#and choose to keep doubling down and stalling instead of facing that truth

[chirpsythismorning]

This is a continuation in exploring why I think Mike's character regression over the seasons can be explained in part by guilt, which he has yet to confront

Original post

Now we're onto s2, which jumps us ahead in the timeline a bit.

Mike has been calling out to El on the walkie for approx. 252 days now, under what he views as the false hope she might actually be alive. This is mostly based on the fact that Mike thought he saw El outside of his house a few hours after she 'died' (he did see her, bc she was there...) and so a part of him does think there's a chance. And yet this is also isn't something Mike seems to be comfortable talking about the others with.

Which brings us to the crazy together scene. Although this scene has a lot going on, there's one aspect of it in particular that I want to focus on, as it's the driving force for what is going to be discussed, which is that Halloween night was also the last night Mike called El, aka day 353.

I just want to preface what follows, with the fact that I do not personally think Mike giving up calling El, as a concept on its own, means that he couldn't possibly love El romantically or something. It's not even about that idea from an audience perspective. And this is because any average person, in reality, mourning someones' death, should not be calling out to that person for almost a year. Letting go doesn't make you a bad person, whether it was romantic, platonic or even familial. It's called healing and accepting what is and trying to move on and live your life.

Neither does Mike giving up after that night make him heartless or a bad character in my opinion. It literally just makes him human. But that also doesn't mean that's how Mike feels about it, nor does it mean that the manifestation of this guilt isn't going to affect his behavior over the course of the series, causing some very unfortunate choices on Mike's part to then lead to some very unfortunate events for everyone...

Where it starts to get sort of complex is that I think the whole point of the crazy together scene and where it ended up was to for it to showcase how Mike and Will were both willing to accept each other, despite these secrets they've been keeping to themselves.

Will revealed the truth to Mike about how he could still see into the UD, with the addition of seeing this big 'shadow in the sky', followed by asking Mike to not tell the others because they wouldn't understand. Mike then responds by saying El would understand, followed by confiding his own secret to Will that he's been keeping from the others, which is that he thinks he's seen signs that El could still be alive.

The scene then ends with them in agreement that if they're both going crazy, they'll go crazy together, with it arguably being their most incriminatingly romantic moment to date, as it juxtaposes other uncannily similar romantic mentions on the show involving that same word.

But no matter what happens, they're promising to support each other, specifically the weird shit they have going on and could presumably continue to explore that weirdness, without telling anyone else who might judge them for it or misunderstand their feelings entirely...

This is why Mike had no problem with Will going crazy in s2 because as promised, he was going to be right there with him. Also meaning, Mike COULD have had no problem continuing to test out his theory that El was alive, because Will would have supported him.

Obviously, Will sort of had his hands tied in s2 (literally?), but the point still stands. It's not like this was something Mike HAD to give up, because that conversation between him and Will instilled that they would support each other and what makes them feel crazy.

I think the issue though, is that what's causing Mike so much grief daily for almost a year now, is the guilt that came with El's death and him feeling responsible. And so, in contrast to Will's slightly more justified assumptions that what he's seeing could actually be real based on what's happened to him, it's like Mike is asking himself whether he's actually seeing El because she's still alive OR is he just imagining she's still alive because he wants to forgive himself?

A kid deducing that in their head would make them feel pretty awful, don't you think? Maybe even lead them to calling out to that person for almost a year in hopes that they might still be alive?

Meaning Mike choosing that night to walk away, to give up, is likely a result of his conversation with Will making him feel more comfortable with finally letting go of some of that guilt in order to actually start the process of moving on. Because a big part of why he didn't want to move on was because of guilt in the first place.

Also confiding in Will and only Will, not the others, who were hell bent on interpreting all of Mike's feelings for El as romantic, was maybe Mike's way of avoiding the pressure to associate his whole relationship with El as strictly romantic. With Will, maybe Mike knew he wasn't going to spin it into something like that. And he would’ve been right, because Will didn't.

October 30th, Halloween Night (Day 353 - Last call)

You cannot tell me that day 353 isn't framed as the last call. Like Mike is literally walking away dramatically, leaving El alone, with her now just a tiny dot surrounded by darkness. The way it's framed leaves the viewer genuinely feeling heartbroken because there's some very evident finality to what is being presented. And we even see that El feels it too, hence the episode cutting off dramatically with her tear filled eyes.

And so why did Mike choose THIS moment to give up? Why did he choose now to put his 353 day streak to rest? Like, that was impressive as hell. He could have easily kept that going, but instead he decided that this was going to be the last time he was going to try calling out to her...

November 1st (Day 354)

El is still pretty bummed that Hopper came home late last night, but I'm guessing she's even more bummed still processing what might have very well been Mike finally giving up that night too.

Although I don't think El would blame Mike for giving up, still, she too throughout all of this had been building up hope herself. El's been clinging onto the bond she made with Mike, specifically the romantic moments, to the point where she has been watching shows with romantic themes, putting herself in the position of the love interest.

So him not giving up, to El, has been a signal that what they are feeling between each other is very deep and... romantic. Him keeping this going this long is a sign to her that these feelings are pretty much guaranteed. And if he doesn't continue, that hope would obviously dwindle.

At breakfast that morning, Hopper acknowledges the TV cord peaking out of El's room, which is the device she uses to visit Mike from the void, all the way from the cabin. Without it, she is not able to 'communicate' with him, let alone see if he actually didn't give up after that night she feared he did...

Unfortunately her and Hopper have an argument after this, leading to her storming off to her room. And after Hopper is gone, El finds herself being so impatient to see Mike after almost a year of waiting, that she decides to take fate into her own hands. She isn't willing to wait until the evening, which is roughly speaking the usual time Mike uses the walkie to call her every night. She needs to see him now.

And lucky(?) for her, she does!

Finally! A SIGN! After almost a year of no signs that El is alive, since the night she went missing, Mike is getting a sign El is alive!

And he runs after it! He goes to check to confirm his (valid) suspicions, only for her to not be there, with Mike looking disappointed, but also kind of like he's accepted it's a lost cause at this point.

Mike's hope that El is alive and okay and the relief that would come with finally letting go of this massive weight of guilt, is not within reach. He just needs to accept it and let it go. He needs to forgive himself and move on.

On top of all of this, Will is experiencing his own version of crazy. And Mike seems more concerned with focusing on this and supporting Will, than holding onto this hope that El is alive.

So even though Mike just got a sign that El is alive (which parallels to the initial evidence of her being alive outside his house, what literally initiated him to call out to her for almost a year), he doesn't revert back to his approach of not giving up. He sticks by his decision.

The irony of what happens with El the same night that Mike doesn't call, for the first time, is not lost on me...

Tragically, El doesn't know Mike actually gave up (just like she feared he did) because she lost her ability to communicate with him that night.

I wonder how differently things would have played out if she new the truth. Would she have held onto this really romanticized idea of her and Mike's relationship because he never gave up? Or would she have maybe reassured Mike that it was okay that he gave up and moved past it and still hoped and tried to make it work? Honestly, I think the later.

Because again, it's not Mike giving up that makes him a bad person or something that refutes his ability to love her romantically, it just means that it's not true that he never gave up.

And Mike being the only person to know this fact... Um... Cannot be good for him.

October 2nd (Day 355)

As El is trying to revive a modicum of hope that she can see Mike again through the void, to confirm her hopes that he didn't give up, by using the TV like she usually does, she discovers that the cord is broken. It's a lost cause.

On the other side of town, Mike is entirely focused on Will. The previous night, he did not reach out to El. He gave up. And El is none the wiser.

The writers made the choice to have one more night that Mike could have called El because he was at home that night on day 354, a day that actually involved an incident that you'd think would have reignited his hope that she was alive, before he inevitably jumped head first into focusing on Will, with him not being home for the rest of the season. They could have shown us Mike calling out to El from the other side of town, and then cut to her in her room not knowing... And yet, they didn't...

This is where I jump to the end, because the focus primarily when it comes to El and Mike's arcs for the rest of the season are with El trying to find her mom and discover more about herself, while Mike is trying to be there for Will in any way he can.

The sad part is that despite Mike giving up and trying to move on from El's death, that guilt is never really going to go away. He gave El expectations that she had to risk her life to find Will, and all of that built up and inadvertently led to her death.

But maybe Mike can right the wrongs he had El endure by following through on his focus of not letting Will die too? Maybe if Mike can save Will, El wouldn't have died for nothing?

But with this guilt and Mike trying to overcorrect it all, he's also experiencing very real and emotional moments with Will. Will is his best friend, and just a year ago Mike risked everything to get him back. A lot of those moments he experienced with El in s1, moments mixed with romantic expectations, are now also lingering here with him and his friend in s2. Except these aren't forced expectations. Everything Mike’s feeling and doing the entire time comes naturally to him, with none of it requiring pushing or advice from those around him. It's just pure instinct.

In the end, Mike's beside Joyce and Jonathan, who are sharing memories they have with Will to him in hopes it will prove to them he's still in there and able to be saved.

This emotional sequence builds up to Mike using his own memory of Will to try to reach him, one that comes off as platonic in every sense of the word, but visually, and when looked at in the grand scheme of things, especially with what is about to follow and those romantic expectations with El soon being thrust back on him... Well... Shit is about to get real messy.

Upon reuniting with El, Mike was quick to want to tell her that he never gave up, only for her to interrupt him with the exact number of days he called (before he gave up).

This is news to Mike for an abundance of reasons. It means he's not crazy and that El actually was alive those two times he saw her. All this (survivors) guilt that's been building up over the last year could have been avoided if he'd known that she didn't die, that she was okay.

It also means that for some reason, El heard him, and yet she doesn't know that he gave up...

And here Hopper is, revealing that he's been hiding her the whole time aka the perfect person for Mike to take all of this pent-up emotion out on.

Hopper then tells Mike that they will discuss this privately, which I find to be very interesting because it offers a chance for the viewer to see just a glimpse into Mike's emotional state at this moment, without everyone around to affect his ability to truly open up about how he's feeling. And not alone just anywhere in the house, but in Will's room...

Mike is understandably upset because El is alive and Hopper knew this whole time and didn't tell him.

While Hopper didn't technically lie to Mike, at least not in canon because we never got an outright scene on-screen of Mike asking Hopper if El was alive with him denying it (all while knowing she was), it's at the very least a lie of omission...

But the thing is, if Hopper not clueing Mike in on El being alive qualifies as a lie of omission (off-screen), so does Mike not telling El he gave up (on-screen).

If anything Mike's lie of omission also qualifies as a plain old lie, because he outright told El he didn't give up (lied) and didn't correct her when she informed him she knew he didn't. She fully believed it, despite him knowing deep down that it wasn't the full truth.

So while Mike is taking all of his anger out on Hopper as this fighting match comes to a head, it takes a turn.

Hopper is fine with Mike blaming him, he says it's 'okay'. But it's not. Nothing about this is okay to Mike, seeing as this isn't even the whole problem. It's not the problem Mike's actually hiding within his outburst in the first place.

Suddenly Mike starts screaming to Hopper that he's a 'disgusting, lying, piece of shit', chanting LIAR over and over and over again, shoving him repeatedly, only for him to fall into Hopper's arms and start crying, with Hopper reassuring him that he's okay.

Something tells me Mike's emotions here aren't all about Hopper...

Something tells me that Mike's fixation with the word liar doesn't apply to Hopper here as much as it applies to Mike himself (in his eyes)...

The main reason why I think this is what's actually going on here, is because there was no reason to put so much emphasize on this concept of Mike literally walking away that last time he called her.

Why go through the trouble of creating this misunderstanding, by having the TV not work, with El not being able to go into the void to see Mike, THE very night he gave up, if to not plant the seed that this misunderstanding was going to bear some significance? That this misunderstanding (lie? lie of omission?) was going to lead to El assuming Mike didn't give up, all while Mike knows he gave up, but going along with the story that he didn't, for both El's sake and his own?

BECAUSE it's a surprise tool that will help us later!

I also think it's interesting that they decided to have Will go off and dance with a girl at the snowball BEFORE Mike decided to devote himself to El here on out. Like... that is quite the choice after a season of highlighting this bond between Will and Mike where they promise to go crazy together, which is a moment we know Will took romantically.... So, is it possible Mike also took it romantically? We know Will also took Mike's speech to him in the shed romantically, so is it possible Mike did too, with that experience only heightening his emotions and confusion over his feelings for El when he found out she was alive shortly after, leading to his outburst? But then Will is going and dancing with the girl, and here we have Mike's own version of falling behind (the Time After Time lyrics were more literal than you think).

What if they didn't do all of that? Would things have maybe panned out slightly differently if Mike wasn't under the (incorrect) assumption that Will didn't take those moments romantically?

While Mike's guilt might have started in s1, when he played the biggest role in pushing expectations onto El to help them find Will, only for her to 'die', it doesn't end there. Mike's guilt only builds when he holds the knowledge that he did give up hoping she could be alive, all while allowing El to believe the opposite based on what she saw, which was a guiding force for not only her love and dedication to him flourishing, but also for him to then shift his own version of expectations onto himself going forward to make it up to El by trying to be who she wants him to be.

We see how romanticized 353 days is interpreted exclusively as meaning Mike has to be in love with El. But he did give up. So what does that mean for all of this? For their picture perfect love story?

What does it mean for Mike to hold onto this truth, a truth that makes him feel immense guilt, only for him to spend the next year or so making it up to her...?

It means either Mike has to come clean, or he has to deflect and double down.

What option do you think a guilt-ridden, repressed homosexual kid in the 80's is going to choose?

Answer? Deflect and double down.

In s3, Mike is so focused on worrying about El (giving her what he thinks she wants) so he can right all the building up of wrongs he has done at her expense since he met her, and as a result loses Will in the process (where have we heard this before...?)

Instead of Mike having a moment in s3 where he acknowledges that he himself was the first to ever refer to El as a weapon in the first place, to try to save Will in s1, he's now turning around and blaming the others for using El as a weapon 'for no reason'...

No reason? Really Mike? Is it for no reason, or is it just not a good enough reason to you this time?

Or maybe has Mike just actually spent enough time with El now to truly feel a bond with her in order to see her as a full person, slightly outside of this imaginary superhero he's cooked her up to be when he met her that day in the woods, the day his life started because she was his first and only hope of finding Will? (I say slightly bc... I mean we all saw what happened in s4?)

I honestly think it's a mix of both...

I also think it's not a coincidence that Mike doubling down instead of facing the truth about this manifestation of guilt only makes things worse for him. And El. And Will.

Because suddenly he's choosing this moment to blurt out that he loves and can't lose her again, in front of everyone, even to his own dismay and shock. And when El walks in and gives him a chance to say it to her himself, like any person whose in love with someone would want to do, to make them feel loved, he looks terrified.

And when the season ends and Mike is given another chance to say it finally, to El directly, in roughly the exact same spot he had his emotional outburst in the previous season over finding out she was alive at the same time he was still grappling with losing Will again, IN WILL'S ROOM, he freezes. He just lets what happens, happen.

Because after everything, with El right now in front of him, telling him she loves him while being fully convinced he loves her too after everything they've went through, how could he possibly take it back, or try to make her understand his complicated feelings about all of this?

Answer? He can't.

As hard as it is to believe (not that hard honestly based on his track record), Mike's deflection and stalling era is just beginning...

[wavesmp3]

you jump; i jump

sunwoo x reader 

requested from sensory prompts #46: the waver in someone’s voice when they’re stressed genre: spy au, exes (ish) to lovers wc: 5.6k  warnings: cursing, tiny bit of gore/blood

Sunwoo used to pride himself for being able to keep his cool, in even the most unimaginable situations. He kept his exterior when Haknyeon turned out to be double crossing their agency, Creker, and secretly sending information to a rivaling one the whole time. Sunwoo didn’t crack when his entire mission in Sydney blew up right in his fucking face, never even flinched when his gear malfunctioned dumping him in a hospital for a week. But all those instances seem to fall flat now. All the times where Sunwoo stayed strong seem to disappear the moment he feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around only to come face to face with you. “What are you-“ he falters, grasping at the last bits of crumbling pride and hanging on to the dip in his voice. “What are you doing here?” 

“You forgot this,” you continue, ignoring him entirely, “forgot it in Vienna specifically.” You dangle a watch in front of his face. The same watch he lost somewhere in Austria three months ago, at the same time that he was in the middle of the most intense and longest mission the agency had ever given him, and more notably, around the same time he met you. “Don’t look so shocked.” You scoff when he fails to respond. “You told me you were gonna be here.” 

Sunwoo laughs, except it’s less of a laugh and more of an exhale of pure disbelief. “I know what I said, but you’re…” his voice trails off, some part of him unable to finish the sentence and another part of him still too disturbed to believe it. 

You tilt your head with faux confusion. “I’m what?”

Sunwoo gulps. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

VIENNA, AUSTRIA  THREE MONTHS AGO 

Sunwoo remembers, with a starling amount of clarity, all that happened three months ago. He can recall every day he spent roaming the streets of Vienna with you despite the way he’s been trying to drown out the memories and douse his lingering feelings. 

When he met you at a pub on one of his first nights there, he told himself he entertained your conversation because, well, to put it bluntly, he thought you were cute. Although the small tug in his gut doesn’t help justify why he found himself stumbling back to his hotel room with you by his side. And there’s really no good excuse for the tiny sting of disappointment Sunwoo feels when he wakes up alone the next morning. 

It’s two days after that night when Sunwoo sees you again, sitting on a bench with a book in one hand and a to-go cup of coffee in the other. It’s an odd coincidence that he should see you in Vienna again, but the small pang of doubt is quickly replaced with a more promising burst of elation. Sunwoo can’t tell if it’s exhilarating or terrifying.

“Ah,” you mutter when you notice him approaching, “Sunwoo right?” It’s a facade, Sunwoo thinks to himself, he knows you remember his name, knows you only pretend to forget. But he doesn’t mention that, instead he nods rather lamely, shoving his fists into his pockets and burying away the voice of reason in the back of his head telling him this is a mistake. “Sit.” You say, moving your things to the other side of the bench and patting the now empty spot next to you. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

And in retrospect, it’s quite obvious that Sunwoo should have found the words alarming. Really, he should have begun to put his guard up the second he spotted you in Vienna again. But at that moment in time, the only thing Sunwoo can think to ask is if he was worth the wait. 

Your tongue darts out, swiping at your bottom lip in thought for the smallest of seconds, before disappearing into your mouth again. “Yeah,” you say, lips turning up into an intrigued smile, “you were.” 

—

Sunwoo doesn’t think much of the way he comes to trust you so easily, telling you the truth about his job in the darkness of the hotel room. He doesn’t think anything of the way you hang onto his every word without ever sharing much about yourself. And when one day, you sit down at the cafe booth across from him and ask, “what’s your current mission,” Sunwoo doesn’t think twice before telling you everything about his objective to infiltrate Pegasus. He also doesn’t notice the phone call you make soon after. 

—

When the truth does come out, it comes fast, like water rushing off a cliff and crashing into Sunwoo sitting unsuspecting at the bottom. It comes in the form of a charity event that he only attends as part of the mission which sent him to Vienna to begin with. The truth arrives, like a rock in his gut, at the same second that Sunwoo sees you across the hall. You, who he last saw at the hotel, and you, who’s supposed to be on a train to Paris right now. And when your eyes finally catch his, there’s something unmistakable swimming in them. You’ve been caught, Sunwoo thinks, finally placing a name to the familiar way you swallow and dart your eyes around the room. Sunwoo recognizes the feeling, vaguely remembers the rush he felt once in Santiago and again in New York. 

“I can explain,” you hiss, quiet and breathless, finding him outside the hall after a few minutes. 

And Sunwoo knows he should be dying for an explanation of what you’re doing here or who you’re really working with. Some small part of Sunwoo knows that he should already be replaying every conversation and trying to determine how much information he’s given you to use against him. But another, larger part of him, that’s poking at his heart and prodding at his brain, chooses to stare at your lying eyes, study the face he’s come to memorize, and lamely ask, “how much of…” his voice tapers off, gesturing to the empty space in between you two, “of this was a lie?”

You don’t respond, but in the silence Sunwoo finds the answer anyways. 

All of it.

—

It’s not long after that night that a new message from the case officer shows up for him.  

You’re on thin ice. New mission: get rid of that Pegasus agent. 

PRESENT TIME  THREE MONTHS AFTER VIENNA

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here?” Sunwoo asks you again, shifting in his plastic red chair and keeping his gaze focused on the street you’re both seated beside. He hadn’t planned on hanging out after crossing paths with you earlier today. In fact, the only thing he wanted to do was put as much distance between the two of you as possible, but when you offer him a meal in exchange for a conversation, his rumbling stomach agrees before he can even consider the offer. The scene you lead him to is a busy one, filled with people rushing down the road and bustling behind each of the food stalls. It’s a mosh-posh of neon signs, kicked up dust, and the aroma of food being fried. More importantly, it’s a loud area, one where you and Sunwoo can talk freely without the worry of being heard by someone seated nearby. He takes a bite into his skewer, waiting for your response. 

“And you still haven’t told me why you didn’t follow through with the mission,” you counter, twirling your lime green straw with the tip of your finger. “The one where you were supposed to kill me.” 

You say it plainly, but something in Sunwoo’s stomach turns hard at the reminder anyways. “We’re spies,” he mutters behind clenched teeth, “not assassins.” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, taking a sip from your coke, “the job description is pretty vague.” 

The words are met with a taut silence, a snap of Sunwoo’s eyes towards yours, and a search for any implication of murder behind the sentence. 

“It’s a joke,” you choke, wiping the coke that slips from your mouth and quickly shaking your head, “I haven’t killed anyone.”

“Well anyways,” Sunwoo continues, “I tried to finish the mission. Even hired someone to find you.” And as soon as the words leave his mouth, Sunwoo realizes he’s told you too much, realizes he’s let the truth slip too easily--again. Biting his lip, he thinks this must be what people mean when they say ‘old habits die hard’. 

“He didn’t follow through.” You tell him as if to fill him in on how exactly you’re still alive and sitting across from him right here, right now, miles away from Vienna and months after Sunwoo’s hire took his money and ran. “But you knew he wouldn’t, didn’t you?”

And this you say with a taunting smile, catching his eyes like there’s a private joke concealed behind them. Sunwoo only gulps and pulls his focus back to the busy street.

“So what do you want with me?”

“I left Pegasus.” You answer, clearing your throat.

Sunwoo waits. He waits for you to take it back, for you to laugh at his widened eyes and say it’s a joke. The punchline never comes. “You’re an idiot.” He settles on.

“And I’ve got two agencies who’d prefer me to be dead right about now.” You grimace. “But despite the bounty on my head, I’m still here which means you’re probably not on great terms with Creker either.”

“Get to the point.”

“We both have people who want us dead. We both have next to nothing to lose at this point. So let’s team up.” You pause, checking Sunwoo’s reaction. He watches you intently, body pushing against the creaking plastic table in an attempt to hear you better. With an almost mischievous glint in your eyes and a satisfied quirk, you continue: “Let’s take back what we stole for them.”

There’s a long moment where Sunwoo just stares at you, deciphering what to make of the proposition. You appear genuine, Sunwoo decides leaning away from the table until his back hits the chair, but Sunwoo isn’t exactly sure how much he trusts his own judgement considering the last time he decided you were sincere you had been lying to him left and right.

Sunwoo lifts his hand to the vendor of the food stall you’re sitting by. The previous glint in your eyes is gone, overshadowed by a darker shade of doubt. “What are you doing?” you finally ask, voice lower and less excited than it had been a second ago.

With a tired sigh, he replies, “I’m gonna need more food while you explain your plan.”

Sunwoo has to swallow back the smile that nearly emerges at how happy you get.

--

It’s a simple enough idea. Clear our names, you had explained, wipe ourselves entirely from both agencies. And it’ll work too, Sunwoo realizes when you begin the second explanation on the logistics of the whole operation. The only downside to your plan is you. Because the last person Sunwoo wants to start a new mission with is the same person who broke his heart three months ago. And it’s bothersome, almost, how calm you are and how collected you appear, especially compared to how scattered Sunwoo feels just to be around you again.

“What do you think?” You ask once you’ve explained your plan completely, tapping anxiously on the table.

“I think,” Sunwoo starts, inhaling deeply, “you’ve thought about this way too much.”

“Well, yeah,” you scoff, gulping down some more coke, “three months is kind of a long time.”

And yeah, he thinks, it is. But despite the time that’s passed since you’ve last seen each other and despite the way Sunwoo thought he was over you, his stomach still flips each time you look his way. He just prays that the past three months have at least somewhat watered down how he used to feel about you.

“How do I know you won’t ditch me after we clear you?” Sunwoo asks, pushing away the thoughts of lingering heartache to a corner of his mind.

“We’ll do you first.” You state simply. “Steal your file off Creker and get the bounty off your head first. Then we’ll do me.”

“And then how do you know that I won’t ditch you?”

You falter at that, frowning for the smallest of seconds, then say, “I don’t.”

Sunwoo nods, pretending to contemplate your offer. But in all transparency, Sunwoo knew he’d agree to your plan despite the bile that turns up at your name because with the way he’s been hiding in a crappy motel and eating instant ramen every night, it’s kind of hard to refuse any proposition that gives him the slightest chance at an out from Creker. 

“Okay,” he finally utters, wiping the crumbs of his second skewer off his hands, “let’s do it.” You meet his eyes expectantly. Nodding, he says,

“Let’s team up.”

//

You and Sunwoo clash more than anything else on the first day of prepping for the mission, crammed in a corner of Sunwoo’s dingy motel with two half finished cans of red bull sitting forgotten on the table, fighting about even the smallest details.

“I know the building,” Sunwoo argues, pointing to the floor plan you have pulled up on your laptop, “and this is the entrance we should use.”

“But using this entrance,” you refute, dragging your finger across the screen to show him exactly what you mean, “will give us better access to security and admin. And trust me, I know the building better than you do.”

“How do you—” Sunwoo stills. Something seems to register in your eyes at that moment as well, a small recognition of the tiny slip up, a barely audible acknowledgement that comes in the form of a cough. And all at once, Sunwoo’s reminded of the time he spent spilling his heart to you in Vienna under more covers than he was aware of. Sunwoo’s harshly thrown against the realization that you must’ve been watching him, surveying him long before you ever found him in that Austrian pub.

“See, I knew this wouldn’t work.” He grumbles, shaking his head. “You know too much about me. No, actually, you know everything about me. And I--” there’s a dip in his tone, “I know nothing about you.”

“Fine then, ask.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is you think will even the playing field between us. Whatever it is you want to know about me,” you shut the laptop and turn your body to face him completely, an action that exudes largely frustration but more faintly, guilt, “just ask.”

--

Sunwoo learns more about you than he had intended to. He learns about the origin of the scar that runs along your spine. A fucked up operation in Shanghai, you tell him, writing over the lie you told him three months ago about it being from your childhood. He learns about your old partner Younghoon and about the shadow falling over your forehead at the sound of his name. He’s told about how you got involved with Pegasus to begin with, a similar story to Sunwoo’s beginning with Creker: an unlucky concoction of desperation and coincidence. You tell him, with reluctance, your most embarrassing story, followed by a long list of firsts and favorites. So by the time night falls, with two empty red bulls at the foot of the bed and the building’s floor plan now forgotten behind the black screen of your laptop, Sunwoo learns enough to rebuild a fraction of the trust he lost.

//

Everything goes smoother after that. You and Sunwoo seem to fall into a rhythm, meeting at a café in the morning and at the motel in the afternoon, planning out the missions with far less difficulty than before. A rather quick adjustment, from both of your ends, and an even faster allocation of responsibilities. He finds himself looking forward to sitting in front of your open laptop each day and conjuring new ways to distract you every hour. 

And it’s after meeting up with you one night, not as partners but—perhaps more cruelly—as friends, that a dangerously familiar warmth blooms in his chest and refuses to wilt away when he sees you again the next day. Sunwoo knows that he should be doing something, anything to blow out the flame, but instead he feeds the fire and prays that this time it spreads from his heart to yours.

//

“Where’d you get all of this?” Sunwoo questions one day when you show up at the motel with a suitcase full of equipment. An assortment of laptops, earpieces, weapons, and randomly picked gadgets.

“Took it from Pegasus before I left,” you smirk, pulling out an earpiece and holding it out in front of his ear. “You’re usually on the field, right? The one in action?” He nods. “Good, you can be the agent for this mission then,” you mumble, setting down the earpiece and holding up another. “I’m usually the person behind the computer anyways. Was even a handler for a mission in Seoul once.” You place the earpiece in his palm and begin to pull out the other pieces of equipment from the suitcase.

“What about Vienna?” Sunwoo says, inspecting a certain gadget from the case. “You were on the field then.” And it’s a question that would’ve been asked with malice if it had come up a couple weeks ago, but right now, there’s nothing but curiosity behind Sunwoo’s words.

“Oh,” you hesitate, a small smile appearing briefly, “I guess I do both.”

Sunwoo doesn’t ponder over your answer for long.

It’s later that day, right as you’re about to leave, that you frown at Sunwoo’s head, matter-of-factly saying, “you should change your hair before the mission.” Then, with a laugh bubbling behind your teeth, you add, “again.”

(Sunwoo changed his appearance a lot. One of the tactics that had stuck from his training days. Never really in big ways, but small changes here and there every couple of months. Sometimes it was a new piercing that he’d wear for a year and let close up in the next, and other times the change came in the form of a temporary tattoo imprinted on his neck whilst in Vancouver with Kevin. When Sunwoo met you in Vienna his hair was a light brown that he had gotten done in Tokyo and hadn’t bothered to touch up since. So when the time had come to change something again, he headed to the hair salon.

“When’d you do this?” you asked him that night, running a hand through the new red hair. 

“Just today.” He answered, hoping you wouldn’t ask for a reason. 

“I like it.” 

“More than the brown?”

“Way more.” You whispered, leaning in until he felt the breath of your words on his lips. 

And in the moment before you closed the distance, Sunwoo had made a silent vow to never change his hair again.)

Sunwoo gets his hair done the day after you suggest it, and when he returns to the motel from the salon, he finds you already there.

“Oh good, you’re back.” You mumble, arms full and an extra key card to his room that he had given you out of convenience a while back held between your teeth. “I just came to drop these off because I have to go to—" you stop, straightening yourself and eyes fixated on him. “You got your hair done.”

It’s an observation, a small, stupid thing really. A comment made in passing that should feel routine with as much time as you and Sunwoo spend together and one that should feel even more mundane considering you were the one to suggest it. But there’s something about the way you say the words that makes Sunwoo feel slightly breathless anyways. “Yeah,” he finally affirms, running a hand through his now black hair, “I did.”

You nod in acknowledgement, setting the things in your hands down, then turn to leave. 

“Wait,” he calls out. You do, pausing three paces away from the door and give a long look to the hand he’s placed on your arm to stop you before turning around to face him. And the next words seem to fall off the edge of Sunwoo’s mouth at that moment, tumbling back down his throat and landing heavily in the pit of his stomach. “Do you still…” he hesitates, attempting to smooth over the nervousness folding up in the corners of his mind. 

“What?” 

“Do you still like my hair?”

You consider it for a moment, bringing a hand up to tug at the new black fringe. And there’s something unmistakably domestic about the way you tilt your head in concentration, eyes fixed on Sunwoo’s hair as if there’s nothing more important for you to be doing in this moment. He watches you evaluate his hair closely. 

“Yeah,” you finally say, eyes meeting his and something like a double meaning swimming in them, “I still like it.”

//

The first mission goes smoothly thanks to you sitting back at the motel instructing Sunwoo which turns to take and what files to download. So with a flash drive containing all the information he needs to free himself from the agency stuffed in his pocket, he turns to leave, whispering into his earpiece, “is the exit path clear?”

“Shit.”

He stops walking. “What?”

“It’s blocked. I think I can get you out another way, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Just tell me.”

“Okay, go one story below. Take two rights and then a left.” He does as you say, feet hitting the ground as quietly and as quickly as possible. The less time he spends in the building the better. “At the end of the hall, there’s a window.” You say once he’s near the place you directed him too. His stomach drops. “Jump from it.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He breathes, studying the drop with grimace. “I really hate heights.”

“I know.” And there’s a misplaced softness when Sunwoo hears you mutter, “I remember.” You wait a beat. “Do you trust me?” 

“Do I trust you?” He echoes, dread and disbelief coating his words. “I don’t even—”

“Just answer the question, Sunwoo. Do you?”

“I—” he studies the drop again, thinks and overthinks the newfound steadiness in your voice. Quietly, he mumbles, “yeah.”

“Then jump.” You tell him how exactly to do it as well, where to find the rope you packed and which hook is best to use. He does as you say, preparing for a jump he hasn’t decided to take yet. And once everything is prepared, the only thing that passes between you and Sunwoo on the intercom is silence. “Hey,” you mutter after a long while, something like a joke audible in your voice, “you jump; I jump, jack.”

“Except you aren’t jumping.”

“Technically, yes, that’s true but—”

“Okay, okay, okay. Shut up.” Sunwoo inhales deeply, closing his eyes and letting silence fill the intercom again. The silence, however, is interrupted the second he hears a group of voices travelling from somewhere down the hall. His eyes snap open.

“Sunwoo—”

“Fuck it.”

He jumps.

— 

“You’re bleeding.” Is the first thing Sunwoo hears when he walks through the motel room’s door, quickly followed by you rushing to him, tilting his head with a finger against his chin, and inspecting the cut above his eyebrow. 

“Yeah well your little jump stunt didn’t make for the smoothest of landings.” 

He means it as a joke. A bad one he realizes when you pull your hand away, eyes dropping from his face and guilt hanging over your head. “Sorry about that.” 

He shrugs. “It didn’t kill me.” 

“Come on,” you beckon, grabbing the first aid kit and heading to the bathroom, “I’ll help you bandage them.” 

Sunwoo sits on top of the closed toilet lid, folding up his pant leg to examine the gash running across his shin. The cut, he realizes, isn’t nearly as bad as it feels, but you make a small face at the sight of it anyways. It doesn’t take you very long to clean the cut on his leg, quickly finishing it while kneeling on the cold bathroom tile and asking him questions about the mission.

“No stitches?” He wonders when you pat a bandage in place.

You shake your head. “You should be fine. Nothing more than a gloried scrape really.” You add teasingly while rearranging the objects in the first aid kit. And when you laugh at the look he gives you for the comment, Sunwoo does his best to ignore the fluttering that appears in his gut at the sound. 

You move on from the cut on his leg, placing the first aid kid on top of the counter and poking the bruise that’s forming above his knee before getting up yourself. He smacks your hand away.

“How’d you know about my fear of heights by the way?”

“You told me one night in Vienna.” You answer, tearing open an alcohol wipe packet. “Do you not remember?”

He shakes his head.

Frowning, you let out a small, “oh.”

Neither of you say anything after that. And Sunwoo’s so focused on the frown that’s yet to leave your face that he barely registers the way you lean towards him for better access, propping your knee on top of the toilet and between his legs for balance. Although he does notice the warmth that radiates off your body. And a minute after that, he notices how much longer it takes you to clean this, smaller cut than it took to clean the one on his leg.

“Sorry.” You quickly apologize when you press against the cut too harshly. Sunwoo waves you off. “I am sorry though.” You repeat, seriously, lips still turned down in a frown and brows knit together.

“It’s really fine.” He chuckles, amused by the amount of gravity in the apology. 

“No. For Vienna.” The amusement dies in the back of his throat. “I never apologized for…” you falter there, fingers paused against his forehead, “for that. But I am sorry.”

“It was your mission.” Sunwoo gulps. “You were being a good agent.”

“And a shitty person.” You say, no hint of a joke laced in the statement. “In fact, the mission was just to observe you. Make sure you didn’t find out anything too important about Pegasus. Meeting you was mostly on accident. And everything that followed,” you bite your lip, and Sunwoo can’t tell if you’re biting back a smile or a frown, “all those other parts just sort of came naturally.”

The flame in his chest from before bursts into a bonfire, filling his lungs with a hopeful smoke. “Naturally?” He echoes.

“Yeah,” you repeat, tongue darting out in concentration while you complete the last step of smoothing out the bandage. You don’t lean away when you finish. You don’t remove your knee from between his legs. Don’t pull away the hand you have holding back his hair or the one resting against the side of his face. Nothing but your eyes move, trailing down until they find his, visibly gulping, then wandering further below. “Naturally.”

And the word is like a spell, lifting his chin and drawing him towards you until his lips are brushing against yours. It’s barely a kiss, a small hesitant press of lips that lasts no longer than a second, but one that has Sunwoo’s heart pounding wildly in a way it never did three months ago. He pauses there, lips unmoving and hovering just below yours, waiting for you.

You don’t move. Neither leaning in nor away. His gaze flickers up to your eyes, finds them half open, focused on the upper curve of his lip. He captures your lips between his again, a second attempt that is met with response when you lean into it, inhaling him in for a tiny blissful moment and exhaling him out in the next, pushing him back by the shoulders and stepping away yourself.

“I should…”

“Fuck.”

“I should go.”

And you’re gone before he can say anything else. 

// 

The kiss is ignored by both of you while prepping for the second half of the mission. A silent agreement to act like it never even happened and another one to not discuss whatever misplaced feelings led to it. It’s almost sickening how easily you and Sunwoo fall back into being just partners. Especially considering the fact that Sunwoo’s feelings haven’t faded, the bonfire in his chest still burning with the same brightness. So Sunwoo spends his days with you, attempting to put out the fire between his lungs, and he spends his nights alone, replaying the kiss you both pretend to ignore.

“Tomorrow’s the big day.” You mutter on the last night, a trail of anxiousness slipping off your tongue. “And then we’ll be done.” 

Sunwoo only nods, watching how your tongue pokes the inside of your cheek and mulling over whether you mean done with the mission or done with him.

--

The Pegasus mission doesn’t go nearly as smoothly as the Creker one, complications toppling around Sunwoo from the moment he begins. They start small first: a locked door resulting in a change of entry and a janitor straggling in a hallway that should have been clear. He makes it to his first destination eventually, quickly shuffling through the room of file cabinets until he finds your physical files, slipping them into his bag, and heading to the next room with you whispering directions into his ear. The next room is empty when Sunwoo arrives. He works quick, bypassing the security system and fingers flying across to find your information.

“Faster.” He hears you mutter over the earpiece. A hasty reminder of what you had told him earlier that week: the room never stays empty for long.

“Got it.” He exhales, finally pinpointing your files and beginning the process of downloading and deleting them.

“Sunwoo,” he hears an elevator ding from somewhere outside the room at the same time he hears you, “someone’s coming.”

He doesn’t move. Keeping one eye on the closed door and the other on the still-pending status of your files. “I’m almost done.”

“If you leave now, they won’t see you.” Voices fill the hall. “But you have to leave now.”

“I’m not done yet.”

The voices move closer, louder. “It’s not worth it. Please, just go!”

He hears them behind the door. “It’s you.”

There’s a jingle of keys. “How will you—”

“Hey,” the door unlocks with a click, “you jump; I jump, right?”

“Sunwoo—”

He pulls the earpiece out at the exact moment that the door swings open.

-- 

The rooftop is obscenely pretty at this hour, with the golden sun partly hidden by a high-rise building but still growing in the distance, scattering its light across the sky, and casting a golden shadow on everything it touches. It’s a gorgeous sight, and yet, there’s no one but Sunwoo here to appreciate it.

“You’re okay.”

He whips around only to find you standing on the rooftop with him, body trembling and hands clasped over your mouth. Behind you, the door to the roof is still falling closed. Your eyes are red, dark circles hanging under them that make it look as if you haven’t slept days. Silently, Sunwoo wonders how he’s just now noticing your sudden restlessness, and a small part of him hopes—no prays that whatever’s chasing your sleep away is the same thing chasing his.

“I got it.” He says, pulling out the flash drive he stayed to retrieve. Your eyes never flicker off his. “How’d you find me?”

“How’d you get out?”

Neither of you answer. Instead, you begin to walk towards him, asking if he’s hurt with a voice that’s too soft and too concerned for Sunwoo to make out an answer. You ask it again.

“No, I’m not hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

You stop in front of him. Close enough for Sunwoo to see the tears welled up in your eyes. “You’re okay.” You repeat, voice wavering with a sudden gust of wind.

“I am, but I—” he hesitates; you take a step towards him, “I miss you.” He succumbs to the fire in his chest; lets it fill his lungs, burn up his throat, and throw the sentence, “I just miss you so much,” out of his mouth without bothering to hide the crack in it.

He meets your eyes and finds a starling amount of clarity in them. “I missed you too.”

“Really?”

You laugh at that, nodding your head and stepping closer to him again. “I missed you before we ever met.”

He stares at you. For too long probably. Watches a smile grace your features, spreading like a fire. The flame feels familiar. And for the first time since seeing you after Vienna, Sunwoo doesn’t have to hold back the urge to ask, “Can I kiss you now?”

“Please.”

He does. Lips crashing into yours, and you meeting the motion halfway, leaning into his lips, his body, him. A fervent want present in the way you pull at his neck and grab onto the collar of his shirt that would’ve probably been surprising if it wasn’t matched completely by him. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his and deepening the kiss for a second more.

You both pull away, just barely, faces still close and bodies pressed against each other.

“Hey,” you begin, breath hot against his lips and a knowing smirk appearing briefly, “was I worth the wait?”

And suddenly Sunwoo’s in Vienna again, sitting on a bench, and asking you the same question.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, smiling, “you were.”

//

a/n: i apologize this request took me forever to get around too. and if the actual spy aspects to this fic make zero sense then my bad i was spit balling here. brownie points if u can find the scene inspired by queens gambit and the other scene inspired by the office lmao

[tiny-maus-boots]

Linchpin

A/N: I know I know. Here I am with the start of something else entirely instead of finishing all the other 2734387423 other open projects I have. But this is for Kate’s bday, albeit a few days early. 

Happy Birthday Workplace Proximity Acquaintance. @smolletts

ALSO: y’all. Just...watch.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2bql02sOBf4&feature=youtu.be

01. 

"Mind if I sit here?"

Aubrey looked up from the newspaper she was rereading for the second time that morning. She wasn't that much of an avid reader of current events to have spent the time on it, but she'd been stalling. Stretching her time in the quaint Cuban bakery from her usual routine of 13 minutes to an unprecedented 39.

She had almost given up and gone on about her day, resolving herself to stop thinking about the gorgeous brunette with mile long legs and a smile that blasted right past the barrier of cool analytic thought that Aubrey managed her world through.

And here she was in the flesh, voice as soft as all the curves that Aubrey couldn't keep her gaze from dropping to before she remembered her manners and nodded with a smooth gesture at the table between them. The other woman smiled coyly and put her drink down before slipping into the only other empty seat in the small dining area.

"Thanks. I forgot how busy this place gets at this time."

Aubrey quirked a brief smile at that and nodded again. They had been playing a careful dance of covert glances and flirtatious smiles for months. And if she were being honest with herself it was the closest thing to dating she'd done since she left the CIA to take a position with the FBI. Though was it really dating if you were just spy banging an asset for information? There were too many thoughts suddenly crowding her brain, pulling her back to a life she didn’t want to remember and she had to give herself a slight shake to settle her focus.

"It's gotten busier now that the hipsters have discovered it. I guess I should feel bad for hogging a table to myself every morning."

"Nah you're not bad. You're here what? 15 minutes tops? Long enough to read your paper, eat a pastelito and punish yourself with a steaming cup of acid."

It startled a laugh out of her, and Aubrey felt the sudden need to put distance between them. Her brain telling her that it was best to change her schedule, choose a new coffee shop, retreat, it was an echo from a past life of as an operator. She had to remind herself that this life didn't require a deft and abrupt change every time the wind blew east.

"Should I be more alarmed by the fact that you're watching me or that you think my coffee order is bad?"

"First, you've known for three months that I've been watching you. And can you blame me for having eyes? And second, this..." The woman reached out and carefully slid Aubrey's coffee cup out of her hand and replaced it with her own. It was ridiculous, they were strangers and she had no idea if the other woman had done something to the drink. Yet she was tempted to taste it the second the warmth of the woman's hands pressed her fingers around the new cup. "Is coffee, what you were drinking before is a sin."

"Did you put something in this?"

She could have cursed herself for her suspicious second nature, but the brunette seemed to take in stride, head tipping back with the bubble of laughter that erupted.

"Absolutely. Two sugars." The laugh made her own lips tug into a smile and Aubrey brought the cup up to taste the steaming liquid. The coffee was delicious of course but, in all fairness, it could have been the worst swill ever created. Aubrey couldn’t focus past the amusement in the other woman’s eyes. Her heart skipped a beat and she wondered if it was a jolt from the caffeine or the lazy smile on the brunette’s face. “So, what do you think?”

“I think I might have to change my coffee order.”

The smile grew and her heart skipped forward in double time. Definitely not the coffee. A sharp chirp broke the shared held breath between them, and Aubrey reached into the inner pocket of her jacket. She pulled her phone out and glanced at the display with a disappointed sigh.

“Time to go?”

Aubrey raised her head at the question, thumb already pressing the sleep button to black the screen out before it was seen. The woman raised a brow but didn’t ask any questions. It was different. There were always questions, and with questions came demands, and with demands came responsibilities. It was tiring always trying to remember what lie went with what cover, more tiring to just speak the truth of her life.

“Unfortunately. Duty calls so I had better…”

“Sure, I have a date to get ready for anyway.”

It was early for a date and it piqued her own curiosity and something else. Something deeper than her reflexive need to know everything about all the players in the game. Disappointment echoed through her and she knew it was silly. They weren’t a couple; they didn’t even know each other. A few months of watching each across a crowded room didn’t a relationship make. And yet… Aubrey offered a polite but blank smile and a short nod.

“I hope your date has something special planned.”

The woman stood, everything in her body suggesting so much more than a casual flirt between strangers. She leaned over and took one of the napkins that Aubrey had neatly stacked and piled on the table. Her smile turned sultry as she produced a pen, she clicked it and scribbled something before sliding it toward the blonde.

“Guess we’ll find out when you pick me up.”

Aubrey sat back in her chair as she pulled the napkin closer. It was just an address and a time. 8 pm sharp. She raised a brow but couldn’t force the smile from her face. In another place, in another time, she would have agreed and disappeared long before there was time to make a connection let alone have a date. Maybe it was time to try things differently, this was after all, her only life to lead now.

“You know I don’t normally go out with strange women. Especially when I don’t know their names.”

“My name is Stacie.” Something flitted through the gold flecked green eyes, her smile turning bemused for just a breath of a second. Stacie gave an amused half chuckle and pointed at the coffee cup. “And we’re not strangers. I bought you coffee.”

Aubrey looked down at the cup and back up, but the tall woman was already halfway to the door. She stopped to toss a smirk over her shoulder at the blonde and Aubrey felt that surprising surge of adrenaline pump through her, kicking her heart into overdrive.

“Oh Posen…you are in trouble.”

----

 “So how was that for a first date?”

“Hm. Does it count as a first date when we’ve been having coffee together every morning for months?”

Aubrey laughed and tucked her hands into the pockets of her slacks. It’d been a weird day in the office, her mind too scattered to focus on the current killer du jour. It wasn’t like her and her partner, Swanson, was all too happy to point it out. But planning out a date at the last minute had thrown her off kilter and she’d spent more time thinking about that than her job. She had to rely on something familiar and more personal instead of a perfectly planned event.

“Considering the first time we spoke was this morning I’m going to say yes.”

“Definitely a treat. I don’t know if I’m more impressed by your mastery of Latin dance or your flawless Spanish. Where’d you learn?”

“I picked up a little here and there.” It was vague and she knew it but how did you tell a date that you learned it during 18 months under cover in Belize?

“Very mysterious.”

“You say that like you aren’t intrigued.”

The tall woman at her side laughed and slid an arm through hers and Aubrey’s muscles twitched reflexively when the movement blocked access to the gun holstered under her arm. Her neck and shoulders bunched with tension as Stacie looked at her with raised a brow when she felt the hard edge of the grip.

“Is that a gun in your suit or are you just happy to see me?”

“You’re not even a little surprised are you?” Stacie smiled and Aubrey felt the world drop out from under her. She only knew she was on solid ground because the other woman never once faltered in her stride. “About the gun I mean.”

“Should I be? Everything about you screams cop.”

Aubrey gasped lightly at that. “It does not!”

The brunette snorted and gestured vaguely at Aubrey. “Baby, you’re wearing that suit like it’s your superhero costume. Understated make up, hair up in a stylish yet no nonsense hairdo, no jewelry save a watch. My guess is you’re trying to convince yourself and everyone else that this who you are.”

It was too much truth in one statement and gravity hit, weighting her down from her gut. Aubrey cleared her throat and raised a shoulder in a half shrug, playing it off casually despite the fact that it was anything but casual conversation to her. The knot in her shoulder tightened even more and she rolled her neck trying to loosen it.

“You don’t think this is who I am?”

Stacie stopped them in front of an apartment building and stood facing her. Their eyes met and she felt seen. No. Not just seen, exposed. Stacie was reading her as easily as she read every suspect to ever sit in her interrogation room.

“That watch you wear? It’s expensive and has more complications on it than gauges in the cockpit of a 747. I bet it cost at least seven grand and don’t get me started on those shoes.”

“Eight not that it matters.” Aubrey looked down then frowned at her date. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”

“Nothing. But they’re as high end as the watch on your wrist and I don’t recall Ferragamo pumps being standard issue to cops.”

“Well, Federal Agents get a bigger budget, so…”

Stacie narrowed her eyes slightly, her smile turning knowing and Aubrey reached up to rub her neck and shoulder to ease the tightness there. She was uncomfortable being laid so bare to a stranger. It had been too long since someone could see past whatever façade she put up.

“You’re not just a Fed. Why don’t you want anyone to see who you are, Aubrey?”

“Well that’s a conversation for a second date.”

Stacie’s grin changed, going soft and coy at the prospect of another date they both already knew would happen. As uncomfortable as Stacie made her, as exposed as she felt…she kind of liked it. Liked that she couldn’t hide who she was inside, somehow that made it all the more real to her. If this was the only life she had to lead she didn’t want to do it alone. Maybe now it was time for her to let go of the habits she already knew led to nothing but brief entanglements that ended up meaning less than nothing.

“You know you’ve been nursing that shoulder half the night.”

“It’s nothing, just a tweaked muscle.”

Stacie stared at her a moment longer and stepped in close, her hand trailing along the lapel of Aubrey’s blazer. Her heart stuttered and sped into overdrive when the brunette’s full lips twitched into a smile that said she knew so many things Aubrey couldn’t even begin to fathom to guess.

“Ah, well. You do know that I’m a licensed massage therapist. I could totally help you out with your kink.” Aubrey’s laugh tumbled out at the teasing waggle of eyebrows. “No but for serious. Come up. I promise to find all your sore spots.”

There was a hint of something just under the surface but she couldn’t put her finger on it. And maybe before that would have been enough of a red flag to make her take a pass but there was something in the other woman’s eyes that called to her like a siren song. Desire coiled low in her gut and Aubrey nodded her agreement. Stacie took her by the hand and led her up the stairs into the large brick front building.

“Nice place, how long have you been here?”

“Not long, just a few months.”

Aubrey nodded distractedly at that as Stacie casually flung her long hair over a shoulder. She was barely aware of the woman unlocking the door, too caught up in the light scent of her perfume and the soft expanse of neck that dipped delicately at her collarbone.

The first-floor apartment was larger than she expected with splashes of bright color against the backdrop of a soothing gray on the walls and furniture. The blonde’s eyes darted everywhere, internally cataloguing everything she saw and its placement in the room. The lock clicking behind her seemed so loud in the quiet, dim interior of the apartment.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

She gave a slight shake of her head. “I’m good.”

“Except for that shoulder that has you looking like Quasimodo.” Both brows shot up and Stacie laughed playfully before taking her hand once more. “C’mon, let me show you the way.”

“Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly…”

She couldn’t ignore the slight tingle of anticipation that skittered down her spine and Aubrey’s voice came out a soft rasp as she blindly followed the other woman into a smaller room that she used for treating her clients. Stacie moved to a linen closet and pulled out a bath sheet sized towel to set on the massage table. Her gaze trailed up Aubrey’s body and lingered for a few seconds before she turned away to turn on the aroma therapy diffuser.

“There is a hanger behind the screen for your clothes. Just come on out when you’re ready. I won’t peek. Much.”

If Stacie expected her to be shy, she was mistaken. Aubrey had lost any shame in her body during the early days of her career when she’d had to learn that nudity and sex were less important than keeping your cover. The screen was an unnecessary attempt to preserve modesty and Aubrey didn’t think twice about peeling off the layers of her Special Agent costume where she stood.

The sound of her slacks dropping to the ground caught Stacie’s attention and she turned, her lips pursed into a surprised little ‘o’ as she took in every inch of the blonde. Aubrey smirked and settled face down on the table, all the muscles in her body jumping with the weight of tension in the air. A finger trailed along her spine in a gentle caress making her back twitch in warning at a danger her mind couldn’t quite perceive.

Long fingered hands flattened over her shoulders and back down her back spreading warm oil over her skin with practiced ease. It wasn’t the first time that day that she thought she was in trouble, but it was less and less alarming the lower those masterful hands roamed. Maybe Stacie was dangerous for her…but what girl didn’t like a little danger?

Stacie gave a low chuckle as her hands slid over Aubrey’s hip to trail down the back of a toned thigh. “Oh…I think I am going to be in all the right kinda trouble.”

Well. At least she wasn’t the only one.

[masqueradingwriter]

Querencia [ Part 4 ]

🌸 Pairing: Jungkook x reader (Y/N) ※ Yoongi x reader (Y/N)

🌸 Author’s Note:  Man, I lost sleep for a few days; it’s giving me a headache. Good news: I finally have time to do what I like to do: writing and making content.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? I don’t want you to get in trouble…”

“Relax y/n, I’ve done this multiple times and I was fine the next day.”

“...Today would be a good day to counter that statement.”

“Don’t jinx it then and stop worrying. C’mon, it’s just around the corner.”

The skies were painted with the sunset hues of pinks, blues, and lavender as Jungkook led the way through the streets of Seoul. Everywhere I looked, it was filled with people either rushing to go home after a day’s work or with students finding places to recover from school. The weather was just right; not too hot and not too cold.

It was honestly a perfect afternoon if not for the fact that it worried me so much that we went out without his manager. He at least had his usual disguise on but let’s be real: when did it ever actually work?

“...You’re frowning again, y/n. You’re gonna get wrinkles early if you keep that up.”

“I wouldn’t be getting wrinkles soon if you just told your manager beforehand what we’re up to.”

“We’re not gonna do something stupid. Have a little faith in me.”

We walked through a narrow path with no people passing by and simple houses decorated on our left and right. Jungkook brought me inside a tiny cafe that was stationed next to one. It was a camera and photography themed cafe colored in earthy tones and a royal blue. It looked cozy; with a wooden structure and with tiny baby’s breath flowers growing in the flower boxes under the glass windows. It reminded me of a cabin inside a busy city.

Jungkook pushed the door open; a tiny bell ringing signaling the staff and we were welcomed with the typical smells of coffee beans with a hint of pine. The speakers were playing Eddy Kim’s song from the Goblin OST and the walls had displays of cameras from different eras caged in glass boxes. A lot of scenery photos hung beside the displays and the tables were filled with succulents as centerpieces. As I looked up, my eyes widened a bit as the source of light came from scattered driftwood with lightbulbs hanging like raindrops. The AC was humming quietly and the small sounds of dishes being placed away resounded from the kitchen.

It was so peaceful and serene.

No customers were inside; only a young girl behind the counter. She looked like she was fresh from high school. As we walked towards her, she gave us a tiny a smile and words of welcome. Jungkook removed his mask and the girl’s eyes twinkled in recognition.

“Oppa, welcome back! It’s been a while since I saw you!” She said.

“Hi, Nayoung-ah. I know, I’m sorry it’s been really busy. How are you? Did you do okay with your exams?” He greeted with a bunny smile.

I stood beside him awkwardly not knowing what to do or say. It seemed like they’ve known each other for a long time.

“I’m doing good, nothing interesting happening lately. I have another one in a few days and then I’ll be waiting for the results to come out. Who’s this with you oppa?” She asked; giving me an equally warm smile.

“Oh yeah, this is y/n! She’s a really close friend of ours. Y/N, this is Nayoung. She’s my cousin. Her parents own this cafe and she helps out whenever she has free time.” He introduced as I waved at her.

“Ohh! She’s y/n that you’ve bee-”

Before she could even finish what she was saying, he placed his hand to cover her mouth and laughed awkwardly. She looked confused at this and raised an eyebrow.

“R-right, Nayoung-ah, you know what I like so I’ll get that. Y/n’s getting a regular iced vanilla latte with a drop of hazelnut.” He ordered while taking out his wallet.

Nayoung pushed his hand away from her face with a tiny nod and proceeded to ring up the orders. I was about to pay for my drink when Jungkook stopped me from getting my wallet out.

“I got this, y/n, I’m treating you out after all. Why don’t you go and choose a seat for us? I’m gonna catch up a bit with Nayoung.” He said; giving her his personal card.

Turning around and quickly surveying the area, I decided to go for the walnut-colored couch near the entrance. Jungkook and Nayoung conversed in hush tones as she made our drinks; obviously not letting me hear what they were talking about. I amused myself with the photos that were framed behind me.

Not one photo was captured in the same location but the style was the same. There was always a man with his back turned to the camera as the central focus. His clothes varied to fit the season and he was always holding a bouquet of baby’s breath and purple hydrangeas on his right hand. After looking closely, it seemed like this photographer’s set locations were either in Seoul or in Busan.

“Pretty right?”

Jungkook placed our drinks on the table as he sat across from me. I held my iced coffee and took a few sips before answering him.

“They are. Whoever took these has a great eye.” I complimented.

“What’s your favorite one?” He asked with a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Ohh hmm, it would have to be that one.”

I pointed to the photo that showed a park with cherry blossom trees fully blooming. The petals were dancing around like a whirlwind around the man. He was, however, holding a couple of cherry blossoms instead of the baby’s breath and purple hydrangeas.

“It’s really pretty and romantic. It’s a wonder how the photographer was able to capture this knowing that parks with cherry blossom in season are usually filled with people. He or she managed to get one with just that man and no one else. Plus, the cherry blossom petals suspended but twirled around him? On a captured photo? It’s breathtaking.” I ranted with awe while staring at the photo.

Jungkook softly smiled.

“Thanks, that’s one of my favorite ones too. Took me a while to get the perfect shot.”

I could’ve sworn I would’ve suffered whiplash with how strong my head turned at his statement. My eyes were widened in surprise.

“Wait, you’re the photographer?!” I exclaimed.

He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal and continued to sip his iced americano.

“Yup. My auntie was pushing me to give her photos when she and uncle set this place up. I didn’t want to at first but she was really persuasive. She never told me that she going for a camera and photography themed cafe so imagine the surprise when she invited me over to the soft opening.” He explained.

“Wow…”

“Rendered speechless there from my amazing skills, y/n? I know, I’m awesome.” He smirked.

I rolled my eyes and made a threat like I was about to throw my coffee at him; to which he automatically raised his arms in order to shield himself.

“Way to ruin the mood, coconut head.”

“Coconut head?! Hey, I was only stating the truth! You literally gave me compliments!”

“My regrets are coming to mind and this would be one of them.”

“Seriously, how dare you.”

“I retract everything.”

I gave him a blank stare and he gave me a wide grin.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Nope. I’m completely serious. This is it.”

A group of screaming kids ran past me with their mothers chasing after them as I facepalmed at his blunt answer. My nostrils were invaded with the scent of popcorn and fried food as he pulled me inside the street fair. The clowns were juggling, the gymnasts were flipping, and the kids were on sugar highs; terrorizing their parents with their antics.

Stalls were lining the street ranging from food, drinks, clothes, mini-games, and novelty items. The rides were located at the far end of the street such as a falling star, carousel, double shot drop tower, and a skydiver to name a few.

Somehow, during all of me trying to absorb the reality of finding myself in this fast-paced event, my head became a resting place for a headband with black cat ears and I was holding a stick of pink cotton candy. Jungkook was all smiles and he was sporting gray bunny ears on his head.

“My little kitty~” he cooed.

I couldn’t help the blush forming on my cheeks and punched his arm.

“Can you not?!” I screamed.

“Oww! What the hell?!” He screamed back while rubbing his arm.

“Why is your mask down?! Put it back up! Oh my god, why would you bring me here you’re gonna get discovered sooner! I was fine with the cafe and the coffee, seriously, why would you do this to yourself?!” I ranted like a machine gun as I tried to put his mask back up.

He leaned far enough so my hands wouldn’t reach his face.

“Yah, y/n are you blind? It’s just a bunch of kids here and it’s night time! Plus, didn’t you hear what Nayoung said earlier? Students are at home busy studying for their exams. No one is gonna recognize me here.”

“Your fan base ranges from kids to grandparents, moron.”

“Girl, these kids are high. Parents will be too busy trying to catch them rather than to stop and stare at my beautiful face.”

“You spend too much time with Jin.”

“POINT IS,” he said rolling his eyes “No one’s gonna bother us so c’mon, the drop tower is summoning me. You should be enjoying this, I am paying for everything after all. Let’s go!!!”

He didn’t give me any time at all to say my peace as he dragged me like a rag doll to the drop tower. I sighed and decided to just let it go.

For three straight hours, we went through multiple rounds of all the rides available. He never ran out of energy and adrenaline; his excited screams piercing through the air every time there was a drop or a sudden curve. He’d give me heart attacks for suddenly pulling out his phone and filming us two in the middle of a ride rush. He’ll play around like pretending to drop his phone or unbuckling my safety belt. He got scolded twice by the ride managers for doing so.

During the carousel rides, instead of sitting in one horse like a normal human being, he decided to run the opposite way around while it was turning the other way. I laughed hard when he slipped and almost fell off the ride. He wanted to beat his record of running faster as each round we took passed on.

The best was when we went on the skydiver. He placed his phone on a selfie stick to take memes of himself during the ride and it started breaking half from the sheer force of the turns. His face went from derp to horror in a split second; worried that the stick will break completely as his phone was hanging to its inevitable death.

Karma was real.

We went through the stalls during the last hour of its opening hours; buying random trinkets to bring back to the members. He whined saying they didn’t need it but I hit him once again; telling him to be nicer to his hyungs. I made him buy a huge gift for his manager as an apology for disappearing on him and being a brat.

Our time in the fair ended with us binging on the street food and running away from a kid who thought Jungkook was the real LINE character Cony when he was trying on a mascot head. He never did get to pay for that and just went with it. I wanted to go back; feeling guilty for not paying but he said, and I quote, “I deserve this head he gave me” while laughing like a maniac for his innuendo.

“You know, I was a little nervous about this but I gotta say I really had a fun time tonight. But wow are you giving me a workout.” I murmured.

Jungkook decided that walking to my apartment complex was the best way to travel instead of taking the subway. It was at least half an hour away by foot plus we were carrying our purchases from the fair. I was close to just dropping myself in a trash bin and making it my home.

“Hey, it’s the best way to at least get a head start on burning the calories we had from the junk we ate.” He reasoned while walking backward facing me.

“You couldn’t give me this one night to just indulge in my bloatedness?”

He shook his head and I sighed.

“No use fighting with you about this huh?”

“You could but you know deep inside you’re gonna regret not doing something about your bloatedness the following day. I know you.”

I hummed at his response. Our walk was quiet and oddly comfortable. The crickets were chirping softly as our background music and the full moon was our natural lighting. It was really late already so the city was sleeping. As we arrived, Jungkook looked like he was pondering about something so serious.

“You okay there?” I asked.

“Uhm, so...” He started while rubbing his neck.

“What is it?”

“I-I’ve been meaning to ask, where did you get that necklace?”

My hand flew to grip the serotonin necklace that was dangling from my neck. He stared at me curiously waiting for me to answer.

“Ohh, Yoongi oppa gave it to me…” I said in a small voice.

His body stiffened in a split second when he heard this and then we were back in a silence bubble. Only this time, I could feel the tension in the air. He leaned on the gate with his hands hidden inside the pockets of his jacket after placing down the plastic bags on the floor.

“Jungkook, whatever it is you’re thinking, you need to stop. He’s your hyung and your member.”

“And what is he to you exactly?”

I failed to reply right away; thoughts swimming through my head. I didn’t think this night would end with him asking me the one question that I was trying to avoid.

“Y/n, seriously, why is he so close to you? You guys were literally avoiding each other before and now you guys are going around holding hands and ‘hanging out’ in his studio? Even while he’s working?” He said with an annoyed voice; using his fingers to emphasize ‘hanging out’ to me.

“Are you for real right now?” I said irked. “Are you seriously going to ask me this right now?”

“Why? Am I not allowed to ask these things? Am I not allowed to at least care?”

“I can’t believe you’re ambushing me with all of these questions.”

“I’m not ambushing you! You’re literally evading my questions. You’re refusing to give me any answers so this is all on you. You’re making it hard on yourself”

“Jungkook, he’s my best friend.”

“Best friends don’t hold your hands for long periods of time, spend lots of days together, or ask for you in the middle of the night. Be honest with me, are you sleeping with hyung? Is that what this is? Revenge on me?”

Tears started pricking at my eyes but I willed myself not to let them fall. His words were painful and it stung so bad. I didn’t realize I was stepping back a bit from him until I felt his aura went from accusing to guilt in a complete turn. He finally realized what he was spouting at me and visibly flinched at how I reacted. He looked down, avoiding my stare.

“...I fucked it up again, didn’t I?” He whispered.

I didn’t say anything. I was afraid that my voice will falter and the fast-paced beating of my heart rendered me stunned. He ruffled his hair in annoyance and sighed loudly.

“Sorry. This night was supposed to be spent with me apologizing for my attitude and yet here I am doing exactly what I was apologizing for. You know what? It’s obvious you don’t wanna tell me anything. It’s fine, it’s your life, who am I to interfere again right?” He said; laughing off the tense air he created.

“You should get some rest now. We did a lot today. I’ll text you when I get back to the dorm, is that okay?”

I gave him a tiny smile and nodded my head.

“Of course it is…”

“Alright, sleep well y/n. I’ll see you whenever.”

He reached out to pat me on the head awkwardly and then walked away. Not once did he turn back to look at me again. As soon as he disappeared into the corner, I sighed loudly in relief and my shoulders sagged from the stress that I was placed in.

My heart was still beating fast and my hands were shaking a bit from the episode that happened. It was so clear that he wanted something from me and yet I was so scared facing him.

‘You’re so pathetic, y/n’ I thought while mentally hitting myself.

The elevator ride and walk to my apartment door was just me scolding my existence. Honestly, what the fuck, why do these things happen to me?

‘Oh right, that’s because you’re a little shithead.’

It saddened me to think that another night ended on a somewhat sour note again. My mind went back to the time we spent together at the cafe and the fair. It felt so natural, surreal, and too good to be true.

Jungkook may have good intentions and I wanted so badly to stick to that fact.

Just when I was about to feel a little bit better about the day, my phone buzzed and the last person that I could ever think of messaging me appeared right in my inbox.

Fuck.

[ Masterlist ]  [ Part 3 ]  ↭  [ Part 5 ]

[dragonbat2011]

Reaching Out ‘Til We Reach the Circle’s End—Chapter 6

For earlier chapters: https://dragonbat2011.tumblr.com/post/621379453957865473/reaching-out-til-we-reach-the-circles-end-toc

(Or read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326794?view_full_work=true)

Rumple had known that his cover wouldn't hold up for long, but he certainly hadn't been expecting a confrontation this soon. He knew exactly the kind of man he had been, the same man he still was, deep down. And that man had learned early to tamp down any show of spirit, any display of temper, any hint of anger or resentment. That man cringed and groveled and kissed boots, hating himself for it, but knowing that it kept him alive and it kept him and his son safe. At least, it had until now. "I'm here to help," Rumple said. "Truly." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the contract. "A pledge of good faith?"

His younger self was still frowning, but he reached out and gingerly accepted the rolled-up scroll. As he unfurled it and began to read, his eyes widened. "How did you…?" His voice trailed off and his eyes grew hard once more. "So, you do mean to take him."

Rumple blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, no," his younger self said, his voice cracking a bit. "I saw the way you looked at him last night, for all you tried to hide it, and I wondered, but with this…." He shook the contract for emphasis. "Only three people knew that this document existed: myself, Fendrake, and my wife Milah. And she was lost to me years ago. I'd thought her dead, but if you've come here to—" Abruptly, he turned away. "We were happy together once," he said bleakly. "Before I was called to the front. Before I… Well, never mind that. I've heard tell that when a love dies, the lovers may well move on to another, but when they do, they often to gravitate toward those who remind them in some way of their first. Well, even I can see the resemblance, but you'll forgive me if I'm not flattered."

He could scarcely believe the turn this conversation was taking. "I-I'm not—"

"While things were never right between me and Milah after my return," his younger self continued as though Rumple hadn't spoken, "I know she loved our son. She'd never have left him if she hadn't been abducted. And I suppose, once she was free, she decided that she'd have a better life without me, so she never returned. And, I surmise that she's found h-happiness with you." Rumple tried to pretend that he didn't hear the sob in his younger self's voice. "Well, how can I blame her? For trying to do better and for wanting our son with her? But since she's been gone, Bae has been everything to me. And if you're thinking that now you've voided that contract, I'll just settle down with someone new and have another child to replace the one you mean to carry off, then you have no idea what it means to be a parent!"

It was a good thing that the band of ruffians who'd accosted her yesterday had been so unnerved by Rumple's little display (or so excited by the acquisition of her pendant) that they hadn't noticed her earrings. And an even better thing that she'd removed them before approaching the tavern last night and had the sense not to wear them in the open today. Unlike her pendant, the earrings weren't magical, but they were eleven carats worth of the finest emeralds Oz had ever produced. Zelena knew that if she needed to, she could sell them, but she'd need to find the right time and the right buyer.

With bandits about, it certainly wasn't going to be safe carrying large amounts of coin. And the sentry's reaction to her innocent queries had told her that a stranger looking to sell something as valuable as those gemstones was certain to arouse suspicion. She'd need to find someone who wouldn't ask too many questions. Or better yet, make the acquaintance of someone trustworthy who could handle the sale, perhaps in return for a cut of the proceeds. One thing was certain, though: she wasn't about to hand them over in exchange for tourist information or the privilege of looking up some information that ought to be common knowledge! Were there no schools in this Frontlands place? Were there no libraries—libraries open for any to peruse without having to petition some ducal flunkey for permission?

Well. Once she learned the way of things here, she had no doubt that her fortunes would take an upturn. She just needed to find her mother and show her that there were other ways to acquire power without becoming royalty!

Dismay rolled over her. She didn't have any sort of power right now, thanks to that Charlotte wench. But perhaps there was a way to get the pendant back. Or perhaps there was some other way to regain her magic. For pity's sake, she'd been using magic before she could walk; surely losing the pendant couldn't take that away from her permanently! Well. She could think about that after she'd found what she sought. Meanwhile, it was clear that she wasn't going to last long without some local currency; bartering hours of washing dishes for dinner and a room for the night was only a stop-gap.

She realized that she was fast approaching a market stall with a number of clearly serviceable-but-not-new garments dangling from its awning. Thoughtfully, she removed her cloak and approached. "I was wondering whether you'd be interested in buying this off me?" she asked with a hopeful smile when she caught the owner's eye.

In an earlier time—though later than this one—Rumple might have laughed aloud and at length at the sheer ludicrousness of his younger self's imaginings. As it was, he couldn't quite keep back a guffaw as he exclaimed, "What?"

"No," his younger self said, flushing a bit. "Please, don't play the fool. And don't think you can play me for one either. You've been a bit too familiar with things—and people—with which you've no reason to be. And what rich relation chooses to neither stay at lodgings befitting his status, nor make his presence known to those he seeks, but chooses instead to bed down with animals? And any fool can see you've a greater interest in Bae than you do in me. So, if you haven't come to take him from me, then why are you here?"

"To save him," Rumple replied, looking his younger self dead in the eyes. "And save you from losing him, I hope."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if they haven't already lowered the draft age to fourteen, they'll do so in the next three months."

His younger self's eyes when wide and near-soundless cry escaped him as he half-doubled over. "You're certain?"

"I am. So, if you mean to flee with him or send him away, now's the time."

It was the wrong thing to say, and Rumple realized it the moment he saw his younger self's eyes narrow once more, and his face twist again in uncharacteristic rage.

"Send him away?" his younger self repeated. "With you, you mean? So, you are here to take him!"

"No," Rumple insisted. "I'm here to protect him! And you."

"Why? If you are my uncle, why magically appear now? You might have learned of my existence somehow, though how you could have known to make inquiries and track me down is puzzling, since you wouldn't have even had my name as a starting point. But if you're here to protect Bae, then that would mean you knew about him before you even came here. How? Who are you?"

"I told you," Rumple said, holding his hands up in a placating fashion, more than a little unnerved by the hysteria in his younger self's voice. "I'm—"

"No more lies! No evasions! I-want-the-truth! Tell me!"

"I'm you!" The words erupted from his throat and were past his lips before he even realized he'd answered. There was no way to call them back now.

For a moment, both men looked at one another, with near-identical stupefied expressions. Then, his younger self took a staggering step backward, stumbled, and nearly fell onto his stool. The look on his face could now best be described as stunned disbelief, as he tilted his head inquiringly toward his houseguest.

"I'm you," Rumple repeated more gently, nodding as though to confirm his words. "I'm you."

The cloak fetched two silver and Zelena strongly suspected she'd got the worse end of that deal. Still, one coin not only gained her access to the guild records, but even the services of a youth named Gragur who was presented to her as an apprentice clerk.

"I'm sorry, Goodwife," the teen said, coming to her table with an armload of scrolls. "There is no Princess Ava in the Northern Kingdom, presently. I even thought, well, not all spellings are standard, so I checked to see if maybe she spelled it with an 'E' or even an 'I'; pronunciations vary, too. But apart from the dowager queen Eva, daughter to Count Humboldt of the Eastern Escarpment Lands who married into their ruling house two generations ago, there's no Royal of that name there now."

"Dowager queen?" Zelena repeated. That couldn't be right. Ava… or Eva, no matter how one spelled it, had been a princess, but she'd become queen of Leopold's kingdom, not her own.

"Apparently, she's well-liked," Gragur said, unfurling another scroll. "At least, some of the minor nobility, them as hopes to curry favor with their higher-ups, have been naming some of their daughters after her. But as yet, no princess."

"Well… well, what about King Xavier of Eagle's Peak?" Zelena asked testily.

Gragur shook his head. "The king of Eagle's Peak is his Majesty Henry II, whom some call the Eagle's Talon." He frowned. "I believe…" He unrolled another scroll. "Yes, his third son is named Xavier, but he's unlikely to be crowned king with two brothers ahead of him and both with heirs of their own. Oh!" He pointed to another entry. "The crown prince, Francis does have a son by that name. Might he be who you mean? If so, it seems as though you're a bit early."

Zelena started to glower, but whatever retort she'd meant to snarl died on her lips. "A bit early," she repeated in an undertone. "A bit… Gragur?" She asked in a rather different tone of voice, "Do the merchants here treat with other realms? Might you have records from those lands as well?"

The youth nodded. "It's not as frequent, Goodwife. Finding passage between worlds is a costly affair and magic beans used to be far easier to procure. It does happen periodically, though."

"Could you show me any records you might possess here from Oz?"

Twenty minutes later, Zelena was stumbling out of the hall of records, her stomach churning as she felt as though she might faint. Although Gragur hadn't been able to provide detailed maps or genealogical tables, as he had for the kingdoms of the Enchanted Forest, he had shown her a trade agreement that had been signed between the Duke of Tower Cliffs and the Gillikins of Oz, just 'two years ago,' according to the young clerk. At first, Zelena had been annoyed. The Gillikin land was, ironically enough, Oz's 'northern kingdom'. And they had no business entering into trade agreements with anyone without clearing them with her first! She'd started reading the agreement to find out the names of the individuals who had brokered it, resolving that she would have quite a bit to say to them on her return—Oh. Of course. In this time, she wasn't yet the ruler of Oz. How could she have forgotten? She smiled a bit at her own folly, as she read on. But then, she'd come to the last paragraph, and the line, 'Signed and dated in the fifth year of His Majesty, King Pastoria of Oz,' and her smile dropped. The fifth year of... Pastoria? The name was vaguely familiar from the history lessons learned at her adoptive mother's knee. But his reign wasn't recent. He hadn't sat on Oz's throne since— Her blood suddenly ran cold. There had to be some other simple explanation for—

"Are you certain that this is only two years old?" she demanded. "It hasn't been misfiled?"

Gragur blinked. "I-I don't see how it could have been, but I'll inquire," he'd said. A few minutes later, he returned, escorting a woman some ten years Zelena's senior to her table.

"You're most fortunate, Goodwife," Gragur said, smiling. "I've the honor and fortune to present to you Mistress Ilona, one of the signatories to the agreement before you."

The richly-attired woman looked at her curiously. "I'm not sure why it's a concern to you, Goodwife, but yes, I was in Oz nearly twenty months ago and that trade agreement has been quite the boon to his Grace's armies. We may yet see the ogres routed by winter, if the shipments continue."

Zelena forced herself to smile, as she pushed back her chair. Then she bolted, pretending she didn't hear those two calling after her.

A bit early, Gragur had said. He'd spoken truer than he could have guessed! She was more than two hundred years early! She knew nothing about this period of history and nothing about her earlier antecedents. Her knowledge of her family tree began with Cora and she had no idea of the names of her grandmother or grandfather, let alone anyone who'd come before that.

She didn't even know her father's name; it had never been important before. But if she'd come this far back in time, then any chance encounter, any word she spoke, any action she undertook might somehow interfere with any one of the crucial meetings that needed to take place among all of the ancestors whose lineage she would bear. If she—even accidentally—killed one of her great-great grandfathers… If she paused to talk to her great-great-grandmother and inadvertently delayed her, so that she never met the man she should have wed… The slightest error, the slightest misstep, and she might erase herself from existence.

She'd gone back in time to change her past, but it had never occurred to her that in so doing, she might obliterate her future! And she couldn't very well ensure that her ancestors' lives continued unmolested when she had no clue who they even were!

She wanted to scream or sob or... she didn't even know what. But perhaps, she could figure it out on her long walk back to that inn. Because going by the way he'd reacted yesterday, it was very likely that she'd find Rumple in that area. And while she wasn't fool enough to confront him when he had his magic and she had none of her own, she knew that if she could discover his specific whereabouts, if she could discern what he was planning... Then she might yet be able to turn things to her advantage.

The temperature was beginning to drop, and she wished she still had her cloak, but she pressed her forearms to her sides and gripped her elbows as she turned to begin the long walk back to Pen Marmor.

[veraverorum]

You've been visited by the OTP AU fairy Challenge! If you feel up to it, write 500 or less words for your OTP in any AU setting! Hard mode: choose up to 3 different OTP AU settings and write 500 words or less for each! Good luck! (feel free to become the next fairy and offer some writers your own challenge, too!)

I got this message more than 1 moth ago but I’ve finally finished them!Ready for some musical AUs?

Phantom of the OperaThe lock of the door gotturned but Jack didn't notice it. He was too busy changing intosomething more comfortable than stage clothes, deciding in the endfor a white gown with laces at the hems.The oddity of thesituation hit him when he entered the waiting room of his dressingroom and suddenly all the candles turned off as if by magic.Hetold himself he wouldn't act scared. Jack had always been brave,since the day he had been left all alone in the world, orphan of theomnic crisis. Hesitating for a brief moment he looked around,checking for a possible intruder. One could never know, given thetimes. Not to mention Jack was steadily becoming the new star of theopera. Everything could be possible, even the worst possibility.Thevoice that broke the tense silence put Jack's nerves to rest.Uponrecognizing who was speaking, he relaxed immediately. Jackhad no face nor a proper name to associate with the entity but thedeep voice that had spent so much excruciating time coaching himthrough arpeggios and melodies was his Angel of music. An obscureentity who followed him ever since the day he put foot inside theOpéra Garnier and who Jack believed was a messenger from hisdeceased father.It called to him with his tenor tone, warmingits way into Jack's heart even if it stung of jealousy andpossessiveness, “ignorant fool this brave young suitor, sharing inmy triumph!”Jack had to hide hissmile at being somehow coveted that way but more important matterswhere at hand, like his musical education. Sweet-talking the Angelout oh his outbursts was something that Jack had long since grownused to do. He had a demanding nature, prone to tantrums that seemedto be placated only by Jack's angelic voice hitting the right notesof a soft melody – the kind that stole hearts and tears at the sametime.Maybe, though, thistime the ghost had felt that his domain over Jack was beingthreatened, undermined enough that he wanted to re-assert his powerover the singer once and for all. Jack was slipping from between hisfingers, captivated by the spell of an admirer who had nothing tooffer other than the funds that surely were not coming from the hardwork. Certainly not someone who deserved him.If the ghostliving in the basement of the Opéra wanted to keep Jack close to himhe needed to offer him something more valuable than vile money, orhis expertise on singing. He needed toentice him, draw his attention by making him curiousand ensnare Jack in his net. Hismellifluous words had offered him the coveted sight of hisface.Jack followed his beloved voice toward the mirror andinto it, until he came face to face with the man wearing a white halfmask, and then took his hand.

Chicago

Thatsurely wasn't the way that Jack Morrison thought he would becomefamous and end up under the spotlight.He had thought it wouldhappen through a career in cabaret, dancing and singing and lookinglike a delicious candy wrapped in refined, sparkling sequin clothes,and all that jazz.Instead, his audience would get to know himin a very different way... by his bewildered mugshot greeting thereaders of tomorrow's newspapers from the first page, the captioncalling him murderer.But that would be for tomorrow. As fortoday, Jack had been dragged off to jail to wait for his turn at thecourthouse, thrown in together with similarly convictedfelons.There with hims was Gabriel Reyes in all his glory,the latest murderous sensation in town. He was famous for the show heshared with his brother and for killing said brother and his owncheating husband in a blind rage. He had seemed to realize what hehad done only afterward, while washing his hands from all theirblood. There had been no guilt whatsoever.It was too bad thatGabriel's fame was already on the path of decline due to Jack'sunexpected stunt.The world was full of sharks and once Jackhad managed to grab the spotlight for himself, he found it difficultto let go of it, or share, even if Reyes was a true vaudevillain,more than Jack could ever dream of being. A hot one too, worth todance a sweet tango with, but as far as Jack was concerned, it wasnot enough for him to give up on his one chance at popularity.Jackhad done anything he could in order to hold on this opportunity; hescraped together what little money he had and made sure his tale waseven more pathetic, appealing to the masses, fluttering his eyelashesat the paparazzi and lawyers alike.It was that way that AnaAmari, best criminal defense lawyer of the city did her gigs: prettyboys with pretty eyes and sob stories. She was quick to switch fromGabriel's case to Jack's, and her silver tongue was legendary incourt. She spun his account until it became unrecognizable and farfrom the truth. It was self defense! They'd both reached for thepulse rifle!Almost ashamed by his own actions, Jack acceptedtips from Ana that would have been otherwise used in Gabriel's case,making the celebrated actor go ballistic. In the end though,after his own sentence had been lifted, it had been Gabriel the oneto seek Jack out and ask for his help. Cooperation. “You know, mydouble act is still a damn fun time. But to put it on I need apartner.”Double act, double the murderers for double thefame. The vaudeville scene was going to become all theirs. And theinviting smile on Gabriel's face was naughty enough to suggest thatmore would be shared between them than just the profits.Jackaccepted.

Moulin RougeTheroom was the most absurd collection of things Jack had ever had thepleasure of seeing. It should have been a pleasure. Probably. It wasnot.Itwas gaudy, an extravaganza of exotic objects unlike any other, andfar removed from the simple, almost puritan education Jack hadreceived while growing up.Itmade him uneasy, thorn between gawking at the mess or leaving in ahurry.There where reddrapes everywhere, carved panels of gold painted wood, statues ofmonstrous foreign creatures... In the middle of all that opulence,clad in nothing but black satin and lace lingerie clinging to hisstatuesque body stood Mr Gabriel, motionless. Hissmile was a little awkward, too big and unnatural, one hand in theair, the other resting on the inviting curve of his hip.Jackhad to be honest with himself: he would have immediately said yes toanything the actor proposed him, then and there, at that display. Theproblem was, Mr Gabriel seemed to think the same - as soon as Jackstarted explaining the reason why he had been sent to meet up withhim, Mr Gabriel had launched into a series of yips and barks at hiswords, rolling around on the silk sheets of the bed, gripping them inhis beautiful fingers like a lifeline.Uncomfortable at thedisplay due to both a certain sense of decorum that was beingoffended and the fact that he felt a growing attraction at the sightthat he could not deny, Jack tried to not stammer as he reminded MrGabriel that he was there for  a private poetry reading session, asper their prior agreement in the ballroom.When Mr Gabrielpulled Jack down on the bed with him, begging for more naughty words,Jack gaped at him like a fish. Was Mr Gabriel a kindred soul, one whotrembled in delight at the beauty of rhymes and poetry? Thehand that sneaked on his inner thigh and the hot mouth latching atthe base of his neck, whereis pulse was beating faster than usual,told Jack a different story. Yeah, no. Big mistake.Thatwasn't what Torbjörnhad sent Jack there for! He said as much to Mr Gabriel and theperformer recoiled at the words.“Torbjörn...You're not the Duke!” Mr Gabriel was both offended and distressed.It would have been comical if he weren't throwing accusing glares atJack, who still found him the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen, evenif he looked murderous at the moment.“I-I am not!” whatmust have happened was becoming clear to him. An even biggermistake.A sharp knock on the door broke the momentary stallbetween the two.“Shit, the Duke!” Mr Gabriel whispered ashis face paled, eyes snapping to the door.Shit indeed, Jackthought.To be posted soon on AO3!

[snowbellewells]

“Looking for a Heart That’s Not Walking Away”   ~chapter five

This is a canon divergent/AU multichapter I’ve been working on since before season six premiered.  I got really stalled midway through, and had stopped putting it on Tumblr due to lack of interest and only posting on ff, but I’m back and jazzed about it again, so I’m posting it here again as well.  I’d love to here what you think.  It picks up in around 5x15 through 5x17 and then goes way off how 5B wrapped these particular story threads off.  A Liam and Belle centric, though Captain Swan and others have large supporting roles.  The previous chapters can all be found under the same title on ff.net.  (I wish I could offer you a cool graphic for this, but I don’t have that skill unfortunately.)

“Looking for a Heart That’s Not Walking Away”

~chapter five~

(“…we’re just fumbling through the grey…”)

             “Belle, wait…what do you mean?” Emma asks, brow furrowing in consternation, still squeezing Belle’s wrist as if to offer silent support through touch.  “He’s here now?  Granted, you’d think someday I might stop being surprised by the way magical people come and go all the time, but how is that possible?”

           Belle shakes her head, pressing her lips together and tamping down the sudden panic she feels rising more certainly all the time. She just knows her husband has returned, and she cannot be sure what that will mean for their unborn child, those she has come to care about and depend on in his absence, or for herself and her own well-being.  She meets the Savior’s eyes fully, knowing Emma deserves all the information she can offer.  She has never had the opportunity to get to know the Enchanted Forest’s returned princess as well as she would like, but she is sure that Emma won’t leave her to fend for herself in this, which may well put her in Rumple’s crosshairs…and for that Emma must be prepared.

           “I can’t say that I know exactly,” Belle sighs, feeling woefully clueless and unhelpful, and not liking it one bit.  There isn’t much in the world that she can’t do a bit of research on, understand better, and then prepare for, but unfortunately, Rumple has put her in just such a situation now and admitting it stings. She doesn’t really know what she’s even facing. “It’s been nearly six months, but I’m almost certain Rumple altered my memory somehow.  There are too many details of that entire encounter with Hades, as well as Rumple and my final conversation, which I can’t recall.  It isn’t normal.”  She looks now at her hands, fidgeting anxiously with the petals of the offending rose and honestly wanting to tear it to shreds.  Without a single word aloud, Liam reaches forward and takes her hand, twining their fingers together and making her nervous fidgeting cease.  She shoots him a silently grateful look, then draws in a steadying breath to press on.  “Still, I wouldn’t put anything past his capabilities at this point. He could have made some sort of deal, done something for Hades that caused that villain to let him leave the Underworld again.  Whatever it is, I think you all had better make yourselves scarce in the library.  If he is in town, he’ll come here, and until I know what he wants, I don’t want any of you getting hurt.”

           All of them start to argue with her right there; four indignant voices speaking at once and drowning each other out, but the message is clear: they aren’t running out on her, won’t be leaving her to face the Dark One alone.  She is warmed to the bottom of her soul at their solidarity and friendship, but she still forces herself to shake her head.  “Thank you all, really, but I mean it.  Rumple won’t hurt me – at least not physically.  I’m not in danger from him…” she cuts her eyes to Killian and Emma at that. “We can’t necessarily assume that for anyone else.”

           “Doesn’t matter, Lass,” Killian bites out automatically, his eyes hard and sparkling with feeling and determination.  “We won’t be leaving you to deal with him alone and hiding for our own safety.  It isn’t right that you should have to do so, and begging your pardon, but the bloody Crocodile is unpredictable.  You don’t know what he might do – even to you – now.”

           “Aye,” Liam nodded, murmuring his agreement with his younger brother softly, “besides, they may not be scars which show, but the man has already hurt you…quite deeply.”

           Belle looks over her shoulder to seek Liam’s eyes briefly, the expression in hers sad and resigned.  “That may be,” she replies, in equally quiet but decisive tones, “but I chose him.  I married him.  And, for better or worse, I must see through the consequences of that decision.  He’s my husband – and the father of this child,” her hand falls to rest on her stomach, trying to ignore the tightness and the roiling that has started up within, “and if nothing else, I need to reach closure with him and determine our course from here.”

           Henry reaches out then, taking her other hand and squeezing it comfortingly in his growing one.  “I’m sorry, Gran-” he begins, then trips to a halt, swallowing the ‘grandma’ label that she’s a fair bit too young for.  She can see on his youthful face that he’s sorry for bringing the flower into the library at all, for exposing the little haven she has created for herself to outside dangers and reminding her of the pain and trouble still before her to deal with; in truth, just sorry to have upset her, sweet, good hearted young man that he is.  “I mean, Belle, I mean…”

           Taking pity and squeezing his hands back tightly in hers, Belle stops Henry’s floundering by giving him a wobbly smile and shaking her head.  “Please don’t apologize,” she hurries to reassure this one last legacy of Rumple’s family line.  This grandson he could have cultivated a relationship with, had a bit of Bae, his son, back in his life through his brave boy, but instead he tossed the opportunity away, betraying Henry as he had her, and only choosing to care about this precious young man when it suited him or served his purposes.  Her voice trembles a bit with the overload of varied emotion, but she whispers in his ear, “No Henry, please, I was wrong before. I will always be your Gran, if you’ll have me.  None of this is at all your fault.”

           Henry smiles more clearly, nodding his understanding and pressing her hand again in return.  Then, suddenly, a stabbing pain shoots through her stomach, and Belle doubles over with a harsh gasp, probably crushing Henry’s fingers before she can even try to control it.  This shouldn’t be – isn’t right – but there’s no denying the blinding spasm of pain, the clench in her midsection where her baby resides, even if she is still almost two months from delivery.

           Wincing, Belle tries to bit back further exclamation, but the reaction of the three men already surrounding her in concern is immediate and intense.  Liam’s hand is at the small of her back in an instant, warm and steadying; she can sense his presence hovering even as things go a bit fuzzy and unfocused with adrenaline and fear.  Meanwhile, Killian darts off and returns in seconds with one of the comfy armchairs stowed in the corners of the children’s reading section.  Henry rushes to get her a glass of water, and she hears Emma already calling for help from just a few steps away.  Their presence ensconces her comfortingly even as the twist in her gut panics her.  It can’t be – it’s too soon!  Her baby, her little girl, her reason for fighting back to her feet; she simply cannot lose her, can’t bear the thought that she might be in danger.

           Gently, Liam’s hands at her shoulders ease her down into the chair Killian has brought, and Killian kneels in front of her, his one good hand clutching hers, urging her to grip his fingers as hard as she needs if it helps. Belle forces herself to take deep breaths as he urges and ground herself.  

           “Easy, Lass,” Liam soothes, rubbing his hands across her shoulders, “you have to stay calm.  It will be alright.  It will. It must.”

           She nods blindly, glancing down to meet Killian’s upturned blue eyes, haunted and hopeful at the same time.  Liam may have spent ages in Hades’ domain, but somehow the ways life and the real world can break and steal what a person loves most and how quickly what one treasures can be lost have not marked him in quite the same way.  He was the one lost to Killian.  And though he knew guilt, responsibility and hurt much too young, and for things he shouldn’t have had to bear, the world still hadn’t warped him with its cruelty for an entire lifetime – he was taken from it too soon for that to occur.  Just because horrible, unfair things shouldn’t be true or possible doesn’t mean they don’t happen all the time.  The look on Killian’s face tells Belle every bit as clearly as his brother’s touch at her back that he will do anything to make sure she and her little one will be safe, but also that he knows all too well that what is happening right now is also beyond their control.

           They aren’t left waiting much longer; all of her self-appointed supporters are tense and quiet as they watch her struggle to draw even breaths in and out.  Only a few minutes, though they might feel like hours, pass before the four of them hear the wail of Storybrooke’s one ambulance nearing and then coming to a halt just outside the library door.  Liam and Emma have already come to either side of Belle to steady her as she levers to her feet shakily and clutches each of their arms. Killian goes ahead of them, fussing over anything that might be in their path, while Henry gathers her purse and keys and brings up the rear.

           Belle wants to tell them that everything will be fine, that there is no need for them all to make such a scene, but she isn’t sure it’s true, and holding back actual cries of pain and keeping herself breathing somewhat steadily are taking almost all of her conscious thought.  They managed to get her outside the library to meet the EMTs on the front steps, and after that, things move in such an accelerated blur that Belle blinks and is hardly sure how she finds herself lying on the gurney in the back of the ambulance.  The workers are cautioning that only one person can ride with her, and then Liam is beside her, his long legs and tall, strapping frame looking comically folded up as he sits on the bench beside her murmuring softly, his thumb stroking the back of her hand in a soothing rhythm while his other brushes her hair back off her forehead.  “It’s going to be fine, Lass.”  He keeps repeating, “They know what they’re doing.  The wee one will be alright, don’t you worry,” so often that Belle begins to think fondly that it’s as much to reassure himself he isn’t losing them as it is to calm her.

           Storybrooke is not that big, and so it isn’t long before they come to a sudden halt at the ER doors of the hospital on the other side of town.  She feels herself lifted out on the gurney, and Liam is jogging beside them to keep ahold of her hand, answering as best he can any questions the doctors and nurses ask him about what has happened.  When they are about to push through heavy double doors into surgery is when the doctor in charge finally tells Liam he can’t go any further with them.  The last thing clearly tethering her to definite reality is loosed when he has to let go of her hand, and though Belle hears the calm reassurance he forces into his voice, promising he will be right there waiting for her when she comes back out, she still feels herself begin to drift away, unmoored without his centering presence; the fear and hurt taking over.  Not only does she fear for the life of this child – the little girl she has been anticipating – who has given her hope to carry on, but now even with Whale and several nurses, anesthesiologists, and personnel swarming around her like bees in a hive, she feels alone and isolated in her vulnerability.  Even if it all comes out alright, Rumple can get to her now, and she knows it.

           “Belle… Mrs. Gold?... Belle!” she hear Dr. Whale’s voice calling out to her seemingly from much further away than it should be, along with a persistent, annoying beep from one of the machines surrounding her that she realizes vaguely is attached to her somewhere.  She’s being given a warning impossible to follow right now. “You have to calm down!  Do you understand me?  You need to calm down!”

           It does feel as if the beat of her heart is pounding, ricocheting, against the wall of her chest cavity, banging and fighting to get out.  But there doesn’t seem to be anything in her power to stop it. A few more seconds and she feels the prick of a needle in her skin.  Finally, things begin to slow, everything grows even hazier, less distinct, and further away.  She closes her eyes and lets go…

~~~~~0000000~~~~~~0000000~~~~~

           The library is deserted, though in disarray as his love would never normally leave it – teacups and books and a golden tea rose strewn across the reference desk as if they had all picked up and vanished in seconds, which this silent intruder in the Beauty’s sanctuary knows is quite close to the truth.  Watching hidden and unseen in the disused antique elevator, the shadowy Dark figure that now emerges and walks calmly over to the vacated counter has witnessed the entire panicked interlude, but seen no reason to interpose his assistance and give away his presence – not just yet.  There is more he hopes to gather in information while they are all distracted.  Though his warning reunion gift yield a more dramatic and troubling effect than he intended, he senses that Belle is in good hands for the moment and will recover. For all Dr. Whale’s deplorable personal habits and erstwhile reputation, he actually is a quite capable doctor; if he hadn’t been before Regina’s curse, the constant danger and upheaval of Storybrooke has made him into one.

           No, Rumplestiltskin lets the smooth, cunning pirate brothers, the Savior, and his grandson care for his wife for the moment – though he will make sure all of them but Henry pay later for getting anywhere near her, for supporting her in what he senses is a growing resolve to leave him for good.  His chance to find and take the object he seeks is now, and the moment to reclaim his erstwhile love and safeguard both she and his unborn child will come soon enough.  He can bide his time.  He may be many things in both his original realm and this one, but impatient has never been one of them – not when waiting and planning his attack will achieve the maximum amount of damage to his enemies.

           In the long, shallow drawer that pulls out near where Belle often sits on long afternoons, the Dark One locates the hiding place of the key he seeks.  Moving to pull out the drawer, he finds it locked, much to his own consternation. Only pausing a few seconds, a sinister sneer parts his thin, pointed face as a bit of the eerie sing song of his Enchanted Forest persona slides into his voice, while with a flick of his wrist the lock is broken and the drawer slips free to bare its contents for him as he chortles, “Sorry Dearie, you may be clever, but you’ll have to do better than that.” 

           Deft fingers close tightly around the talisman he sought, the door is closed and locked once more.  Then with a last, self-satisfied glance around the large open room, he murmurs to the echoing stillness. “I’ll be back soon, Belle. Wait and see.”  Snapping his fingers, Gold vanishes in a puff of smoke as easily as he had appeared.  He is willing to bide his time until the opportune moment – the moment that will strike the rest of them to their core until they cannot respond to stop him. After all, he has all the time in the world.

Tagging a few who may enjoy:   @whimsicallyenchantedrose @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable @bromfieldhall @dramawiie @kmomof4 @drowned-dreamer @mossandmushroom @laschatzi @ps1473-4 @galadriel26

[beaconsardis]

Night of Firsts and Lasts

I've given the crew port leave. It's been too long since I've let them stretch their legs and they were all showing the early signs of cabin fever.

Vaynai is not a planet I've visited before. It's a resort planet for families and for business looking to seal the deal with new clients. There's a single spaceport, located on one of the handful of mesas that poke out of the single ocean that covers the entire planet.

The crew scrambles off the ship and I only follow them as far as the Greemesa Market. It's a vacation destination, so the stalls are filled with distractions, entertainment and food. The prices are double what they should be, but with my mastery of the Force, I have never felt comfortable haggling. I buy two bowls of glaavyuk, four bottles of Endorian mead, and head back to the ship.

I relieve Fordsy of his guard duty. He insists he stay. Then he sees the two dinners I'm carrying. "I've gone longer than the recommended amount of time between shut downs," he admits. "Please reactivate me should something happen or we leave the planet."

Humaira's door opens with a beep and a whoosh. She's surprised to see me. I offer her one of the bowls of glaavyuk and nod for her to follow me. "Want some fresh air?"

We sit on the loading ramp of the Nexu, eating our spicy noodles and fish as we take in the oceanic panorama. We eat in silence, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves. Gulls caw overhead, circling us in the hopes we'll toss them some glaav.

"So what does a princess have to do to get a thirty thousand credit bounty put on her head?"

Humaira smiles. She knew this question was coming. "I was sacrificed on the altar of commercialism."

I'm not sure what that means, so I say, "I'm not sure what that means."

"What do you know about Cantonica," she asks.

I shake my head. I've got someone in Canto Bight, who keeps an eye out for purses that need pilfering, but I know little to nothing about the planet itself.

"We have a sister planet," she takes a sip of mead, "Bonadan. To show that there were no hard feelings about a business transaction that went sideways, I was given to Prince D'wonel."

"Given?" I don't like the sound of that.

"For his collection," Humaira nods matter-of-factly. "He had a harem of playthings from all across the galaxy. I didn't take too kindly to that, so on the night he called me to his chambers, I took a sword and stuck it so far into his stomach that I pinned him to the bed." She presents herself like the prestige of a magic trick, "thus the bounty."

I don't want to believe her. I want this to be a ruse, an act. I want her to by lying, trying to get on my good side so I'll think twice about collecting on her bounty. But she's telling the truth. She's as imperfect as anyone else, but the actual and complete victim here.

"Five hundred years ago this corner of the galaxy was given to a collection of corporations to govern and control, creating an oligarchical fiefdom of planets." Humaira spits every word with disgust. "Greed is their creed and life is cheap."

"What'll happen," I ask.

She doesn't respond. Her eyes are distant, disappearing into the rhythm of the waves. "They'll make a big show of it," she finally says, her voice as distant as her gaze. "Thanks for the final meal, I've never had glaavyuk before." Then, as almost an afterthought, "I've never been to the ocean before."

"That means you've never swam in the ocean before," I astutely realize.

"Never been in a body of water that wasn't manmade," she answers, finishing her mead.

"Well then let's make your last night a night of a couple of firsts, too." I stand and use the Force to whip the empty bottle of mead out of her hand. "Let's go."

I lead her down the ramp. We circle under and around the ship, walking the length of dock. With the ship between us and the rest of the port, I strip down to my undergarments. She follows my lead, slipping out of her dress and diving in behind me.

The water is warm and salty. The current gently flows around us. It's just shallow enough that we're able to touch the soft sand beneath us as each lolling wave sets us down.

Humaira laughs, a moment of natural joy washing over her. She lays down, floating on her back and letting the ebb and flow decide where she goes. She hums to herself, a peaceful smile sliding across her lips.

"So how do you make peace with being a Jedi and a pirate?" She opens one eye to see my reaction. "I thought Jedi were supposed to not have material possessions."

"It's actually really easy," I say, "I'm not a Jedi."

She sits up, splashing into a standing position. "What?"

"The Jedi Order was a religion," I explain, "and the Force is bigger than any church. It's universal. It flows through us and around us. It connects every living being to one another. It's like the tide of this ocean, pushing and pulling us and with the right practice, you can use it to your advantage."

Comparing it to the being caught in the current of a river or ocean is the best way I can think of to explain what it feels like to be me. I feel the flow of the Force so profoundly that I have to remind myself that others don't feel it at all.

"Sometimes I tell it what to do and sometimes it tells me what to do."

I can see the question forming. It's on her lips so I answer it before she voices it.

"I believe there is a great imbalance in the galaxy. The rich and powerful are only getting richer and more powerful while the poor and weak are only getting poorer and weaker. I'm trying to bring some balance to the galaxy by taking from the rich what they don't need and giving it to those who do." I present myself like the prestige of a magic trick, mirroring Humaira. "Hence the piracy."

"Can you mind control people?"

"I don't like to," I say uneasily.

"But you do."

"I can."

"So you do."

I frown. "I don't like taking away people's ability to choose, but," I admit, "there have been times when if a guard could just look over there for a second, I could get away."

"Could you convince your crew to just look over there so I could get away?" Humaira asks. There's a smile on her face, so she can claim she's joking, but the question is clearly sincere. "Or could you, I don't know, convince them to let me join the crew?"

"Join the crew?" I almost laugh. "What can you do?"

"Oh," she says very seriously, "I can fly circles around your best pilot."

She believes this. It's not up for debate with her. She is the best pilot she's ever known.

I nod back to the Nexu. "Show me."

Humaira sits down in the cockpit. She pulls her hair back and stabs one of the chopsticks from dinner in it.

"This is a Corellian freighter," she surmises. "YT series?"

"YT-2000," I nod.

Her eyes dance across the controls and then with a nod, she looks back at me. "Okay."

I couldn't convince a single person on my crew that this is a good idea. Handing over the pilot's seat to a prisoner who knows their life is over if they're turned in is the sort of thing I would never be able to explain to anyone, ever. But Humaira's intentions are pure. She just wants to show off. She wants to impress someone.

The Nexu lifts off the landing pad. But instead of nosing up and heading for the stars, Humaira keeps the ship low and punches it. We rocket out over the ocean, spraying water in our wake. She puts us into a spin before pulling back suddenly and sharply, sending us skyward. The timing on the maneuver is impressive.

She kills the engines, putting us into freefall. We plummet downward, going faster and faster as the planet pulls us down for a tight embrace. My stomach is in my mouth and my eyes are shut. She waits a second longer than I think she should before bringing the engines back to life and sending us straight for the horizon.

We're flying upside down, with the ocean above us and sky below. We bank a long, slow arc to the starboard, putting the resorts directly ahead of us.

"Oh no," I hear myself say as I realize she's about to get us into a lot of trouble.

Humaira laughs as she increases power to the thrusters. The resorts are coming up fast. They're too small and we're moving to fast for me to see them, but it's easy for me to imagine vacationers stopping what they're doing as they see a freighter barreling down on them. They turn to one another, wondering what they should do. Bomba chokes on whatever he's eating as he recognizes the foolhardy ship.

I watch in silence, in horror, and in amazement as Humaira weaves us through and around the resort's buildings and towers. We never come close to even grazing one of them. She is incomplete control. She is one with the ship.

Humaira points at me. "There it is. That's the face I was going for."

She sets us down on the landing pad and spins around in her chair to face me. She holds out her hands to ask, "well?"

I can't look her in the eye. "Thirty thousand credits is too much," I say. "They would mutiny."

Humaira sighs a long, low sigh. It's not the answer she wanted but it's the answer she expected. "I'll show myself back to my room."

"I'm sorry," I start to say, but then stop. A plan is starting to form. It's less than a plan. It's a thought, the vaguest of ideas.

Humaira is standing at the door, one foot out. She's looking down at me, an eyebrow cocked. I see the curiosity and desperation in her eyes.

"I think I have a terrible idea," I say.