jian Yi know what's going on with He Tian and me that's why he's here? Why would He Tian want to go on a date with me if-

“Hey hey!” Jian Yi calls to him suddenly, waving his arm in midair. Guan Shan jolts upright, jaw tight as he forced the questions back down his throat. He turns around and walks towards their table stiffly.

“We'd like to get this Alaskan crab leg and this Aquitaine caviar. And egg rolls too!”

Guan Shan nods, writing down the order with the best straight face as he could (though it probably looks like a grimace, like always). He turns, almost robotically, to quickly head back to the kitchen.

“Oh and add black tea please!” Guan Shan acknowledges him with a curt nod, eyes on the notepad as he hurriedly wrote the order. He realizes he forgot to say the order back to them and appeared really rude, but he brushes it off with a 'whatever'.

This is so fucking weird. He thinks with spite as he stood at the kitchen doorway. He knows he's supposed to be at the station to answer customer requests, but given that the only customers around were the two oddballs he figured he'd be fine for now. Miraculously, no one enters the restaurant.

He looks at the two men at the corner of his eye. Or specifically, at Jian Yi. He feels many things for the man all at once, confusion because why would he be here in all places, disdain and annoyance for being present in close proximity, anger because he's supposed to be engaged to He Tian--

"Oh Xixi, tell me about it please!" Jian Yi pouts and pulls at the other man's sleeve. The other man merely rolls his eyes and tries to ignore him. "Pleeeaase, Xixi." Jian Yi tries again, now poking his cheek.

Okay...that's weirder. Guan Shan thinks to himself, finding the pale man's clinginess to the other man a little unusual. He looks like he's begging for the other man's attention. They must be really good friends? He wonders.

The food is completed within a matter of minutes. Guan Shan picks them up easily, carrying the plates over to their table. He wordlessly sets them down, trying very hard not to give either men a glare and trying to move as quickly as possible. He placed down the last of their order and was about to brusquely walk back to the station when yet another weird thing happens.

"Hey, sir waiter? You wanna sit down with us?" Jian Yi asks him with a smile. Guan Shan blinks, once, then twice, not really absorbing what the other man said.

"I..." He starts, unsure of what to say. There's no one except them, so he couldn't use the "I have to serve customers" card. And he doesn't think there would be any customers soon, given that lunch has already passed and it's currently in the middle of the dead hours.

"Come on! We kinda ordered too much for two." Jian Yi says, chewing nimbly on his food. The other man named 'Xixi' only gives him a deadpan look.

Realizing that his day has already taken a turn towards the abnormal, he supposes another weird experience won't be too bad.

So he pulls a chair under the table and sits down, preparing himself for a confrontation.

---

Qiu drops the man on the floor, not giving him a second's glance as he splutters and grasps for his throat. He gestures his men to follow him as they exit the dingy bar, the patrons astonished at the situation that had just transpired.

His claws recede back into normal human nails as he walked, along with his fangs that have turned back to regular human canines.

So much for civil talking. He thinks to himself, frustrated in the inability of underlings to recognize when they stand a chance or not. He enters the car, a sleek black Maserati,  and promptly presses the speed-dial. He waits one, then two rings before it's picked up.

"Five families are coalescing." He says into the phone without a greeting. "The She's, Wongs, Chans, Kwans, and the Huis. The She's at the lead, although we already expected that." He relays easily. There's a pause at the other end before he hears a reply.

"And Tian? What did he say?"

Of course. It's not like I just said almost all of Hong Kong's major triad families are aiming to kill us all. Qiu waits for a beat before replying, not without a tired sigh. "He doesn't want to."

He hears a sharp intake of breath. While to anyone else, He Cheng is the personification of ice, stone-cold eyes, words, and actions. But to Qiu, that one breath told him everything. He imagines what the other man's face must have looked like, probably the slightest twitch of a sharp jaw. Small things, but for Qiu who sees them clearly, they mean everything.

While He Cheng may be ice himself, Qiu knows deeply that if anything happened to his brother, surely he would crumble apart.

"Come back here for now. I'll pay him a visit some time." He Cheng replies smoothly, seemingly at ease. But Qiu is unconvinced. He doesn't reply for a moment, thinking carefully for his next words.

"You know...you're holding him back again. Just like you always do." He says because it's true. Not a single damn time you didn't try to hide him away, even from your own father...

"Because he doesn't understand." Comes the almost automatic reply, which was something Qiu already heard a few times before. "If you say so." He replies noncommittally and presses the end call. He then orders his men to make arrangements with the private plane as soon as possible.

---

Guan Shan chews at an egg-roll as he gives (or tries to give) discrete glances to the two men sitting in front of him. The man called 'Xixi' eats silently and only gives a dead-eyed look every once in a while. On the other hand, Jian Yi was openly staring at him with a sickeningly sweet smile in between bites of his food. Guan Shan resumes eating robotically for a few more minutes until he could no longer stand the silence.

He clears his throat and sits up straighter. "What is it?" He says, because it's the first set of words in his mind. 'Xixi' looks at him with a raised eyebrow while Jian Yi lets out an amused "Hmmmm?"

"Don't you have a problem with me?" Guan Shan tries again, his default glare now present on his face as he crossed his arms. If a confrontation was happening, he supposes it should happen right now. Jian Yi giggles at him.

"Oh no, we just wanted to meet you in advance." He replies, still with a sweet smile. He gives Guan Shan a wink as an additional effect. Guan Shan doesn't know what that means, so he just stares.

"I have to say, I didn't expect this." Jian Yi continues. "To think He Tian would be brought to his knees by a fiery one like you.”

The brown-haired man, 'Xixi', pauses eating and lets out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. It takes Guan Shan a split second to react. His face heats up all the way to his ears.

"W-what? What the hell do you mean-"

“Ooooh I think I can see it! You’re so adorable and pretty!" Jian Yi explains suddenly, leaning in closer. Guan Shan sputters and tries to lean away, though the nearly transparent white eyes follow him.

"I can’t believe He Tian kept you a secret from me.” Jian Yi pouts placing his chin on his hand. Guan Shan couldn't think of a coherent reply with all that came out of the white-haired man's mouth. Brought to his knees? Pretty? A secret? He never knew he could ever feel confusedly embarrassed in his life.

"Maybe because he didn't want you snooping around his business." The other man quips, dabbing his mouth with a napkin and leaning back into his chair. Jian Yi gives him a playful smack and looks back at Guan Shan, his smile morphing into a more natural one rather than sickly sweet.

"Which reminds me, we haven't introduced ourselves! I'm Jian Yi by the way, although you might already know that. This grumpy guy is Zhan Zheng Xi. We're He Tian's friends." Jian Yi reaches out for a handshake, to which Guan Shan just stares at, still perplexed. The white-haired man pouts, unhappy that his gesture wasn't reciprocated.

"Guan Shaaan! You're so mean!" He humphs, like a kid throwing a tantrum. Zheng Xi nudges at him to quiet down.

If Guan Shan thought nothing could be more confusing than being invited by He Tian's fiance to lunch, he was just proven wrong.

"How do you know my name?" He asks with a glare, starting to feel the beginnings of distrust. Though it's not like he completely trusted the two right at the get-go.

Jian Yi only shrugs his shoulders. “Oh I just took a peek here and there. Nothing big.” He says as he flicks a lock of his hair.

Now that's an unsettling answer. Guan Shan thinks as they continue eating. He can't help but feel that something is just not quite right. That he's missing more than a few puzzle pieces. Two extremely high profile individuals show up in his low profile life, an unsettling man, and an attempted kidnapping. And the fact that Jian Yi doesn't seem to be bothered that his fiance is meeting someone behind his back.

Are all rich people like this? Is he that dense? Or is this his way of telling me to stay away from He Tian? Guan Shan purses his lips at that thought.

Well that’s just fucked up. He looks hard at Jian Yi's face trying to see if the man is mocking or trying to deceive him, but the said man was currently whining at his companion. Guan Shan absolutely doesn't know what to think anymore.

The two men finish their meal quickly. "Sorry Guan Shan, but Xixi was telling me a while ago that we have to leave now or we'll be late for the movie!" Jian Yi tells him as he and Zheng Xi stood up from their seats. Guan Shan nods and stands up as well, breaking himself out from his thoughts.

Before he could open his mouth, Jian Yi reaches over and grabs his hands. Guan Shan reels back in surprise, but soon finds himself transfixed in the other man's gaze. He's so stunned into silence that he almost doesn’t hear what the other man said.

"I hope to see you again. I'll make sure to tell He Tian what I think. For now, be careful, okay?" Jian Yi tells him, unblinking, looking angelic and unsettling at the same time with his gentle features and all-seeing eyes.

"O-okay." Guan Shan manages to breathe out just as Jian Yi pulls away.

Jian Yi and Zheng Xi rush out of the restaurant, leaving Guan Shan to stare open-mouthed at the table, his own hands still hanging in the air.

---

"Jian Yi."

"Hmmmm?"

"Why couldn't you have waited until He Tian brought you here? He promised to let you meet him right?" Zheng Xi asks him softly from behind the wheel, eyes trained on the busy traffic along the Queen's Road. Jian Yi smiles and meets his gaze at the rear-view mirror.

"Aaahh Zheng Xi. You're no fun." Jian Yi replies playfully, his mind on the same track as he thought about the red-haired man and his eternally scowling face.

"I don't know if He Tian already knows, but he's in for a really big surprise." He says quietly, twirling a lock of his hair. Zheng Xi's brown brow raises at him from the mirror.

Jian Yi continues to smile. He can't wait to see how their relationship will unfold. He looks outside of the window and towards the Victoria Harbor, and remembers seeing crashing ocean waves and coral reefs in Guan Shan's eyes when he held his hands.

---

The rest of the day passes by quite normally for Guan Shan, much to his relief. Though he had been distracted most of the time because of his weird lunch with Jian Yi and Zheng Xi, he manages to finish the day without anymore hiccups. He was able to peacefully finish up in the restaurant as well as safely reach the bus stop, but not without a few paranoid glances behind him as he walked briskly.

Still, he can't seem to shake off the perturbing feeling he got after looking at Jian Yi up close. He admits inwardly that he feels embarrassed for his reaction, staring dumbfounded as if the other man had compelled him to stop moving.

It's almost as if he knew what I was thinking, or he knew more about me than I did. He scratches at his temple, still mulling about the weird conversation, and that somehow Jian Yi didn't come to the restaurant to chew at him for stealing his fiancé. Or that he even seemed oddly happy that He Tian was even taking a romantic interest in him. He considers texting He Tian and asking him about it.

He thinks back to the white-haired man's eyes and gentle face and realizes, belatedly, that he didn't look so human.

"For now, be careful, okay?" He had said to him.

 Could it be...that Jian Yi is like me?

Just when he was about to do so, his phone suddenly vibrates. He pulls out his phone from his jacket, expecting a message from He Tian.

-

6:27 PM

Unkown Number

You got lucky last time.

-

His heart freezes with cold dread.

---

AN:

Again, please reblog! And also give kudos and comments on AO3 <3

MGS is so dense he can't see that HT is deeply in love with him. And that JY and ZZX are actually together lmao.

I'm just gonna go ahead and say that He Cheng has sort of a brother complex. It's canon because I said so. And Qiu and HC are secretly f*cking.

Next chapter, they're finally going on a date. FINALLY. Also black earrings will be making a comeback.

Again, I'm really sorry it took me this long. The draft for Chapter 5 had been sitting around for like...three months. I also had to revise the plot bigtime; this was originally 15 chapters in total, but I crunched it down to 11. Because..well, 11 is more doable, and I believe in simpler is better. I just figured some of the chapters are quite unnecessary.

I don't know if people are still reading tianshan fics in 2020, but rawr here's an update.

[dreamsinthefoxhollow]

Friendless walk

I am sharing a house with some friends. It's some condo or townhouse in a nice neighborhood. It's very clean and tidy. The buildings are really nice in whites with dark brown trim. There are manicured grassy knolls around the buildings. The streets are paved with sidewalks and streetlights. Everything is clean and taken care of. Everything is just .... nice.

It had been raining for a long time, so the normally clean everything around was clean and glistening wetly, giving it all a surreal sort of look. The sky was overcast and the light hazy and shadowless. The main road coming through the neighborhood was sloped. Just past the place I was in it had a sharp T intersection with a road that ran alongside a grassy overflow canal. Clear-ish waster was flowing down the roadway and over the small embankment into the slowly-moving water in the canal. It was like an asphalt stream running between the buildings.

I amused myself by thinking how funny it would be to see a car washed down that stream and into the canal, driving along in the water then splooshing into the canal like some sort of discarded soda can.

A moment later, a silver car comes rushing down the street, in the sheet of running water, going much faster than the water could ever hope to move it. It launched into the berm at the canal then bunny-hopped into the deep water.

Just as some people floated up from the half-submerged car I noticed there was other stuff in the canal. One was what looked like a bright orange backhoe, flipped upside down and almost fully submerged. There were more people swimming in the water, wearing bright safety vests. I think the car that went into the water was a police car. It's now a rescue.

I go back inside from the balcony overlooking the canal drama. My friends, all college aged and wearing hip clothing, have all gathered up in the main room to discuss dinner. There's four or five of us in total. No one really knows what we should have. The suggestions pile up. Calzones? Pizza? Everything sounds really good at the moment. I realize one friend isn't really paying attention to the rest of us or the menu items. He's in a bright red shirt, as we have come to expect from him, and he's snuggled up to a girl on one of the smaller white couches in the room.

The rain has stopped and I head outside for some fresh air. I'm barefoot, but it doesn't matter. Everything is so well kept and clean there's no danger at all of treading on anything that could hurt. The weather is always perfect and I never get cold or hot.

I never bothered to wear shoes at all.

It takes a few minutes to walk all the way around the block, and I head back to the townhouse. Something is different about it. It feels darker, and less inviting. I only pace halfway along the sidewalk leading to the door and stare at the balcony. No lights are on. The curtains are closed. I call out briefly, but there is no reply or movement. The place seems abandoned. I backstep some to the sidewalk alongside the street. Movement catches my eye. Up the road I notice two people hugging and walking with each other. I can't tell if it's my friend in the red shirt or someone else. They have different hair. It's longer, in punk spikes sticking upwards, but also frizzy.

I suddenly feel extremely lonely and alone.

I aimlessly wander around the neighborhood. Something catches my attention to break my mood. I thought I saw something half buried in the soil under some hedges. I toed at the soil to feel something hard. It's white. A ... piece of metal or plastic? Oh, no. It's just a root. The feelings and emotions return and I start walking a little faster. I head out of the neighborhood.

I found my way to a small strip mall that was near the neighborhood. It's on a busier street with more traffic and people walking around. I look at the shops and pass a few, then find one in particular and head inside. It's a shoe store, just really small. There's maybe one or two display racks with shoes on them, and some stuff on the walls, but that's really all there is room for in the place. Just my presence and the shopkeeper fill it out. Even so, there's plenty of room to walk around without bumping into anything. The shopkeeper is a round, dark-skinned man. He's dressed in some modern hip-hop style and reminds me of some non-famous rapper who is trying to live incognito. He's actually really friendly and nice in greeting me.

I tell him that I want to buy some shoes. He helps me into a chair and we both looks at my feet. Sine I hadn't been wearing shoes my feet were very dirty, just from picking up dust from walking, and also from digging in the soil under the hedges earlier. I apologize and try to stand up to leave, but he says not to worry. It's all good. He vanished for a moment in the darkness of the shop. That's when I realize there are no lights on inside the place. It's only lit by the light coming in through the large glass window and door at the front. He returns with a pair of soft grey shoes which looks like a cross between slippers and sports sneakers. They look very expensive, but I try one on anyway. Surprisingly, it feels very comfortable. It's much softer than I expected. The man checks the fit and tells me it's a great fit, if I want it. I take a closer look at it and realize it's actually one size larger than I normally wear, but the fit does feel fantastic. I agree to buy them, no matter the price.

But I notice there is an issue. The one I didn't try on is a different size and is a slightly different shoe. While both are grey, one is darker and has black accents that the other doesn't. The man looks slightly concerned and takes it and vanishes into the darkness again. He returns a moment later with a matching shoe.

It turns out I have a hell of a lot of money in an account someplace. I pull out some kind of credit card that has some glowing 3D stuff floating over it in oranges and reds. It's a link to an account someplace, and the account shows an enormous amount of money. The man is impressed. I shouldn't be buying these shoes with an account like that. I should be buying entire countries. I thank the man and leave the shop, wearing the soft shoes.

It is time for me to leave.

I am going to be walking a long distance, now. I'm going to walk to the next city, a few dozen miles away. The shoes are going to keep my feet happy in the hard concrete of the city. From there I can catch some transportation out of the area.

I don't have any friends in this place, anymore.

I don't have any reason to stay.

[smkkbert]

Time for a story - Display of Love

If Oliver had to describe the perfect moment, this would probably come to his mind third, so he leaned into the frame of the door and took in the sight in front of him.

No matter how crowded the room, Oliver always found Felicity first and today was no different. She was standing at the fireplace with a glass of white wine in her hand and an arm loosely wrapped around Emmy, who was standing in front of her and leaning back against her. From the soft smile on Felicity’s lips as well as the deep frown on Emmy’s face, Felicity was certainly discussing the kind of science that only she, Cisco and Caitlin could understand. Nerds among themselves.

Oliver’s gaze lingered on Felicity a little longer. She was wearing a steel-blue off-shoulder dress that played around her curves loosely. Like always when they were at home, she was walking around barefoot. Her hair was falling down on her shoulders in it natural waves, framing her face like a halo.

She was an image of beauty like she always was. Just looking at her made his heartbeat quicken and calm down at the same time. He knew it seemed impossible, but it was exactly what he was feeling in his chest right now. It was the kind of reaction only she could prompt inside of him.

When he could see her muscles tensing slightly, telling him that she was probably feeling his gaze on her skin, he looked away quickly. He didn’t want to interrupt her conversation since he could see clearly how much she enjoyed it. She didn’t get the chance to talk to smart heads like she was often, so Oliver was glad that she got the chance now. There was no way he’d disturb her in it.

His eyes found Quentin next. He was chatting with Laurel and Lyla, who was swaying from side to side slowly to make sure Connor wouldn’t wake up in her arms. From the snippets of their conversation that Oliver could hear, he took that they were talking about the corruption in the SCPD. The corruption there was no secret yet. As much as Oliver had tried to do something against it, it was hard to get to the roots of it.

Barry was showing around photos of his wedding with Iris. He was sitting on the couch, Thea to his right and Donna to his left. Tommy, who was sitting on his grandmother’s lap and eating a muffin, was taking a look at some photos too. The two women seemed to be delighted about the photos.

Oliver felt a sad smile tugging at the corner of his lip. He made a mental note to remember asking Barry about the wedding. The Starling City Crew had to reject the invitation as they had thought that Oliver was dead at that time. Barry and Iris had offered to delay their wedding as it had felt insensitive to them, but Felicity had told them that time was precious.

Ronnie, Roy and John, who were all gathered together in the back of the living room where discussing their family planning too. While John’s had already been finished, neither Roy nor Ronnie were sure where their family planning would lead eventually.

Meanwhile, Tommy and Raisa were recalling old memories of Oliver’s childhood to tell William and Audrey. Oliver was sure that there were a lot of exciting and embarrassing stories to tell. Raisa and Tommy were the two people who had known him best when he had been a child or a teenager.

Oliver knew that whatever they would tell them, he wouldn’t mind though. He wasn’t proud of a lot of things he had done in his youth, but he wasn’t keeping them secret. His kids should know the boy he had been as well as the man he was now. People could make mistakes and people could change. He of all people knew.

Biting down on his tongue to hide a grin, Oliver watched Tommy casting brief glances towards Laurel. She had turned her back towards him and didn’t notice it, but it didn’t go past Oliver. He had been too involved in Tommy’s considerations of getting proposing to Laurel not to notice.

If two people in this room deserved some happiness right now, it was Tommy and Laurel. They had been through so much, and their happy end was so close now. All they had to do was go for it, so he hoped they would.

When Robbie started giggling, Oliver turned his head to the youngest Team Arrow Family member and smiled. Robbie was sitting on the floor between Sara’s spread legs. Whenever Robbie rolled a ball to Hawk, who was lying a couple of feet away from them, he rolled the ball back into their direction with his nose. It was what caused Robbie to giggle so much.

Not far from them, Millie was playing at her toy kitchen. From the way she was playing with the pan, Oliver assumed that she was making pancakes. When she pushed the invisible pancake to the plate, she turned around and walked right towards Iris. She hesitated for only a moment before she tugged at the hem of her cardigan, effectively interrupting the conversation she had had with Bruce.

With a smile on his lips, Oliver watched Iris turning around to Millie and going down on her knees to level her eyes with the toddler’s. Millie was smiling almost a little shyly as she offered the plate to Iris. Luckily, despite not having any kids herself, Iris got exactly what Millie wanted. She pretended to eat the pancake and rubbed her stomach as a sign of how delicious it was. Millie’s cheek reddened and she looked away with an almost shy smile.

Oliver remembered that smile from the many times he had felt like he was looking at Felicity like a love-sick teenager. He had looked away with a smile like that a lot of times too, not wanting her to see how enamored he really was with her. Those times were long over of course.

The thought made him frown slightly, and he continued to watch Millie and Iris a little longer. Millie had always been a little sweetheart, but it seemed like she had some particular interest in Iris today even though she was a little bit shy about it.

Addie, on the other hand, didn’t seem to know what shyness could possibly mean as she was making sure to get all of Bruce’s attention now. She reached out her hands for him until he finally picked her up in his arms. He looked uncomfortable about it like he had no idea what to do with her, but Addie made it easy for him. She snuggled up to his side and started babbling.

Just like two days ago, when Millie had turned three years old, everyone had gathered together once more to celebrate Addie’s second birthday today. It was so amazingly normal, unlike so many other things in his life, and that made his life perfect.

A few months ago, when Merlyn had drugged him and dragged him across the globe to torture him, there had been moments that Oliver had thought he would never get something like this again. Just the hope of getting something like this again had kept him alive.

Oliver pushed those dark memories away from him quickly. Today was not the day to think back about all the terrible things he had been through. Today was a day to celebrate love, his family and mostly Addie.

Addie was still busy with Bruce though. Oliver considered saving him from the situation. Since he had only agreed to come to the party after Addie herself had talked to him via video call and asked him to come, Oliver decided to let Addie continue to work her magic on him though. Bruce was a good friend of Felicity’s, so he was part of the family now. Addie would make sure he’d feel exactly like that.

Turning his gaze, Oliver’s eyes found Tommy’s. He decided to use the opportunity and nodded towards the kitchen. He didn’t wait to see if Tommy followed him and just went ahead into the kitchen. It was surprisingly quiet there considering the business in the living room and Oliver enjoyed it.

“If you want to ask me on my plans of proposing,” Tommy said as he followed him into the kitchen, “I still haven’t done anything about it which you certainly can’t blame me for after you didn’t even manage to propose to your own wife.”

Oliver grinned and pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. He called up the latest video he had saved and held his phone out for Tommy.

“Well, I already fixed that.”

Tommy shot Oliver a brief glance before he took his friend’s phone and watched the video. Oliver leaned his forearms onto the kitchen counter and took in the reaction on Tommy’s face. As much as his friend was trying to keep a poker face, there was a little bit of surprise and disbelief shining through his eyes.

As he listened to his voice on the video, Oliver recalled the moment of proposing to Felicity last night. She had been honestly surprised about his proposal. She hadn’t known or even suggested that she would do something like this which had made it only more perfect. He loved to surprise her because it showed how honest even an umpteenth proposal was to them. It wasn’t something ridiculous to do just because it was corny. It wasn’t a tradition to follow blindly either.

Last night, once the kids had been in bed, they had celebrated their newly engagement. Thrice.

When the video ended, Tommy perfect up his eyebrows. Taking in a deep breath, he put Oliver’s phone onto the kitchen table and pushed it towards him. Oliver grinned and lifted it in front Tommy.

“And that, my friend,” he said with triumph in his voice, “is how you propose.”

Tommy blew out a long breath but it ended in a chuckle. “You planned all of that in twenty-four hours?”

“More like ten,” Oliver said. “A man needs his sleep after all.”

Still chuckling, Tommy shook his head. “You are crazy, you know that?”

“I am only crazy for my wife.”

“What about me?”

Oliver lifted his gaze to find Felicity stepping into the kitchen. She was looking at him with perked up eyebrows and soft smile on her lips.

“Oh, I was just telling Tommy about yesterday,” Oliver replied and put his arm around Felicity’s shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. “And he just realized once more how crazy I am about you.”

Felicity chuckled. “You really are.”

Oliver just grinned. He wasn’t ashamed for people to know how crazy he was about his wife. He had found the perfect fit in her, and he couldn’t be happier about it. There was nothing to be embarrassed about and nothing to hide.

“Now, it’s your turn,” Oliver told Tommy. “Just pop the question.”

“With the big thing around.”

Oliver shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not that hard.”

Felicity chuckled and slapped his chest lightly, making Oliver lower his gaze to her eyes. His heart stumbled a little in his chest at the expression of love in her eyes.

“It wasn’t hard for you because you knew your proposal wouldn’t change anything for us,” she told him. “We are already married.”

Oliver grinned slightly. “True.”

Felicity turned to Tommy. “Take your time and don’t let Oliver push you.”

“Hey, I am not pushing you to do anything.”

“Oh, of course you aren’t,” Felicity said, sarcasm sounding through her voice. “Mr.-just-pop-the-question.”

Oliver rolled his eyes slightly since it had been Felicity who had pushed for Laurel and Tommy to get together in the first place. When he realized that Felicity had noticed the roll of his eyes, Oliver grinned innocently, but Felicity only slapped his chest playfully once more. Oliver chuckled, caught her hand and kissed his knuckles.

“If you excuse us now,” Felicity said to Tommy and laced her fingers through Oliver’s, “I gotta abduct my husband from you now.”

“He’s all yours.”

Felicity smiled. “Yes, he is.”

Oliver grinned, letting her tug him out of the room. On the way back to the living room, he caught up to Felicity and put his arms around her waist to pull her against him until her back was pressed against his chest. Smiling, he lowered his face to the crook of her neck and brushed his lips against her pulse point.

“What are you doing?” Felicity asked with a chuckle. “We have guests.”

“So?” Oliver asked, his lips still against her skin. “I don’t mind.”

Sucking at her pulse point lightly, Oliver figured he couldn’t agree more with what Tommy had said before. He really was hers with all of his heart.

@fannaz @promiseyoullbepatientwithme @bytemegeekette @felicity-said-just-in-case @phanseptiic @orangeisorange @mspotatohead14 @whentheheavenfades @emmaamelia95 @smoakingskye @seaolicity @ourwritinginvein @1022bridgetp @felicityqueenforever @leagueofolicity17 @yryssss @myhauntedblacksoul @muslimsmoak @sherlock44 @sinceriouslybea @arrowsalways @olivyflavescentdeer @olicitys-castle @ofnothingcharming @vaelisamaza @smoakedandcharmed @alexisa1206 @mysaudadespt2 @florence-bubbles @addictiontelly @queens-of-arrows @memcjo @hysterical-for-joshifer @oswinelevenforever @olicitylovemaking @bandanab310 @mymusiclove101 @lynslogic @scarletqueen23 @olicityshipper19 @alex-wesley @arrows-4ever @unabashedlynerdypatrol @louehmysoul @ligiapimenta @chattyyana @charlie-leau @coal000 @samcrowleys @ishippolivia @julianegomesqueen @malafle @miriam1779 @charlinert @melaux @ontheolicityship @myshipperlife @wrightainsley @lexi9515 @ladygreenwood @multi-fandom-crazy-fangirl @morinamel @mje-thomas @kebarry @canadianheartgirl @nannett2307 @almondblossomme @paarti12 @kathrynelizabeth89 @imdfabulous @cutearrowgirl @mrt2501 @mecha1330 @arsipaci14 @mzminx @salasvia @brandis91 @cainc3 @morganmiguess @pr0fessi0nal-fangurl @iamisalima @nessafra @jonhdiggle @niki-is-amazing @universed-posts @hopeful-warrior @senoritaswiftie @bellemmie @green-arrows-of-karamel @iheartarrow @olicityovereverything @oliverfel4 @navyaarsha @fandoms-breathe-life @simone4mcswarek @olicity-in-the-heart @fullychippedcreation @geemarie @everything-but-normal-cat @myarroworld @tjmartinez @pleasantfanandstudent @itsmagnoliagirl @j69confessional2 @scentedcolorpirate @icanica74 @javinancupil @tjmartinez98 @certainmentalityface @tatianadamaceno @ryelew @wildwillowzepplin @missafairy @letsplaymurde-r @lipizette @positivepiper @nuttymilkshakehologram @laksagirl @turnupthemusicandscream @pumpernickle93 @onceuponanolicity @1106angel @jaspertown @fadinglands @morganashimi83 @mochababychristy @omglovechrissie @mariejr88-blog @thetaufactor @onceuponanolicity @speakandseethetruth @bri206 @aglasgo @thats0klaroline @geemarie @pineprincess @nerdgirljen @peterpanslostgirl666 @eternal-olicity14 @allyouhadtodowas-stay-stay-stay @lovelycssefan @tsseract @flowerandsunshine @dcnmarvelgamergeek @blondeeoneexox @monetsmark @soaring-cities @bb-olicity @mashamarty @rulerofsilence @erika-amber @felicity087 @i-claim-only-emily @pattid1 @westallenandolicityshipper @babyolicityandwestallen @nothingmorethanmyotps @kayleenyc @tonto16 @olicityfluv @olicitea1990 @olicity5ever @haahaaa2408 @pattid1 @faegal04 @24karatgem

(If you want to be tagged or untagged, just let me know. :))

[celestialarcana]

Night Terrors

Author’s Note: So I started this well over a year ago when I first got into The Arcana, but as all things go I fell out of it for awhile. With the promise of an upcoming Lucio route though, I felt like I finally had to finish this piece of him and my fan apprentice. 

Takes place Pre-Route, but after his wedding to Nadia. Let’s just say these two have a long history together.... that I might actually fully write out one day...

Hope that anyone who reads this enjoys!

Standing barefoot in the doorway of her shop, Catherine blinked away the sleep in her eyes as she yawned deeply and took stock of the people who had come banging on her door in the middle of the night. She had a good guess as to who she would be opening the door to, and upon seeing the infamous uniforms of the palace guards she just sighed, looking at them expectantly as she leaned on the doorframe and ran a hand through her hair. 

“I’m needed?” She said without a hint of any emotion as she tightened her shawl around her shoulders. 

The shorter of the two guards quickly began to speak, asking that she immediately come with them to the palace. She sighed as she turned on her heel when the man spoke up again, the tone of his voice shifting from informative to vaguely threatening with his declaration of, “It’s not wise to turn away. You do understand who invited you, correct?”

Catherine whirled around then, her eyes wide and alert as if that statement immediately woke her up. She took a step towards them as she appraised them, realizing that she had never seen this shorter guard before. He seemed to falter under her gaze, causing her to smirk as she looked him over again, turning to the taller guard that she had recognized from other visits. “It’d be wise to train the new guards on who I am,” she said as she placed her hand on the door, staring at him authoritatively as she continued, “So that the next time they don’t try to intimidate me with their meaningless threats.” Yawning again, she quickly said, “I’ll be out in 10 minutes,” and closed the door on them, the short guard’s eyes widening in fear, or awe, she couldn’t tell, as he turned to his partner.

She had said ten and she stepped out in eight, a new outfit on and her bag packed with various bottles, trinkets, and other things that she might need for the duration of her stay. As she walked towards the carriage, the short guard bowed his head as he opened the door for her and she slid in, the other guard inside to keep an eye on her, as if she needed the protection. As the door closed and she felt the carriage shift from the man settling down in the seat, she quickly asked, “What am I tending to tonight?”

There always seemed to be something that he was convinced only she could fix; a restless night where the horrible deeds he’d performed would play on a loop interrupting his sleep, a random pain where his left hand used to be that he should not have felt, a black eye from rough housing with Mercedes and Melchior, the reasons she had been called through the years varied from the ridiculous to the severe. She could fix these pains, she could cause him to fall into a deep sleep, these were easy to remedy. 

“The Count’s mother is rumored to have been seen in the neighboring kingdom,” was all that the guard said before he turned away and looked out the window, ending the conversation. 

Catherine stiffened at the blunt declaration and turned in silence to look at the city passing her by as she took in that information. 

This was not simple, this wasn’t an ailment that could be easily fixed. 

Fear is a powerful force. It drives people to edges they didn’t know existed, forces them to examine their own lives, and can overwhelm even the most powerful. 

It isn’t something that magic could just fix, and as she sat silently in the carriage she felt slightly numb herself. 

“How will I even be able to care for this?” she’d wondered as they pulled up to the palace which seemed even quieter than it usually did at this hour. Usually when she was called there would be a small brigade of servants waiting for her, all curious as to what the magician was going to do to “fix” the Count but this time she was greeted by silence, Nadia not even making the trek from her wing to escort her to the Count’s. 

The same two guards silently led her through the palace she knew like the back of her hand, even with the renovations that had happened since she had left, and upon entering the Count’s wing, the halls fell even more silent. As they walked down the hall she felt her heart starting to race, starting to feel the oppressive power coming from the room she assumed he was in, and when the guard unceremoniously stopped and opened the door she felt a rush of fear, pure unadulterated fear for the future and the unknown that is death pour out of the room. 

Nodding to the guards, she entered the room and waited for Lucio to address her as the door closed behind her, used to his hysterics when sick, but unsure how to act in the face of this. The room was dark, the only source of light the light of the moon that fell in through a window and a slowly dying fire, but she could tell that things had been knocked around, items shoved out of place and other objects of great value strewn across the room with abandon. She felt a pair of eyes on her and as she scanned over the room her eyes fell upon a pair of heeled boots and she paused, knowing that she had finally found him. 

He was seated on a couch in a darker corner of the room, far from the window and the waning fire in the fireplace nearly covered in the dark of the night. 

“You’re late,” he sneered from his perch, not making a single move towards her as he stared her down.

“Can’t be late if you don’t give me a time to get here,” she said as she walked towards him, knowing that he fully expected her to, stopping a few feet away from him as she sighed, putting her hand on her hip. “And to be frank, calling me away from my home in the middle of the night usually means I get here in record time.”

“You should always be ready. I can call you whenever I want you know,” he said, head tilting back a bit as he closed his eyes before quickly opening them and resuming his gaze on her.

She looked at him, eyes narrowing as she took in his crumpled shirt, his unkempt hair, and his golden arm, the outer fixture stripped off, taking away some of his seeming cruelty. There seemed to be something more human to him when he was no longer bearing the claw that at least to him represented power, control, the ultimate object to fear, and was simply stripped down to what he was, a man who had lost his arm in brutal combat and had to live with that memory for the rest of his life. Ignoring her thoughts and own memories of that, she dropped her bag on the nearby ottoman and walked closer to him, looking down when her foot kicked something hard. An empty wine bottle rolled across the floor and towards another one, knocking that down only to reveal that it too was empty. Once again she simply sighed, “Doesn’t mean I have to come.”

They looked back at each other, her with an impassive look and him with a glare only reserved for those that truly crossed him. He opened his mouth, ready to throw a sharp barb her way but she simply rose a finger to her mouth and he immediately shut his, holding back whatever he wanted to say as she approached him. She didn’t need to use magic on him, she knew that he would listen to her without the threat of a spell. As she approached, she leaned over him and plucked the nearly full third bottle from his side and the glass that he had recently poured and moved it to the table on the opposite side of him. He went to protest again but she simply shot him a look and he shut up, looking away annoyedly as he muttered something about how that was his wine that she didn’t respond to.

She sat down next to him, took a large sip from the glass she had just confiscated, and looked over to him, her gaze softening as he turned to her and she crossed her legs and leaned back, taking yet another gulp before she set it down and spoke again.

“How are you?”

He sneered and looked away again, the smell of wine reeking from his as he began to speak. “Who does she think she is, approaching my domain? I should have her hunted down and killed for this.”

“What good will that do though?”

Lucio scoffed, almost as if she had offended him by simply asking. “She’ll be gone Catherine,” he said, drawing out the ‘gone’ as if he was explaining to a child, or talking down to someone in his court. “She’ll be dead and I won’t have to worry about her ever again. Hell, I could even take my claim as the rightful heir to the tribe.”

“Again, what good will that do?” she asked yet again, just as calmly as before as she leaned on the arm of the couch, eyebrows raised as she finished the wine in the glass and turned to pour herself another.

Lucio’s eyes widened as he stuttered, “W-why you! You know what that will do! I can continue on with my life, I can reach my full potential, conquer more than she ever could!” He lunged towards her, arm reaching out before she turned towards him at lighting speed and quickly lifted her leg, pushing against his chest with her foot and effectively knocking him down with one move. “You brat!” he shrieked as he sat up, staggering as he did so, from his drunkenness or the force of her kick he would never admit.

“Before you say another word, I’m going to tell you to not call me that. Also, you’re drunk, I’m not letting you have anymore,” she said, leaning towards him as she brought the full glass to her lips. Staring him down, she lifted it up and drank the full contents of it before she let out a satisfied ‘ah’ and put the glass back on the table. Leaning back into the plush couch, she looked back to him and rolled her eyes as he stared at her confused. “I know you weren’t aiming for me, just another drink to try and dull whatever it is you’re feeling.”

He mumbled as he shuffled around on the couch, turning his back to her before he quickly dropped his onto her lap and threw his legs over the edge of the couch.

“Ah! Warning!” she said as she quickly tried to readjust herself so that he wasn’t crushing her.

“No,” he said back, perpetually a spoiled child as he turned and nuzzled his face into her stomach. “Pet me.”

She looked down with a grimace only to see him looking up at her with a blank look. She hesitated for a moment with her hands hovering above him before his gaze turned into one of begging the longer they sat there in silence. She slowly lowered her hands to his hair, running her fingers through it a few times to break up the styled pieces covered in product that already weren’t messed with causing Lucio to let out a contented sigh as he closed his eyes and smiled. “This isn’t so bad, is it Catherine?”

“You didn’t need to summon me to do this,” she muttered as she took in his features, surprised as always to see how his features softened when he laid there with his eyes closed, when a small smile spread across his lips.

“But I want to. And even though you said you don’t have to come you always do,” he said smugly. She removed her hands and his eyes shot open but it was her turn to smile down at him as she reached over and poured herself another large glass, emptying the entire bottle. “Ah, you must be feeling it already if you’re this eager for more,” he teased, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive manner as she rolled her eyes, taking a sip before dropping one hand back to his head and resuming her small actions.

“Shush,” she chided as he pressed into her fingertips, slightly hissing from the pressure being applied. As the sound escaped his lips a small frown dropped on hers. He acted as if he hadn’t been touched in years, as if he hadn’t felt any sense of affection in years. She lowered her hand from his head and pressed it against his cheek, causing him to open his eyes wide as she leaned over him, closing her eyes as she took a large breath in.

Fear.  Pain. Anguish. Panic. Confusion. Longing.

The emotions came flowing from him into her and they raged through her in a rush causing her to let out a shuddered breath as she opened her eyes and looked down to him. He was looking up at her with a slight frown, and she gave him a lopsided smile as her thumb grazed his cheek. “Sorry, I promised I wouldn’t use that on you, but I can’t help you if you aren’t open about what’s going on. This isn’t something magic can fix.”

“I hate when you do that,” he said as his eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms tightly against his chest.

“What good would come from you killing your mother?” she asked again, her voice softer this time as she kept her hand on his face.

He looked away, but she could tell he was thinking over her question this time instead of pushing it away. “I won’t have to be constantly looking over my shoulder. I could sleep easy, not wondering if she’s going to somehow end up in my room and kill me in my sleep. I mean it when I say I could be a better ruler than her, I would finally have done something she hadn’t, I would be the last one standing, I would show her that I’m no weakling.” Dropping his voice, he muttered something under his breath, and with a soft,” Hm?” from Catherine he sighed out, “I would finally be free of well, a lot I guess. Maybe I could finally leave the confines of this city’s walls. Maybe we could.”

He looked back up at her. His eyes, usually prideful and full of contempt for those around him infinitely softer than she had expected, and she turned away from him, taking a sip of her drink as she thought about what he had just said. “You’re drunk,” she whispered, taking another sip to try and now drown out her own confusion, tinged with anger towards him for even suggesting that. 

“And soon you will be too,” he countered. He uncrossed his arms and brought his hand, the one of flesh and bone that he always reached out to her with, to the one that had just left his face. Grasping it gently, he brought it down to his chest and closed his eyes. His heartbeat slowed down the longer they remained in silence, him coming down from the frenzy he always threw himself in when stressed. She continued to drink, downing the glass faster than usual as they reversed roles. Her heartbeat only kept rising as she thought over his statement to her, one that only a fool would even suggest. But if he was a fool then she had to also be one, since for a fleeting moment as she finished the glass she entertained the idea of them leaving Vesuvia. 

They could go anywhere, be anyone. She wouldn’t be “The Count’s Magician” and more importantly he wouldn’t be “The Count”. Well, unless he intended to always return to his title, his riches, and his people who adored him despite the state parts of the city were in. That was always a thought in her mind- would she be able to escape that title, or was she relegated to it for life? Still unable to look at him the glass was emptied quicker than she thought it would be  she could only place it on the table, letting out a deep sigh as she felt her head to begin to swim and her thoughts continuing to stray back to the past. 

Breaking the silence, she let out an angry laugh, “Guess you were right about being drunk.”

“I told you so,” he said in his usual pompous tone as he looked up and gave his trademark smirk to her. “You should stay the night, you can’t go back to that shop of your’s in this condition.”

“I can with your carriage.”

“Well, you can’t use it.”

She let out a frustrated sigh as he continued, his words now slurring as he tried to look at her seductively, but failing miserably, “We should move to my bedroom.”

“Not happening.”

“Alright, your room.”

She startled and looked down at him, a questioning look on her face as she muttered, “My room?”

“You think I would get rid of that? You’re still the Count’s Magician, of course it is still there. And we should move there now.”

“Same answer; not happening.”

Here he turned pouty, letting go of her hand and crossing his arms as he looked at her indignantly,  “Fine then, we’ll go to a guest room.”

“One last time Lucio: Not. Happening. You’re married.”

“And you know that means nothing.”

She sighed as she herself crossed her arms, her own words starting to slur as she began to regret drinking that much wine at that speed. “But you know it means something to me. I won’t do that even if others have no problem with it.”

They both fell silent again before their arms fell slack and her head tilted back and sank into the cushion of the couch. Her eyes closed and Lucio took his time to take her in, having not been able to see her in this state for years now. She had always been able to fall asleep wherever she was, one of her better talents she used to claim, and she looked peaceful as her breath slowed down and her hand started to grasp the hem of his shirt, fingers twisting around it delicately before she stopped, her fingertips a ghost of a whisper on his waist.

Lucio smiled to himself and turned back to her, wrapping his gold arm around the back of her waist and bringing his other towards her hip. Shooting up she looked down at him and he remained there with his head in her lap and back to resting towards her stomach. “We’ll just have to stay here then,” he said, satisfied with himself for coming up with a compromise. 

“I shouldn’t,” she started but he tutted at her and laughed.

“You’re drunk, and already able to fall asleep, and I would be a horrible host if I didn’t give you a place to stay. And since you’re oh so adamant that we shouldn’t go anywhere else we will stay here.” He smiled smugly as he tightened his grasp on her. 

She went to speak but was interrupted by his quick “Oh!” Rubbing her face she looked down again as he proudly proclaimed, “And you can’t even tell me this couldn’t be comfortable for me. You know this arm can’t fall asleep.”

Pausing for a moment, she let out a drunken snicker before it turned into a full laugh. Lifting a leg that he rested on, she hooked the edge of the table on the toe of her shoe and pulled it closer, kicking her legs onto it and reclining a bit more into her seat. She let one hand fall to his hair and the other remained close to his hip, and he pulled her closer to him, grip tight and unyielding. With a wave of her hand, the curtains were drawn, covering them in the darkness of the room as their breaths slowly fell in synch with the other’s.

[cateringisalie]

Renegade Aeris x Cloud Week Day 4

Written for the prompt ‘Unspoken’ and ‘Friends Know Best’ and OM MY GOD THIS WENT ON FOR LONGER THAN IT SHOULD HAVE. I need to completely rewrite this and actually put dialogue into it! And so many other fixes and... This on top of my new absurd plan which is going to require (does sums quickly) 28 fics! 28! I’m totally going to scupper myself and struggle to make a 100 words on some of them, I just know it. Anyway:

Aeris’s first adventure was easy. She would retrace the path Avalanche took around the world – up to the same point and then take the step beyond. Cid muttered something when she made the announcement and gifted her a satellite phone soon after. He demanded a promise from her she would keep it charged. Another trip on the Highwind was always welcome – and while she might be able to walk back from the North Crater, her companions had flown instead.

Keeping it as much the same as she could. As there was no moment she would have not been with their friends. The missing portions constituted an odd curiosity. Most of those moments were pained or at least unwanted memories. Aeris by virtue of hearing second hand could sympathise with the emotional state of her companions when living through them. But few could fault her for wanting to have been present. So; a flight from the North Crater was acceptable. Yuffie loudly wondered if Aeris wanted to meander quite so much or double-back the same as them. Aeris smiled. From Midgar to Kalm took less than a day. The Planet’s voice rumbled somewhere far below, the former traces of Mako in the air long gone. Gentle wind washed over her while she crossed the grasslands. Grass beneath her feet and blue sky above; Aeris took her boots off part way there and walked barefoot to Mom’s house. She was still amazed by Aeris’s presence in the world, that she could come back after all that happened. Shame she could not stay longer; Aeris and her Mom sought common ground and caught up. Mom looked so much brighter here in Kalm. Less tired. After Mom’s house there was a long stretch of wilderness. Aeris still carried her staff and with enough supplies to camp out safely. Monsters could be dealt with with magic, and some remembered tricks of her first trip around the world kept her safe at night. She kept a journal, scribbling sightings, thoughts and distances. Chocobo Billy did not recognise her when she made it to the farm. She never expected him to, and paid the requisite gil to hire a room and a chocobo. The Midgar Zolom might be dead (the impaled corpse thankfully no longer looming over the entrance to the Mythril Mines), but trudging through a swamp held little appeal; Aeris rushed over the distance on Chocobo-back. The Mythril Mine was colder and echoed in the stillness. Well-worn route out to the grasslands and Fort Condor. The new Phoenix sat contentedly on the inert reactor, slumbering. Aeris first ran into Cloud at Junon. Out on deliveries and pleased that by chance they arrived in the port town at the same time. Together they visited Priscilla and Mr. Dolphin, the bay water fortunately clear and less polluted. The upper plate’s skies were criss-crossed with airship traffic; the city still not looking right while lacking the Sister Ray. Time together became dinner. Dinner became some drinks at the bar. Cloud fully intended to drive through the night until Aeris invited him to her hotel room for coffee. Their first time together. For all the flirting and attempts, they had never had a chance for privacy and comfort like this. Cloud was shyer than imagined, less confident. Aeris was happy to lead and make clear what she wanted from their coupling, and Cloud was a quick learner. He made some fumbling attempt to find out if she expected him to stick with her now, but she assured him that was not her intentions. They had spent the night together – which had been absolutely fulfilling – but who knew when another opportunity arose? Cloud had his life, and she had hers. He waved her off when the ship set sail for Costa del Sol; Aeris waved back and smiled at the memory of last night. Two days later she accepted a girl’s offer of coffee at the hotel in Costa del Sol, splitting time with her new friend Undyne, the beach and the bar. Undyne had a life here and little desire for travel. Aeris bid her goodbye and set out once more. Barret met her in North Corel, the ravaged town transformed utterly by its residents, new buildings shooting up. Marlene was thrilled to see her and asked a torrent of questions about the rest of Avalanche behind her. At Barret’s insistence she spent the night on his sofa before setting out for the Gold Saucer the next morning. Here too would be a divergence; no desire to wind up down in the prison or trek across the desert on foot. Aeris toured the theme park, spent some pleasurable moments in secluded areas with a guy she met in the queue for the Shooting Coaster and left for North Corel before the next stage. Gongaga confounded her; what could she say now? Her second time here, and the elderly couple recognises her all too readily. How to explain the how and why of her previous lie, when she hadn’t wanted to accept the implied truth? The town showed signs of recovery, but uncomfortable here with the past looming so large. Cosmo Canyon was better; Nanaki pleased to see her, the elders crowding her to learn what she could now tell them having ventured into the Lifestream itself. Too busy for anything else; her time split between reciting what she knew and Nanaki. Too easy to spend all her time here. Unlike Nibelheim. Before reaching the town, Aeris had considered getting a room in the hotel. The town was odd and fake, but functioned. A revisit dismissed the notion. The residents had dwindled over the years and a new oppressive feel hung over everything. A feeling of too many eyes watching left her shivering. Stupid plan, but Mount Nibel must surely be better than this. A mistake. The former resting place of Jenova plagued her. The Planet’s voice was dim, and while Jenova was assuredly gone, her voice somehow lingered here, singing her impossible, seductive song. No rest to be had here – and more critically little idea of how to find her way down to Rocket Town. Possibly should have taken Tifa up on her offer of company. Or at least asked for a map. Bad to ask so soon, but completing the journey was the important part. She called Cid and holed up at the entrance to the Mako reactor for a few hours. Cid expected the call, but not so soon. Some minor grumbling aside, he was content to drop her off at the base of Mount Nibel. Rocket Town was changed; no Shinra-26 looming, no Cid and no Shera. The pair were all too busy running their airship business, sending people and goods all over the world. Aeris did not spend much time there and pushed onto Wutai. The sea crossing now boasted a regular ferry thanks to the much diminished hostilities between Wutai and the rest of the world. Something of a shame that Yuffie was not there to meet her either. But surprisingly Cloud was, having picked up from Cid where she was and calculated accordingly. Aeris enveloped him in a long hug and convinced him to lie down with her. Three days in Wutai, much of it in bed. She checked each morning if Cloud needed to go, and when he insisted he did not, she indulged. Almost tempting to ask him to stay with her for the next part; relive Enchantment night with her. Unfair; Cloud had delayed more than he should and needed to move on once again. The timing was off on the return; well- She never planned to replicate anything quite so closely. The return to the Gold Saucer was a night like any other. Crowds of people, lost bets on the Chocobos and couples on dates. Barret helped chart a boat the next morning; her approximation of her trail took her out to a rarely visited island chain. She did not spend long at the Temple ruins. Little to see anymore, a plunging pit nothing close to deep enough to hold the gigantic structure that had been the Temple of the Ancients. A scene of discomfort; returning to Gongaga did not help, but another link in the chain. Traveling North was better. The archaeologists at Bone Village still dug into the earth, a few conspiratorially telling her of the unexpected visitors years before who entered the Sleeping Forest – and made it out the other side as far as they could tell. Aeris let them talk her out of attempting to enter the woods and rented a room. But hard to wait, she slipped from her room in the midnight hours and followed the remains of the path North. For a moment a worry that whatever guided her through the trail previously would be gone. That the Sleeping Forest would be true to its name. But neither exhaustion nor tiredness marred her as she hurried through the oppressive quiet of the woods. She arrived at the City with the dawn. And now, a deviation. Once before she followed the path into the centre; into the hidden forest and the lake within the city, and then down into the cavern below. She had never seen the remainder of the city, the fallen houses, the still usable structure Avalanche camped in while they pursued her. Acres of rubble, and in many places little indication of what might have once been here. The air was warmer than it should be, some quirk of the landscape or some ancient Cetra device still operating was unclear. Paths snaked around the city and lead further North. Down into a canyon and a shell-like spiralling stair up into the mountains beyond. New ground upon which she had never trodden. But there remained one place still to revisit. The fish vanished at her touch as it had before. The long descent down the crystalline stair as dizzying. But less pressing need to move fast, to begin the ceremonies. Aeris descended the stairs and made her way to the platform. The place where she once died. Nothing here to indicate what had happened. That moment was vague in memory; a distant recall of pain, confusion and darkness. The altar did not invoke the discomfort of the Temple. This place had been her ending once, but remote. Better prepared than Avalanche had been; Aeris changed into her cold weather gear at the Northern limit of the city. Avalanche had been shocked when leaving the mountain paths left them in the snowfields. They were fortunate none were harmed with their trek through the snows. Aeris still shivered despite her preparations. The winds howled around her, snow swirling. Of all the places she had never seen, Icicle Inn and the cluster of houses nearby remained one of the more fascinating. Snow was new, the altitude, the quieting of the Planet beneath her. But past her ending, was her beginning. She took her time getting to the damaged house, the power still connected. Bags dropped off at her room in the inn, getting warm again, and a good, hot meal. The broadstrokes of what awaited her was well-known; as was most of the content of the video tapes. The bullet holes still invoked a shiver, but she would not be deterred. In grainy images, Aeris once more saw her mother and for the first time, saw her father. She watched each tape three times, scarcely listening to their voices, focusing more on their faces, their movements, the way Mom cradled her- The last tape was hard to watch with Hojo’s intrusion into the family’s life. To her the fatal gunshot. She had heard both bullets that ended her parent’s lives it seemed. The rest of the house failed to turn up additional artefacts. Shinra and Hojo were sloppy in some ways, less so in others. Nothing but old, out of fashion clothes, decomposing toiletries and decayed food. The sense of family in the building was long gone. Aeris took the tapes and retreated to the hotel, holing up in her room and unsure. Of course the tapes affected her badly; how could they fail to? She hugged them to her chest. Little appetite but she forced a meal down. She would need her strength for the next part. In a surreal bid to catch up with Sephiroth, Avalanche had used the nearby ski-slope to speed up their descent. A potentially fun route, but Aeris had a lot to carry. She took a longer, winding parallel route down to the hot-springs that lay at the base. Ahead, Gaea’s Cliffs rose high above. Easy to find her way. Mr Hozelhoff remembered Avalanche well-enough; who could fail to remember such a mismatched group, so woefully unprepared for climbing the mountain? She smiled at his amazement that they had successfully scaled the cliffs but taken a different route away. They sent on their apologies. He gave her a critical look when she confessed to a desire to climb the cliffs as well. He stopped short of advising against it, but warned that the conditions at the peak were changed from prior. The most physically intensive part of her trip; Aeris had long prepared for his, practicing, researching and learning all she could about mountain and ice-climbing. Amazing Avalanche had survived this at all, the icy-covered rocks, the cave systems threading in and out of the towering cliff. Inching ever further up. Until she clambered over the peak. When Avalanche made this same trip, they found Mako flaring up from the centre; a maze of twisted rock and high winds in the bowl of an impact crater. All gone now; demolished by Sephiroth and the WEAPONS. A conical hole lay before her instead, irregular rock outcrops providing a tiring, but usable route down deep below ground. Not her route. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Still undecided if what remained of those deep trails was worth striving for. On the edge of the crater she called Cid. Her timing was off apparently and it would take him three days to reach her. That was fine; there was a safe-spot below the ridge, a small cave she could setup a camp in, sheltered from the cold and wind as much as possible. The next day she skirted around the rim of the crater, peering down into the depths and outwards to the unfamiliar land beyond the crater and South. Avalanche had never set foot there. And for now, neither would she. On the second day, she tensed as the sounds of something scrabbling up the cliffs became too loud to ignore. Someone for company, but at the moment- Cloud hauled himself over the edge and Aeris could do nothing but hug him. Cid had called to tell him he would need some time to get to her – and find out if Cloud was in a convenient spot. Fortunately he was. An unrealised tension slid from Aeris’s shoulders. They curled together in comfort that night, waiting for Cid. Bliss. The next morning, Aeris asked Cloud how long he was going to hand around for; he replied he would stay to the end now. He too had missed out on her next move – the airship from the North Crater to Junon – and he liked the idea of revisiting this missing portion of Avalanche’s journey. Smiling, Aeris took his hand and they found ways to amuse themselves while awaiting the arrival of the Highwind.

[writersblock2point0]

I Am Project Six. Part 4

Summary: The beauty of Christmas and a bomb at the mall?

“It’s so white.” A soft voice came from behind Tony as he fiddled with his toys, and he raised an eyebrow before peering out the window. New York was covered in snow; the white power pristine and unblemished as fresh puffs fell from the sky in a thick haze.

“Yup.” Tony replies, peeking over his shoulder to see Six was looking out the window, eyes flickering over the different falling snow flakes. “It’s called snow.” The sarcasm was faint in his words, and he didn’t miss the small look Bruce shot him. Tony shrugged, rolling his eyes before listening as Bruce turned back to Six.

“Okay, this won’t hurt much, but it will pinch.” Bruce gives her a small shot before starting to patch her up. During a rather rough training session Bucky managed to snag her in the forearm with his blade. He was obviously upset about it; however, it was more over how she took the pain. Her expression was stoic, and she didn’t even cry as blood spilled from the large gash. She simply took her shirt off and wrapped it, looking up at him for orders. Once he was done Bruce told her to rest her arm and take pain medicine responsibly. Standing, Bruce said that Bucky was waiting outside for her.

She walked out with her arm wrapped and a new shirt on. When the doors open, Bucky looks up. His hair was a mess, clear finger patterns weaved in as his eyes remained conflicted. Six stood still, unsure if she should say something. She knew he was upset, it was obvious with how much he apologized. She was fine. The pain was barely there, and she wondered why he was so sorry. Why? It was her fault, she did not block him, did not see it happen.

Shifting in awkward silence, Bucky finally sighs.

“I’m so sorry doll.” Six looks down, wanting to say it was her fault, but she knew it would not serve her any good. He would still feel the way he does.

“I am fine.” She mutters quietly, and he rubs his eyes. Standing, he towers over her. She looks up at him with wide eyes. “Are we going to continue our training?”

“No. It’s enough for today.” He answers, and she frowns. Six didn’t understand, she trained all day, almost every day. Why stop because of an injury? Six never let an injury hinder her. She pushed through. Bucky sees the gears in her head turning, “C’mon.” He starts walking to his own personal courters of the tower. She follows without hesitation, her pace even with his as she made sure not to walk beside him or in front of him, but behind. Bucky took quick note of that, after she never equaled herself or put herself ahead of any of them.

She closed his door after walking in. Bucky had a large, spacious apartment. Walking in, there was a large living area with a black leather couch, glass table, a black leather chair, and a large flat screen sitting across from the couch. A door of the right side of the tv lead to a large kitchen. A door to the right of the couch lead to a large bedroom with a bathroom. The wall across from the door, and to the left couch was all glass. It gave a beautiful view of the snow outside. It caught Six’s interest immediately. She timidly inched her way to the window, keeping an eye on Bucky as he disappeared into the kitchen. She looked down, watching cars and people. They were so small from up here, it was almost making her dizzy. She snapped her head to see Bucky standing in the kitchen door way with two steaming mugs.

He gave her a small smile, “You can’t enjoy snow without hot chocolate.” She takes it, feeling the heat of the mug and goes to take a sip. “Wait, it’s really hot.” Bucky blows on his drink and she watches him before doing the same. Copying his movements to perfection. The drink is indeed hot, but not unsettling. The taste is unlike anything she has had before. She can feel the hot liquid travel down her throat and stomach, and the sweetness lasts on her tongue longer than she expected. She takes a bigger sip the next time. Again, she feels it everywhere in her body and relishes in the sweet nectar. Six takes a breath, she really likes hot chocolate.

“Tony is throwing a party for Christmas. He says you can come if you want, but if you would rather stay inside your room that is fine too.” Bucky comments, and Six furrows her brow.

“I do not know what Christmas is.” She shakes her head, blinking as Bucky goes to sit down. She stands, glancing out the window every few seconds. She thought about the party. She knew a party was a gathering of friends, perhaps with music and dances of different kinds, she suspected it would be about Christmas. She didn’t know if she would attend. It was not her place. Perhaps she would stay in her room, and draw. Bucky told her about the YouTube, videos for free for anyone. It sounded interesting.

“I was hoping you would go to the party. I think it would be good for you.” Bucky states, setting his mug down before she was already finished with hers. Bucky hides a smile, she liked the hot chocolate. He notes how she seems to tense at his words. “Of course, it is your choice. I’ll be there with you if you would like to go.” She nods, not uttering a show as she continues to look out the window. Bucky noticed she did that often. With a small sigh, Bucky stands. Six never spoke much, but Bucky didn’t need her to speak. He was able to pick up on a lot of things just by assessing her person.

He followed her gaze, seeing she was looking at the sky. It was dark, grey and the snow flakes were falling in heavy heaps. She would follow one, before it hit the ground, then she’d turn to the sky and pick another. “Would you like to go to the roof?” She turns to him, a confused frown on her face.

Bucky leads her up, opening the door to the outside. He props it open with a cement block and notes how deep the snow has gathered on the roof. It stops just under his knee. Six looks out, attentively stepping into the snow. She was barefoot, but her body heat kept her from getting frost bite. The magic of mutants. She takes a few more steps, and Bucky notices how the snow around her wilted, as if being a few inches was too much for it to stand. It was melting.

She made a path right to the edge of the building, looking down before looking up. Snow stuck to her hair, but quickly melted. She didn’t even seem to get wet, just stayed dry.

“Have you ever seen snow before?” Bucky asks, curious to why she seemed so entranced with it.

“Yes.” She answers. “A lot. I could withstand temperatures that most life could not. I did not need survival gear. I did not require shelter or fire for warmth. My body was able to keep me alive in the most frigid waters and air. I just love the snow.”

Bucky hums, standing beside her. He could feel the cold, but it did not affect him much. “Why do you like it?”

“I was sent on a mission to kill a whole family in Northern Russia. It was snowing that night. It was one I enjoyed. The solitude and quiet. I did that mission on my own. My first ever solo.” She comments and turns to him. “Do you remember the freezer?”

Bucky looks down, his jaw setting firmly before he looks up. “Yes. Though I try not to.”

Six smiles, “Well, I think of it fondly. Though the doctor was not please when he learned it would not freeze my body. It was used as a isolation punishment. Though I never let on that it served as…peace.” Bucky looks out into the night, thinking how ironic that the same experiences impacted each of them differently. The freezer was hell, he hated it. But for her, it was heaven on earth. She was alone, peaceful, and safe inside of it. While Bucky would never step foot in one on his own free will again, he had no doubt that she would seek out a similar place as a makeshift getaway.

“Do you have fond memories?” Her voice was small, as if she was scared to ask. “Of before?”

Bucky thinks for a moment, and then decides that while there where times when it was not as dark, no. He did not. “No.”

“Is it bad that I do?” She rebuttals quickly, concern in her eyes.

“No. I think it is human to see good things in dark situations.” Bucky states and watches as she leans over the edge, watching cars slowly make their way by. The city was lit up like a Christmas tree, some flickering off, others coming on. Bucky wanted to help her, to guide her into a new life. Bucky was grateful for Steve, but if he hadn’t been there, then Bucky wouldn’t have had anyone. Steve and Bucky were best friends before the war, even during the war. Six had no one. She was given up by her own parents. He wanted to help her, because he knew how it was in Hydra, and he also knew if you had someone to lean on, it was possible to over come it all.

 The next morning, Six emerged from her room. It was on the same floor as Bucky and Sam’s. It was a few days until Christmas, at least that was what she was told. The tower was decorated in red, green, and white. Along door ways was these bright white lights with red ribbons and fake green plants. Six wondered why red? But there was a pleasing aesthetic to it that she liked. It felt warm, not temperature wise, but inviting. Six passes the large living room where she often heard the team gather for drinks and conversation. She never joined them, but she could often hear their laughter from a hall away. What made her stop was the large fat tree beside the window. It was wrapped with lights, blinking and colorful There was large glass ornaments hanging from its branches, some were gold and others were different. There was deer, a large man wearing red, three white circles stack on one another with a black hat and a smile, and a few others. Six stared at it, titling her head and wondered why it was here.

“It’s a Christmas tree.” A voice from behind her said, and Six spun around. Steve was standing with his arms crossed and leaning against the door. He smiles at her, “It’s tradition.”

Six nods before looking back at it and noticing colorful boxes underneath. “And the boxes?”

“Presents.” Sam says, rounding the corner and putting on his jacket. Sam gives Six a large smile, “You ready?”

Six frowns, “For what?”

 Six stands in the large mall, watching people bustle around, carrying bags and bags of different items for others and themselves. She wondered why it was so traditional for someone to buy things for another. Was it to retrieve something in return? An eye for an eye? A favor? Six watched as a small boy held a large stuffed black cat as he held hands with an older woman. She was speaking on the phone, and he was looking around with an anxious expression; one that mirrored her own.

She jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder.

“Hey, hey.” Sam’s voice came through the noisy lobby. “You ready to help me pick things out?” Six hesitantly nods, her eyes wide as she looks at all the passing people. Sam is beside her, pulling out a folded paper and looking at all the things on the list. “Okay, I need you to take this-“ He handed her a card. She looked at it in confusion as he explained, “Use it as debit, and get everything below here. The stores in which you can find them are right next to them in parentheses.” He looked her in the eyes, “Can you do that?”

She finds herself nodding before she can consult with herself and suddenly she’s alone. She didn’t see where he went, the crowds were too large. She sighs, okay, she can do this. She’s learning to read, granted she doesn’t quite understand the whole grammar too much yet but she knows what each of these words are. She gets herself to a small kid store. It was stuffed with large and small animals. Somewhere more accurate in looks while others were just plain comical. She steps in, eying the different animals and candies. She clears her throat and looks down at the list.

‘A large stuffed stitch for niece.’ A Stitch? What was a Stitch? Her mind instantly went to a large sown up wound, but as a stuffed animal. She looked around, turning in a slow and painful circle as she tried to figure out what a Stitch is. She stood staring at a large set of shelves that seemed too big for the store. Perhaps she was getting shorter? Did that happen?

“Excuse me,” A small feminine voice came from beside Six. Almost dropping the card and note in her hand, she turned to see the mother with the little boy. The women had blond hair, cut short to her shoulders with blue eyes that didn’t even rival Steve or Bucky’s. The smile was warm and inviting. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business-but do you need help?”

Six swallows around the lump in her throat. ‘This is good for you.’ Sam’s voice echoed in her head and she felt like she had to do this. Nodding, she turns her eyes to the woman, “Yes, I do.”

The woman smiles, “I thought so. You looked very lost.”

Six breathes out a small laugh. Her should tense but she tries to calm the beating of her heart. “Thank you.”

“I’m Pipher, and this is Jack.” Pipher holds the boy’s hand as she looks down at him with a proud grin. The small boy has thick dirty blond curls, and dark round eyes that reminded her of that one movie with the girl and the button eyes…what was it called again? His cheeks were chubby as he didn’t even seem to look at her, hiding half his face in the large cat.

“My friends call me Six.” Six answers, glancing to the side. “It’s a um, r-running joke?” She questions, wondering if that was the correct term to use. She’s been given lots and lots of lessons from Tony Stark on terms and phrases.

“Well, Six, I would love to help you.” Pipher smiles and Six looks down at her list.

“I need a large stuffed Stitch…I don’t know what a Stitch is.”

Pipher is then laughing and Six feels her face grow hot. “Oh my, come with me.” She leads Six around the store, showing her a blue alien that is named Stitch. A popular children’s show, movie character, and all-around alien. Picking up one that was very big, almost too large for Six to see around, she helped Six pay. Showing her how to use the card correctly.

“Thank you, not a lot of people are patient.”

“You aren’t from around here, are you?” Pipher tilts her head, still holding Jack’s hand. She then pulls out a pen and takes the paper. “Listen, if you need anything or just want to hang out-this is my number.”

Six watches with large eyes, and stares at the set of numbers in the corner of the paper. “Um, okay…Thank you.” Pipher waves, walking to the left and Six looks around, holding a large Stitch and wondering where Barnes & Noble was. “Wait!” She calls out to Pipher, and the woman spins around. Six feels her throat close for a moment, before she stood taller as the woman came closer. “Do you know where Barnes and Noble is?”

Pipher smiles, the corners of her mouth pulling back to reveal perfect teeth. “Well, I think you may be following me.” Six’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head, going to protest and explain but Pipher is laughing and snatching the list before Six can even think of stopping her. She turns and looks over her shoulder. “This way.” Her voice was nothing short of a song and Six follows with quick steps as she adjusted the Stitch at her side.

 They’d been inside the book store for only a few moments when they heard it. A large boom, then the building was shaking. People were running, in all directions. Six turns to Pipher and hands her the large Stitch, telling her to get out through the doors at the end of the hall.

“I can’t! Jack is inside in the kid’s section!”

Six’s jaw clenches before she turns Pipher towards the exit, “I will get him, you go.”

“No! I need-“

Six cuts her off, “Jack needs you alive, and I cannot keep the both of you safe. Now get out.” Six watches the mother nod and run to the exit, holding their bags as Six turns back into the store. It was empty, and Six could see why. The ceiling was falling. She hurried through, getting lost in which way the kid’s section was in the store. A loud scream broke through the corruption and Six rounded a shelf to see him on the floor half way under a fallen book case. Books were around him, heavy hard backs and flopped over paper backs.

He was crying and Six didn’t have time to wonder if he was hurt or not. Grabbing him by the arms, she tugs him out, and sees he was not injured. The fall just scared him. He was shaking and holding onto her as if he needed her to breathe. She goes to pick him up, but a series of cracks and groans hit her, and she looked up, seeing the ceiling was two seconds away from falling. Quickly placing him on the floor, she covered him with her body as the walls and ceiling collapsed.

Tags: 

@lilulo-12 @stuck-as-me @themeanestlittlewitch

[mellicose]

That Woman Over There - Chapter 7

A You Me and Him Fix-it Fic

Rating: teen, for some strong language

Word count: 5830

Warnings: none

Summary: ~ Set after the birth of Monty, Olivia’s baby ~ A dear friend of Olivia comes to visit for a week, and she disturbs the fragile peace between her, Alex, and John.

Note: due to the length of this chapter, I won’t be posting the next one until next Wednesday. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7

He came back with drinks and sat hard beside her.

“Ow!” she yelled. “Your skinny ass is gonna leave a bruise!”

“Nonsense. I heard from very good sources that it’s quite nice,” he said. He drank deep from a longneck.

“What happened to those ladies you were working on? They looked pretty into it.”

“I gave them my business card,” he said dismissively.

“How analog of you,” she said. “Seriously, though. You just blew them off?”

He shrugged. “Yes and no. There will always be bored, horny women. Any night of the week, at any pub. That shit never changes.” There was something in his tone that stopped her from becoming offended for all womankind.

“What happened?” she said.

“What? With the women?”

“With your wife,” she said.

Again, he lay back and looked at the stars peeking through the clouds.

“You can’t see the stars in the heart of the city,” he said. “It’s not something you think about when you move. It’s usually whether to buy a car or not, or whether there’s a nice supermarket nearby, but never whether you’ll see the stars at night,” he said. “It’s so weird how easily priorities get … skewed.”

She sighed.

“She wasn’t happy. She dieted and exercised and experimented with different looks, but she wasn’t getting signed. And as time passed, it got worse and worse. Anxiety ate her alive. She began to get surgeries. And I, the ever obliging husband, paid for them. But nothing worked. Nothing was good enough. Not the flat, the city, and most glaringly … me.”

Her stomach bubbled.

“She had a thing she did,” he continued. “A rare talent, if you want to call it that. I’m a grown man. No glasses. No brace. But she had a way, ever so subtly, to make me feel like that bent boy again. And as time passed and things didn’t go like she wanted, it happened more and more. Until I was the boy - just a weak, whinging thing at her feet, begging for the least scrap of affection or sympathy.”

It’s like he took a slice of life from her childhood. How many times had she peeked around corners as her mom berated her father for no other reason than ennui? He would withstand her onslaught, softly clucking out an occasional “perdoname, mi amor”. 

She spit poison, but he knelt, brown eyes liquid with adoration, and apologized to her. Every time. Every day. For years. He wore his misery and shame so openly that she found herself averting her eyes. And although he was a good man - loyal and kind - she began to resent him.

“To add insult to injury, I suggested that we start a family. I figured that maybe if she had a wee baby to watch over, she wouldn’t be so worried about other things. I really fucked up then,” he said, eyes wide. “I was sexist. A selfish misogynist asshole, and I wanted her barefoot and bloated in the kitchen. That was a laugh. She didn’t cook.”

“Then how did you eat?” she said.

“I did the cooking. And most of the cleaning. She preferred to have a lie in and then go out for late lunches with friends.”

It wasn’t an odd confession. Her own mother never lifted a finger - they had a cleaning service come in every day to keep things tidy. Because her mother was so contrary, she was never able to form any connection to the staff, since they never lasted long.

“Why didn’t you get someone to come in to do the cleaning?”

His brow wrinkled with indignation. “I come from honest Scottish stock. It’s a shame not to be able to clean up your own muck. It was just us two, hardly an excuse to have some poor woman scrubbing and dusting after us.”

“They get paid to do it,” she said. She played with the buckle on her boot.

“You have a cleaner?” he said, giving her a disapproving look.

“No. My apartment’s small, and dust never really bothered me,” she winked at him. “It add character.”

“It gives me asthma,” he said.

“Then I guess you can’t come over,” she said.

“Am I invited? I could use a cheeky NYC holiday,” he said. “I’m curious about seeing American women in their natural habitat.”

“All animals, are we?”

He shook his head briskly. “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“I get it. I was joking,” she said. “It’s a pity she didn’t want children.”

He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Last I heard, she’s a new mum to a healthy baby girl,” he said morosely. “She didn’t want to have my children.” He kicked at the firepit.

“Did she actually say that, though?” she said.

“Not quite. For the first half of the marriage, she insisted she couldn’t have children because it would ruin her figure. That made some sense to me, so I waited. We were young. But as things began to fall apart and it was obvious that there would be no modeling career, the truth finally came to light.”

“And what truth was that?”

He couldn’t look at her. No one knew the truth. Not Alex and Olivia. Not even his own mother. And he didn’t know why he was going to tell her. She noticed his hesitation, and squeezed his hand. Old pain began to rise from where he had subsumed it under a mountain of self-loathing and anger. He was suddenly dizzy with it.

“She didn’t want to procreate with me. She would be horrified if she had a ‘gimp kid.’” His voice was hoarse with pain. He put his head in his hands, and his body trembled as he tried to fight the urge to sob. Hearing it out loud, it took him back to the moment his life fell apart. Mara’s face had been so lax, so cold. She didn’t understand why he crumpled in his chair, and went pale as a sheet - to her, it made perfect sense.

“And when we lost Josie, I started to wonder…” he said, his face twisted with horror, “I started to wonder whether…” he took a whooping breath, “ whether it was my fault.” He finally broke down.

She wrapped her arms around him and let his choked sobs shake her. His pain humbled her - there was no anger whatsoever left in her. He tried to wave her away, but she insisted on holding him.  She shushed into his neck and held him tight, taking in the scent of leather and salt. His body curled into her, and he finally hugged her back so hard it made her ribs ache.

He disentangled himself and started to yank at the jewelry on his wrist. “Look-” He lost patience and bit off the fashionable thin leather thong bracelet. He held his right wrist up for her to see.

She rubbed her thumb along the cursive letters.

“Josie,” she read out loud. Without another thought, she kissed his wrist. A tear dripped on his palm. They sat there, just breathing. She pulled up the hem of her shorts. He squinted, then dared to brush the skin of her hip.

“It’s a poppy,” he said, mystified. “Quite nice.” Although tears still dried in his beard, he wasn’t just talking about the tattoo. She linked her fingers through his long ones. He warmed at her easy, mindless gesture. It felt so very nice. Almost better than sex.

“That was her name. Poppy,” she said, smiling at him. “She wasn’t mine through blood or marriage, but I love her with all my heart.”

Was it another girlfriend? His heart dropped. “Wait - who are you talking about?” he said softly. He didn’t remember Olivia mentioning a Poppy.

“She was Ella’s little girl,” she said.

He couldn’t hide his relief. “Her daughter. I see. What happened with Ella?”

She squeezed his hand. “The most common but painful of conjugal sins - infidelity. Our relationship no longer held any adventure or excitement for her. This is a quote.”

“How many years were you together?” he said, rubbing her back.

“Four years, 7 months, and 20 days,” she said. “Nothing like you and Mara.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“At least Mara married you. Ella didn’t believe in the institute of matrimony. She said it was heteronormative garbage and she refused to tow the line for the sake of a false sense of propriety.”

He sucked his teeth. “She sounds a delight,” he said. “So you wanted to do the whole white frock and flowers thing, eh?”

“I love weddings, straight and gay. I’m an unapologetic weeper,” she said. “I guess I wanted that for me. To share our love with people - make a public and binding commitment in front of God and man.”

“Ooh,” he said. “Binding. That just gave me chills.”

“You were married,” she said.

“If it isn’t already apparent, it was harrowing.”

“You loved her, though,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “At best, she loved the idea of me. The stability and ease of a life with me. But she never loved me. And it happens far too often.”

“You know, not all women see their partners as walking ATM machines,” she said petulantly. She was the main breadwinner as well. But up until the end, she chose to believe it was love, and not being a stable dupe to raise her kid, that kept Ella around.

“I could tell you some stories,” he said, his eyebrows high. “Sad, sad stories.”

“Like what?”

“The divorce process isn’t kind to many men - even those who did things very right. It’s the woman’s word above all, even when there is proof of infidelity.” He cleared his throat.

“Imagine how awkward it is when it’s two women,” she said. He looked confused. “I’ll give you a clue: complete and utter shitstorm.”

“Did Ella take you for all you had, then?” he said, too jovially.

“Thing is, she didn’t have to. Even after the breakup,  I wanted to help her find a proper place for Poppy to grow up, and give her money for her schooling. But she didn’t care. She never really worried about … prosaic things like that, and that’s what worries me. She was the stereotypical  hipster artist, and because I loved her, for four years, I paid for the lifestyle. It didn’t bother me, John. It made me happy to see them thrive, to do and give beautiful things. I never kept a running tally, to my lawyer’s chagrin,” she said, giving him a half smile. “I understand how women can be. We’re not perfect. But as a bi woman, I’m a bit closer.” She winked.

“How so?” he said. She still held his hand loosely on her lap. Her thighs were like velvet.

“I was just joking. What I mean is, I’m straddling a fence and able to look at both sides, both physically and emotionally. Men complain that women are too emotional. Women complain that men don’t listen. And both are right, to a degree. But even if the complaints from both sides are similar, it’s still an individual problem.”

“Life with Mara was constantly walking on eggshells,” he said. “Anything I said, no matter how well-meaning, could end up upsetting her in some way. Still happens, honestly,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance.

She chose to ignore it. “I acknowledge what you said, but what if I told you that it was Mara’s insecurity, and not you, that caused all that misery? It wasn’t your fault.”

“How could such a beautiful woman be insecure? Either way, I tried to make it better the best way I could. With compliments, and kindness, and attention, and trips - I took her to bloody Bali. Paradise. And all she did was sulk in bikini for a week. She looked fucking beautiful, though.” He shook his head.

Connie smiled and bit her lip. She knew the feeling. Her and Ella’s last trip to Thailand had been much of the same - her trying to stay positive and pretend things weren’t falling apart, and Ella finding any excuse to go off by herself.

“Hey …” he squeezed her hand. “You’re gonna chew your lip off,” he said, and pressed his finger on her chin, dislodging it from her teeth. It was bruised and red.

“Did I say something stupid?” he said.

“No. Of course not,” she said. She sucked on her lip pensively. “Sometimes, that kindness and attention is what makes it worse.”

It was getting colder, and the fire was getting lower. He leaned into her and put his arm around her shoulder.

“Wait-” she said, stiffening.

“I’m sorry- it’s just, you’re shivering,” he said, but let her go. He took off his jacket and held it up. “Here. Put it on. Still warm.”

She opened her mouth to protest - something about preferring to freeze than wear his obnoxiously hip leather jacket - but instead, she accepted his gesture gracefully. She slid into it and sat down with a sigh. His scent surrounded her and made her smile. He smelled of … herbaceous green and the ghost of fresh cut wood. Despite the warmth, she got goosebumps.

“Thanks,” she said. His nipples poked through his thin cotton henley shirt. “Now you’re cold, though.”

He smiled and rubbed his chest. Pink rose to his cheeks above the beard. “It’s the price I pay for being a gentleman.”

“You did it on purpose,” she said, nudging him. “You wanted to show the world your goods.”

“The world’s not here,” he said. “Just you.”

His intense gaze made her heart race, but she laughed it off. Oh no. He’s not gonna do some MRA mind tricks on her.

“Okay, what is this? A three-step system to get any woman to bed?” she said. “Because it’s not gonna work on me, slick.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you going on about?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

“You know - number one: engage her, and make her feel in control. Number 2: be vulnerable, and allow her to be vulnerable. Number three …” she stood up and started to walk around the patio, searching for the words,”...give her your jacket and make her feel safe. Yeah. Safe. I see you,” she said, nodding and smirking. “You’re not clever, hipster boy.”

He looked down at his hands and shook his head. “I’m very clever, but this is no ruse. I’m genuinely freezing my lads off right now.”

She took off the jacket. “Then here.” She held it up impatiently.

“I clearly said I would buy you a drink and leave you alone. You are the one who asked me to stay.”

“No I didn’t,” she said. Her arm was starting to burn. The jacket was heavy, but he didn’t take it back. She threw it on the bench and crossed her arms.

“Yes, you did. You asked me what I did for a living. I replied that to answer your question, I would have to remain. You said that this was a public space, and that you couldn’t put me out, implying consent to continuing the conversation.”

She sat down, still pouting. He resisted the urge to smile.

“You think I would say those private things just to get a woman into bed?” he said. “It’s not much of a show of strength, is it?”

She shivered. “Whatever. It’s just not gonna work on me.”

“I wasn’t trying to work you,” he said, and stood up. It stung that she thought the things he told her were just a means to an end. “You women are impossible. If we talk a big game, then we’re egotistical jerks. If we dare to be vulnerable, then we’re weak and revolting. This is why I gave up trying to please you lot. It’s so much easier to please myself - at least I know what I’m about.”

“Shocking revelation,” she said under her breath.

He groaned with frustration. “And things were going so well.”

“See! You were working me!” she said, pointing at him.

He rolled his eyes. “I was trying to get to know you - see what Liv sees. There is a massive fucking difference,” he said.

She faltered, but she refused to give up.  “Why do you care what Liv sees, or feels anyway? You were an utter twat to her. She told me what you did at the park. You … barked a fake orgasm in public to humiliate her even more about what happened between you and Alex.”

“I didn’t really know her then, and I thought the whole thing was a weird lesbian sham. Sandwiches at the park? How civil,” he said. “Bollocks!”

“That’s how she is, though. Civil and kind and lovely,” she said. She didn’t know why her voice was up an octave.

“Well, I didn’t know that then,” he said, matching her volume. “I just thought she was the evil gatekeeper keeping me from who could be the actual love of my life.”

Her jaw dropped. “You loved Alex?” Livvie didn’t tell her that.

He rubbed his face. “I thought I did. I mean, I do, but then, I wanted her as well, for myself. Our drunk thing and what happened afterward felt like it was destined. And that little stunt at the park? I was jealous. Seething.”

“Fuck,” she said softly. “I am so confused.”

“So was I,” he said. “Trust me. Alex and I were drunk that night, but we weren’t …” he tried to find the right words, “... she wasn’t so gone that she didn’t know …” he sighed. She waited for him to finish.

“She was the one who pulled me up the stairs to bed,” he said. “She ripped my clothes-”

She held up her hand. “I don’t need to hear more. Suffice it to say, there was consent.”

“Because I knew that, I thought it meant that maybe there was a chance. That she might choose me. Especially after the baby.”

She sat down hard. Olivia had not told her that, and she knew why. It was weird. And painful. And awkward.

“But you had to know that Alex is a lesbian,” she said finally.

“Should I know? Because she sure didn’t fu-”

She held up her hand for silence again. 

“I’m sorry. It felt weird sometimes, like she wanted me but was too afraid to say so for fear of being judged or something.”

“She did care for you, but more importantly, she needed you. She was pregnant, and frightened, and on the horns of a fearful dilemma - literally.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“No, you think I’m saying she wanted you … sexually. But she didn’t.”

“But she did.”

“She was drunk, and furious, and scared.”

“And really horny,” he said. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but friction is friction if you’re drunk enough,” she said. “You were there, and willing. She made do.”

He sat down beside her again. “And it hurt.”

“Slamming your dick up against a brick wall will do that,” she said.

“It made me feel used.”

“Welcome to the fucking club, kid,” she said. “She told you she’s gay. She introduces you to her girlfriend. You never see male overnight guests. Again … Wall. Cock.” She wished she had another drink to warm her. “You still have those feelings for her?”

“No,” he said. “I was so ecstatic about Josie that what was a just a pash blew up to something more. I wanted to love her. I absolutely did. She checked all the boxes - creative, beautiful, passionate - but I realized after losing the baby that we were more meant to be friends.”

“How convenient,” she said.

“Really. We’re very alike, in a lot of ways. Too much, honestly,” he said, chuckling. “That ever happen to you?”

“Yeah,” she said. “With Olivia,” she said.

“Exactly,” he said. “Although the circumstances were weird, I feel so lucky that Olivia, Alex, and I found each other. They changed my life,” he said.

“In myriad ways,” she said, smiling. She couldn’t imagine a life without Olivia.

He laughed softly beside her.

“What?” she said.

“Just thinking. Slamming my cock up against a brick wall. That’s choice.”

“It’s what you did, though. Al’s gay as fuck. Her words, not mine.”

“Are you?” he asked.

“I’m bi, remember?”

“But … you wanted to marry Ella.”

“And?”

“That’s pretty lesbian of you.”

“I loved her,” she said. “Ella could’ve easily been … Elton.”

“Fair warning though - he’s gay as fuck,” he said.

She chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

“Men and women are so different. I don’t understand how you could want both equally.”

“That’s what’s most amazing. The differences. It keeps things interesting.”

“But what if you’re with a woman, and you want to be with a man? What do you do?”

“Is it a committed monogamous relationship?”

"Let’s say yeah.”

“What any good person in a committed relationship does. Practice self-control. Bisexuality is not carte blanche to be a callous, greedy bastard.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “You ever cheated?”

“This conversation is getting deeply personal again,” she said.

“Afraid to answer the question?” he said, raising his eyebrow.

“No! And no.”

“Never?” he said. “Not even a little kiss?”

“No,” she said, irritated. “I think it’s cowardly.”

“How?”

“You ever done it?” she asked, eyeing him.

“I asked the question first. Answer it, then I’ll answer you.”

“It’s cowardly because it’s the easy way out for a person who can’t muster up the bravery to tell their partner the difficult truth that they’re not happy. If they cheat, then it circumvents it completely. It’s like ‘Oops! I went outside the relationship. That’s gross, right? You hate me now, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll let myself out…’”

Her voice trembled.

“Spot on,” he said. “Mara didn’t even give me a chance to get angry, though. She didn’t care enough. It was like ‘I’ve been fucking someone else for a year, he makes me feel like a woman, I’ll send someone for my shit, goodbye’.”

The noise from the pub was quieting down. The fire was down to embers.

“I got the line ‘she makes me feel like my most authentic self’. What does that even mean?”

“It’s hipster speak for ‘makes me feel like a woman’,” he said, then let out a snort. She looked at him, thinking he might start crying again. But his face glowed with a smile.

“We’re quite a pair, you and I,” he said. “What a fucking pity party.”

“And worst of all, my glass is empty,” she said. “What time is it?”

He looked at his cell and laughed. “Fuck, it’s after 1 AM!”

“Really?” she said. “You’re telling me we’ve been here for nearly five hours? Impossible.”

He showed her the phone.

“Damn,” she said. “No wonder it’s so quiet in the pub.” She rubbed her nose pensively, something he noticed she did a lot.

“Has anyone told you how utterly charming you are when you’re angry?” he said. He tucked a tendril of her hair behind her ear, brushing his knuckle gently along her cheek bone.

“No one who doesn’t want a bruise,” she said, but she smiled. She liked his touch. It was gentle and unassuming.

“Then I will say that you are very intimidating. You made me quake in my boots a couple times.”

She lifted her chin high and raised an eyebrow. “Good.”

���You’re so fucking adorable,” he said, shaking his head and smiling.

“Puppies are adorable,” she said. She meant to nudge him, but ended up leaning against him. He felt good.

“You’re right, I suppose,” he said, daring to wrap his arm around her waist. His touch was feather-light, but warm.”You are beautiful.” The way he said it made her look up at him and search his eyes. The swagger she saw earlier was gone. His gaze questioned, and she responded, tilting her head and giving him the slightest smile. He put his hand on her face. Her nipples hardened, although his touch was warm.

He kissed the side of her mouth first. The prickle of his beard made her giggle, but she put her hand on the back of his neck to guide him.

“I didn’t want to offend with the porn beard,” he whispered into her mouth. His lips were so maddeningly soft. The cold flew from her limbs, and it was replaced with desire.

“A little hair doesn’t bother me,” she said, and just as he pressed his lips to hers, someone came out and threw a bucket of dirty dish water on the embers of the fire.

The woman gave them a cursory glance. “We’re closing in 20 minutes,” she said, and left.

He stood up and held out his hand. “I guess that means it’s time to bugger off,” he said. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Didn't you drive here, though?” she said. She licked her bruised lip for a hint of a taste of him. Sadly, there was none.

“Yeah. But I’m just in the mood for a moonlit stroll,” he said. When she stood, he put his jacket over her shoulders again. “I can pick up my car tomorrow.”

He held his arm out gallantly, and she linked hers through it. It was a small town, so just beyond the high street, there was only silence and the yellow glow of the street lamps. When was the last time she had ever done this, with anyone?

Too long. And she forgot how good it was.

He bounced beside her, slowing his long-gaited walk to accommodate her.

“What are you so excited about?” she asked.

“I can’t wait for the party tomorrow! I hope Olivia likes her gift. It’s a trifle late, but then again, it took a while longer than I imagined to make.”

“Ooh, sounds interesting. Is it in your magic shop?” she said. They turned the corner, and his house was visible not too far off.

He walked in front of her and took her hands. “Would you like to see?” he said. His boyish energy was infectious. Although at first she thought it irritating, it was growing on her. It was nice being around someone like that, after years of Ella’s borderline soporific coolness.

“Sure,” she said. They were nearly running now. Just as soon as they turned into his front yard, a car engine roared to a stop nearby. In the street, a taxi unloaded two very familiar, very drunk women.

“Oh shit-” he ran toward the taxi, but he drove off, glad to be rid of them.

“Heya there, playboy,” the red head slurred, tripping over her feet and falling to the grass. As he tried to help her up, the blonde came up behind him and grabbed his crotch, hard. He dropped the redhead and held the blonde’s wrists firmly.

“Careful with the jewels, darling,” he said. He was pale with pain.

The redhead managed to get on her knees. She touched him too, but with gentler hands.

“Whoa!” he said, and pulled the woman to standing. She leered up at him, licking her lips.

“You gonna make good on your promise?” she said. “We’re here and ready to go-” she tried to hump his leg, but he held her at arm’s length. The lights from the neighbors across the street came on. He cursed underneath his breath.

He ran up to his door and opened it. “Just … get inside and keep quiet.”

“Don’t wanna give your fancy detached neighbors a show, eh?” the blonde said as she climbed the steps, lifting her skirt high. Her hot pink thong had little rhinestones on it. Just as soon as they went inside, he went to her. She stood in Olivia’s garden, arms crossed. She didn’t look mad, which made him even more nervous.

“I am so sorry,” he said.

“What are you doing here? It seems they’re primed and ready to have some fun,” she said. His kitchen window opened and the redhead stuck her head out.

“Oi! Get your ass over here, playboy,” she said. “And you can join us too, if you’re not shy,” she said, giving her a lascivious look.

“You got anything to drink in this place?” the blonde yelled from inside the kitchen.

“It really looks like you have your hands full. I’m gonna turn in,” Connie said, walking to the back door.

“Please, don’t leave me alone. I don’t want them in-” something crashed in the kitchen, “-I don’t want them in my house.”

“Then why did you invite them?” she said.

“I didn’t. Not really. We were flirting a bit, then you came into the bar … shit!” he slapped his forehead. “The business cards. They had my address.”

“Why?” she said.

“I work from home, remember?” he said. “I’m such an idiot.” An ominous thud came from the open window. When she looked, the two women were drunkenly making out. It was not a pretty sight. He gave them a despairing look and turned back to her.

“Help me get them out of my house,” he said, his face twisted in embarrassment.

“But it looks like they’ve already started without you,” she said. The redhead had pulled the blonde’s dress down and was licking her breasts. He groaned. “Please. I don’t want to … touch them.”

“You did earlier,” she said. She couldn’t believe she was going to make out with him just 20 minutes before.

“A lot has happened since then,” he said, giving her a meaningful look. “I know it doesn’t look good, but I swear this has never happened before.” The blond sat on the counter, and the redhead disappeared below the sill. “It’s just my luck it would happen tonight, of all the nights in my bloody life.”

“You should post the experience on your little site. The mouthbreathers will be really impressed.”

“I deserved that. You know what? I’ll take that, and more, if you help me this once. Please.” He looked miserable. “Use your angry powers for good.”

She rolled her eyes. He fell to his knees and grabbed her legs.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said, and stalked across his yard. The ladies jumped when she yanked the kitchen door open.

She clapped her hands. “Alright, ladies. As they say in America, you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.”

The redhead came up from between the blonde’s legs and wiped her chin. “What are you like, his mum?” she said. “Where’s playboy?”

“Off somewhere calling you another taxi,” she said, loudly enough for him to hear from the garden. “Playboy. Do you even know his name?”

“Names don’t matter, do they?” the redhead said, but she pulled his business card from between her breasts. She squinted at it. “Fuck. Don’t have my contacts in-”

Connie took the card from her and crumpled it. “It doesn’t matter, right?” She pointed at the blonde. “Get yourself together and fuck off to the living room. You can wait for the taxi there, where I can’t see you,” she said, and walked back outside.

“Someone should be by in less than five minutes,” he said.

She made a face. “A taxi in less than five minutes?” That was a statistical impossibility where she came from.

“I know. But I promised to pay whoever got here first three times the going rate, plus tip,” he said.

That made a lot more sense.

“They’re not destroying things, are they?” he said.

“Oh my-” She ran back into his house. They were stuffing anything small they could get their hands on in their cheap purses - curios, CDs, and a little comic book figurine that looked expensive.

She darted into his foyer, where he had a proper English willow cricket bat and walked into the living room, bat held high.

“Empty your bags right now or I swear I will call the police and report a home invasion,” she said, her voice low with anger. “But that’s after I call an ambulance.” The women sized her up, and decided she wasn’t worth the risk - the crazy bitch might not be bluffing.

The redhead dropped the George Harrison CD in her hand. “Sure. Whatever. This stuff’s shit anyway,” she said, and started taking stuff out of her purse.

“No, boo. Empty your fucking purse on the carpet,” she said, pointing at her with the bat. “Both of you.”

They rolled their eyes and obeyed. The women had even stolen a wooden pepper grinder from the kitchen. Connie rolled her eyes as they put their meager belongings back into their bags and clutched them to their chests.

They looked at her with open resentment. “You ‘is bird er summat? The blonde said, going full Northern.

“I’m none of your goddamned business,” she said. The bat was still gripped tight in her hand. The taxi honked outside.”Alright, time to go,” she said, herding them through his front door. They stumbled to the vehicle, where John spoke with the driver.

He handed the man a couple of large notes. “Take them wherever they want to go,” he said. “There’s a bit extra there for clean up, just in case.” The man nodded.

“This wasn’t the ride you promised,” the redhead said petulantly.

“Sorry, love,” he said and walked to the sidewalk. The blonde opened the window and stuck two fingers out at Connie. The rude sound she made faded as the taxi drove away.

“Wow. It’s been quite an evening,” she said. “A rollercoaster of emotions.”

He kicked at the curb sheepishly. “Thanks for your help. I just didn’t want them to say that I’d touched them funny or yelled at them or something.” He looked at her and chuckled. “The bat looks good on you.”

“Oh,” she said. It was still slung over her shoulder. She handed it back to him. “I should get to sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

She rooted for the house keys in her pocket. Her heart was heavy. She wanted to be furious at him, but she wasn’t. She was just sad. He ran to the stoop.

“This was not how imagined tonight ending,” he said, hand over his heart. “I apologize if that upset you.”

“Is that what you want? To be a sex object to horny, faceless women? Is that the definition of being an alpha male?”

His genuine panic when the blonde grabbed at him made her curious.

“After years and years of being insulted and rejected, it’s not the worst thing in the world. Granted, that was a bit scary. Sometimes I don’t know my own magnetic charm,” he said, trying to get a laugh out of her. But she just patted his shoulder wearily.

“I need sleep,” she said.

His smile faltered. “I’ll see you tomorrow, er, later today.”

“Uhuh,” she said. He took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back, and closed the door.

Next Chapter

[044-eu]

My trip to India starts earlier.

My journey india was special, then I'll explain why. I did it before the 2000s, so most likely the India that I saw, now no longer exists as that nation has had a very big economic boom in recent years. I want to tell it as I lived it then because it was light years away from our Italy for many things, and in a way you found yourself catapulted back in time. I did this i travel with my family and 3 children. The first was big, 17 years old, the twins only 7 years old and for this I had a lot of doubts both before leaving and during the trip. Before leaving in fact they made us do a prophylaxis for malaria and various vaccines, so I immediately imagined those places as dangerous to our health and that's why with two relatively young children that I did not enjoy the stay enough. After all, there was always that fear that I would expose my children to danger. Good thing nothing happened. The special part of this travel is that we did not do it with some agency, but we were invited by an Indian family who lived half of the year in Italy and half in India, precisely in New Delhi and then we lived for twenty days, how long it lasted the journey,seeing up close the daily life they lived then and seeing things that in a organized trip we would never have seen. Let's go for a viage which will last almost a day, between the airport of Florence, Paris and then headed to New Delhi.Only Paris New Delhi lasted 11 hours, so we arrived in India that was late at night, for the time difference. He picks us up at the airport with the friend who takes us to his house. This person lives in a fine neighborhood of the capital, so I saw the beautiful villas of the neighborhood. A little strange because they all went high and did not have much garden around, unlike the central part of the neighborhood which was a real park very nice and cared for. The house is very nice, for our family there was a whole apartment. We could only sleep for a couple of hours because at one point we were woken up by a very loud nenia coming from a loudspeaker. It was only 6:00 in the morning. I looked out to the terrace and saw a procession of people with a very old man in a turban singing something with the megaphone on my head. They told me that it is the Yoga master who calls his pupils who then gather everyone in the central park to do Yoga. And this also happens in the evening around 5.And apart from this always overlooking the terrace I see the terrace of the neighboring house and a little man sitting on the ground between buckets and cloths, he is doing the laundry. They then explained to me that that person went around the houses and did the laundry. Every house has a reserved area for this. When he has finished he lays out his clothes on the terrace to dry and in the afternoon passes a woman who picks up the clothes, irons them and puts them in place in the various drawers and closets. The washing machine doesn't exist. I understand when I heard this, why the family that hosts us, especially the lady changes at least 3 times a day. But I wouldn't change my life with his. In fact, you told me that you much prefer to live in Italy because you can work with us, go out on expenses, and do so many other things that are not allowed in India to a woman. I explain a little how a woman of that society lives, of a fairly rich caste. In the morning just got up or do Yoga or pray to the God of the day. Yes, because in India they have a God on a day always different. And every house, indeed every person in the house has its own personal God and different customs regarding food especially. It is not uncommon that in a family the husband has a God other than his wife and maybe on Tuesdays he can not eat meat, mind the wife can not eat it on a Friday. Or the fasting day is different. Weird things, in short. Returning to the woman, the day continues with a few visits, either hairdresser or television. He doesn't go shopping, he doesn't do chores, he doesn't cook. For this there are servants, in our case a family of 4 who live underground of the house. And these are lucky because so many other servants live just outside the walls of the neighborhood. I saw that neighborhood, and it's an open sewer with dilapidated shacks and a lot of dirt, which is really very sad. The Indian woman of a rich caste is mortally bored. She can't go out alone, but she only has to go out with her husband. You can only move within the neighborhood to go to friends or relatives if they reside there. What struck me about this life is the absolute lack of stress, that is, when you wake up you get up, when you are hungry you eat and to work (these friends bought precious stones and sold them in Ialia) go when you feel like it. Maybe when the children go to school it will be different, but in the period we were in India the schools were closed for the summer holidays. As I said the house that housed us was very nice, from our apartment we had two terraces opposite each other. There were no air conditioners as we understand them now, but the air of the small apartment was refreshed the night before going to bed with some freezing water placed in front of a fan. Not much but something did. But we had to keep everything open because it was really a terrible heat and the mosquitoes were really many. We organized ourselves with stoves and smeared with creams suitable for the purpose, but they bit anyway. Thank goodness that on the ceiling of the room that fortunately was very high there were about ten gecis feasting with mosquitoes. The first night I had quite a bit of difficulty falling asleep with those gecis above my head, but then they assured me that they didn't fall from the ceiling and ate a lot of mosquitoes so it was good that there were. We as Italian classics took us to India, spaghetti and coffee and luckily our friends used to Italian cuisine made us taste typical Indian cuisine recipes but we also had spaghetti tomato every day. The meat was only chicken, but it wasn't that great. Most Indians are vegetarians and do not eat meat. So we ate some flatbreads that were freshly prepared with very spicy dips, rice in so many ways, always with vegetables. The kitchen therefore did not seem like much, in fact we came home all a little slimmed down. In the morning for breakfast for example, they drank a glass of a certain red liquid that I did not like and neither did my children. We found cereal bars and some small chocolates at the market and had breakfast with milk. After breakfast we went out to visit some tourist spot in the capital and our guest would accompany us with a fairly large bus where we were in 9.Travelling by car in India is smashed. Get out of the walls of the neighborhood where there is almost absolute silence and you enter the busy streets not only of cars, trucks, trams, but also from camels, elephants and many cows around the streets. So it's all honking, all the time. It goes slowly, there are too many people to dodge, the rickshaws are really many, and the bikes, but it is the animals that slow everything down. Cows as I think you know are sacred animals in India and roam the streets quietly. No one moves them, everyone waits for the animal to move to pass and when it moves everyone rushes playing at more I can. It's really a mess but very funny, at every corner you find something strange, an elephant, a row of camels, a bus with people climbing even on it. In New Delhi there are many places to visit for a tourist. Starting with Red Fort. It is majestic and imposing with its walls with a particular red color due to the sandstone with which it was built. Inside its walls there are many pavilions one more beautiful than the other, immense pools and rooms with walls and ceilings inlaid with precious stones. It takes several hours to visit all the fort but it's worth it. And inside also a large garden cut into two water channels that gather in a pool. But any description I can give is always reductive, it is seen live. Another thing to see in New Delhi is the market. It is a picturesque and very large place, which winds through tiny streets where a myriad of small shops overlook its streets and alleys. There are some shops that are so small and low that the shopkeeper has to sit down to serve people. But sitting there doesn't have to be much protruding to get from all parts of his shop. It's also a colorful world from women's saris (the traditional dress of low caste Indian women) while women of richer caste wear a foot-long tunic with very baggy trousers under them and a scarf over their shoulders. But all the clothes have incredible colors, they are very fine, almost impalpable. The Indian sari, on the other hand, consists of a skirt up to the feet, a bodice that usually leaves the belly uncovered and a very wide scarf draped over one shoulder. But the confusion, the calls of the shopkeepers, the colors, the often spicy smells transport you into a world of almost a thousand and one nights. And then the bazaars in the city center, the ones full of lights and wonderful carpets, of colorful clothes, where you are offered tea and sit on fluffy pillows while the clerks show you what you want. Shopping is also a truly relaxing activity. In the Indian capital, which is truly immense, there are still many other places worth visiting, for example the tomb of Indira Ghandi which is located in the center of a huge, well-groomed garden where you walk barefoot and carpet a soft grass. In fact, another Indian custom is that in sacred places, such as tombs, temples, you can't enter with shoes but you have to leave them out. The strange thing is that we visited several places of worship and our shoes were always found. To know what to see again in the Indian capital you just need to read some tour guides, but all the contour, humanity, life, culture very different, the only thing is to see it live, explain it and tell it is difficult, are skin sensations that I make you remember with pleasure that journey. But my trip to India did not end here, in the next article I will tell about the trip to Jaipur, an emotional journey, in the ancient land of the Maharajas. Read the full article

[dieuleveut]

April 14th, 2018

I’m in Los Angeles.

I’ve been here since February 10th. So...a little over two months? People here still consider me new and fresh, and they’re not wrong. I’ve been doing a pretty great job at learning the new geography, all the neighborhoods and freeways.

Let me update you.

I’ve been living with Jordon who went to Bradley University with me. But I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress in his living room. Totally fine, I’m pretty low-maintenance anyway. Except I had told him I did not plan on crashing in his living for any longer than a month and up until now it had been over two months. Cue liar-anxiety. Then we find out that his roommate Drake will be moving in with his girlfriend in May/June and that his room may be up for grabs. I’m super interested and thus I’m staying in this living room, hoping to squat and slide into Drake’s room. Now, Jordon tells me he has a friend from high school who is moving to LA in June that he prefers to live with. Totally fine. Cue apartment-hunting anxiety again.

Now, my work situation. I moved here to do production work, but it doesn’t pay the bills (yet), so I got hired as a server at Tatsu Ramen at the end of February. The pay is pretty darn good. $13/hr and tips are about 1/3rd times the pay and I’m working close to full time. Insurance once I’ve hit 3 months. Almost everybody is really fun and sweet. Emily is the second newest hire and probably someone I can consider a friend (the first I’ve made in LA outside of Jordon!) She let me crash on her couch after a sleep deprived night and Jordon was hosting a loud brunch party. Vince is someone I would recently consider a friend! We’ve been hanging out quite a bit this past weekend and he’s a pleasant person to do stuff with! Sadly, he’s moving to New York City later this week so it kinda explains the accelerated friendship fun.

He came out drinking with me at some bougie place called The Bungalow that charged $15 for a margarita and $9 for a PBR. Emily met up with us after she got off of work and arrived at 1:30am, which apparently is when LA bars decide to close and stop serving alcohol. So slightly drunk Vince and me and stone-cold sober Emily walk down to Santa Monica beach, because I’m drunk and I hadn’t been to the beach in the two months I’ve been in LA. It was pitch black, sand cold as fuck. Vince and I (separately) break the pee seal in the sand dunes. Public urination FTW. We continue walking towards the ocean, I walk ahead of them in a drunk euphoria. I fucking love the ocean. I kick off my shoes and feel the wet, stiff sand under my feet. I only go ankle deep into the water but I’m content. Behind us, it seems like we’re not the only people in the entirety of Los Angeles who like to come to the beach at night. But it’s dark and the lights of the pier make them into indiscernible shadows. The lights also reflected off of the wet sand, like an upside down world mirrored from the pier. I’m wearing Vince’s denim jacket, barefoot and impossibly happy. My friends are taking pictures, laughing and playing in the water. I hope they were as I happy as I was.

Today, we had plans to head to Manhattan Beach. However, Emily backed out, still feeling the after effects of last night. I showered, got dressed. If anything, I would go alone. I don’t mind doing things on my own. It’s a common theme in my life. Then Vince texts me back saying he’s down. I drive to his place and the sweet man brings out a bottle of water for each of us and recommends we eat at a place nearby called The Public School. It’s cute and school themed, though I spent most of my life trying to avoid school themed things. Before meeting up with Vince, I was honestly nervous hanging out one-on-one with him. I just didn’t know who or what to expect outside of the comfort zone of Tatsu or drinking as a social buffer. And to my surprise, he’s actually really easy to hang out with. I don’t feel a need to impress him and yet I feel like I do. Conversation isn’t forced, it in fact flows really smoothly. And we don’t even crutch on Tatsu talk. We talk about hobbies, thoughts on LA and New York, families. Actually. Now that I think about it, we talked a lot about me. Vince and I are going to the Getty Center Museum tomorrow afternoon. I need to remind myself to ask Vince about himself more.

We also went to the Museum of Jurassic Technology yesterday too! That was fucking weird. But mutually agreed the best $8 spent. Cheaper than a can of PBR. They had such weird artifacts...and facts. Miniature models of mobile homes, paintings of the Russian dogs sent to space, a garden with tea and doves. “I can not think of a better person to have done this with,” Vince concluded after we exited (I only mention this part verbatim because people? like? hanging out with me?). We were supposed to finally hit up Manhattan Beach at this point, but I had an appointment to drop off my new apartment deposit and rent so we agreed to take a short intermission as I dropped him off to his apartment.

I arrive at my new apartment, which is located in a beautiful little family neighborhood. It seems like it has great air and it’s quiet. I would be absolutely ecstatic to be moving into this place if it weren’t a 45 minute commute on my way to work. I guess it balances out the 15 minute commute on my way back from work at 3:00am. And it makes me feel a little better that my roommate Hillary would be commuting over an hour. The apartment itself is super spacious and has beautiful hardwood floors and appliances.

We drop off the checks, go through the inspection and we plan on moving in tomorrow. Luckily, I only have the things that I can pack into my car, so I don’t have much to move. Except that Vince is giving me his mattress, bed frame, TV stand and possibly his TV so I have to find some way to move those.

When we finish all the apartment things, Vince calls me and tells me he actually had something come up and that he won’t be able to make the beach with me. Initially I’m disappointed but then I resolve to go anyway alone. That was my plan from the beginning and actually, this day folded pretty well. I got quality time with Vince and I still get to go to the beach. Parking was a bit of a nightmare but I eventually find a really tight spot (and tight as in literally, not in the dudebro connotation).

I get there and I’m in love. The sand between my toes, the wind, the air, the birds and the ocean waves crashing. The sky is completely spotless and blue, save for the occasional aircraft. Even though it’s a beautiful Saturday evening, the beach is pretty spread out and spacious between everyone. I easily find a spot to sit and enjoy the ocean without people close to me and no one in my view of the sunset. 9/10 absolutely would go again, despite the 30-40minute drive. Only glaring negative was the random middle aged guy who started talking to me. I only engaged in conversation once he mentioned he was from Minnesota (how can I turn away a fellow Minnesotan). But this guy talked to me forever, basically until the sun literally went down. Angry face emoji. It’s fine, except I could not tell what he wanted? Was he just being friendly? Was he trying to hit on me? Was he networking? Why me? The answer to that last one (or I guess all of them) is “because you’re a girl alone on the beach.”

I’m writing a lot. I’m aware. But one last thing I should catch you up on is Jun. He comes last because I honestly have mixed feelings about him. So we had a bit of a pre-dating thing going. You know, where the two of you flirt and are hyperaware when y’all brush up against each other and stuff? We were drinking after work at Emily’s place with a few other coworkers and after everything died down, we crashed on her couch. We stayed up talking for another couple hours, stroking hands and touching until he gets up and kisses me. I’m fucking giddy because I’m kissing Jun and Jun is kissing me. He puts a hand on my breast and starts playing with my nipple, which I put an immediate stop to because fucking Josh (one of our coworkers) is sleeping on the floor near us and Jun’s got me physically wanting to climb him like a tree.

The next night we both work together again and he invites me to come back to his place. We sit and chat for a while over a couple beers before picking up where we left off the night before. I want to keep the dirty deets to myself but in a nutshell, we fucked three times. I came once, which honestly surprised me because it took me a hell of a long time to come with Matt. Jun and I also did it three times without protection. Which yes dear reader, I know it’s fucking stupid and this is the second guy I’ve done that with; having gotten caught up in the moment and just submitting to the moment without caring about the consequences. But both times I eventually convinced myself to take Plan B. I also know that Plan B is not a form of birth control. I still have two months worth of the pill from when I was dating Matt, but I won’t start them unless I’m consistently sexually active. No point in fucking with my hormones if I’m only smashing once in a blue moon. So yes, I went out and bought condoms. A girl will be prepared, even if she hates condoms.

Anyway, Jun. He tells me he doesn’t want anything serious. He tells me he’s going out for drinks with a girl the next night. Twice now he’s been too tired to hang out after work (which is definitely warranted because we’re both up til 3-4am every fucking night closing at Tatsu). As far as it looks, doesn’t seem like any more than a one and done. Which is a bummer. I could mentally/emotionally prepare for a no-strings-attached deal, I just wanted to be with Jun in some capacity but it seems like once we smashed, he didn’t want the same. I can hear my mom’s voice saying some shit like “Guys only want one thing and once they get it they’re out.” First of all, everyone has a fluid amount of sexual drive but everyone also has emotional needs and connections with people. I could easily fuck and chuck Eric from Peoria and be exactly the kind of “guy” my mom thinks guys are. But then there was fucking Ravi who I fucked one time and the guy would not leave me alone. He relentlessly messaged me on Facebook, found my Instagram, Snapchat? Some guys don’t just fuck once and leave, some stick around for more. It’s dependent. Which is why is sucks that the situation with Jun is what it is. But looking at “fate” or whatever, it makes sense. There were just small instances where I felt like I was being told, “hey this isn’t meant to happen.” Things that are meant to happen will be pushed in the right direction. Like today with Vince and the beach. Life told me that I should hang out with Vince by getting lunch and experiencing The Museum of Jurassic Technology, and then it told me that Manhattan Beach is just for me.

Despite my lack of romantic success, I feel good. Things seem to be falling into the right place at the right times. I have an apartment, I have people who I enjoy being with and doing stuff with. I have someone who believes in my skills and my potential (Vince, who has been pushing for my promotion at Tatsu and providing me some serious support.) Everything that will be will be.

---

1:34am (technically April 15th)

I just remembered something that Vince told me last night at the Bungalow that I want to write down for my fragile ego’s sake:

“Apparently you have a fan base at Tatsu. I had a customer come in yesterday and ask me ‘is Juliet working tonight? I have some friends I want to bring in to meet her, is she working this weekend?”

Vince couldn’t tell me the name or face of the guy who asked but I am beyond thrilled/happy/giddy that a CUSTOMER knows my name, my face and LIKES me enough to want to have his friends meet me *flips hair.* As someone who obsessively checks the Yelp reviews for mentions of a “cute helpful Asian waitress” or my actual name, this will be an integral part of my self-esteem :)

[snickerl]

Blutendes Herz II

XF fan fiction

Same scenario like in Blutendes Herz (Bleeding Heart) - Mulder has to face another man in Scully’s life - different plot.

Part I can be read here.

You wipe your palms on your thighs and stare at the numbers at the apartment door: three - seven - nine. It’s your first time here and you’re suddenly not so sure anymore that this is such a good idea. You thought it was a splendid idea about an hour ago when you left your house, climbed into your car and drove over here. You still thought it was a very good idea fifteen minutes ago when you started looking for a parking space, cursing the constant lack of it in the downtown area. You kept thinking it was a solid idea ten seconds ago when you knocked.

And now?

Now you’re convinced that this is one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had, but now it’s too late. Even if you started running down the hallway this very second, she’d notice it was you. You hear her footsteps approaching the door on the other side and in a blink of an eye the door will open and she will be able to see who knocked. All you can do is take a deep breath and try to stay calm.

She won’t tear your head off, will she?

The door swings open and the woman you haven’t seen in almost a year is standing in front of you, looking flummoxed as if she was seeing a ghost. Well, maybe you are a ghost.

“Mulder?”

“Uhm, yes. Hello, Scully,” you mumble self-consciously, staring at your feet.

“What are you doing here?”

The consternation in her voice hurts you a bit.

“I…uh, I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d bring you this.”

You hand her the little paper bag which has been clutched in your hands. It’s crumpled and damp from your sweaty palms. You know now that it’s so silly but a few hours ago it seemed to be the perfect pretext for you to drop by here.

She takes the bag from you, peeks inside, and frowns. “My shower gel and shampoo?”

“You forgot them when you…when you…uh,” you stammer helplessly.

What have you been thinking? That she wouldn’t survive without her shower gel and shampoo? That she hadn’t known what to do without them all those months? That she wouldn’t be perfectly able to walk into the next Walmart and get a new set? Actually, you notice she did fine without them because a scent of coconut and peach reaches your nose. Oh, how you love that smell! It’s unmistakably a mixture of Dove Coconut & Cream and Herbal Essences Peach Blossom. When you missed her so badly that you were hardly able to cope with her absence, you would take a sniff at those started bottles in the shower, the ones you never removed just in case she returned.

“And you thought I was so much in need of them just now?”

“They’re your favorites. At least, they used to be.”

“They still are,” she sighs and with a slight smile she eventually asks you, “do you want to come in?”

“Thank you,” you say before you take tentative steps inside her apartment, the place she fled to after she’d left you. You look around. It reminds you of her place in Georgetown all those years back. Same decorating style, same ambiance. You feel beamed two decades back to the beginning of your partnership when invading her private space felt awkward.

“Nice place,” you hear yourself say. ‘I hate it’ you want to add but you swallow the words.

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t know how to handle the situation just like you, you realize.

“Am I coming amiss?”

Of course, you are. You came here unannounced, what did you expect? That she would fall into your arms whispering a relieved 'finally’ into your ear as if she’s only been waiting for you to show up?

“No, I…uh, I was just getting ready for…uhm… Well, don’t bother,” she mumbles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Oh boy, is she tensed-up and nervous. This is definitely inconvenient for her. She was getting ready for something. For what? A shift at the hospital? A ride to the grocery store? A meeting with her mom?

“Something important? Do you want me to leave?” you feel obliged to ask and pray she’ll say no.

“No…uhm, you can stay. There’s still some time before I have to…” She inhales deeply to steady her voice before she looks at you, asking with her exhale, “tea?”

You nod. She doesn’t want to tell you where she’s supposed to go, that much is clear. But why?

You don’t know what to say so you look around while she fills the kettle and puts it on the stove. The way the apartment is decorated is so Scully, from the antique wooden furniture, the comfortable couch with the thick pillows, the plushy rugs, the floral patterns of the drapes and the candles everywhere. What stings is that you don’t recognize anything from your house, not a single item. No crystal vase, no picture frame, not even one of those dust catchers she found at one of the many flea markets she dragged you to. There’s nothing here that would remind her of her life at the house you finally settled down in after years of running from the devil. You have to acknowledge that there’s nothing here to remind her of her life with you.

And then you notice it. There’s a huge bouquet of red roses residing in the middle of the coffee table in front of the couch, and suddenly everything makes sense.

The coconut'n'peach smell on her comes from the shower she had just taken. Her hair is nicely blown-dry and her makeup is immaculate. She wears the pearl earrings her parents gave her for her graduation from med school. She’s still barefoot, in sweat pants and t-shirt, but there’s a black cocktail dress draped over the sofa’s backrest waiting to be slipped on and a polished pair of stiletto heels is standing next to it. Even if you weren’t a highly skilled profiler, solving this riddle wouldn’t be too difficult. She was getting ready for a date.

“You’re seeing someone,” you state.

She sucks in a sharp breath. A look in her face is enough for you to understand you’re right.

“A doctor?”

“Mulder,” she moans instead of an answer.

“Tell me, Scully, I can handle it,” you insist but you’re not really convinced of what you just said.

“Sit down, Mulder. Here’s your tea,” she tells you handing you a steaming mug.

You let yourself fall onto the couch. It’s nice and comfortable but you feel as if you’re sitting on a bed of nails. You stare at the flowers. Three dozen, you count. Three dozen of long-stemmed red roses. How cliché!

You never bought her roses. You always thought she didn’t attach much value to such token gestures of romance. You drove through half of the city to get bee pollen for her, you billed more than one motel room to your private credit card to accommodate her in a nicer surrounding than the usual fleabags the FBI was paying for, you donated sperm for her to become pregnant at a time she was still just your co-worker, but you never brought home flowers, let alone red roses.

You can’t tear your eyes away from the flowers with their deep red petals exuding a scent almost overshadowing Scully’s. They look perfect, like from a Valentine’s Day ad in a flower shop window. They practically scream at you how much the person who gave them to her adores her.

“So, tell me about this new guy in your life.”

You feel like a masochist asking for corporal punishment. You know what you’re about to hear is going to hurt like hell. She also seems to be aware of what her words are going to do to you. She’s hesitant, reluctant even to tell you, but you won’t be convinced to let go. You’re going to pry until you know the complete truth, no matter how painful it will be. You know it, and she knows it.

She inhales deeply, chews her bottom lip and eventually sighs in surrender. “His name his Mark. He’s a real estate agent. We had dinner a few times.”

“Dinner…I see.”

Her eyes follow yours which are going back to the roses again, and she obviously decides it’s useless to go on beating around the bush. The bouquet speaks for itself.

“Okay, Mulder, if you really need to know, here you go: yes, Mark and I are dating.”

Mark and I. Three three innocent words, actually, but the combination of them coming out of her mouth does something to you. You swallow. You knew there was a man in her life from the moment you noticed those roses, but having her say it feels like she’s stabbing a knife into your heart and twisting it. You don’t understand why you’re so baffled since you’ve been expecting it.

Your Scully is dating someone. God, she hasn’t dated in ages. The transition of your relationship from one of platonic fellow agents to passionate lovers had come along without a single date and throughout the seven years prior, she had had exactly three dates. Yes, you were counting them, you sorry son of a bitch.

“For how long?” you ask although you know it’s none of your business. You have no right to interrogate her about a life you’re no longer a part of. You’re surprised she even answers.

“Just three months.”

That’s apparently what the three dozen are for.

“How did you meet him?”

When you imagined what she was doing in this new life of hers, her life apart from you, you somehow expected her to be working day and night. She’d always buried herself with work to distract herself when something in her private life went wrong. You pictured her eating, sleeping and working, having dinner with her mother once in a while at most or going to Sunday Mass. Socializing, with men, outside the hospital was outside your imagination. Where the hell did she meet a real estate agent? Maybe this Mark was a patient who developed a crush on the pretty lady doctor who relieved him from the pain of his hernia.

“I was looking for an apartment and he was the real estate agent at the other side of the desk. He showed me a few properties, including this one here, and after I signed the lease he invited me to dinner. That’s it.”

“A first date?”

“It was just dinner, Mulder. Do you really believe I jumped into another man’s arms two weeks after I moved out?”

“But now you’re dating. Officially.”

“If you want to call it that, yes.”

There’s an awkward silence spreading in the room. Funny, back then, the silence between the two of you was never awkward. Even if it was an angry silence, it was just angry, not awkward.

Your contemplations are interrupted by a knock at the door. Three short knocks followed by a longer pause and then another two knocks. Like a Morse code. You have an idea who it might be, and so does she. You see her suck in her breath. She tries to suppress a moan but it slips out of her throat anyway.

She thinks you can’t handle meeting him, fears you’re going to make a scene. She didn’t want the two of you to meet for sure, but you almost burst out of curiosity. What kind of man has been able to conquer Dana Scully’s heart? Is he a bit like you or a completely different person? You don’t know what would bother you more.

Your eyes follow her on her way to the door. She seems to move in slow motion clearly dreading the encounter of the former and the current man in her life. When she’s in front of the door, her shoulders rise and fall with one last deep breath, then she turns the knob and opens the door.

“Hi there,” she’s greeted cheerfully.

He can’t see you because Scully is standing in the way, and despite her tiny body your slouched figure on the sofa is completely hidden by her.

“What’s taken you so long?” you hear the man ask. His voice is deep and strong, tinted by a slight accent you can’t quite figure out. “Am I too early? Why aren’t you dressed, baby? I thought I was to pick you up at 6:30.”

Baby? She lets him call her baby?

You called her that once, a few days after your first passionate night together, and she wholeheartedly laughed you in the face. 'Seriously, Mulder?’ she said to you, 'you really think you’re in a position now to use this idiotic word about me just because you made me come last night?’ You never called her that again. It remained to be Mulder and Scully between you no matter what your relationship consisted of - partnership, friendship, romance, something resembling a marriage and consequently a divorce. She had dozens of different ways to pronounce your name and only from the sound of it you could tell whether she was amused, scared, annoyed, mad, horny, disappointed, worried, content, or experiencing one of a million more sentiments.

She leaves his questions unanswered, ushers him in instead. He walks into the living room without any hesitancy or awkwardness, much more self-confident than you earlier. He feels comfortable here, steers directly to the spot where you’re sitting at the coffee table, the table his red roses are decking so prominently. When he sees you, he stops in his tracks.

“Oh,” he utters in surprise, “I didn’t know you had a visitor, Dana.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m running late,” she says.

He makes a step forward and stretches his hand out for you to shake. “Mark Finlay,” he introduces himself without any discomfort or rejection in his voice.

Mark. What a nicely normal name, you think. Not peculiar like yours, one people furrow their brows at.

“My name’s Mulder, Fox Mulder.”

“Nice to meet you, Fox. Are you a friend of Dana’s?” No brow-furrowing whatsoever from him.

“I go by Mulder, actually, and yes, Scully and I used to be friends, although I can’t really say if we still are.”

“Mulder…” she sighs.

“Mulder and Scully,” Mark repeats with some surprise, letting your names roll off his tongue. “You call each other by your last names? That’s weird.”

“We used to be partners when we were with the FBI. It’s not so weird there,” you hear her telling him only half the truth.

“I see. How long haven’t you seen each other?”

“Eleven months, two weeks, and five days,” you hear yourself say, unable to tell what made you. Scully moans and now Mark does furrow his brows.

As soon as the words have tumbled out of your mouth you know it was a mistake. You made yourself vulnerable to him, and what’s even worse, you put Scully into a compromising position. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together to figure out that Mulder and Scully were more than just co-workers, and Mark is able to do the math.

“Uh, what was that, man?” he asks, his voice not so gentle anymore. You can’t blame him.

“Mark,” Scully starts, looking at her…at her…her what? Boyfriend? Lover? Partner? “Mulder and I worked together but we were also a couple for fifteen years. We separated-”

“You moved out,” you cut in and correct her, worsening the situation even more.

“-I moved out about a year ago. That’s why I came to your agency. I needed a place to stay.”

“Oh, so the long-term relationship you told me about, the one you were having troubles leaving behind you, that’s him,” he concludes, tilting his head in your direction.

Scully nods silently.

“And today is the first time you see each other after eleven months-”

“-two weeks, five days, and,” you look at your watch, “eight hours.”

“Yes,” she confirms again, probably not your precise time specification though. Actually, she shoots you a warning look. You’d even be able to tell the seconds - forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven - but you already overdid it, so you keep the seconds to yourself while they pass stoically. Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five.

“I see.”

You’re an Oxford graduate with a degree in psychology, you have no problems following this man’s train of thought. He takes a closer look at you to assess you and your intentions, trying to evaluate whether you are a threat to him or not. Obviously, Scully hasn’t told him anything about your relationship other than that it was difficult for her to get over the failure of it. He’s as curious of you as you are of him. He asks himself what kind of man she had fallen for before and he questions your presence here.

“Ah, well, I guess you have a lot to talk about then. Do you want me to leave you alone?” As neither of you tells him to stay, he clumsily turns to Scully. “I’ll call you tomorrow, honey,” he says, “maybe we can meet for lunch?”

Your insides tie a knot when you hear him use another affectionate nickname for her. The credit he’s giving you impresses you, though, or maybe he knows Scully already well enough to trust her. If manners weren’t so damn useless right now, you would offer to leave. You are the intruder here, not him. He had a date with her, you came unannounced, but you want to talk to her so badly and you fear you will never get another chance, so you let him go through with it. You gladly notice that she nods at him.

“It was nice meeting you, Fox…uh, M-mulder,” he says, looking at you with an intense stare that makes absolutely clear he’s leaving only for the moment and not for you to take her back.

“Yeah,” is all you reply. He’s a nice guy, no question about it, but you wished you would’ve never had to make his acquaintance.

Scully walks him to the door. You’re polite enough to give them some privacy and turn your back to them, although the suspense is killing you. You’d like to watch them interact, it’d give your psychologist’s mind more information about the quality of their relationship and level of intimacy, but you also have manners. They don’t keep you from straining your ears though to eavesdrop on their whispered words.

“I’m so sorry, Mark. He came here totally unexpected. I was just getting ready when he knocked at the door.”

“It’s alright, love. That is, if you want me to throw him out, I’ll gladly do so.”

“No, we do actually have to talk. Life hasn’t exactly been good to him, to neither of us. He’s been to dark, depressing places and I’m glad he’s made the first step out of his shell. It’s just that the timing’s not perfect.”

“You sound very compassionate, Dana. Do I have to be worried?”

“No, there’s no need for you to worry about anything.”

“But you still care a lot for him, don’t you? Although you left him.”

“If you knew what Mulder and I have been through, you’d understand. You have to trust me, Mark. I need to sort a few things out with him. I want…I need us to be friends.”

“Wow, I can’t imagine wanting to be friends with my ex. I’m a bit anxious about leaving you alone with him, to be honest.”

“You wouldn’t be if you knew all the circumstances.”

“Enlighten me!”

“Not now, Mark. I will. One day. I promise, but it’s very complicated and parts of our history together are very sad. I can’t do this in passing, and certainly not whispering to you while Mulder’s sitting in my living-room.”

“Alright, I content myself until you’re ready to confide in me, if…you promise to wear that breath-taking black dress I spied on your couch when you do.”

You can hear the sly grin in his voice and the smacking sound of a kiss shortly thereafter.

“Call me when it gets out of hand or ugly. I can be here quickly if he dares to lay a hand on you.”

You catch a soft chuckle from Scully. “That won’t happen, Mark. Ever. Mulder might seem a bit deranged to you but he’s a good person. He’d rather cut his hand off than hurt me.”

The way she defends you makes you warm all over.

You can’t blame him, though. He’s about to leave the woman he loves alone with a man who makes the impression of, to put it mildly, not being totally clear in his head. Your meticulous timekeeping of the moment Scully moved out didn’t exactly help him to trust in your intentions. You can’t decide whether his leaving astonishes you in a good or in a bad way, whether he’s an idiot quitting the field for another man or someone who deserves admiration for the trust he has in her. If you were in his shoes, you’d most certainly take yourself by the scruff of your neck and throw yourself out. Maybe he’s just not such a pathetic alpha male like you are.

There’s another smacking sound and you hear him hum delightfully.

“Mark,” she whispers somewhat out of breath. God, did he kiss her that hard? The cinema in your head makes you dig your fingertips into your palms with so much force your nails leave deep dents in them.

“Love you, baby.”

Your self-control is put to a severe test. 'This baby belongs to me,’ you want to yell at him. At least you’re spared to ear-witness her say the same to him as she answers him with only as much as an non-committal 'uh huh’ before she closes the door, probably out of consideration for you. You hear her take a deep inhale before she steps back into your field of vision.

“I’m terribly sorry, Scully. I didn’t mean to ruin your evening.”

Honestly, you’re glad the guy is gone.

“You’re not ruining my evening, Mulder.”

“What were you guys up to?”

“A vernissage. Mark has a friend who is an artist with an exhibition at Monroe Gallery. Well, I guess we can do it anytime, save the free champagne.”

She smirks at you and you actually do feel bad that you confounded her plans. You know that she likes the fine arts, that she enjoys going to classical concerts, galleries, and book readings. You’ve never taken her, it’s not your cup of tea. It’s his, apparently.

“I didn’t come here to mess up your evening plans, Scully. I should’ve been one leaving, not your…” No, you can’t bring yourself to pronounce the word.

“Well, Mulder, what did you come here for?”

“I…”

“Yes?”

You might as well say it. “I needed to see you, Scully. It’s been a year, for Christ’s sake. I missed you, that’s all.”

She closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose and swallows hard before she speaks. “I missed you too, Mulder.”

“Seriously?”

She looks at you, her eyes pleading with you. “Tell me you know why I left, that it wasn’t because I didn’t care for you anymore.”

“I kinda figured that out together with my therapist. Took me a while though.”

“You’re seeing a therapist?”

“Yes. Twice a week.”

“That’s good, Mulder. That’s very good. Are you getting better?”

The honest concern in her voice makes your stomach flip.

“I am. You were right with everything you said, Scully. The shrink, the medication, the getting more sleep and eating healthier food. I even started running again. I haven’t turned the corner yet, but I’m getting there.”

She spares you a triumphant 'I told you so’. Actually, there’s nothing resembling triumph or smugness in her eyes, no 'I knew it’ or 'you should’ve listened to me’ on her face, instead tears are pooling in her eyes mirroring a heavy sadness you can’t make anything of.

“What? Aren’t you happy for me?”

“I’m very happy for you, Mulder. I was so worried. You didn’t answer my calls, you never handed in the prescriptions I sent you. I feared you’d sink deeper and deeper into this depression up to the point you’d…” she trails off but you know where she was going with this.

You won’t tell her that you’ve actually been at this point she’s unable to speak out. You remember that night you didn’t see any fair reason to go on. You had no job, no family, your Scully was gone. You didn’t have a life, all you had was this house she’d left to you and a miserable existence that caused you far more pain than anything else. The gun in your hand felt like the ultimate solution to your suffering, the cold, hard steel against your hot skin soothing in a way. You thought that if you ate a bullet, it would relieve you, would lift all the burden off your shoulders and give you final peace. Then a brief moment of sanity came over you and in front of your mind’s eye you saw how Scully would take the news when some blunt police detective called her as your next of kin. You asked yourself how much more pain you wanted to cause her and suddenly the road you had to take was crystal clear. You secured the hammer, put the gun on the coffee table in front of you and stared at it for hours. This lonesome night marked the beginning of your healing process.

“So, then why are you crying?” you ask while brushing a tear off her cheek with your thumb, thrilled that she lets you.

“I’m crying because I had to leave you for you to admit to yourself that you needed treatment. My being there couldn’t do it, only my absence. Why, Mulder? It used to be just the other way around all those years. We used to give each other strength, not paralyze each other.”

“I’m still trying to find the answer to this phenomenon, Scully. The shrink is not letting me off the hook with this, I can tell you. What I have already figured out though is that you are the sole reason I’m still here. Your absence left a hole so vast in me that I couldn’t ignore the pain any longer. Believe me, I had tried many ways to numb it, none had worked. One day I decided to give it a shot and called the number you’d written down for me. It was still stuck to the fridge.”

“Imagine where we could be if you had called Doctor Summers the day I gave you her number. We could still be together.”

How often have you asked this what-if question yourself? Hundreds of times? Thousands? You’ve learned from said Doctor Summers that what-if questions are not only useless but counterproductive. They keep you from accepting what is and from changing what’s in your power to change. The past can’t be influenced anymore, only the future, and that’s what you’re determined to do. You want to build your future life, and you want her to be in it.

“We could work on getting back together. That is…if you want us back together.”

She looks at you with a mixture of astonishment and incomprehension.

“What?” you ask. “Would it be so out of the realms of possibility?”

“I’m in a relationship with a very gentle man who has been very patient with me. I can’t drop him like a hot potato.”

No, of course, she can’t. She’s far too decent and kind to treat another person like this. She hadn’t jumped into this new thing light-heartedly, she really likes this very gentle, patient man. She’s gotten involved with him for his sake, not to get over you.

Nausea makes itself felt, you have problems swallowing because of the lump forming in your throat. Has it taken you too long? Have you lost her to another man because you didn’t get your act together fast enough? Does she not only like him but has she fallen in love with him? Scully doesn’t fall in love easily - head over heels and love at first sight are not her concepts really - but when Scully loves, she loves unrestrictedly and unconditionally. You were at the receiving end of her love and she defended it against everyone who dared to question it; her peers, her superiors, her brother. You won’t stand a chance against Mark if she loves him, so you have to ask.

“You can’t drop him or you don’t want to?”

“Both. Mulder! You can’t just come here, tell me you want us back together, and expect me to leave everything and everyone behind and follow you home.”

“So…it’s over. Between us, I mean.”

You wince.

“That’s not what I said.”

You gasp.

“Then what did you say, Scully?”

“I like Mark, and I enjoy being with him.”

She likes him - okay. She enjoys being with him - this you need to be clarified.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

You look into two crystal blue eyes so boring through you they make you shiver. Of course, you know you overstepped the mark. It’s absolutely none of your business, but you need to know, so you insist regardless.

“Are you?”

You tilt your head and peek at the roses on the table, pursing your lips and arching your eyebrows. She follows your line of sight, still clearly pissed off by your question. She keeps her eyes on the flowers for a long moment, then sighs audibly.

“Okay, Mulder, if you feel like you want to know…not that I owe you any explanation…but yes, Mark and I have sex.”

Now that you know you wished you hadn’t asked. You give a short, bitter chuckle.

“What? Are you expecting me to live in isolation just like you?”

“Maybe.”

“I wasn’t looking for this, Mulder, believe me. But you know what? It’s nice to be paid attention to. You didn’t even look at me anymore. You took for granted that I was there but you didn’t notice me anymore, let alone reciprocate in any way.”

“And he looks,” you state, unable to keep that disparaging ring out of your voice.

“Yes, he does. He looks at me, notices me, realizes I’m there. He’s made me feel like a desirable woman again.” She holds your gaze for a moment and you see more pain in her eyes than you’re able to deal with. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“I didn’t make you feel like a desirable woman?” The question leaves a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

“Oh, you did, Mulder,” she breathes, and you see the sweet memory flicker in her eyes for a brief moment. “God, you made me feel so alive at a time I didn’t want to live. After William was gone, I feared I’d never be able to feel anything again, that I had become completely numb inside. It was the intensity of your love and passion that gave me the strength to love you back and to go on living, but your passion eroded over time. Not your love, I was always sure of your love for me, but I didn’t feel your passion anymore. In the end, your world had shrunk to this little room full of dusty files, blurred photographs, and yellowed newspaper clippings. I could step into this room but I couldn’t enter your world. You didn’t let me in, neither did you come into my world anymore. You’d drifted away from me so much, I didn’t know how to reach out to you. We’d lost our connection.”

Her voice has become very quiet, the last words were a mere whisper. It speaks for the suffering all of this caused her. You don’t have anything to say to this. You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood.

“I missed our physicality, Mulder, and you didn’t even realize it. In the end, I craved it so much, it ached. It’s a good feeling to be again touched and kissed. I enjoy being looked at, being told I’m beautiful and wanted.”

Every word feels like a slap in your face. You deserve it, there’s no doubt about it. You didn’t give her what she needed, so living with you had become unbearable for her. You drove her away from you and finally out of the house. It’s all your fault.

This insight doesn’t come as a surprise to you. You’ve already figured all of this out together with Doctor Summers. She’d put her finger right in the wound and poked at the raw flesh until you were honest with yourself. It was a difficult step you refused to take for quite a while, but after having walked down that road you started getting better. It had been the first step forward of many and there are still hundreds more for you to make. If you want to heal completely, you have to run a marathon.

“I’m in the process of becoming the person I used to be, Scully. I can make up for the way I made you feel, I promise I will. You’ll be treasured and desired like never before. I’ll do whatever you want me to do…meditate, eat bee pollen, burn every single X-File in the filing cabinet. You name it, I’ll do it. Just give me a chance to prove how much I’ve returned to my former self in the past year, to the person you once loved. Please!”

God, you’re pathetic, begging for her affection like this. But what else can you do? You’re desperate and scared to death that you’ve irretrievably lost her. Not to cancer, the aliens or any dark forces but to another man who happened to be there for her at a time you could only deal with your own issues and with nobody else’s, not even hers.

Oh, how you hate this fucking depression!

She sees what’s going on in your head. She’s always been able to read you like a book, your separation hasn’t changed that. Your plea has touched her. Tears are brimming in her eyes.

“Don’t do this for me, Mulder. I can’t be the sole reason for you to be willing to heal. It’s too much of a burden. You have to do it for your own sake, because you want to get better. And by the way…” She cups your face with a hand and caresses your cheek gently with her thumb, “I’ve never stopped loving you, even when this damned depression had turned you into someone I didn’t recognize anymore.”

You’re paralyzed. You forget to breathe. “You still love me?” you finally croak.

“Of course, Mulder,” she tells you with a smile, “that will never change. But we can’t be together unless you have this illness completely under control. I couldn’t help you back then and I can’t do it right now. I see your progress, but you’re far away from being through, and you know it yourself. I’m more than willing to support you as your friend and physician, but I can’t be more than that. Not now.”

“But…one day?”

“If you expect me to give you a guarantee, I can’t. There are no guarantees when it comes to personal relationships. I once thought ours was indestructible, but it wasn’t. I can’t foresee our future, Mulder, all I know is that you will always be a part of my life. As my best friend, my partner in crime, my son’s father. You’re the one and only person who knows every scarred side of my soul. Maybe…maybe one day you can be my perfect other again. It’s not impossible, but it depends on so many factors that I don’t dare to predict let alone promise anything. I don’t know how far Mark and I will go. What I do know is that I’m humbly happy as it is right now and that I want to give this a try. Can you live with that?”

Can you?

“No promises, Mulder, only chances.”

You have to let this sink in for a moment before you’re able to answer, but then you know exactly where it leaves you.

“When has the fact that I didn’t know where the road ahead would lead me to ever stopped me, Scully?”

The corners of her mouth rise into one of those lovely smiles that make the bridge of her nose crease and you’re thrilled because this smile is genuine, and it’s meant for you, and the best thing is, you have elicited it from her. You haven’t done this in a very long time. After having made her sad for you don’t know how long, you eventually made her feel good again, you made her smile. If that isn’t a valid first step. There might be a million steps more for you to take, but you’re willing to face every single one. Uphill, downhill, through the desert or the Antarctic, you might do a step or two backward at times, but you will keep going. And you will be your former self again. Maybe you’ll end up with a reformed version of Fox William Mulder even, freed of some of the traumas of your past that had pushed you to the dark place of complete hopelessness you’d been in a few months ago.

“You know me, Scully. The smaller the chance, the more unlikely the theory, the more determined I am to show you I was right.”

“Yes…yes, I know you do, and I rely on it.”

You lock your eyes with hers in one of those looks you used to give each other in another life, before the loss of a child and the impediments of an existence in seclusion had taken their toll on your relationship. You connected gazing at each other like this at a time you were each other’s touchstones, and maybe this means that you still are.

All has been said, that’s why you stand up and move in the direction of the door. When you reach it, you desperately try to think of something else to talk about - the weather, the last book you read, medical research - it doesn’t matter, something, anything, just to have a reason to stay. You turn around and find her right behind you, her delicate hand already reaching for the door knob. It seems you’ve missed your chance to prolong your being here, but then she catches you off-guard when she leans in. For a split-second you think she’s going to kiss you on the lips which she isn’t doing, of course, she’s in a relationship with another man, but she kisses you on the forehead.

The nerve endings start shooting electrical sparks through your body the moment her soft lips make contact with your skin. The forehead kiss has lost nothing of its magic, you realize. It’s as intimate an act as ever. You shared a lot of those before you turned your relationship from one of co-workers into one of lovers. More than once, you wanted to travel from her forehead to her lips but never dared. Once you almost did it, but then a bee carrying a deadly virus came in the way. You can’t explain why today of all days you feel bold enough to make the journey, but before you’re able to rethink, your lips are on hers and the familiar, much longed for sensation is your undoing.

You cannot do anything against it, your body acts on its own. Your hands go into her hair, your body presses her small frame against the front door she wanted to usher you out of mere seconds ago, and your tongue slides over her lips. You’ve ceased thinking, you’re acting on pure instinct and the sensation is too overwhelming for you to be able to stop. You hear Scully moan quietly. Her knees buckle and bump into your shins. When you feel her tongue caressing yours and her body melting into yours, all you want to do is carry her into the bedroom and devour her.

From the depths of your conscience, various memories make it to the surface with a vengeance: how soft her naked skin feels, how her warmth used to envelop you, how you became one when you were buried deep inside her. You’ve lost your grip on the world around you, of time and space. You plunge head-on into the sensation the moment offers you, although there’s this voice at the back of your head telling you that this is not right. It’s yelling at you that overwhelming her with your yearning for her is not fair. You’re playing her off against her emotions, taking advantage of the soft spot she still has for you.

Not fair!

The voice is demanding of you to stop, to stop it right now before she lets you carry the matter too far and compromise her. It’s the most difficult thing you had to do ever, but you grab her shoulders to push your bodies apart and pull back, your mouth leaving hers with a loud smack. Her head falls back and bangs against the door. She’s panting with her eyes closed. Her hair is disheveled, her cheeks rosy and her lips swollen. She looks so alluring that it takes all your willpower not to crush your lips right back onto hers.

Both of you are gasping for air, Scully with her back leaned against the door, you frozen into a pillar of salt. You can’t believe what you just did. You wronged the women who offered you her friendship overpowering her with your frenzied, base lusts. You stare at her, guilt-stricken and self-conscious. In the not so unlikely case that she throws you out of her apartment and tells you that she doesn’t want to see you ever again, you couldn’t complain.

It takes her a while to recompose herself and to get her breathing back under control. You startle when her eyes suddenly jump open and two pools of blue transfix you. “God, Mulder,” she breathes and you hear shock and disbelief in her voice.

“I’m sorry, Scully, so sorry. I’m beyond sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Please, forgive me. You have to forgive me,” you beg.

She takes another deep inhale without taking her eyes off of you. You can’t read from her face. There’s no way for you to predict how she’s going to react. When she starts to speak, you hold your breath.

“And I thought I would have to go to bed unkissed tonight after Mark had left,” she says with a deadpan expression.

“I’m such an asshole, Scully. I don’t know what had gotten into me.”

Her left eyebrow shoots up. “You don’t know why you kissed me?”

“Of course I do, but I’m not sure you want to hear it.”

Another moment of silence occurs, the unspoken words billowing between you before she speaks again. “Mulder, don’t look at me like you’ve been told you can’t have ice cream for breakfast.”

“Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not mad. I didn’t exactly fight back, did I? It was…nice. I’ve almost forgotten what a great kisser you are, but…” she licks her lips, “…this doesn’t change anything of what I said earlier.”

“I listened to what you said, Scully, and I understood. I’m not going to get this wrong, but I will live off it for a long time. The memory will keep me going. The notion of being allowed to kiss you like this again some day in the future will push me further.”

“Mulder-”

“No promises,” you interrupt her, “only chances, I know. That’s enough for me. For now.”

Her lips rise into a tight-lipped smile. “You never cease to amaze me, Mulder.”

“I should jolly well hope so!”

She shakes her head and chuckles. “What I would’ve missed if I hadn’t accepted that assignment to work with one Fox Spooky Mulder all those years ago.”

“You would’ve been spared quite a bit, Scully.”

“But I would’ve missed so much more. Mulder…I regret nothing.”

She keeps telling you this, using different words like 'I’d do it all over again’ or 'I wouldn’t have wanted another life’, but always meaning that she’s happy with how everything has turned out. Despite her reassuring you, sometimes you have problems believing it, picturing the life she could have had as a mother to a bunch of beautiful children and a wife to a nice guy. To someone like Mark.

Mark.

Time for you to quit the field. Leaving you alone with her, Mark had demonstrated a certain amount of trust in you, a trust you bitterly betrayed. He’s most certainly waiting for her to call him to let him know everything is alright.

Will she tell him about the kiss? Probably not as it isn’t the beginning of something, it’s no threat to their relationship. You tasted a bit of what your past relationship consisted of when times were good and being together was all that was important. Maybe - maybe - you’ve also tasted some of your future, you don’t know. You hope, but you can’t be sure.

You’re willing to let her try a normal life. A life with a well-situated, good-looking real estate agent who asks her for dates, who brings her flowers and calls her by her first name. You face the risk of losing her to that mundane kind of life, to a life without monsters and conspiracies where the darkness retreats with every sunrise and doesn’t linger on for the entire day, darkening the sky with its heavy, gray clouds. With that risk you have to live, it’s the only chance you have to win her back.

“What if you put that beautiful black dress on and I gave you a ride to the art gallery you told me about? Call Mark and tell him you’re going to meet him there. The night is still young, you can still have a glass of free champagne.”

She tilts her head and squints one eye suspiciously. “Mulder, are you serious?”

“I materialise in front of your door out of thin air with the lame excuse of bringing you two half empty bottles of shampoo and shower gel, I chase your spiffy date away, I yammer about how tough my life is without you, and as if this wasn’t enough, I pin you to the door mounting some kind of kissing attack on you…I’d say I owe you one.”

You meant every word you said and are therefore veritably flabbergasted that your admission is obviously amusing her. A grin tugs at the corners of her mouth she desperately tries to suppress, in vain. Eventually, she chuckles.

“And I told Mark you’d never lay a hand on me.”

“Yeah, well, a slight misconception from your side. I would cut my hand off, though, rather than hurt you.”

She gasps. “You heard us?”

“It was impossible not to hear you. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Good, good. So…uh, what about that lift to the gallery?”

“Thanks for offering, but no. I’d rather spend the rest of the evening alone. I need to contemplate a few things.”

“Okay. Fine. Uhm…are we good?”

“Sure, Mulder, we’re good.”

“Great. Would you mind if I ever dropped by again? I’d even issue a pre-warning.”

She emits another amused chuckle. “I’d appreciate an announcement, but don’t call it a warning. I don’t need to be warned of you. Just let me know when you’re on your way over so I can get dressed and have the tea ready when you get here.”

“You could also drive out to the house. There’s still some of the organic green tea in the pantry, the one you like so much.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” you reply shyly.

Like it? You’d be thrilled to entertain her. You might even bake an apple pie for her following her mother’s recipe which Maggie wrote down some years ago for you on the inside of one of the few cookbooks you had.

“Bye, Mulder. Thanks for stopping by. Despite the…uh…unexpected circumstances, it was good to see you. I’m glad we found a common ground again.”

She turns around to open the door, exposing her reverse side and the special spot you’ve touched a million times at the small of her back. Your hand goes there as if remote-controlled. You could swear you feel her shudder and it feels so familiar for a moment, but this time you come to your senses in time. Everything is different now, so you remove your hand and give her shoulder a friendly squeeze when you walk past her through the door into the hallway.

“Bye, Scully. Thanks for everything.”

“Take care, Mulder.”

You exchange one last look, then she closes the door and her face is replaced by the numbers you stared at two hours ago: three - seven - nine. You look at your watch and set it to stopwatch mode. The timer tells you it’s been eleven months, two weeks, five days, ten hours, fourteen minutes and twenty-five seconds since she left. You press the little button again to reset, it says 0:00:00 now. You press it again and the time starts running.

[junker-town]

David Ortiz doesn't miss baseball because he's having too much fun

An afternoon with the retired slugger, who still gives fans exactly what they want.

MANHATTAN — The chandeliers that hang from the ceiling in the Gansevoort Hotel on Park Avenue match David Ortiz’s shirt. Both are very purple, but the color looks better on the retired slugger than it does in the gaudy lobby. Prince might as well have started designing this room and then given up halfway through the process.

It’s 4:45 p.m. on Tuesday, and Ortiz has just emerged from the elevator after a day spent in one of the hotel’s soulless conference rooms answering reporters’ questions about his new book, Papi: My Story. He looks exhausted. At least that’s the vibe I get from his slumping shoulders; I can’t see his eyes because he has orange mirrored sunglasses on.

An entourage of suits surrounds Ortiz as he makes his way through the lobby and out the revolving doors, speaking rapid-fire Spanish into his phone. Fans are waiting for him outside, holding out baseballs and pens, yelling his name. His handlers guide him past outstretched arms and into a black SUV that’s waiting on the corner.

There’s some confusion as Ortiz’s whole team attempts to get into the car at the same time. When everyone is finally situated, Ortiz seems surprised to find me squished between him and a publicist. I wonder if anyone told him I’d be riding along with him to the Barnes & Noble in TriBeCa where he’s about to sign books for two hours.

Either they didn’t or he forgot, because he doesn’t seem thrilled to have to talk to one more person during what he probably thought was going to be 30-minute respite from his media tour. But here we are. He fields the first few questions I ask him about his first year of retirement with short, polite answers.

Then I tell him I’m from Boston.

“Oh, is that right?” His face lights up. At least he smiles big; I can’t see his eyes behind his glasses.

Yes, I tell him, and explain that we’ve met before. During the Red Sox’s AL Championship run in 2004, I was a student at a high school down the street from Fenway Park. I skipped soccer one afternoon in October to go down to Yawkey Way with a few friends. We spotted players coming out a back entrance, and I shouted Ortiz’s name through the chain-link fence. He came over, and I realized that while I’d brought a marker, I hadn’t brought anything for him to sign. In a moment of panic I took off my flip flop, shoved it under the fence, and asked him for his signature. He wrote his name on my shoe, and I walked back through Boston barefoot.

Ortiz cracks up.

“That’s probably the weirdest thing I’ve ever signed,” he says. “Though I’ve signed some weird stuff. One time this lady got me signing her leg because she said she was going to get a tattoo. And she did! She tattooed my autograph on her leg! She came back to me the following season and she was like, ‘Look.’”

It’s almost surprising to me that more people in Boston don’t have Ortiz’s signature on their legs. For Red Sox fans, Ortiz is frozen in time as the guy who helped break the Curse of the Bambino and then stuck around long enough to win two more World Series. He earned god status in New England.

Now, Ortiz spends most of his time filming commercials, promoting his book, teaching his 15-year-old daughter how to drive, planning a move to Miami so his kids can play baseball outside year round, and turning down party invites from his good friend Lil Wayne (retirement is busy).

Photo by Maddie Meyer/Getty Images

Which brings me to the bad news, Sox fans: While you probably miss him at Fenway, he doesn’t really miss being there.

“My teammates and I go a long way back,” he says as we pull onto FDR Drive. “That’s one thing that I miss. That’s the only thing I miss about the game, hanging out with the boys. I played the game for so long that I basically am OK with not playing now.”

Ortiz’s laughs often; it starts with a booming “What?!” or one big “Ha!” and then fades into a low chuckle with a long tail, like a half-life of funniness. He completely cracks up telling me about his recent trip to the Kentucky Derby, where he had the first 11 a.m.-drink of his life (seriously, he swears). Apparently there’s this room near Millionaires Row that’s filled with bottles of fancy bourbon that blew his mind.

“The entry of the secret room is behind this one picture that’s right next to a giant door,” he says. “This lady did something tricky and the door just opened. Boom! I’m like, I need one of those in my house. They tell you before you go in that it’s all-you-can-drink in like five minutes. Everything is perfect in there. They let me stay a little longer because the lady was a fan.”

That’s the only thing I miss about the game, hanging out with the boys. I played the game for so long that I basically am okay with not playing now.

“Wait, they just put famous people in there and try to get you really drunk?” I ask.

“Yeah, famous people just go in!” He’s laughing again. “There’s no way you can go crazy drinking bourbon, though. Because a couple of them can get you tipsy. But I heard a story while I was there about Sylvester Stallone. He loved the room so much he didn’t wanna leave.”

“Is Sylvester Stallone still in the secret room?” I ask. “Did they just leave him there at the Kentucky Derby?”

Ortiz laughs harder.

“They had to kick him out with security and everything,” he says. “I was like, ‘No way!’”

Once Ortiz gets going, he doesn’t stop talking — he tells me not to give up on my dreams, that he can’t swim, that he and Daddy Yankee are close, and that it’s good I drink Dunkin’ Donuts (even though I think it’s kind of gross) because I “have to represent my city.” He tells me he’s glad he wrote the book so that he could address questions people ask him all the time — including what playing for Bobby Valentine was like for that disastrous year. He tells me that he doesn’t wear his World Series rings. In fact, he’s not totally sure where they are. He’s pretty sure they’re in a safe.

Do I know that World Series rings are smaller than Super Bowl rings? I don’t, so Ortiz tries to show me by gesturing to his huge, diamond-encrusted watch — which matches his massive diamond earring — to indicate the size of a football players’ rock. He adds that “his boy Brady” (Tom, that is) doesn’t wear his championship rings, either.

Bob DeChiara-USA TODAY Sports

David Ortiz at the Celtics’ Eastern conference finals Game 1 against the Cavaliers.

Speaking of his boys, Ortiz talked to another one, Isaiah (Thomas, that is), before the Celtics won Game 7 against the Wizards.

“Isaiah told me this,” Ortiz says. “He says, ‘Papi, I promise you we’re gonna with this. You can put it down: I promise you we gonna win it.”

“It’s hard being a Boston sports fan,” I say sarcastically.

“We know that Boston is a big city of sports,” Ortiz says. “Sports mean a lot to people over there. Boston always pulls the best out of you. That’s how I feel about Boston.”

But Boston doesn’t always give the best back. Fans at Fenway recently called Orioles outfielder Adam Jones the N-word and threw peanuts at him on the field. Ortiz stops laughing and shakes his head when I bring this up.

“Adam, that’s my boy, man,” he says. “Adam is a very, super nice guy. He’s very emotional, and you get a couple knuckleheads out there trying to be smart-asses, saying things they shouldn’t, and it’s frustrating.”

Ortiz says he never experienced racism when he played in Boston. Maybe that’s because he was Our Guy, a local hero. But he insists that “Boston ain’t like that,” and that most people there are “nice and humble.” He also knows, however, that these experiences other players have are very real and very upsetting.

“Now, you know, I had a couple players saying that’s how they feel when they come to Boston,” he says. “You know they have their reason to say it. I don’t see that in Boston — I never experienced anything like it, but on the other hand, planet Earth is jam-packed with stupid people.”

We’re pulling up to the bookstore now, where a line of people wearing No. 34 jerseys stretches down the block and around the corner from the entrance. Ortiz grins; he might be used to it, but this never gets old. We drive around to a loading dock entrance in an attempt to sneak the star in undetected, but one wily little kid somehow manages to sneak in behind the SUV.

Ortiz’s people start to shoo the boy away, but Ortiz tells him to come over. He takes a selfie with him.

Charlotte Wilder

One of the guys running the event is almost half Ortiz’s height. They look somewhat similar, so Ortiz starts calling him “Little Papi.” Little Papi and the rest of the entourage follows Big Papi as he swaggers through the underbelly of this New York City mall as though he were walking up to the plate to hit a grand slam.

We reach the door of the Barnes & Noble. Ortiz takes a deep breath, says he hopes his hand doesn’t cramp up, and enters the room to screams and applause.

Each fan approaches the signing table with a different story. Some thank him for their childhoods. One tells him he’s the reason her son got back into baseball after being diagnosed with type I diabetes, another tells him he inspired her in her fight against cancer. Some ask him to say hi to their parents on the phone. Some cry. At least three fans’ hands are shaking so badly as they try to snap selfies with him that they have to ask the person in line behind them to take the picture.

Many of them say things like, “Thank you for everything you did for Boston.” One guy comes up to the table and tells Ortiz he clerked for the judge who presided over the trial of the Boston Marathon bomber.

“Thank you for speaking for us,” the man says. Ortiz smiles and shakes his hand and tells him of course. An hour before in the car, Ortiz told me that he didn’t realize what he’d said — “This is our fucking city!” — until the clip went viral afterwards.

“I was like oh, ah, did I, ah, really say that?” He laughs again. “But I was angry, man. I can’t tell you right now, I was so mad.”

I watch Ortiz sign books for an hour and 45 minutes. Not once does he show signs of flagging. He’s still wearing his orange shades, but he’s so effervescent that it doesn’t ever seem strange: it’s just what he does. He’s especially happy to talk to little kids and people who come up to him speaking Spanish — “my man!” He spends extra time with a little girl in a wheelchair, with the cancer survivor, with a young man wearing a Dominican Republic World Baseball Classic shirt.

But he never gives less than all of his attention to anyone in line. He seems to understand that what might be one handshake in a million to him is the greatest grasp of someone else’s life. That a flip flop he forgot he signed 12 years ago becomes a prized possession. That even in retirement, he represents all of baseball and all of Boston to the people who love him.

Aside from playing baseball, this — being something bigger than himself, the beating heart inside the memory of a spectacular era — seems to be what Ortiz was born to do.

With a half hour left, one of the Barnes & Noble employees comes over to him.

“Do you want to stand up and stretch?" she asks. Ortiz looks at the line of people in front of him, each one clutching the picture of his face that graces the cover of Papi.

“No,” he says, reaching for the next book and readying his pen. “I’m good.”