#and not in the direct line of my job duties like if a patient assaulted me or something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hayjeon · 5 years ago

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You Set My Heart on Fire 01 [M] ft. Namjoon

→ fireman!namjoon and paramedic!y/n au (warning: drunken sex, oral, etc.) → 10k words, part 1 | part 2 | fin. → As a surgeon forced to volunteer as a paramedic in the Seoul Fire Department during an unfortunate probation incident, your one and only goal was to get to work, do your thing, and get the hell home and back to your original high-salary job. But when the SFD’s Chief is the incredibly attractive, cocky, and persistent Kim Namjoon, things start to get heated.

Hi! this is a reupload, and i figured i’d vamp up the title and the header in the meantime! Thank you to the user who managed to save this just in time, after I accidentally deleted it T___T I am forever indebted to you, and I lost your username, so if you see this pls dm me i’d love to write something for as a token of my appreciation!

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair as the lawyer continues to lay out the demands.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you huff, glaring at the idiot gangster who’s at the other side of the room. He cringes a bit at your glare, nursing an ice pack against his bruised cheek.

“I swear, he slapped my ass! I was just retaliating!” You cry, frustrated. Your surgery chief huffs angrily at your behavior and you settle back, clenching your fists on top of the table.

The lawyer snarks back, “You also managed to cause damage to the victim’s body in the process. He’s demanding full reparations. Let’s see,” she muses, flipping through the documents spread out on the table between the both of you. “A broken nose, bruised cheekbone, fractured wrist from when he fell, and muscle strains on his lower back, and psychological damage from framing him for sexual harassment and from the physical assault. In total, it would amount the hospital to about $50,000 to cover the hospital costs and the time he would need to talk off from his job, and the continued physical and mental therapy sessions to follow for around 6 months.” She closes the file with a grin. “So, Dr. Y/N, what’s it gonna be?”

“Chief, I can’t believe we’re just losing to him!” You cry, following after Dr. Kim, who’s seething as he storms down the hall outside of the conference room.

He screeches to a halt, turning around with a glare. “Well, what do you wanna do?!” He throws his hands up in defeat, “You want to cause a whole legal issue? You know that there’s really nothing else we can do in this situation! It’s your word against his, and the video cameras only show proof of him passing by you, and then you throwing a big ass punch in his fucking face!” He cries, taking off his glasses and rubbing his temples.

“Look, Dr. Y/N, you did the right thing. The fucker deserved the punch, and you threw a good one. But,” he continues, placing his glasses back on his nose and patting your shoulder, “giving him the money is the best thing we could do for both the hospital and for you. So, just, take this next month off, get the community service done and then come right back. Alright? I’ll even let you head all the interesting cases that come into the operating room.”

He sighs, and walks off, leaving you behind. You roll your eyes and run a hand through your hair, fist clenching on the brochure of community service options for doctors.

The fucker had brought his girlfriend in during your shift at the emergency room, and while she was getting stitches for a cut that she got from a building collapse, in the craze of the emergency room, he was going around touching asses. You’d heard the nurses complaining about it, about how it was just a swipe of the hand that seemed like an accident, but multiple had the same experience from the same seedy-looking jerk.

When it was your turn to go up to the patient and explain that her stitches were done and she was alright to go home, he’d come up next to you and his knuckles grazed the skin of your ass. Sick of everything, you’d pushed him back and socked him straight in the face.

Later, from the cameras though, there was no visible evidence of him touching anyone, and it was your word against the clear security camera shot of you socking him right in his big ass nose. So you open the brochure and plop down at your desk to see what options there were. There were the general ones, where you could serve and clean up at a park or volunteer at a soup kitchen, and then there was a separate page for doctors who probably just wanted to maintain their skills in the field they volunteered in. You pick up the phone.

“What?” Yugyeom asks, “Chief seriously ended up giving you a probation period for community service?” He sighs over the phone, and you roll your eyes too.

“Yeah,” you huff, “which one should I do? I should sign up today, since it might take a bit to get approved and might as well start early so I can go back to work as soon as I get all my hours finished.”

He muses, probably scanning the picture you sent him. “Hm...well look, you can go travel to Africa or Cambodia or something. It’ll be like that one drama with Song Joong Ki in it. Maybe you’ll meet a hot military general. What do you think?”

“Too far,” you complain, taking a red pen and drawing a line through it. “Also, they don’t cover air fare or housing. Maybe something more local.”

“Okay, well then what about teaching kids in elementary and high school about general first aid and health? You can maybe meet a single teacher who’s good with kids. That’s kind of hot.”

“I fucking hate kids, Yug, you know that,” you sneer, rolling your eyes and crossing out that option. “Also, why are you trying to get me laid, you should be worried about your own empty gay love life.”

He huffs, “Well, bitch, if you’re gonna be so picky why’d you call. Just take the second to last one, the medic for the fire department! It’ll be fun, I know a friend who works in the one that’s close by to the hospital, so you can just commute from there and if you guys ever end up coming to the emergency room, you’ll see all of us there too.”

You hum, scanning through the brief description: Medic for the Seoul Fire Department. In-department housing and meals provided during both on-call and working hours. Needs basic EMT and paramedic skills. Must be able to handle emergency situations calmly and communicate with safety officers.

You purse your lips, scoffing a little bit at the emergency part. “Well, if there’s something I can handle, it’s emergency.”

He laughs, “What a downgrade...from a cardio surgeon to a paramedic. Jeez, you better get out of this one quick. Just make sure not to punch anyone during duty, and you’ll be fine.”

“Shut up bitch. Let’s go clubbing tonight. I need to let some of this stress out before I get trapped in there.”

The night was lively and the drinks kept flowing. Jennie and Jackson from Health and Nutrition, Sana from pediatrics, Yugyeom and Seulgi from Cardio, and even the oh-so-popular Jaebom and Jinyoung from general surgery came out.

You were dressed in the hottest dress you could find in Seulgi’s closet, and according to Yugyeom’s apparently “gay and therefore superior opinion,” your outfit and hair and makeup were basically a “straight guy’s ticket to bonertown.”

“Legit, how could you be so gay but also talk like such a frat boy at the same time?” You sneer, taking another shot of vodka.

He sucks on his lemon, and then flashes a smile. “It’s the best combination. I pull.”

He cocks his chin to a direction behind you. “Also seems like I was right, because you’ve been pulling too. That guys been staring ever since we got to the bar.”

You turn, blurry vision settling on a handsome, leather jacket clad guy that’s sitting with two other guys at the table. He’s looking now, eyebrow cocked and lip between his teeth. He’s not usually your type, but you feel it. This, was the guy you were gonna fuck tonight.

You get up, patting Yugyeom on the arm. “Thanks, I’ll take myself home tonight.” He whistles behind you as you try your best to make your way to the guy, but suddenly your drunk ass hobbles on your Forever 21 heels, and you topple to the side. All of a sudden, there’s a strong hand gripping your upper arm and pulling you up, and an arm wrapping around your waist to offer support.

“Oh shit, miss, you alright?” A low voice sounds right next to your ear. You look up, expecting to see the leather jacket guy, but this...this was much better. This guy was dressed in only a black t-shirt tucked into blue jeans. But his simple ensemble didn’t matter. He was tall, way taller than you in your tallest heels, and he smelled so damn good. His hair was slicked up and his skin absolutely golden. He wasn’t biting his lip or doing anything to try and hook up with you, but in seconds, you were sopping wet.

No, this was the guy you were gonna fuck tonight.

“I will be,” you answer him, straightening up and pressing yourself up against him. “when you buy me a drink.”

He seems to understand what you’re getting at. He chuckles a bit, eyebrow quirking and you think it’s the hottest shit you’ve ever seen since waterproof scrubs. He helps you straighten up. “I think you’ve had enough drinks already. Can I get you some water?”

“Yes,” you breathe, but not letting go. “But only if you stay with me until I’m finished.”

He smiles, and keeps his hand on your waist as he guides you the bar and orders a cup of water. You sit on the single empty bar stool, and he stands, and you revel in the fact that even on this tall bar stool, he still stands taller than you.

You sip the water, and he leans an elbow on the bar, inches from you.

“So, what brings you stumbling into this bar?”

“I’m here with some coworkers,” you say, and he leans in closer to hear you over the loud music.

“Won’t they be looking for you?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” You pout, and he laughs, shaking his head.

“Hell no, I’m just worried.”

“Wow, and they say chivalry is dead.” You fire back, and he laughs again.

“You gonna keep laughing at my jokes or are you gonna ask me to come home with you?” You raise your brows as you sip your water, looking at him over the rim. His expression darkens, but the corner of his mouth sexily turns up.

“I might laugh a little more just to tease, I suppose. Helps build up for later.” He leans up, hand on the bar, but steps a bit closer to you this time. If you leaned up a bit, you’d kiss. He chuckles again, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

You roll your eyes, “Shut up and kiss me already.”

He smiles and leans down, other hand cradling your waist as you reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling harshly when he slides his tongue into your mouth as soon as you open up for him.

He’s a good kisser. He knows how to move his lips, knows when to pull back to leave you wanting for more, and does that thing where he stops kissing to just peck wetly at your lips before sinking in for more. Hook, line, and sinker. You’re done. “Let’s get out of here, please,” you whimper against his lips, and he smiles, straightening up.

“As you wish. Oh, also what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you shout over the music. “What about you?”

“You can call me Joon.” He smirks.

The ride to his apartment is blurry, because all you remember is a lot of giggling and trying not to moan at how his hand is so big around your thigh that you have you physically restrain yourself from jumping him on the highway right there. The tires screech as he parks and you both laugh as you stumble into the elevator, giving the security guards watching the cameras a show when you straight up make out with him in the corner of the elevator, his hand up your dress and your hand up his shirt.

He pushes you against his closed door, dropping his keys and jacket on the ground as he undoes the zipper on your dress. You tug at his shirt, “Off,” you whine, and he smiles, stepping back to whip his shirt off with one hand behind his neck.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” you whimper, and he kisses you breathless. “You’ve been saying that all night. Creative, much?”

“Fuck off, I don’t do hook ups much and I’m just telling the truth,” you say, as he gathers you in his arms and literally picks you up and heads to his bedroom. His hands squeeze your ass as he makes his way over, and you catch a glimpse of a neat, tidy living room. His bedroom is clean too, especially for a bachelor. Navy blue sheets, sleek, black furniture, expensive looking place. He was literally so fucking hot.

He drops you on the bed and immediately drapes over you, his jeans rubbing against your soaked panties. He slides his splayed palms up from your waist up to your breasts, mouth following the motion as he laves his tongue over your nipple, palm gently cupping the weight of your breasts in the grip between his thumb and the rest of his fingers. You preen at the sensation, back arching off the bed. “Pants off,” you pant, squirming underneath the warmth of his hands and mouth.

“So bossy,” he comments, smirking as he leans up on his knees to undo his belt. “I dig that.”

You lay back, taking the time to wiggle out of your soaked panties. You thank the gods you chose to wear your new set of lace undies because the rest of your drawer was basically an ocean of white granny panties. He finally drapes back over you, hand gripping your thigh to open you up as he mouths at your neck.

You retaliate by reaching down and gripping his cock, hand squeezing at his base. You can’t really see it because your face is nestled in his shoulder, but you can feel how hard and big he is. He groans at the sensation, nipping at the sensitive skin behind your ear, sending tingles down your spine and your core clenching around nothing.

He props himself up as he looks down at you and slides a finger between your folds. Your yelp dissolves into a drawn out moan. “Oh my god,” you pant, as he slides the flat of two fingers over your bundle of nerves, “please don’t stop that.” You also work your fist over his cock, mouth blubbering nonsense into his neck. He moves the fingers down into your pussy, sliding in with practically no resistance and slowly drawing them in and out your wetness. You don’t really have much time to be embarrassed by the wetness you can hear, because Joon closes his eyes and bites at the soft skin at the top of your breast.

“Shit,” he grits, and he looks down to see the way your wetness glistens on his fingers, “I don’t think I can wait. Are you good?”

You nod eagerly, and you let go of him as he gives you a hard kiss on the mouth and slides a condom on while still fingering you. Its probably not porn-worthy whatever sounds you’re making, but it seems to do the trick because he kisses you even harder and then flips the both of you over so that you’re sitting in his lap. He cradles your waist and descends on your breasts again, tongue circling your sensitive nubs as you sink down on him inch by inch.

When you bottom out, you clench around him. He’s so long and thick, and it’s been a while since your last hook up. It borders on soreness, but the sensation of him moaning with your nipple in between his lips is enough of a distraction for you to work up the nerve to start moving.

It’s embarrassing how turned on right now you are, but Joon seems to be at the same level of deliriousness because he doesn’t stop touching you. From gripping your thighs, to groping your ass, sliding his hands from your waist up to your ribs, tangling in your hair, gently curling around your neck and tightening slightly, he’s literally everywhere.

“Fuck,” you cry out when one of his hands are around your neck, squeezing lightly. You slow down, grinding instead of bouncing, and the new rhythm puts your clit in that perfect position to get stimulated by his pelvis, and his cock hitting that perfect spot inside of you that you find yourself hurtling over the edge much faster than you’d imagined.

He mouths at your cheek and ear, hand still around your neck when you cum, and suddenly he grips your thigh and presses you down against his pillows as he kneels in front of you and begins fucking you hard. The bed knocks against the wall, but you can’t care because the new position has your orgasm prolonged to a point that you’ve never felt before and your mouth just stays open in a mouthless cry against his chest as he tenses and finishes into the condom, mouth panting hoarse compliments into your ear. “Holy shit, your pussy feels so good. So tight, fuck.”

He pulls out and rolls over so he’s not crushing you, and you let out a final breath. “Wow,” you say, chest heaving as he ties the condom and throws it away. He props his head up on an elbow, grinning at you. “That good?” He says cockily, and you turn to lightly punch his chest.

“Don’t get too cocky. It was just one orgasm.”

“But also seems like the best you’ve ever had.” He adds. You roll your eyes and retort, “Well, that’s what you think--,” but your laugh dissolves into a moan again when he reaches over and pulls you underneath him to press a long, wet kiss to your mouth.

“Shut up,” he whispers between kisses, "and kiss me back already.” You smile as he kisses you, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape, and scratching lightly at his shoulder blades. He growls, and moves to your neck. You sigh as he draws more open-mouthed kisses down your neck and torso, and again when a big hand splays over your thigh to hook it over his shoulder. He presses a peck against your folds and looks up at you, and you mewl as he draws the flat of his tongue thickly through your pussy all the way up. You’re a goner.

“I’m gonna make sure you never forget my name.”

The walk of shame isn’t so bad when you basically have no time to waste as you gather your things and glance once back at Joon who’s still sleeping before running down to his lobby. You don’t really care for the disapproving looks you get, as you rush to get into your uber, and immediately thank god that this particular driver offers you a tiny complimentary water bottle. You chug it down, and try not to throw up.

You literally hurtle out of the car when he gets to your place, making a mental note to tip him heftily, seeing the way he booked it when you asked him to hurry a little. You step into a hot shower and don’t even have time to pick up the dirty clothes off the floor as you quickly dress in a white shirt and navy skirt and run out of your apartment to the bus stop.

Thankfully, you make it on time to your interview, and even though the captain gives a small disapproving look to your wet hair tips, he gives you a huge, bright smile when you tell him you’re a cardio surgeon “taking a break.” When you told him that you used to work as a paramedic before medical school a few years ago, he basically hired you on the spot, babbling on about how much he loves people with more experience.

“So, miss Y/N, what are your interests, your hobbies?” Hoseok trails like a little puppy after you as you walk down the hall from the Fire Captain’s office to your team’s multipurpose room. You frown at him. “Eh,” you brush him off, “not much.”

He smiles, pushing his hair back from his face and trying to stand up tall, “Well, doctor, I love lifting weights and saving damsels in distress. What are you doing later, say, around 5?” You turn on your heel, and he bumps into you, scuttling backwards at the glare you have on your face.

“Look, honey,” you sneer, stepping towards him with a scowl, “You’re cute, but I’m hungover.” you say, scanning him up and down, “And I’m only here for a month and I swear if I have to spend the entire 30 days having you chase me down like a little pet, then I’m probably going to just jump off a building. Okay? So do me a favor, and stop asking me out.”

He gawks at you, and then recovers. “Wait...you’re only here for a month?”

Rolling your eyes, you resume walking towards the wait room. He wasn’t going to stop. “Yes, I’m here just to serve a short community service sentence.”

He hums, following your footsteps again, grinning. “Okay, fine. I won’t try to ask you out. I’ll just keep replaying the part where you said I’m cute over and over again in my head.” He winks at you lightheartedly.

“Here, let me introduce you to the guys.” He walks a bit faster than you as you approach the room, and creaks the door open and lets you in.

As soon as the door swings open, your eyes grow wide as you take in the sight in front of you. In the room, theres a half naked guy digging through the refrigerator, his firefighter’s outfit hanging around his hips. A pair of muscular large ones are wrestling in the corner, also only decked in sweatpants low on their hips. One lounges on the couch in a pair of glasses and a plain white t-shirt and navy uniform pants and boots, while a similarly dressed shorter one is asleep. A tall one is in the corner playing with a tiny puppy. All six of them swivel their heads towards you when you enter.

You wave awkwardly and take a step back to leave when Hoseok bounds in after you and throws an arm around your shoulder, announcing proudly, “Hey guys, this is the new medic hire! Dr. L/N!”

The one closest to you gives you a smile, taking off his glasses and setting his book aside to reach out a hand. “Hey, I’m Seokjin, captain. Nice to meet you doctor!” He smiles and you make a note of how hot he looks in glasses and how broad his shoulders were.

“You can just call me by my first name, y/n,” you shake his hand, “Likewise.”

Another one that was digging through the fridge approaches you with a piece of gummy candy hanging from his lips. His face is sharp, but he breaks out in a huge smile that lights up his face. “Taehyung! Hi y/n, welcome to Unit 55!”

You shake his hand too, “Thanks. Do you have any firewomen?” You glance around as the pair who were wrestling stop their antics and approach you shyly. The taller one shrugs, his muscles rippling as he does and you make a huge effort not to stare. “No, honestly it’s really hard to find a firewoman these days and they probably don’t like spending time with all guys like us either.”

Taehyung leans over. “That’s Jungkook by the way.”

His partner punches Jungkook’s bicep and turns to you with a show-stopping smile. Oh. The girls would swoon for both of them, you note. They’ll have no problem finding firewomen who want to spend all day with them. “I’m Jimin. And even though this idiot makes us sound like a bunch of goons, it’s just rough being around 7 guys all the time for girls probably. But we’ll do our best to help you get comfortable around here. We’re really fun, I promise!”

You frown, glancing around the room and counting the people you’d met already. Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin. Which left just the one still asleep somehow through all the commotion on the couch. Seeing your eyes trail over him, Seokjin looks at you over the rims of his glasses, pointing at the sleeping figure with his chin. “Oh, yeah. That’s Yoongi. Good thing he’s not awake cause he’s really grouchy, but he’s also a really good driver so we keep him. You should meet him later when he’s done with his nap.”

You laugh a little, and nod. “And the 7th?”

Jungkook throws on a shirt as he talks. “Namjoon, our unit Battalion Chief. He’s not here right now, but you’ll be able to meet him later. He basically runs this whole thing.”

“Oh I see,” you muse, and give a tight-lipped smile. “Well, maybe I’ll start moving my things in soon. Can you show me my room?”

“Bitch,” Yugyeom sneers as he watches open-mouthed as the guys help unload your car at the station. “You didn’t tell me that all your co-workers were single, hot guys that walked around shirtless all the time.” He frowns at you, ignoring your eye roll, and then switching 180 degrees and laughing and smiling when Taehyung walks by with all your heavy trunks in his arms.

“Hahahaha, Y/N, you’re so funny,” he fakes, and then turns to you with a glint in his eye. “Maybe I should’ve punched that idiot in the face too and I would’ve been here instead.” He hisses, gawking at the way Jungkook and Jimin both easily haul your mattress up the steps. Shirtless, by the way. Again.

You sigh. “It’s only for a month. And honestly, you’re such a fake ass little bitch. You were the one trying to find me a man, and now that I’m surrounded by them, you resent me for it?” you huff. “Oh, Jin, those drawers just go in the closet, thank you.”

“No problem Y/N,” Seokjin grins, pushing up his glasses as he walks past you two easily, holding up the chest of drawers that took both you and Yugyeom an entire twenty minutes to shove in the moving truck. You give him a smile in return and turn back to Yug with a snort. “Wipe your drool.” You laugh, and he closes his mouth with a clack.

“I’ll literally visit you, like all the time, Y/N,” he whispers.

“Please don’t.”

“Oh also,” he turns to you inquisitively. “What happened last weekend? Did you end up going home with that hot guy?”

You pull him closer. “Keep your voice down,” you hiss. “Yes. I fucked him.”

He whistles lowly. “He wasn’t that good?”

Sighing, you check to make sure all the other boys aren’t in the vicinity. “No, that’s the problem. He was too good. I can’t stop thinking about it. Haven’t had a proper orgasm since.”

He looks unsurprised. “Well, when’s the last time you got laid. College?”

“Shut up, asshole,” you frown, “It’s only been like...a few months.”

“Okay, so I guess we’re calling last year’s during our we’re-not-interns-anymore-party a ‘couple months’ ago. It was like 13 months ago.” He points out, and you glare at him.

“Fine,” you snap, “okay? It’s been, like a year. But he was really good, no matter how deprived I’ve been.”

Yugyeom still looks unimpressed, so you pull his sleeve down to whisper in his ear. “I had five orgasms that night.”

He straightens up, turning to you with wide eyes, “FIVE ORGASMS?”

You wince as chief walks by with a stern look, and you pinch Yugyeom in the side as you laugh, “Oh hahahaha, Yugyeom, you’re such a hilarious guy. Why would a patient even talk about those kinds of horrible things in the waiting room?!”

That seems to help as the chief’s expression lightens and he smiles as he grabs a cup of coffee and ascends the stairs again. You drop the smile as soon as the chief is out of earshot and punch Yugyeom hard.

“Little bitch,” you hiss, “are you trying to get me fired?”

He rubs the spot that you punched. “Ow, and no. I’m just shocked. Did you even get his number or something?”

You sigh, watching as the boys come back down to retrieve a couple more things. “No,” you say forlornly, “I literally had to run out for my interview. I only know his name, and I’m not even sure if its right.”

Yugyeom sighs, watching Jungkook and Jimin banter as they come back down.

“Well, at least you have guys like them to keep you company. Did you bring your vibrator along?”

You pinch him again.

With the help of the boys, moving in wasn’t a problem. Surprisingly, the bunk rooms aren’t at all what you’d expected. It was less of a college dorm room style, and more of like a communal housing unit. Apparently, the Seoul station had updated their housing recently, so the inside looked like a newly furnished office hotel, basically.

Jimin was nice enough to move into Hoseok’s room so that you could have the corner room all to yourself, with a private bath attached. It was adequately sized, but there was a nice closet and twin size bed attached, which was an upgrade from the dinky communal on-call room bunk beds that the hospital provided for the residents to sleep in.

There wasn’t even much to unpack, besides a few articles of clothing, a desk and computer for you to do some catching up on hospital paperwork, a mattress so you could sleep on without knots in your back, and your toiletries. You had a uniform anyway, and you were pretty low maintenance. The hospital shifts didn’t really give much space or time to pay attention to your fashion sense or your looks, and it wasn’t going to change now, either.

You make your way downstairs after finishing, with the stairs of course. The boys had kept trying to convince you that you won’t die if you try the pole, but honestly you weren’t down to break your ankle, especially when you were expected to help during an emergency situation. The stairs were fine. You were only on the second floor anyway.

The boys are already eating in the large lounge, and you see that the sleepy fireman had woken up and had starting to cook.

“Y/N!” Jungkook calls, scooting his chair over to make room for you at the center of their table. “Here!”

You smile and set down your phone, taking a seat as Taehyung brings you a tray. Its pasta and steak, with a huge side salad and green beans. You gape at the cook who’s still engrossed in tasting and perfecting the sauce for the pasta.

“Yoongi hyung’s a really good cook,” Jimin says, with a mouthful of salad and steak. With that, the man in question appears behind the younger firefighter and hands him a cup of water. “Don’t eat and talk at the same time. It’s disgusting.” He says with a curled lip, and then gives you a nod.

“You’re the new paramedic hire right?” He asks.

You nod, “Hi, yes. I’m Y/N.” He shakes your hand, nods, and turns away. “Not much of a talker, is he?” You say, and the boys chuckle.

“Yeah,” Hoseok says, “Yoongi’s not really an extroverted type. But he’ll warm up to you, just give it time.”

The rest of the day goes by smoothly. You have to sit in your room for a couple hours though, watching boredly through the instructional training online lessons you had to complete before starting your first day. You’re close to dozing off when a soft knock sounds.

“Yes!” You sit up and turn, and Jungkook appears, smiling sweetly. “Hi, Y/N! What you doin’?”

You stick a thumb at your computer, “Training videos,” you sigh, curling your lip. “Why?”

“Oh, hyungs and I are gonna watch a movie. If you wanna come sit with us in the lounge and do your training or just watch with us, you’re welcome to!”

You pause. “Won’t it be loud? I probably won’t be able to get anything done.”

“I’m pretty sure Seokjin hyung has done basic training before. He can probably give you all the answers to those end-of-lecture quizzes.”

Now there was your incentive to go. You smile, standing up and closing your laptop. “Why didn’t you say that sooner? Let’s go.”

He guides you down to where the lounge is and all the boys chime a nice “hello” or “y/n!” when you appear in the doorway. You can see that a new episode of Game of Thrones is on. You pad over to Seokjin and he smiles when you ask him for the favor, and moves seats to the couch behind so you can sit with him and watch at the same time.

The night goes smoothly, you tapping Seokjin everytime you finish a lesson and him pausing to quickly finish the quizzes, and you joining in with the debates about the show occasionally. Yoongi brings out some snacks, and eventually Jimin brings out a blanket for you, and by the end of the episode, your training is finished and you’re sipping on soda and eating pizza.

It’s nice, you think, a lot nicer than the hospital. You were used to the competitive nature of medicine. It was always competing against the other residents or interns to get a spot that had ridiculously low acceptance rates. There was always no time to relax. This wasn’t bad at all.

But you shake your head. This was temporary. A break. No need to get attached. They’re just being hospitable. You give a tight lipped smile as the episode ends and you take your laptop and blanket with you as you stand. “Thanks, guys, for inviting me. I’m gonna turn in tonight.” you say, slowly shuffling away. “Good night!” Taehyung yells, and the other boys chime in one by one.

You set your stuff down in your room and get ready for bed. Laying in your single bed, with no one else snoring or sleep talking, and with no post-surgery fatigue to get you straight to sleep, it’s hard. You end up staring up at the ceiling of your room, sighing as you try to think of the most boring topics in the world to try and get to sleep.

“Just a few weeks, y/n.” you murmur, turning onto your side.

You’re finally dozing off when suddenly, the intercom you had no idea was located right outside your door bursts to life. “Code 904B Building Fire. Code 904B Building Fire.”

You scramble up, throwing your covers back as you stick your head out into the hallway. The lights are flashing brightly, but you can hear the sounds of the boys in each room getting ready. The first one out into the hallway is Taehyung, and he jogs up to you. “Put on your uniform, y/n,” he pants, “and meet us downstairs as soon as possible. We gotta go, and since it’s a building fire, there might be a few injuries you can help us with.”

“Okay,” you nod, as the rest of the boys begin appearing in the hallway with navy shirts on and their firemen overalls already on. They one by one disappear down the pole and you scramble to get the paramedic bodysuit on. You pull on your boots hastily and then sprint down the stairs, and see the chief addressing everyone.

“Alright, Yoongi and half of you in car 1, and the rest of you in mine. Namjoon is already in his way from his meeting, so he’ll meet us there. Let’s go!” The boys break out into jogs as they hurriedly begin packing the hoses tightly and jumping into the cars. “Chief,” you call out, “Where can I go?”

“Go with Yoongi!” He yells, and drives off, sirens wailing. You jump into the first car and immediately you’re surprised when Yoongi, usually lethargic and slow, slams on the accelerator and your own truck bolts into life. Stumbling into a seat, you ask Hoseok, “So, this is how it always happens?”

He nods solemnly, his usual playful smile gone. “24/7. We gotta stay alert.” You nod. He points to a large, bright orange utility box in the corner of the bus. “That’s your medic kit. You can look through it now if you want, we’ll be getting to the site in a few minutes.”

You nod, perching the box on the seat next to you and digging through it. It was pretty basic, syringes, bottles of lidocaine and epinephrine for stitch jobs, synthetic thread, scalpels, bandaids, alcohol, gauze, and more. You were used to working with the minimum at the emergency room. And seemed like whoever was in charge of this box had kept it neatly and pretty well-stocked. You lock the box when the truck begins to slow, and look out the window to see the commotion.

A large building has caught on fire, and already there are two other trucks unloading at the site, their firefighters already hooking up their hoses onto the fire hydrants and assembling into position to enter the building for any remaining people. The whole area smells like smoke and through it, the glow of the orange fire against the night sky is barely visible.

Immediately as the truck parks, the boys in the vehicle spring to motion. Their uniforms are already on, helmets, gloves, and oxygen tanks and all. One by one they jog out the door of the truck and do the same, unloading the hose from the side of the firetruck and linking it easily to the fire hydrant and getting ready to spray down the building.

You pull your hair back into a ponytail and look around for anyone who might be in need of help. There’s already a few survivors out around the area in the grass, and you run over to a woman laying down.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” You say as you approach her and kneel next to her. Her husband is crying. “Sir! Is she okay? What happened?”

“P-please! We were just picking up our son and then the burning piece of wood fell on her leg. No one has been able to h-help her yet! Our son is still in that building, too!”

You unlocked your box and reassured him, “Okay, sir, I need you to calm down and help me. Someone will go find your son, but we need to help your wife right now. Do you have a phone on you? Can you use the flashlight? I need to see the area.”

He does as you instruct with shaky hands, and you carefully use the scissors in the kit to cut a strip down her pants. The burn is quite bad and covers a lot of surface area, in addition to having a huge laceration down her thigh that needs to be stitched up now, in case of infection or bleeding out. You frown, she must have been in a lot of pain.

“Ma’am, can you understand me? This is going to be a bit painful, but I need to sanitize the area.”

She’s just sobbing at this point, but you can make out some words. “Please,” she sobs, “M-my s-son!”

You lean closer, “Sorry? Your son?”

She sobs and nods, “H-he’s still inside!!” She pushes your hands away from her leg, “I won’t be treated until I find him!”

You sigh, turning around to see if there are any firefighters available. You see one coming out of the building to replace his oxygen tank. You run up to him, unable to see anything but his eyes through the protective gear he was wearing.

“Hey! Hey, this woman I’m trying to treat is refusing treatment until she sees her son, and she claims he’s still inside. Please, if she doesn’t let me treat it right now, she might have to amputate her leg.” He nods, and follows you to the couple.

When they see him approaching, the woman goes hysterical. “Please!” She screams, “He’s still in there, on the second floor. I haven’t seen anyone bring him out!”

“Okay, ma’am, I’m going to go back inside for him. You need to calm down, and let this lady treat your leg, or else it could get worse. You need to stay strong for your son.”

She nods, and turns to you. You spring into action, giving the firefighter a nod as he stands. You frown, his voice sounded so familiar, but you couldn’t pinpoint it.

The lady begins wailing as the adrenaline fades and the pain of her injury begins to hit. You have her husband hold her hand as you pour some alcohol on the area and she wails as the open cut is cleaned out.

Quickly, you stitch up the wound and dress the burns so that they’re manageable. She refuses to take the ambulance to the hospital until she sees her son, so you coax her into just sitting on the gurney in the ambulance and wait for her son. You try and calm down the couple as you move onto address a few more people in the vicinity with minor cuts, scrapes, and burns.

Suddenly, you hear a commotion, and you turn to the building that’s now less of a bonfire and more of a quiet smolder, and the firefighter from earlier emerges with something in his arms.

The woman you had treated earlier immediately starts wailing and crying as the firefighter jogs over to you and her and sets a boy down onto a gurney. He’s unconscious, and the firefighter whips off his helmet as he addresses you.

“He’s breathed in quite a bit of smoke, and fell unconscious when I picked him up. He needs pediatric CPR!”

“Namjoon!” Hoseok cries out.

You gawk as you watch him yell instructions at you and the rest of the firefighters you’d met, brows furrowing and eyes widening as you recognize those slanted eyes, thick lips and angled jawline that you’d run your tongue over that one fateful night. It was Joon. He was a firefighter. His name was Namjoon.

“Y/N!” He grabs you by the shoulders, “Focus!”

You immediately spring into action, running towards the boy and checking his pulse. “Do you know how to do compressions on a pediatric patient?” You breathe, and Joon nods, throwing his helmet and his tank aside and opening the buttons on his uniform jacket before he climbs atop the gurney.

As he begins compressions, you deliver some shots on his arm and search his body for any large cuts or burns. You hook him up to an oxygen mask and turn up the machine to high. “Switch!” You call out, and your hands replace Joon’s as you climb atop him and begin compressions.

“One, two, three...” You count out, as other paramedics swarm around you to prepare him to be delivered to the hospital as soon as possible.

The boy stirs, and you stop compressing, and watches as he begins coughing, from deep within, and you help remove his oxygen mask and pull him up to a sitting position as he continues coughing the smoke and ash out of his lungs. A paramedic gives him some water and after the boy finishes coughing, you help him sip some water as he recovers.

The others help usher him onto a gurney and also help his mother and father join the ambulance.

You watch as the blaring sirens fade away and sigh as the remaining firefighters douse the building in water and put out the flames. Your knees are feeling weak, your heart up in your throat, and your breath short.

Feeling a presence standing next to you, you turn and meet eyes with him. You narrow your eyes at him, giving him a once over from his ash-stained angular face to the bulky equipment and uniform lining his body. Probably from the boots he was wearing, he seemed even taller than from the club.

He gives you a cocky grin. “So, you’re a paramedic, huh?”

You roll your eyes, stopping down to collect your materials and all the wrappers of the syringes and needles you had used to treat your patients.

“Not a paramedic, a doctor. On voluntary community service.” You huff.

He stoops down too, setting his helmet aside to help with your tools. “No wonder you’re good with your hands.”

You stop, sitting on your haunches to give him a look. He does the same, matching your cold gaze with a smirk. “I think that’s very unprofessional, Mr. Joon.”

You stand, locking the paramedic box angrily and stomp away.

But he easily catches up to you, having those damned long legs of his, and follows you to your truck. It makes you angrier that he begins unloading his equipment and uniform off into the same truck you came in.

“I think, Y/N, the moment you started making out with me at that club, professionalism was kind of thrown out the window, don’t you think? You disappear that morning without a trace, and then suddenly you appear again at my workplace. Don’t you think I have the right to be a bit confused and curious?”

“Look.” You turn to him. “That was a one-night thing. I told you that I don’t do them often, and it was a mistake and I’m sorry, I won’t do that to you again. So just--” you throw your hands into the air, frustrated that he looked so goddamn good as he took off his thick outer coat and stood in front of you with just a black t-shirt and the pants of his uniform low on his hips. “--just pretend it didn’t happen. Just forget about it.”

You turn to walk away into the truck, but he stops you. “Wait! Wait wait wait, Y/N,” he turns to face you, the smirk wiped away and now brows attractively collecting in a frown, “For the record, I don’t consider that night as a mistake.”

“Huh?” Your eyes widen as you frown up at him.

He doesn’t look away. The playfulness has dropped and he’s completely serious as his voice takes a lower tone.

“Sleeping with you wasn’t a mistake for me. Don’t apologize. I’ve only been able to think about you since then, and I don’t think that you showing up here out of all the other precincts or departments is another mistake, either. I’m sorry if I came on too strong, but I want to be clear with you that my intentions are to get to know you better, and do it the right way.”

“Do what the right way?”

“Date you,” he says simply, like he was talking about the goddamn weather.

Literally, who was this guy? Your mind was completely blank. Like, who just says exactly what they’re thinking? How could he just be so...honest? What’s his game?

You blubber out the first thing that comes to mind. “I don’t date co-workers. Especially here. I’m only scheduled to volunteer for several weeks.”

He seems to gain a bit of confidence. “Y/N, that sounds more like an excuse, than it does a reason.”

You huff, blowing your hair out of the way. “Nonetheless, the answer is no.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Don’t be surprised if I ask you again.”

And he does.

Every. Single. Day.

When you wake up, “Hey, Y/N, will you go on a date with me?”

“No,” you’d say, roll your eyes, and spit out your toothpaste.

When you’re in the library, reading up on the latest studies. He’ll pop his head in and say, “Oh, Y/N, dinner’s ready.”

When you look up and nod, “Thanks. I’ll be right there.”

He’ll nod back, and then say, “Oh by the way, will you go on a date with me?”

You’d learned to just laugh it off or ignore him.

When you’re in the dining commons. You’ll be chatting with Taehyung about something and Namjoon will walk by, hand you a mug of coffee, and walk away without a word. When you lift the coffee up to drink it after Taehyung leaves for something, you find a slip of paper on the saucer.

Will you go on a date with me?

You crumple up the paper while maintaining eye contact and drop it into the steaming cup of coffee. Then, you stand, and pour the mug out into the trash, while he watches with an amused smirk.

The only times he doesn’t ask you out is when you’re on calls.

Over the next few weeks, you notice that Namjoon has three modes: 1) His Chief mode, 2) his off-duty mode, and 3) his flirting-with-you mode. Modes 2 and 3 tended to mix, especially when he was with you.

But whenever that light on the walls of the department begin to ring and flash, indicating an emergency call, Namjoon immediately enters his chief-mode. One time, he was in the middle of taunting you with probable bad-date ideas, the lights began flashing and you had watched as he shook himself out of his off-duty mode, and immediately started barking out orders to the group and you, responding to the dispatch on his walkie-talkie. It had happened in a millisecond.

You were in the lounge with Seokjin and Jimin, watching a movie while Yoongi dozed off in one of the couches. You had slowly begun to easily sink into this lifestyle. You guys were lucky if you got at least a few hours in between calls to relax, and since the most recent call was a small issue with some old lady’s cat up in a tree, Hoseok and Taehyung had volunteered to go on their own. It was a relaxing Thursday afternoon.

Like clockwork, right as you were almost dozing off, the lights began to flash and blare as your walkie-talkies exploded to life and the dispatch officer began reading out the issue.

The boys spring to life, immediately jumping over to the pole and going downstairs to change into their uniforms. You sigh and use the stairs to run down to the garage and get into your uniform, clambering into the truck as Namjoon begins listing out orders. It was a gas leak in a chemical factory, and they wanted the firemen to take care of it. You were only following for protocol.

“It shouldn’t be too complicated. Yoongi, did you contact the engineers to shut off the power?” Namjoon asks.

“Yeah, they turned off all electricity, but they can’t turn off the gas valve. It’s stuck.”

“Okay, that’ll be the first thing to take care of. Jungkook, can you take care of that?”

You watch as the firetrucks pull in and follow the men into the warehouse. It’s completely dark but they all turn on their headlights as they treck through.

Namjoon leads them into the main gas chamber where one of the tanks is steadily leaking a stream of cold, compressed air out of it. Him and Jungkook immediately head over and begin working together to tighten the valve, while Seokjin begins looking for the pipe that leads into the tank.

You watch, boredly as the men do their thing, when suddenly, Jungkook yanks a bit too hard and both him and Namjoon are thrown back.

Jungkook immediately begins yelling out, and you scramble up in horror to see that he’d been thrown back into a piece of metal that was sticking out.

“Oh my god,” you cry out as you rush to his side. “Jungkook, hold on, I got you. Can you turn on your side so I can see the wound better?”

He moves while wincing in pain, but manages to maneuver so that the wound on his back is facing you. Using a flashlight, you make sure that the metal didn’t pierce any vital organs or arteries, and reassure him that it’s okay as you begin cleaning and stitching up the wound. After you’re finished, you look up to see Seokjin run into the room, and let you all know that he’d disassembled the valve and fixed the leak.

You sigh in relief as you cut the final thread and place some gauze over the stitches. Hoseok and Jimin had returned to help, and they throw Jungkook’s arms over their shoulders as they help him walk out of the building. You begin to pack your things, when you see Namjoon lagging behind the rest of the group, clutching his arm.

You catch up to him, “Hey, are you okay?”

He winces, but nods at you to go. “I’m fine. Catch up with the rest of them. I’ll be right behind you.”

You frown as you survey his features. The boys are now out of sight and you and Namjoon are the only ones left inside the chamber. “No, you don’t look very okay. Did you get hurt?”

He finally relents, groaning in pain as you guide him to sit down on some steps and remove his jacket. You gasp as his t-shirt comes off. Jungkook had been impaled when he hit the wall as he was thrown back, but it seemed that Namjoon had been in the direct line of contact when the valve of the pipe had blown off. It had sliced through his uniform and left quite a deep cut in his rib.

“Holy shit, Namjoon, you are not okay. Let me stitch this up right now.”

He shakes his head, “Let’s get out of here, first.”

You push him back. “If you keep moving, this wound is too close to your vital organs and it might cause infection or you might bleed out. Why didn’t you say you were hurt?”

He shakes his head as you begin unpacking your box of materials. For the first time in your few weeks at the department, you see a dark look of shame and regret written over his face. “I was the one who asked Jungkook to help me, if I didn’t, he wouldn’t be hurt.”

You click your tongue at him as you clean the wound, apologizing as he hisses in pain at the contact of alcohol. “You know, you say a lot of stupid shit, but that’s one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard you say to me. Ever.”

He laughs a little at that, wincing as it puts pressure on his side. You glare at him as you examine the wound and begin numbing the surrounding skin. “You’re a great chief, you know that. I’m administering some pretty heavy painkillers. Tell me when you start getting a bit woozy.”

He just silently watches you hover over his torso, squinting as you maneuver the hook needle and stitch him up. “I think that’s the first time you ever complimented me, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, so now your chief mode is off, I guess.”

He furrows his brows. “Chief mode?”

You nod, snipping at the threads as you begin another stitch.

“You have these modes you enter on the job. One of them is when you become this intense, no-nonsense leader, telling us all what to do and what to get done.”

He smiles, “And the other mode?”

“There’s two actually,” you say, still focused on his wound, “There’s one that’s always flirting with me, and there’s a third, where I can see that you really, really care for everyone on this team. That third one is the mode you’re in.”

“Are you maybe getting turned on by that mode, Y/N?” He winks at you, and you laugh, poking him in his side and making him groan out as you finish dressing the clean wound and help him get his uniform jacket back on. “Shut up, now your flirty mode is back on too.”

You’re cleaning up the materials in your box when suddenly, the lights come back on, bright white, and as you and Namjoon are squinting to try and reassess your surroundings, the huge gate to the chamber closes with a hissing noise and a loud clang.

“Shit,” you hear Namjoon cuss, and you scramble up, running over to the door and searching for a handle, a knob, or a button, anything to get it back open. You click your walkie-talkie, waiting for the static to sound to let you know that it’s communicating, but there’s nothing.

“No use,” he winces, zipping up his jacket, “The company probably just turned the electricity on when they saw some of the trucks leaving.”

You watch in horror as the vents surrounding you begin hissing and cold air begins drafting in. “What is this?”

“It’s a containment chamber for flammable chemicals, so I assume that it stays at a cool temperature. It’s fine, some of the boys will probably realize we’re here and be back in no time.” He lays down against the steps.

“Namjoon!” You scramble over, “Do not fall asleep, do you hear me? The temperature dropping is going to make your wound even worse. You need to stay warm, stand up if you can.”

He frowns, curling into himself with a pout. “I’m cold.”

You roll your eyes. It was the painkillers kicking in. He was getting lethargic, and it could kill him. “I know, you big fat baby, but if we don’t start warming up, we might die in here. C’mon, stand up.”

He begins moving around, although you instruct him not to stress his wound, he begins rocking around on his legs to try and make some body heat. You do the same, waving your arms around and trying to generate some heat.

At one point, you lose complete sense of time, and Namjoon wakes up from the initial wave of his painkillers to find the both of you huddled in the corner of the chamber, knees curled into your torsos as you shiver in the cold.

“Y-Y/N,” he breathes, and reality dawns on him as he sees the mist of his breath fan out from his mouth. “Y/N?”

“S-s-so cold,” you chatter, curling into him as he puts his good arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer.

“D-don’t fall asleep,” he breathes, and you don’t respond, the chills rocking your entire shaking body as you curl into him further.

The walkie-talkie screeches for a moment, and Namjoon grabs it, responding back to the static. “H-hello? Anyone! Y/N and I are stuck in the main chamber! Temperature is dropping quickly. Hello?!”

The only response is static as he drops the walkie-talkie to just pull you in closer. “Y/N?”

There’s no response, and when he pulls back to try and look at you, your head lulls in his arms.

“Shit,” he mutters, “Y/N, Y/N!” He shakes you, but you’re completely unconscious in his arms. "Wake up!”

“No no no no no,” he chants, as he begins undressing, his whole body resisting the motions as he shivers in the cold, but he perseveres. He pulls his uniform open, baring his chest, and then proceeds to unbutton your uniform as well, baring a t-shirt underneath. He pulls your limp body close as he removes the t-shirt and then completely drapes himself over you, pressing your bare chests together as he pulls you tight against him, skin to skin.

He pulls the uniform tighter around your back so that you don’t lose any more body heat, when he finally hears yelling and pounding on the other side of the huge gate. He hugs you closer to himself before everything goes black, too.

#namjoon fics #bts fics #namjoon smut #bts smut #namjoon fluff #fics #writing #mine #yay! im back!!!

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silverfootstepswrites · 5 years ago

Text

Amaryllis | Chapter 7

< Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 >

+++

"Lady."

Sakura took a deep breath as she sank deeper into the steaming water. She idly flicked at one of the flower petals drifting along the surface. It was nice of the queen to provide her with a large selection of flowers and oils to accommodate her during her stay. The bath had always been her favorite place to relax and that hadn't changed. Lifting one foot out of the water, she wiggled her toes against the cool tile.

"Lady," she said again. The word slipped out of her mouth, dancing across her lips. She tested the weight of the word against her tongue. Raising one foot out of the water, she arched it before dangling it over the edge of the tub.

“What a silly word,” she decided before sliding down into the water to submerge herself completely.

Sometime later, there was a soft knock on the door. Moegi must’ve been busy, because Haku’s voice drifted through.

“A visitor for you, General.”

Sakura lifted her face out of the water. Droplets trickled down her chin and shoulders.

“A visitor?” she repeated. The awkward pause alerted her that it was someone other than Sasuke. The door opened a crack. Haku kept his eyes focused on the tiled floor.

“The Queen’s Physician,” he clarified in a whisper.

Sakura sighed.

“Go fetch refreshments. I’ll be right out,” she ordered, her hand splashing down into the water. Haku shut the door. The murmur of his voice barely drifted into the bathroom as he spoke to the guest.

Sakura rose. Water trickled noisily down her body. Landing in splashes back into the tub. Sakura wrapped her middle up in a towel and wrung her hair out.

“Do you always barge into your patients' private quarters?" sighed Sakura a few minutes later. She was wrapped up in a fluffy robe. Wet hair falling down the back. She paused in the doorway of the sitting room before she made her way to her bedroom, wet feet slapping against stone. Moegi ran after her to help her put on her slippers. Then Sakura joined Karin in the salon.

"Only for the ones that skip appointments. You were supposed to come see me yesterday," Karin cheerfully scolded her before she reached for her tea.

"I'm not… overly fond of hospitals," admitted Sakura with some hesitation. Karin sucked in her lower lip between her teeth as she scrutinized the other woman. And then she gave a knowing shake of her head.

"Sometimes I forget that you're a soldier," Karin declared. Sakura stared at her.

"Most soldiers don't have fond memories of hospitals. It's different from the nobles. For them, it's a luxury they can afford to like," the doctor explained with a smile that wasn't really a smile.

Karin was tall and thin with a cutting tongue. There tended to be sharpness to her words that bordered on being brusque. But Sakura also recognized that edge as efficiency. The brown rims of Karin's glasses framed her bright gaze and she had a habit of pushing them back up the bridge of her nose when she spoke. The most distinctive thing about Karin was her bright red hair- long and sleek on one side and in choppy layers on the other side. Sakura realized with some surprise that the only other person she had ever met with such red hair was Naruto's mother.

"You're making me blush with your staring, General," teased Karin. Sakura couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Well, as long as you're staring at me, how about you remove your robe and I'll take a look at your back," Karin continued. Her tone lost some of the teasing as she focused on her job.

Pulling the tie loose, Sakura shrugged the robe off her shoulders and turned to present her back to Karin. There was a long moment as Karin simply sat staring at the scar. She mumbled things to herself for a while before she reached out and pressed her thumbs along the sides of the healing gash.

“Does this hurt?” the doctor asked.

“A little.”

“Good. The nerves are working properly.”

"So, you have the entire court chattering about your tragic history. What's that all about?" queried Karin as she continued poking and prodding along the edges of the scar. Sakura kept her mouth pressed in a tight line. She gathered her robe in the front to cover her chest. She met Moegi’s eyes and mouthed the word ‘shirt’ to the girl. The attendant disappeared.

“If they’re already chattering, why bother asking me?” Sakura evaded the question.

“Rumors and vengeance feed nobility. I thought you, of all people, would know that. That’s why the oldest, nastiest ones never seem to die,” Karin remarked.

“…You’re no commoner,” Sakura observed.

“You’re smart, General,” the doctor stated so frankly that Sakura couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Alright, Doctor. Let’s just say that my problems begin and end with family. They do say that familial obligation is just another route to misery.”

"Oh, I understand. In-laws are the worst. Mine would have my head if not for Her Majesty’s protection," Karin cheerfully divulged.

Sakura raised an eyebrow. “Why would that be? You’re well-educated. You serve one of the most honorable positions in the queen’s service. Why on earth would anyone hate a successful woman- Oh.” Sakura stopped herself. She gave Karin a flat look. One the woman returned.

“People just hate to see a woman in power. It insults them, for some reason,” sighed Karin. With that, she took her hands off Sakura’s back and pulled her robe back up. She watched Sakura tie the robe shut with a sort of pensive expression before she pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. Her ring twinkled with the movement.

“So a physician, as well as a baroness. Congratulations,” Sakura finally put the pieces together.

Shisui wore the same ring.

Karin smiled. And then her eyes flickered to the door. “Oh. Looks like the tea is here.”

+++

Sunlight peeked into the halls of Whiteriver Keep through narrow windows. It was late in the morning and faint echoes of voices traveled from down the corridor somewhere. The stamp of boots bounced off the stone floors and walls. Hands at his sides, Sasori strode in the direction of the royal meeting chambers.

A letter had arrived in Plumeria a couple weeks ago. Sasori had struggled to quell the urge to toss it into the flames and pretend that the messenger had died at sea. A sneer curled his lips as he glanced around at the dim surroundings. Whoever had thought to build a home out of dark stone clearly had no sense of aesthetics.

“Tasteless,” he scoffed before he fixed his gaze back ahead. In the flickering light of the lanterns mounted on the walls, Sasori could see the heavy double doors. The guards on duty moved their spears. Until they realized who it was. They straightened their backs as they parted. They opened the doors for him, revealing a room with a large rectangular table. Seated at the head was the King Regent. He smiled, raising a hand in greeting.

“Ah, Admiral. So good of you to join us,” declared Minato without a hint of artifice. He was so transparent. Sasori put his right fist over his heart and bowed, his head inclining just enough the that no one would remark on his lack of manners. The starched fabric of his gloves creaked against the strain of his clenching fingers.

Around table sat the Crown’s advisors. There was Countess Inuzuka, the Minister of Defense, who nodded at Sasori as he took a seat at the table. Her son currently served as a Lieutenant General in the kingdom army. She was veteran of many wars herself. The scar on her left cheek was a reminder that not even a knife to the face could take her down.

Beside the Countess was Duke Hyuuga, who didn’t even acknowledge Sasori. He simply touched a strand of his silky hair. He descended from some of the oldest blood in the kingdom. His role as Minister of Finance meant that he oversaw the kingdom’s treasury, which had grown even larger after the war had ended. Sakura had made certain of that as she plundered the palaces of the late King Orochimaru.

Last was Marquess Shimura, who had served as the Regent’s Prime Minister for many years now. He only had one eye. But even that one eye was filled with malice as he stared at Sasori.

“You’re late, Admiral. A poor start to things. Especially given that you’re filling in for the General,” drawled Danzo.

Sasori leaned back in his seat. “Oh, I didn’t realize that I was late. I suppose it’s because I had to sail on the ocean. And then travel for days on horseback. Just to hear you nag me, Prime Minister,” he retorted.

Minato laughed. “Come now, Marquess. Don’t be so hard on the boy. He’s come a long way just for this meeting.”

Sasori bared his teeth at the word ‘boy’. “Thank you,” he replied.

The meeting was long and pointless. They reviewed points that Danzo had undoubtedly made decisions on before the meeting had even begun. Everyone knew that he was the man truly running the country. All the Regent did was sit there and nod.

“Now, there’s the matter of the southern border Your Grace,” Danzo moved on.

Sasori’s eyebrows rose. This was actually something that he had been thinking on not too long ago. His eyes met Tsume’s across the table. She just barely shook her head, as if urging him to stay quiet.

“The attacks from the warlords have become more frequent. Just last month, they assaulted several caravans of merchants traveling well within our borders,” Danzo read off a list in his hand.

“Have we continued to send them tribute as always?” Minato questioned.

“Yes, we have, Your Grace. Gold and precious jewels. The same as always,” Hiashi reported. He flipped through a few pages of his ledger. Which was purely for show. Everyone knew that the crafty old man knew every single transaction inside and out. The crown didn’t spend a single copper coin that the minister didn’t know about.

“I advise that we increase the amount. The instability in the area makes it possible that a new warlord has taken over these lands. That could be the cause of this violence against us,” Danzo said. The Regent considered this, rubbing his chin. He looked over at Tsume, who sat there, looking neither disinterested nor riveted.

“Countess, what are your recommendations as the Minister of Defense?” Minato inquired.

Tsume tapped her nail against the table. “I dare not touch the General’s troops without her permission. If Your Majesty commands, I will send a formal request to the General to have forces sent to the area. I’m certain she will reply favorably for the sake of the kingdom,” she replied.

Hiashi and Danzo glared at her. But Tsume simply smiled.

“It’s been many years since I’ve been an active member of the military, Admiral. Is this the protocol?” Tsume then questioned.

Eyes turned to Sasori.

“There certainly must be… order… when we work. The Regent would do well to heed Countess Inuzuka’s counsel,” was all Sasori said. He kept his mouth shut for the rest of the meeting. For fear that words would escape his mouth that he could never take back.

After all the agendas had been addressed, the Regent adjourned the meeting. Sasori escaped the dreary chambers as quickly as possible. He felt Tsume tap his shoulder with the back of her hand as he passed. He climbed the stairs- two at a time. And then he slipped through several side passages until he made his way to the outer walls that guarded the castle. Soldiers were familiar with the way here. Especially those that patrolled the area. It was cold enough here that people rarely came out for a pleasant stroll. And windy enough that the wind would carry secrets away.

Sasori stopped to take a deep breath and grimace. He shook his head a little, as if trying to rattle the memory of that meeting out of his skull.

A little ways down, he spotted a few people waiting for him in the shade of one of the castle’s towers.

Kiba straddled the wall, one leg brazenly swinging over the edge. Shino stood with his back to him, keeping a lookout, his lips folded in a tight line. Shikamaru was the last man standing with him, a yawn warping his mouth.

Sasori took several steps toward them. Kiba half-turned in his direction, greeting him with a smirk.

“It’s rare for you to come to Whiteriver, Admiral,” remarked Kiba.

Eyes narrowing, Sasori looked down at the moat and the long drawbridge laying across it.

“The Regent requested a council meeting,” he explained.

“It’s worrying that the Regent is calling his council in the General’s absence,” Shino observed. He rarely spoke. But when he did, he made his words count. He adjusted his tinted glasses on the high bridge of his nose.

"I highly doubt it was his doing,” Shikamaru retorted.

“You’re right. The Aristocratic Faction pushed him,” Sasori confirmed. Any fool could see that it was the nobles who were in charge of that meeting.

Their conversation paused as they watched a stooped man bound with bandages leave the confines of the castle. The way he tapped his cane against the stone gave him away immediately. Sasori's eyes narrowed.

"I trust Marquess Shimura least of all," Shikamaru added in a low voice.

The old man had been the Regent's closest advisor for years. The late queen had wisely kept Lord Danzo at a safe distance, including him only enough to keep from taking offense. It had been a wise decision. One that the regent was unable to see.

“The Marquess may be the one missing an eye but the Regent is the one that's blind," scoffed Sasori.

“Ah. Poetry. It wouldn’t be a talk with the Admiral without some prose,” Kiba remarked, chuckling at his own joke. Sasori glanced at him. Like he was considering whether or not to push him right off the rampart. But then his face smoothed out a little.

“Thank the goddess that your mother was at the meeting. She seems to be speaking some sense into that man,” Sasori informed them. He stopped talking then because he glowered down at the figures exiting the castle gates. The drawbridge drew back up with a slow, rattling groan. Only when the heavy iron gates slammed back down did Sasori get to his feet.

“The southern border,” Sasori suddenly said.

Shikamaru sighed. “The warlords?” he asked, touching his fingers to his temple.

“The Duke claims that the attacks are increasing his violence and frequency. He advised the Regent to send more money to pacify them,” Sasori reported. And then he glanced down at his hand, at the gold bangles on his wrist. He rattled them a little with a shake of his wrist to untangle them.

Kiba clucked his tongue. “Ever since the coup, that entire territory has been a madhouse. I don’t understand why we don’t just cross the border. We could subdue those warlords in… what do you say, Aburame? Three years?” Kiba turned to look at his fellow Lieutenant General.

Shino’s glasses glinted in the sunlight.

“Less. If the General leads the charge herself. Far less,” was all he said.

“It would be a bloodbath. On both sides. Just because they’re called warlords doesn’t mean that they’re barbarians. They were formerly vassals of the king of Wave Country,” Shikamaru reminded the both of them.

Kiba scoffed. “You call them vassals? They murdered the entire royal family. Now that place is just territories lumped together.”

“So are we. That’s what all kingdoms are,” Shikamaru answered.

Kiba’s smirk disappeared as he contemplated that.

“Count Yamanaka wasn’t at the meeting?” Shikamaru then asked, turning back to Sasori.

Sasori shook his head. “It was only the official council members.”

Shikamaru rolled his eyes. “He might as well be. He sticks his nose into everything these days.”

They were quiet for a moment. Surprisingly, Shino was the one to break the silence.

“The General is undoubtedly forging ties in the north. She will want to do the same in the south.”

Heads swiveled toward him.

“Are you suggesting that the General befriend these warlords?” laughed Kiba.

“No. Like Nara said, the warlords are just nobles without a king. They’ll have someone working for them. Likely hired swords,” Shino spelled out for them.

Shikamaru rubbed his chin. “Hm… we could buy out their contracts. Have them turn on their employers. And it would go against what the Regent and his council have decided.”

As Shino spoke, a smile appeared on Sasori’s face. It only widened when Shikamaru added on to the proposal. “Since when did you serve the Regent, Lieutenant Generals?” Sasori challenged. Three sets of eyes flew to him.

Kiba clenched his jaw. “Since never, Admiral,” he spat.

“Excellent,” declared Sasori. And then, with a nod, he took off from their meeting. The three men probably had a lot to discuss.

Sasori slipped back into the confines of the castle. He had spent enough time here to know his way around fairly well.

Sakura had spent a lot of time here as a child. Even though she had made an effort to go home to Plumeria during the colder weather, the leftover months were spent in this place- a damp stack of stones that always smelled vaguely of moisture and moss. Sasori had visited frequently, but he could imagine that it was a lonely place to be. Thankfully, his time at the military academy meant that he was right in the city. He snuck out on his free days to keep her company. Though the marketplace was nowhere near as exciting, and the ocean was far away, they had been together.

As Sasori mused over his memories, he didn't realize that his feet had found a familiar path. Only when he was standing outside of Sakura's room did he understand where he was. One of the servant girls walking past looked ready to ask him why he was skulking around here until another girl grabbed her by the arm and ushered her away. Most of the castle staff recognized him by now. And if not, the sword in his belt was usually message enough for them to leave him alone.

Sakura had left the castle in May. It was now the beginning of August. And as Sasori stood outside her door, he wondered why he half-expected her to poke her head out and sigh as she begged him to keep her from dying of boredom.

And on some stranger impulse, Sasori grasped the metal knob and twisted it. The heavy door creaked inwards. Sasori immediately smelled a mustiness that betrayed months of lazy cleaning. Or perhaps it had not even been cleaned at all. Clicking his tongue, Sasori peered inside. It was dark as all the curtains were drawn. But his first step into the room connected with something on the floor that clearly did not belong there.

Eyes widening, Sasori burst into the bedroom and strode across the floor to rip the curtains open. As sunlight streamed into the dusty room, Sasori struggled to take in all the details at once as the dust swirled around in lovely patterns.

The dresser was in disarray with all the drawers yanked out and resting in skewed angles. The armoire doors were flung open. The few clothes Sakura had left behind were strewn across the ground. Even the bookcase was completely upended. One corner was splintered, as if someone had smashed it out of frustration. The cushions and pillows were split down the middle and all the feathers yanked out. Desk drawers were lying on the floor, thrown and rifled through.

At the sound of Sasori's shout, the guards were quick to come.

"What is the point of having you fools on patrol in every damn hall if none of you are intelligent enough to notice this?" he snarled. Sasori was met with bewildered stares until he pointed into the room. There were gawks. One gave a garbled attempt at an excuse. The back of Sasori’s hand connected with his face, sending him sprawling. He lay cowering on the ground. Sasori very nearly spat on him. While these guards had received some training at the Academy, they were ultimately the Regent’s personal troops. He couldn’t really discipline them the way he would treat one of the kingdom’s soldiers.

“Get out of my sight,” Sasori hissed.

The one of the floor scrambled backwards on his hands and feet. His fellow guards grabbed him by the shoulders, dragging him out of the doorway.

Sasori strode across the room. He ran his hands along the inside of Sakura’s gutted desk. He could feel gouge marks in the wood. And when his fingers found the hidden compartment, he let out a sigh of relief. The wood was splintered and marked there, too. As if the intruder had found it empty and taken out his frustrations on the desk again and again.

Still, he would have to write to her. To make certain that there had been nothing to steal from there.

+++

Far away, across the forests and up a mountain, Sakura woke drenched in sweat.

As she bolted up, she groped for a sword at her waist that wasn't there. Gasping for air, Sakura sat completely bewildered by her own panic for a moment before memories of her nightmare slammed into her. Shivering, she listened to the sounds of her own panicked gasps as she struggled to calm down.

But the dream had been so real. And the familiar sound of a sword whistling through the air rang in her ears. Staring into the darkness, she focused on the faint outline of her own legs twisted into the sheets until she could breathe normally again.

Sakura glanced over at the nightstand. At this time, she could call for Haku and Moegi to bring her a glass of wine to settle her nerves. But when Sakura tilted her head to look out the window, she could see the moon floating high in the sky. It was late. And it would be cruel to wake her two diligent attendants for such a trivial matter.

Sliding off the bed, she decided to take a walk instead. She had decided to go to bed early to get some rest and apparently the universe was conspiring against the very idea.

Sakura pulled her cloak over her nightgown. She strapped her dagger to her waist, just in case. And then she headed out into the cool night.

Fingertips trailing along the palace walls, Sakura followed the path she took during the day. It was completely quiet in the palace so there weren't many places she could go. The kitchen fires burned low, smoke barely rising from the tall chimneys. Even the guards seemed more at ease after a warm day had settled into a much cooler if slightly damp night. They still saluted at her as she passed, but their conversations murmured low and easy after her.

Sakura soon found herself at the entrance of the Queen's garden. The neat rows of hedges and the archway made of twisting vines were haunting in the dark. But it didn’t frighten her. It reminded Sakura of cool nights spent camping in the woods. Of course it was true that it could be dangerous out in the wilderness. But the soft swell of songbirds chirping out their evening songs as well as the cool wetness of grass under a tree were all things she could remember.

The guards on duty greeted her.

“Is everything alright, General? Do you need an escort?” one of them offered.

Sakura shook her head. “Thank you, but I just need to clear my head,” she assured them. They bowed before they stepped back on their usual patrol.

The stone path was illuminated by tall lanterns along with a scattered clumps of fireflies. Hands in her pockets, she followed the curving lines of flat rocks buried in the manicured grass. She wandered around and around, just letting the chorus of the insects fill the empty spaces in her head.

As she rounded one of the hedges, she spotted a light in the otherwise darkened windows of the castle. On instinct, Sakura took a step back. She didn’t know who would also be awake at such an hour. When she peered out past the roses, she recognized the face in the window.

Sakura stepped into the light of one of the lanterns. She raised her hand in greeting. It took several moments. She could tell when he recognized her because his hand pressed up against the window. She motioned for him to come down. He gave a furtive glance around. And then he held up a pointer finger before he disappeared.

She took a seat inside a wooden gazebo. It was flanked by two wooden posts driven into the ground. On top of them were glass boxes that served as lanterns. The little yellow flames glowed on bravely in the dark. Vines crept up the sides and top of the gazebo. But the flowers were closed, as if they were sleeping. It seemed like the whole world was sleeping so peacefully except for her.

Something connected with a stray pebble, sending it skittering noisily into other stones. Her head turned toward the sound. She smiled.

Well, for her and for one other person.

“I hope you didn’t run,” Sakura greeted him.

“The poor servants would find me passed out on the floor. I walked, General,” he replied. And then he added, “And you wouldn’t have been around to rescue me first.”

She laughed as he took a seat next to her. His heavy dressing gown brushed against the grass as he moved. His matching slippers peeked out from beneath the garment. They were both dark blue with silver stitching. It almost looked like the night sky.

“I know why I’m not sleeping. But why are you not sleeping?” Sakura asked.

“My medicine makes me drowsy during the day. I wonder why the physician doesn’t just give it to me at night,” Itachi sighed. And then she could feel him looking at her.

“You look troubled,” he observed in a softer voice.

“Do I? Are you observant or am I just a bad actress?" she wondered with a smile quirking her mouth. He didn’t seem to know how to answer her.

They both stared out at the nearby pond. Water lilies drifting on the still surface. The long branches of a willow tree skimmed the edges of the water. It took Sakura a moment to realize that there was no high-pitched buzzing that she had come to associate with bodies of water in this part of the world.

"There are no mosquitoes," she observed.

Only a few fireflies fluttered lazily about. And they were easily scattered with a sweep of her hand.

"The fish," Itachi said.

"Pardon?"

"There are fish in the pond. They eat all the eggs that the mosquitoes lay," clarified Itachi.

"Oh," she simply said. She hadn't actually expected an explanation. Fingers lacing together in her lap, Sakura leaned forward to look closer at the pond's shimmering waters. But it was late and it seemed even the fish were sleeping.

“I know why I’m not sleeping. But why are you not sleeping, General?” Itachi asked, turning her own words against her.

Sakura’s eyes widened. She laughed again. She found herself doing that a lot around him. Hands clasped, she gazed out at the water, following the lazy pattern of fireflies dancing in the dark.

“Bad dreams?” he guessed.

“… Dreams imply that they were never reality,” she replied.

“So they’re memories.”

Sakura closed her eyes. Clenched her hands together as she felt the sticky heat of blood dripping down her fingers, her wrists. When she opened her eyes, she found her hands dry and clean.

“Yes.” She exhaled long and hard.

“I don’t know if I’ll understand, General. But I can at least listen,” he offered.

Maybe it was the darkness. Or the cool stone. But it felt like maybe it would be alright to unload just a little of the memories swirling inside of her skull.

"We went to war a week after I graduated from the military academy. The General of the Armies at that time was a man named Hiruzen Sarutobi," Sakura began. Then, in a whispered afterthought, she added, "He was a great man.”

And then she smiled as she envisioned the hush that fell over everyone as Hiruzen entered the room. Everyone giving the General respect as he strode through. A simple nod from him felt the acknowledgement of the whole world.

“I was already a sergeant when the war began. The Regent’s ministers were hoping I would be killed quickly on the front lines. But I kept living. I still don’t understand why,” she recalled.

Even as the words left her mouth, she knew they were a lie. She lived because she was afraid of dying. She stabbed and slashed because she was terrified of how she would become nothing. A princess who failed to become a queen. A daughter who had failed her royal parents in every conceivable way.

When she looked over, it shouldn’t have surprised her that Itachi was watching her. Because she was speaking. And he was listening. It was the polite thing to do. So maybe it was the look in his eyes that startled her.

“I… no. I know why I didn’t die. It was because I was so good at killing,” she confessed.

“Leader after leader died. I became General. And I was very good at it. I ended the war in a year. And when I came home, I was a hero,” she recalled. Could hear the shrieks as entire towns burned. Hear the last choked gurgles on the lips of soldiers as life gushed out of their wounds. And the screams followed her everywhere she went. Like her feet should have left blood and not prints in the soil.

She hadn’t realized her hands were shaking until she felt Itachi grasp one. It was improper. She should have pulled away. But she didn’t want to.

“I did the right thing. Everyone was so proud. And I should be proud too…” Sakura trailed off. Looking down at their hands.

“So… the memories of your success are… nightmares now?” Itachi inferred.

It was odd. How he was able to organize such complicated thoughts into such a simple sentence. Sakura didn’t say anything. She held out her free hand. Watched a firefly buzz over it. It touched briefly against her palm. Then it took flight again, heading off in a dizzying pattern that it seemed to understand. She didn’t.

It was a while before either of them spoke.

“That’s… very sad,” commented Itachi. Sakura looked over at him as she waited for him to clarify.

He looked into her eyes as he said, “You sacrificed so much for your kingdom. And you can’t even be proud.”

Sakura pulled her hand from his, scoffing. “Proud,” she repeated. The word tasted like metal on her tongue. “For a murderer to take pride. How ridiculous.”

“It’s sad,” he said again. “You’re a hero. You saved your people. Even when they don’t understand how much you did for them.”

Her smile faded. He flinched just a little when she pinned him with a stare. But he didn’t look away.

“Do you understand, Prince?” she challenged.

“….No. I don’t. Because I’m not you,” he answered.

And that caught her off guard. Everyone claimed to understand. That was how they tried to comfort her. They presumed to know how she felt.

“You’re a hero,” he insisted.

“I’m a murderer.”

“You can be both. One does not take away from the other.”

She sneered. “You’re full of philosophy tonight, Prince. I detest philosophy.”

He didn’t sound insulted like he should have been. His smile was gentle. “Philosophy is all I have, General.”

The guards clanked passed by. They didn’t seem to notice the two of them tucked underneath the flowers and vines. Still, they fell silent until the shadows of the guards disappeared completely.

“I want to understand you better, General,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sakura let out a long sigh. She looked down at his hand resting on the bench. His fingers were delicate and long. The roughest thing that they had probably encountered were the pages of a book. She took it, raised it to her mouth, and placed a kiss on the back of it. When she placed it back down, she could see that it was shaking now.

She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Glanced at him in the darkness. His eyes were enormous.

“Good night, Prince. Pleasant dreams,” she murmured. She got to her feet, gathering her cloak around herself. And then she headed back up the path towards the palace. A faint “good night” followed after her.

Sakura headed back up to her room and settled in bed. And though she was determined to stay awake for as long as possible to stave off the nightmares again, she opened her eyes to find that it was already morning. Pushing the curtains aside, she saw the clock tower in the distance to confirm the time. Before she even pulled the cord to summon them, Moegi and Haku were already there with breakfast and clean clothes.

"Did you sleep well, General?" asked Moegi with her usual cheer. Sakura considered this question for a moment before she answered.

“I suppose I did,” she replied with some amount of surprise.

As Sakura sat enjoying a cup of tea along with a piece of bread, there was a soft knock on the door. Moegi moved to the door. She cracked it open with caution. There was a high, feminine voice on the other side. As Moegi whispered to her, Haku placed Sakura's polished boots on the floor beside the bed. After a while, Moegi shut the door and reentered with an envelope in her hand.

Haku went to return Sakura’s plates to the kitchen while Moegi helped her dress. By now, Moegi had adjusted to helping Sakura with lapels and boot laces instead of petticoats and corset strings. She stood inserting cufflinks into Sakura’s sleeves while Sakura opened the envelope with her free hand.

It was from Naruto, inviting her to lunch. Just the two of them. Out on the terrace. Moegi peered at the message with curious eyes.

“What does it say, General?”

“Let Prince Naruto know that I will see him at noon for lunch,” Sakura said. She handed Moegi the envelope before pulling on her gloves.

Sakura didn't exactly know what prompted her to accept Naruto's invitation. Maybe someone from home had urged him to try again. If his father was a puppet, what was there to stop him from being used as one as well?

It wouldn't be the first time that he had tried to make plans that she rejected with no better reason other than she didn't feel like seeing him. But perhaps she was just in a more forgiving mood after a good night's rest. Pondering this, Sakura met Sasuke in the stables and they mounted their horses to dash off through the woods. Laughing and exchanging stories, they enjoyed the sweet smell of dew on the grass and trees.

The skies were clear and they certainly promised a pleasant day. However, just as Sakura exited the bathroom and stood dressing in her bedroom, she saw dark clouds gathering overhead. Rolling her eyes, Sakura still pulled on her shirt and pants. As she sat on the edge of the bed lacing up her boots, she listened to the soft tap of a few raindrops against the window.

"It seems like it's going to rain, General. Do you really think it wise to go on with your lunch plans?" asked Moegi. Haku held out Sakura’s dark green cloak. Sakura shook her head at both of them.

“What harm can a little rain do?” she said as she headed off to the terrace.

By the time Sakura was settled in the chair across from Naruto, the few drops of rain had turned into a downpour.

"Well," she simply said as she watched the fat droplets of water splash off the stone. Fortunately, they were shielded by one of the balconies on the second story. Naruto grinned in a pained sort of way.

"Nothing I ever plan ever goes right," he said only half-jokingly. Sakura's expression softened. Self-deprecation didn't suit him.

"I know," answered Sakura. Naruto's head immediately swiveled around to look at her. She kept her gaze fixated on the rain beating down on the grass.

"At least you try," she said.

Sakura could feel Naruto staring at her but she let the moment slide by.

“Should we… leave?” he wondered.

Sakura unfolded her napkin with a snap. Draped it across her lap. When she moved, so did the waiting servants. They began setting out the food and tea.

“I don’t see why not. Has the rain stolen your appetite?” she asked.

Naruto gaped at her. And then he scrambled to find his own napkin. Found it was already tucked into his collar. “N-no! Let’s eat!” he exclaimed, his face so bright that it almost hurt to look at.

When they fell silent again, Naruto squirmed. She could tell that he wasn’t used to silent meals. His parents doted on him. Encouraged him to share about his day without end. Perhaps she would have been that way if her parents were still alive too.

“Um.”

“Yes?” she asked. His face promptly turned the color of a tomato. He stole a glance at her.

“Your uniform…. you’re always wearing it when I see you. Even when you’re not on duty.”

“Hm. Does it not suit me?” she pretended not to understand. She sliced into the pheasant. Steam curled into the humid air.

“No! I just… do you ever get to rest? I’ve seen other officers out of uniform. But… not you, really.”

Sakura arched an eyebrow. She hadn’t expected an observation like that from what she considered her most dense cousin. She took a sip of her tea as she tried to decide how honest to be with him.

Naruto ate, staring down at his plate.

“I don’t have the luxury of free time,” she finally said. Naruto’s chin jerked up. His eyes widened. She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t frowning either.

“The second I let my guard down, there are people who will swoop in to steal everything from me. Not that I have much left,” she elaborated.

Naruto’s eyes drifted back down to his food. He had severed the breastbone from the bird. Bits of meat clung to the blackened bone.

“You’re smart, you’re pretty, you work really hard. Why would someone try to steal from you?” he wondered. “Is there anything that can be done to stop that?” he then asked. The directness of his question startled her. In a way, she admired that naive belief. That good people deserved good, that bad people should be stopped. That there was always a solution for everything. It was almost endearing.

“That would be nice if there was. Let me know if you ever come up with an answer to that question,” she replied. And then, for a moment, she smiled at him. Like when they were children.

Naruto smiled too.

+++

My Dearest Sakura,

I hope this letter finds you in high spirits. I write this in my room on the night of your parents' memorial service. It was a lovely affair, I assure you. Classy and respectful with just a hint of that sadness that you would have brought had you been present. Count Hatake and Count Maito both attended to pay their respects. I have informed them of the details of your stay at Goliaf. Sasori stayed for the event but departed shortly after dinner. He mentioned something about a royal summons, which concerns me quite a bit.

Now, I am aware that each year, on this anniversary, I am waxing poetic about my beautiful memories of your parents. And who am I to break such a tradition? I hope that the following words will be of some comfort to you.

Your mother was always my hero and my closest friend. I do feel somewhat sorry for my late husband, as he was an affectionate and loyal man. And that is not to say that I did not love him. I loved him deeply. But my sister there first. And most importantly, she was my queen. Seeing you grow more and more each year has always been the greatest pleasure to me as you have always reminded me of her. However, as of late, I feel that you are even surpassing her in many of the things that she already did so well.

Take care of yourself, Sakura, I know that you will be able to overcome any obstacle with wisdom and with composure.You are strong. The blood of our family runs deepest in you. It will not fail you.

It is difficult to believe that it will very likely be August by the time this correspondence reaches you. We, at home, all eagerly await the day of your return.

Lovingly,

Your Aunt Kurenai

After receiving the letter from her aunt, Sakura sat in her chair for a long time before she could decide what to do. She penned a response to Kurenai’s words of comfort. She thanked her aunt for all of her guidance and love. She added a few jokes to put the older woman at ease that all was well with her.

Sakura was still careful not to write anything that could be used against her in the event that the letter was intercepted. She mentioned her homesickness. Then her hand paused. She decided against adding anything else.

She signed her name in looping letters. She folded the paper and tucked it into an envelope. She heated the stick of red wax she always left with her stationary. As the wax warmed, it dripped onto the envelope flap. Sakura waited, fingers tapping. When the wax began to cool, she exhaled over the surface of her ring and stamped the symbol of the rose into the seal.

The chair creaked when Sakura leaned back. She glanced outside again. The sky was still grey, but it had stopped raining for the first time in days. It would be easier to summon one of her attendants to send the letter. Perhaps Haku. It seemed like her letters went out a little more quickly when she entrusted them to the boy. Moegi was likely busier with kitchen duties, and waited until the end of the day to send them.

But then again, she could use the fresh air. And walking would be a better distraction than simply sitting in her room.

The palace was quiet. Most of the men had left on a hunting trip with Prince Sasuke and the king early that morning. Of course, they had extended an invitation to Saura as well. But she had politely declined.

"I don't believe in hunting for sport," she had explained. Just the thought of watching dogs rip a wild fox apart while the nobles chugged wine and made crass jokes made her feel sick. Sasuke, who had grown up on the sport, seemed to have trouble understanding. Still, he respected her decision and instead promised to have dinner with her upon his return. He had boasted promises of venison for dinner. Sakura admired his optimism but doubted that would be on the menu that evening.

So with the castle largely emptied, Sakura was able to walk the big halls in solitude.

One of the messengers she had employed sat gossiping in the stables. Where he usually was. He sprang to his feet when she approached. As did all the stable boys. She was a familiar face by now.

“This one needs to reach Plumeria. Are you available?” Sakura asked, holding up the envelope.

The messenger accepted it with both hands. “Of course, General. I’ll ready my things right away,” he replied. And he was off before she had to say anything else. He was the third son of some minor noble. Destined for nothingness. This sort of job was a rare opportunity for him to make money and to meet many different people. It was no wonder he took it so seriously.

Sakura lingered for a little while longer. But on her way back inside, she spotted the pergola. It was a shaded walkway that linked the queen’s gardens to her even-more-treasured greenhouses. On top of the lattice grew wisteria that blocked the sunlight from reaching the delicate skin of nobles who preferred to remain as pale as possible.

And under the shade of the pergola, she noticed a foot peeking out. She decided to take a detour. As she approached, she recognized Itachi sitting in the shade with a book in his lap.

“Feeling well today?” she asked as she stepped across the stone toward him.

Itachi jolted.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted her. His cheeks slowly colored. That didn’t surprise her. Given how their last encounter had ended. She leaned against the outside beam, waiting for him to speak. It took several seconds. But Itachi finally managed to find the words.

“I’m happy to see you, General.”

“Sakura,” she corrected him once again.

He chuckled. “Alright. Sakura. Actually, I’ve wanted to ask you something about my reading.” He indicated the open space on the other side of the bench.

“Of course,” she said as she moved into the shade to sit.

"Where is your family originally from? All the books just say that your family has ruled over the Southern Tea Isle for so long that your origins rarely come into question," he queried. To prove his point, he opened up the book to a certain page and pointed to the passage. But Sakura didn't need to read to know that he was right. The origins of the Haruno family weren't even known that well by the people of the Forest Kingdom.

Sakura crossed one leg over the other, one elbow on her leg.

"Well, we actually came from the desert. There's a vast, dry land that we call the Land of Wind. It lies across the ocean. It's much different there. There are cities ruled by princes, but no kings. My ancestors crossed over first on their camels and then on their ships for months in order to reach the isle," explained Sakura.

Itachi's eyebrows rose.

"Your family was originally from The Wastes? I always thought that they were known for their dark skin and curly hair," he said. Sakura could almost see him rustling through the pages inside his head.

The corner of Sakura's mouth lifted.

"Is that what they call it here? The Wastes?" she repeated with a hint of wonder. “I like it.”

Many years ago, when Sasori had just turned 12, he received his first boat from his mother. For its maiden voyage he, along with Sakura and a few others, had journeyed across the Great Salt Ocean to visit their ancestral lands.

Sakura, barely 9 at the time, had wondered at the endless expanse of blue that surrounded them. Sasori followed the crew around, observing their work and posing the occasional question. At night, they shared a cabin. And Sakura would always crawl down from her top bunk to curl up in the blankets with her cousin. Foreheads pressed together, they whispered their secrets and listened to the creak of the wooden ship over the water.

After nearly two months of travel, they arrived a port city, where a guide had been arranged to wait for them. But they found no one. Even after two days of asking around, no one could direct them to any such man. So, mounting their camels, they headed out in the direction of their uncle’s palace in the desert.

At first, the Arids did not seem so bad.

The Arids, as local people referred to the desert, was indescribably dry. Just one gust of the hot wind was enough to suck the moisture straight off the tongue. Initially, just the heat of the sun beating down on them was difficult. But they covered their heads and they had filled up plenty of waterskins in town. The party exchanged stories as it crossed tall dunes of sand. By lunchtime, the city had long ceased to be visible in the distance and sweat poured down the back of Sakura's neck. There was no place to take shelter from the unforgiving sun. Not even a rock.

Late into the afternoon, a wall of rock appeared to the north. Lost, and with nothing else to follow, they urged their weary camels in that direction. There were no stories being told now. They were too tired to form more than a few words at a time.

The sandstorm whipped up so suddenly that they didn't even notice until they were trapped in a chaotic whirl of stinging sand and hot wind. Coughing and tearing, everyone struggled to cover their faces. The panicked camels groaned and heaved their passengers off as they too sought shelter. Tumbling into the burning sand, Sakura retched against the dry powder clogging her mouth and nose.

Just when she felt like she might die in the desert, a hand closed around her wrist. In fact, several hands pulled her to her feet, hauling her over the shifting sands. A touch of cool water on her lips pulled Sakura back from the haze. Coughing and tearing, she gulped down the drink. As soon as she could gulp down clean air, Sakura succumbed to unconsciousness.

A little while later, Sakura found herself resurfacing. And the first thing she noticed were soft voices.

"Here we are. I guess these are our visitors," a man's voice declared above her.

“I’ll have that drunkard’s head. Leaving these young ones on their own,” a woman remarked.

"I can't tell which is which," another complained. Sakura grumbled as she felt something cold and wet against the top of her head.

"Ah. I see pink. This is the little princess," the first voice stated.

"Then this one must be Princess Chiyo's other grandchild," the second guessed.

"He's tall for his age. Isn't he about the same age as your first son?"

"I believe so."

The quiet conversation was interrupted by Sakura's sudden coughing fit. Someone lifted more water to Sakura's lips. She drank, water dribbling down her chin in her blind haste. There was a chuckle.

"Looks like she'll be just fine. Have the men gathered all of the camel?"

"Yuura just brought them in. He says that they didn't seem to have lost any of their cargo. Looks like the little ones know their knots."

Curiosity triumphed over weariness. Sakura cracked her eyes open to see the vague shapes of the two men chatting amiably. Still squinting, she inched her hand over until her fingers made contact with Sasori's skin. After a moment, his hand flipped over and gently closed around hers. He was awake too. They lay listening for a while until Sasori stirred a little before he slowly sat up.

"Hello, Uncle," he said in a scratchy sigh.

The Haruno family, though descended from their distant desert kin, had also made it a habit to periodically remarry back into them. Sasori and Sakura's maternal grandmother, for example, had been the youngest daughter of a prince. And Sasori's father, though not particularly high on the social hierarchy, had been a lord's son who had traveled from the Arids to Plumeria as a scholar.

Technically, most men in the Haruno lands could be called "Uncle". And that was precisely what was done.

Sakura and Sasori had spent many months there with their desert cousins. Their Great-Uncle owned a palace located in an oasis. And despite the barren landscape, there was always an abundance of meats and fruits to feast on. They immersed themselves in the culture of their ancestors, marveling at the similarities and the differences from their own traditions. And while they enjoyed themselves, at night, breathing in the cold, fresh air, they both longed for the perfume of flowers outside their bedroom windows.

When they returned home a year later, laden with gifts from their relatives, the first thing Sakura did was dive off the side of the ship and into the bay. The crew laughed at what they assumed were the young lady's antics, but Sasori understood. He dove in after her, reveling in the cool abundance of water. There was water everywhere. And greenery exploded in every area. Bright flowers spread their fragrant petals toward the sun. And the smells of food cooking in the market all mixed with the saltwater to create a smell that could only be described as "home".

Whenever Sakura thought back to her six months in the Arids, she couldn't even begin to put into words her relief at standing on the ship's bow and watching as the beloved palms of her homeland rose up from the horizon.

As she recounted this journey to Itachi, Sakura felt a pang of sudden and intense longing for her home. It must have shown in her expression because she suddenly heard Itachi put his book down. The bench creaked faintly as he scooted over to sit closer to her. Together they stared out into the garden. When Sakura brushed her fingers against Itachi's, he turned pink and cleared his throat needlessly again. But neither of them seemed willing to move their hands away.

“I’d love to see that someday.”

“I’d love to show it to you.”

+++

"Sasori."

Sasori bolted upright. His head whipped around. Instead of the wooden panels of his cabin in his ship, Sasori found smooth white walls. The rich fragrance of rugosa roses assaulted his senses.

"What are you doing?" Kankuro demanded. He stood at the foot of the bed with his arms folded over his chest. Kankuro was perpetually some shade of sun-kissed bronze. If he wasn't in the palace shadowing his father, he was out on the beach enjoying the sun and the waves. His headscarf was a muted shade of light green today. It wrapped around his short brown hair at an angle, tying to his right with the loose ends brushing his shoulder. In his half-sleeping daze, Sasori idly realized that the color of the fabric was remarkably close to the color of Sakura's eyes.

And then, it occurred to Sasori that the reason this room felt so familiar was that it was Sakura's.

He looked down. He was lying on a soft feather bed. The soft tassels of the throw blanket under him conjured old memories. Rubbing at his eyes, he twisted to look behind him, half-expecting Sakura to be curled up on the mattress beside him like she always was whenever they fell asleep after talking long into the night.

"You must have been completely drunk last night to wander in here. I didn't even know you were back until Temari saw your ship this morning at the docks. And then the guards said you were here,” commented Kankuro as he moved his fists to his hips.

"Why am I in Sakura's room?" wondered Sasori with a groan as he squinted at the sunlight. Kankuro rolled his eyes. There was a layer of black kohl around them. Kankuro claimed that it was originally to help protect his eyes from the desert sand. Temari whispered that it was to make him feel pretty. But all that mattered in that moment was that if Kankuro was up and dressed, then that meant that it was late in the morning.

"That's what I was wondering. Do you remember? Ah, whatever. Get cleaned up and come eat," sighed Kankuro before he left.

And as Sasori sat trying to make sense of his disheveled state, he heard his pocket crinkle. Scowling, he reached into his breast pocket to find a crumpled letter. As he read it over, he suddenly remembered what had prompted him to head straight for a pub to celebrate with his crew.

I’m coming home as soon as the season is over.

Sasori washed up and changed into clean clothes before he headed to meet his cousins.

Gaara, who just returned from a week-long inspection of the island, looked exhausted. Still, he smiled at Sasori and pushed an empty cup over to him. A servant stepped forward to fill it with tea. And then, she gave Gaara a pitying look as she filled his cup as well. He nodded his thanks.

Gaara took his trips to inspect the island very seriously. He scrutinized the various crops and products that the island used to generate income. He asked people about their working conditions and offered help whenever he could. His patience and gentle nature made it easy for others to open up to him. Somehow, he seemed genuinely confused when his siblings joked about his popularity.

“So that buffoon Count Maito was back yesterday," Kankuro announced with glee as soon as Sasori settled in his place at the round table.

Count Maito was one of the two lords who oversaw the island. He had taken an arrow for Sakura when she was just a baby. To show her gratitude, the late Queen had elevated him to the rank of Count, which had caused an uproar in the Queen’s Council on the mainland. After all, Gai was just an islander.

“He’s the last direct son of the island’s chieftains. I’d say that’s noble blood,” Tsunade had replied to the criticism.

“Please, Your Majesty. I beg you to reconsider,” Marquess Shimura had pleaded.

And Tsunade, lowering her spectacles had said: “You may beg. But I am in charge. Not you, Marquess.”

It was a story that all of them wheedled Kurenai to retell every once in a while. It was one of Sakura’s favorite stories about her mother.

Across the table, Sasori outright rolled his eyes. He grabbed a banana and began peeling the soft skin away.

"What does he want this time?" Temari sighed when no one else asked.

“He just wanted to bring the first crop of guava for us to taste. But that man is so…” Kankuro searched for the right word.

Gaara made a very serious face as he tried to think of a word to help his brother. “Irritating,” he supplied as he looked up at them.

His siblings burst into laughter at the grave expression on his face.

“Am I wrong?” Gaara wondered. That only made them laugh louder. Sasori chuckled too, despite the headache pounding at his temples.

Sasori looked down at the banana after he took a bite. It was sweet. It almost tasted like a berry.

“These are excellent. Did Count Maito bring these too?” he queried.

Temari picked up a banana too. Shaking her head, she gestured to her youngest brother with it. “Gaara brought it back from the Caldera.”

The Caldera was the second biggest city on the island. It sat to the north, inside the depression left behind by a volcano that had once spewed fire and boiling stone. It had been centuries since the volcano had woken, but the islanders refused to step foot on that land. The memory of the molten destruction lived on in the stories they passed down from parent to child. Instead, it had become a city for the people who had come to the island from afar. There were those who had left the mainland to escape the cold weather. Others had come from across the Great Salt Ocean from distant nations to the east.

The Hatake family had been good stewards of the land for three generations now. The young Count Hatake had taken over for his late father about six years ago. According to the people who farmed the hills under him, the young Count Hatake was reclusive but fair. He never showed his bare face in public, which had initially generated some strange rumors. Now, everyone accepted it as a small quirk in an otherwise good lord.

“Count Maito’s son is still searching for a wife, apparently. Many of the young ladies from the mainland have turned their nose up at him,” Temari then shared.

"Can you imagine that?" drawled Sasori in response.

“Is it his face?” Temari conjectured, earning a roaring laugh from Kankuro. Gaara looked like he might laugh until he caught Sasori’s look of disgust.

“No. It’s a question of pedigree. They don’t believe him to be of real noble stock,” Sasori replied.

“His family has a title and land. What more do these women want?” Temari scoffed.

“Maybe the sons of noble families have penises that curve in a different direction,” Kankuro joked, earning three dirty looks and one kick under the table.

"I'd punch you, cousin. But I'm still too hungover to bother," sighed Sasori as he stabbed idly at his breakfast with his fork.

“Speaking of marriage, when will you finally allow Lady Sakura to marry? There must be no shortage of suitors lining up to have her hand,” Kankuro teased.

“She doesn’t seem all that interested in marrying anyone right now. There’s no need to push her,” protested Temari while wrinkling her nose, “She's like me."

Kankuro chortled.

"The main difference there is that Lady Sakura is lovely and you're more on the behemoth end of the spectrum," Kankuro answered. Gaara and Sasori moved to grab their teacups before Temari pounced, knocking the table over. As Temari attempted to throttle one of their brother, Gaara calmly took another sip of his tea.

"Should I ask her then?" Sasori inquired as he glanced at Gaara. After some thought, Gaara raised and lowered his thin shoulders in a shrug.

"Lady Sakura once said that part of being a wise leader is to know the value of not taking sides in pointless arguments," Gaara slowly responded. Sasori cracked a smile.

"She was referring to something like this I suppose," Sasori said. They dodged as Kankuro’s foot flailed past them.

Sasori lifted his teacup to his mouth. Then lowered it. “Oh, don’t scratch the floor, Cousin. It’ll leave a mark.”

+++

< Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 >

#itasaku #courtly intrigue! au #fanfiction #writing #haruno sakura #amaryllis

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sablelab · 5 years ago

Text

Covert Operations - Chapter 58

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

SYNOPSIS: Claire has not yet been given the go ahead for her transfer to the OCTB. When she relays new Intel garnered from a taped phone call about a Jonathon Randall then Fergus has to dig deep to find any connection to the Rising Dragons. What he finds confirms there has been a cover up.

THANK YOU all for reading my story and I hope you will enjoy this next scenario when Claire is transferred to the OCTB.

Previous chapters can be found at https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

CHAPTER 58

Staring absently into space and tapping his pen idly on his desk Superintendent Xiao Zheng was lost in thought. His mind was going over things and decisions he needed to make, the most pressing being ... what to do with Claire Beauchamp. She’d been back here three weeks doing mundane tasks that any junior officer could have done, but given the circumstances of her undercover assignment, he thought it only right that she should have some light duties at police headquarters. Mei and Angus had certainly made the most of her return. His young constable and detective had taken her under their wing and hadn’t let her out of their sight since the Chief Commissioner had informed him that Claire’s sabbatical leave had been extended. This was great news but although he knew that she was an invaluable asset to the Water Police, he knew that she was better suited to the OCTB, Hong Kong's Organized Crime and Triad Bureau. Given Claire’s past experience and her expertise, he was in a quandary whether to have her transferred or wait until he was told her services were required there. Either way he knew her days were numbered at police headquarters and he would have to let her go sooner or later. He still hadn’t heard from John So about the request he put to him also about Jonathon Randall. Perhaps he was having some difficulty in finding out information about him. Johnny could find a needle in a haystack ... so, either Jonathon Randall was as clean as a whistle ... or dirty as yesterday’s washing and there was a cover-up of some description. Either way, he wondered if he should place another call to him and see what had happened. Deciding against that move, he decided to err on the side of caution and be patient. If John had found out something, he would contact him soon enough, then they could compare notes and see if what he had suspected was in fact true. The telephone ringing on Zheng’s desk brought him out of his trance like thinking and he automatically reached for the handset placing it to his ear. Claire’s dulcet tones echoed in his ears. “Senior Superintendent ... There is a John So on the line. Are you in?” Will wonders ever cease ... the man must have ESP, Zheng thought. “Yes ... put him through.” “Yes sir.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Since her return to police headquarters Claire had undertaken general secretarial police work for Superintendent Zheng. There had been no directives from Section One as yet, but she’d been told that they would proceed when the time was right. Until then she had been discreetly keeping her ear to the ground. From what she could gather after having thoroughly searched Zheng’s office, all Intel the Water Police had on the Rising Dragons had been transferred to the Hong Kong Organised Crime and Triad Bureau. As a precaution she’d also bugged his telephone and was now monitoring a call he had just received from a John So at OCTB who had wanted to speak to him about a private matter. As she sat at her desk, Claire listened in to their conversation. “Hey Xiao!” “What’s up, Johnny?” “Listen that print you sent for me to check ...” “Yeah ... I remember ... What did you find?” “Sorry man. He’s clean ... we don’t have any information on a Jonathon Randall.” “Big surprise.” “That’s not all. We don’t have any Intel on him ... zip ... nada ... nothing!” “What? ... That’s strange.” “Just what I thought ...” “I could have sworn he was a member of the Rising Dragons.” “Me too.”

“I had him placed on surveillance for some time as a suspect in the celebrity kidnapping of Laoghaire MacKimmie. At the time he was acting very suspicious. But it came to naught.”

“Had an alibi?” “Yeah ... watertight. So how come there is no paperwork on him at the Bureau?” “The guy must have connections ... Or there’s no substantial evidence to link him to anyone.” “Yeah ... He was the prime suspect in my books but now she’s his on and off again girlfriend.” “Hey ... Didn’t I just see a picture of him with her in East West magazine?” “She’s been photographed with Randall several times. That’s why I had him on my list, but she says he had nothing to do with her attempted kidnapping ... on the contrary she was full of praise for him.” “You don’t say! ... Wasn’t she involved with Simon Yam before dating Jonathon Randall? “She was. The rumour mill was abuzz with speculation that there was rivalry between the two men and the gossip magazines had a field day with a love triangle between the three. When Randall stole her away from him, Yam was furious at being duped. Apparently soon after that there was an assault on Laoghaire MacKimmie in a Hong Kong nightclub.” “Hmmm! I remember now!” “Not long following that, Yam was mysteriously found dead. Jonathon Randall became a suspect in the murder. He was implicated but not charged with Yam’s death.” “That case was going to be transferred to the OCTB because of alleged triad involvement but when nothing was ever proven Randall walked ... right?” “Right! My police hackles are rising Johnny ... I smell a rat.” “Me too ... I’ll make some more discreet inquiries and see what I can come up with.” “Thanks.” Carefully replacing the receiver when Superintendent Zheng had finished his call Claire knew that although Madame Cheung had given Section One names of Rising Dragons triad members ... the name she’d just heard was not one of them. As soon as possible she would contact Fergus with this new Intel.

Meanwhile back at Section One …

Fergus Claudel looked over to Murtagh’s respective area to see if he was busy. Looking across the Common area he could see him at his work table fiddling, as usual, on some new gadget or other. Seeing that he was not that busy, Fergus left his area and strolled over to see his buddy in Munitions. As he approached his station, he looked around to see who was nearby before joining him at his worktable. When his friend saw Fergus approach Murtagh greeted him with a craggy smile. “Hey amigo! What’s up?”” “Nothing. Just thought I’d pay you a visit. Things are a bit quiet around here.” “Yeah ... I miss Claire too. Have you heard from her?” “No. Nothing for three weeks.” ‘Well no news is good news ... You set up her profile ... we have to wait until things get into place.” “Yeah ... I suppose you’re right.” “Hey when am I ever wrong?” “Not often. So, what’s Jamie doing?” “Waiting.” Fergus looked at Murtagh with a worried expression on his face. “I wish she would check in soon ... Operations is getting a little toey too.” “Be patient.” “When is it going to happen?” “Soon ... It won’t be long now. We’re going to get all the bad guys and we’ll all live happily ever after.” “Are you sure?” “Sure I’m sure ... Now get outta here before Operations finds you napping on the job.” Looking back at the Comm. area Fergus noticed the austere presence of his leader surveying an empty Systems from the Perch and he became a little edgy.

“I’ve got to get off Murtagh. I'll talk to you later.”

“Yeah. Okay.” But before the words were out of his mouth, Fergus had turned and fled scurrying away at a faster than fast pace so as not to incur the anger of his superior. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ After he’d returned to his station Fergus cast a wary glance up at the Perch and swore he could see Operations’ brow knit in thought. He felt the cold steely look of his leader and the hairs on the back of his neck rose up. If this profile failed, he would suffer the consequences and be put in abeyance ... not a very sobering thought. Perhaps a few prayers were warranted, he thought as a mantra echoed in his head pleading for something to happen and ... soon.

Then, a short while later, it was as if all his prayers had been answered, for the very person he had been talking about contacted him. “Fergus? ... Fergus, it's me, Claire.” “Claire? You got something? “Maybe ... I want you to do a search on a man named Jonathon Randall.” “Why?” “He’s been implicated in suspicious crimes but the police haven’t been able to pin anything on him.” “He works for the Rising Dragons?” “Possibly.” “I’ll get on it straight away and get back to you.” “Okay.” Fergus started coding in search parameters. With nothing to go on but a name ... so his search would take a little longer than usual. He briefly looked over to see that Murtagh had observed his conversation. A small smile appeared on his face. At long last the hunt was on in earnest. This is what he did best, but it wasn't finding the answer that was important to him ... it was the search itself. Once he found something on Jonathon Randall ... and he knew he would ... Section would be up and jumping again as their destruction of the Rising Dragons continued. His fingers fled over the keyboards as Fergus began his task. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Section One’s technical whizz was methodical in his search for any Intel on this Jonathon Randall that Claire had submitted. Fergus knew that this may be the lead that Section was looking for to set his profile in play. However, with everything he tried, he came up empty handed except for his entrepreneurial legitimate business ventures and some information on his family. There was nothing that linked him to the Rising Dragons which left Fergus mentally scrambling for a way to retrieve data from another source. The guy was clean ... there seemed to be no negative Intel on him at all except for an alleged involvement with a singer from a Hong Kong Nightclub from the gossip magazines.

Eventually Fergus tried rerouting a bit stream and piggybacking onto some deep layered databases. He sat back and waited tapping his fingers on his desk in frustration. All of a sudden, some information slowly began to appear; but he had to run a deep channel matrix as Intel was sketchy at first. Soon, the deeper he delved the more Intel appeared and once Fergus ran a back-channel list on this Jonathon Randall even more layers were revealed. Despite the information being hidden well he discovered that the guy was a piece of work and although Jonathon Randall had covered his tracks well ... it was not well enough it would seem. Fergus sat back in his chair with a broad smirk on his face. Reaching for his communication device to the Perch he contacted Operations. “Sir?” Almost immediately Operations voice echoed back, “What is it Claudel?” “Claire asked me to investigate a man called Jonathon Randall.” “That name is not familiar.” “No, that is why she requested the search.” “And?” “I have found out something interesting.” “What?” “I think you and Madeline need to see this ... and Jamie too.” “Very well ... thirty minutes.” “Yes sir.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Fergus stood in the Perch with the leaders of Section One clasping the disc in his hand with the Intel he had found on the man that Claire had asked him to do a search on. Madeline and Operations had also called James Fraser to the Perch to hear the Intel, for his part in Claire’s Hong Kong scenario could soon be imminent. They never heard Jamie’s quiet approach and only knew he had arrived when he spoke. “Ye wanted to see me?” “Yes ... Come in Jamie.” “Fergus has some interesting new Intel on the Rising Dragons that may affect Claire’s profile.” Madeline stated closely observing their Level 5 operative. Looking from one to the other, Jamie’s blank stare remained constant as he waited for whatever it was that Fergus had found out. The young Tech sat at the computer and placed the disc in the drive while the others gathered around. He pulled up a profile of an English man with Chinese ancestry ... Jonathon Randall and proceeded to brief the three people on his findings.

“Jonathon Randall is a Hong Kong playboy ... He dabbles in the Hong Kong movie business, is a night club and karaoke bar owner and a member of the Rising Dragons triad.”

“How do you know this?” “He’s just opened a new nightclub not far from where Claire is living called “The Triangle.” “What has this got to do with the Rising Dragons?” Madeline voiced a little perplexed but still interested to where Fergus was going with this new intel. “All triad groups are based on sworn brotherhood and built on kinship. The name “triad” was coined by the British authorities in Hong Kong, and refers to the triangular shape of the Chinese character for “secret society”. The character's shape symbolizes unity among Heaven, Earth, and man … an indication of the semi-religious nature of this society.” “What are you trying to say Claudel?” Operations asked irritably, thinking Fergus was wasting his time. “Jonathon Randall’s nightclub symbol is the triangular shape used by the triad.” Operations’ attention now piqued inquired, “Any affiliations?” “Too many to mention but ... he's also known to have frequented Madame Cheung on numerous occasions.” “I see.” Looking intently at their Level 5 operative, Madeline asked, “Jamie? ... Were you aware of this?” “No.” “And Claire?” “No.” “What else did you find out Fergus?”

“Despite some setbacks, Sun Yee Lok has obviously recruited new blood and still has a widespread hierarchical organisation set up in Hong Kong society.”

“So this Jonathon Randall is a relatively new member of the Rising Dragons?” Jamie stated rhetorically. “Yes. He has risen quickly because southern China and Hong Kong represent great sources of revenue that were ripe for triad activity in the entertainment field. He managed to suggest expansion. He backed up his convictions with family cash and now it has snowballed.” Worried, Operations saw the potential of repercussions if this was not curtailed stating, “If the Rising Dragons expand any more into Hong Kong society then their affiliations elsewhere in the world will also increase if this venture is too successful.” “We don’t want to become paranoid about the likelihood of increased triad expansion Dougal but if they are diversifying into the entertainment business this may escalate and spread rapidly.” “It seems to have done that already Madeline! If this economic aspect continues, then these people will continue to make money from legitimate business ventures and will become untouchable. We can’t allow that after having come so far already.” “The Rising Dragons have become increasingly more sophisticated, and are moving into people orientated business ventures such as these nightclubs. Jonathon Randall already has a chain of them across southern China and Hong Kong.” Fergus added for clarification. “Why didn’t we know of this earlier?” “This Intel only surfaced when he was investigated as a suspect in the attempted kidnapping of a wealthy actress in Hong Kong ... a Laoghaire MacKimmie. There are suspicious circumstances surrounding him concerning the murder of a Simon Yam who was a member of a rival triad group ... the Black Panthers too who was her ex-boyfriend.” ‘Why?” “Jonathon Randall was a suspect in the murder, but no evidence was found to implicate him.” “And?” Operations asked eager for more information about this man. “Although police headquarters has information on him, it appears his name has been suppressed from all records at the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau in regards to this investigation. The Rising Dragons or someone connected to them has managed to eradicate all Intel on him from their police files.” “Interesting.” “Exactly.” “Is he accessible?" Madeline questioned, her mind already running scenarios through her head for his impending capture.

“More so than the other triad members were,” Fergus stated in answer to her query.

“Are there any constraints?” Was Jamie’s inquiry as he too was thinking ahead to how this could impact on Claire’s new mission profile. “Some.” “What kind of constraints?”

“He's young and smart ... Jonathon Randall has risen very quickly within the triad and was the brains behind the set up of these nightclubs. Sun Yee Lok rewarded his initiative. He is now known as the Ceremony Master or Heung Shu in Chinese within the triad.”

"Family?” Fergus turned back to his screen and accessed more of Jonathon Randall’s personal data. “Actually ... he’s from a very prominent wealthy biracial family in Hong Kong. Father and mother deceased, one brother Alexander.”

“Does the brother have any connections to the triad?”

“No ... he is an innocent and quite sickly.” “ Well then. We will need to get on top of this ASAP.” Operations remarked not wanting to let this opportunity slip through their fingers. Madeline too was weighing up this intel. “So, there must be someone at the OCTB with connections to the Rising Dragons. This only confirms our other data.” “Yes, this Jonathon Randall seems to have protection from someone there.” “We’ll need to find out who it is.” “That’s where Claire will come into play,” Section’s strategist added with a slight smile on her face and a glance towards James Fraser. Operations rubbed his chin. “Hmmm? ... Two birds with one stone.”

“Jamie? What do you think?”

“Jonathon Randall may be difficult to locate. The Rising Dragons have taken few risks over the past weeks given what has happened recently to their senior members.”

“Then Claire will have to flush him out.” Dougal Mackenzie stated with authority. This pleased Madeline no end that finally the mission profile could be activated. “That shouldn't be too difficult. This is the opportunity we have been waiting for, for Claire’s transfer to the OCTB.” The conversation was mainly between Operations and Madeline, and Fergus and Jamie just observed their superiors voice their thoughts out loud.

“In fact, she could flush out the mole at the same time.”

“I agree.” Jamie's expression remained blank, but his body language alerted Operations of a possible problem. “Is that a problem?” Operations asked moving closer to Jamie. “She has a job to do. I would hate to feel that she's regressing.” “She's not. I’ll work up another profile.” “Good. We’ll run this on an accelerated clock, so have it done ASAP. Then you’ll leave for Hong Kong this afternoon.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued

#Jamieandclairefanfic #James Fraser #claire beauchamp #jamieandclaireau #outlander fanfic #covert operations

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thepilotanon · 6 years ago

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Prelude xviii

...for the tender touch {masterlist}

WHOO!! I’ve been so, so busy with the holidays and working a whole bunch. I want to thank everyone who is being patient with me, and hope this chapter will be rewarding to some of you! Somethings are boiling down for our space prince, but also jumping off the charts? Let me know what you think, and hope you enjoy!!

warning: slight nsfw, intimate discussion and slavery.

It felt like skin was on fire and blood was boiling through the veins.

Bodies colliding and mouths fusing together, the unknown heat erupting under the layers of clothes to the point that hands became claws; the sound of seams tearing and buttons dropping on the floor, making her gasp at the sudden grope to her breasts. She couldn’t hold back the alien noise of a moan beyond pain from her throat when he bent down and sunk his teeth into her neck. A rush of adrenaline sparked inside her as her hands fumbled with the latch of his belt resting evilly above his pelvis, hiding what she wanted underneath the fabric of his pants. It took her a moment to realize that her own trousers were missing. How did that happen? She didn’t know, or could find a mind to care at the moment...

Boots skid across the polished floors when he pushed her against the wall and lifted her by holding onto the back of her thighs. Pressing their hips together, he did a rough grind against her, the hard edge of the belt rubbing against her clothed core and caused her to shiver with a whine. Holding his head still to direct him back into a sloppy kiss, she didn’t hold back to suck on his tongue and bite his bottom lip on the way of pulling back. This caused him to groan and drop his voice low as possible as he sharply bit her jaw.

“Gonna fuck you so hard against the wall, everyone is going to hear you cry for me,” he told her, his fingers sliding into her undergarments. “You won’t be able to walk, not when I’m done with you, sweetie.”

“Please,” she whined pathetically, her hands gripping the collar of his uniform desperately. “Please, please...I need -”

“I know you need me,” he purred darkly, his index and middle finger rubbing hard circles against the sensitive nub within the most private part of her body. With the jerk of his hips, thanks to the frantic unbuttoning, he was able to drop his trousers to expose his own lack of underwear, allowing his member to spring free to plunge roughly into -

Nova erupted a snap from the loud, projected images being exploited to her within the training facility by a standing officer at the end of the frontline Phasma was currently assessing one-by-one. The young woman with dark hair and a few beauty marks along her cheekbones released a sudden gasp of pain from the Force-user’s assault, her eyes growing wide with shock and grasping the back of her neck from the tingling sensation from the pinch on her nerves. Biting her lip once she saw Phasma freeze and send a daring stare her way, the officer cleared her throat and resumed her position, her eyes darting left and right until coming to see Nova’s intended stare and crossed arms directed right at her.

The officer lost the staring contest, looking down to her feet as she waited for her turn by the Captain, her cheeks burning red. Turning around and extended her arms when directed by the silver-armored ‘trooper, Phasma eventually finished her evaluation and approved the lineup to be dismissed and escorted out of the training area. As it was the last line of officers to be checked by the Captain for the time being, both Nova and Phasma were found to have a small break for once since their line-after-line of different officers and cadets.

As Phasma approached the quiet apprentice, Nova noticed the small tilt of the shiny helmet. “You were staring pretty intensely to quite a few officers, Nova,” she pointed out to the other woman present in the expanded room. “Did you catch something wrong with them?”

Nova blinked a few times, processing the idea of what would be defined as wrong to Phasma. “I don’t think it’s wrong, but it is not something I’m quite fond of witnessing myself, if that’s appropriate,” she tried, and Phasma gave her a single nod.

“Of what?”

Nova’s face twisted to somewhat of disgust and irritation. “Being physical with another person that is not sparring. The annoying buzzing of hormones within their minds are disgusting,” she eventually blurted. “Involving rather animalistic behaviors of attempting to breed so forcefully? Are populations within the First Order that low that many available young adults are so desperate to procreate?”

“Breed - oh. No, no, it’s not like that,” Phasma groaned, her hand coming to rest on the other’s shoulder and squeezing tightly. “They’re - the officers are…”

Nova waited patiently while the Captain struggled to find the correct words, her helmet visor shifting between her, up, down and then around the training facility in hopes of finding the right vocabulary. Hearing her usually very, very quiet thoughts on what she was attempting to convey to her, Nova’s lips twitched a bit as she raised a hand and waved towards Phasma.

“No, Phasma, I certainly know how sex works between two people. My owners and other older slaves made sure I learned early on in life,” Nova said, hearing the other’s mental sigh of relief. “What I don’t understand is their seeming excitement to breed - especially for the ones who are able to carry offspring - it does not make sense to me.”

Phasma was still for a moment, just like when Nova first saw her or whenever she was focused on her team’s performance during training and sparring. As moments ticked by, she watched as the Captain released a breath, her limbs from within the armor relaxing. “Oh,” she responded with another sigh. “That’s good to know. Saves a whole lot of trouble for my end; I’m not used to these types of conversations… Not like I constantly do with others.”

“But, I still don’t understand.”

“Right,” Phasma nodded, gesturing with one armor-clad hand for the two to go towards the empty rows of benches provided to the room. Nova willingly followed her and sat casually at her side, waiting.

“You saw their projected thoughts, and some of them have been quite explicit for you to become annoyed, and confused,” the Captain recited, and Nova eventually nodded in agreement. “Being physically intimate is usually something pleasurable for someone or a pairing, and sex one of the common activities they can do, but it does not end with them breeding… I suppose with the annual physical and medicated shots, some of the officers and ‘troopers are probably excited to be active in it again without consequence.”

The young woman frowned a bit deeper and tilt her head. “What does a medical examination and vaccinations do that makes someone to want to become physical sexually?” she asked. “How does it not allow them to breed?”

“One of the vaccinations the First Order requires everyone to have is contraceptive,” Phasma explained, seeing through her visor of Nova’s changed expression to more confusion. “The First Order came to a rule of reducing the chance of unwanted pregnancies and births years ago, and formed a yearly cycled shot that prevents either gender, or others, to produce offsprings to tie back to them. In short, it restricts females from getting pregnant, and males to get others pregnant. No breeding, just pleasure.”

Nova frowned and Phasma was quick to notice this. “This would happen between consenting individuals who both want to be pleased sexually,” she clarified with a sigh.

“So, it’s not prostitution?” Nova asked. “I know what that is, when one is paying the other for service that can leave them both satisfied…”

“No, it’s part of being in a romantic relationships...mostly. Or, it’s just a mutual agreement with no strings attached,” the Captain explained further, a sort of amused tone in her usual strict and direct voice.

“Do you do that?”

Watching Phasma remove her helmet, Nova didn’t miss how the Captain had a sort of smirk on her pale lips while pushing her pale blonde hair away. Wiping her chin before answering, Phasma seemed to have thought it over rather carefully. “Yes, whenever there is a chance for me to relax from my duties, I have a partner who I share intimate, physical moments with; I trust them with my needs, as they also trust me with theirs, although we don’t particularly need to worry about keeping up to the medbay protocol of contraceptives.”

“So, you do not think of those particular images and thoughts, like some of the others do?” Nova tilt her head when the Captain bit back a laugh, seeing her shake her head.

“I just happen to have my thoughts set on more important matters, is all. My job comes first to me, then does my own pleasure. I do enjoy the times I’m able to spend with a partner or even by myself.”

Nova slowly nodded, her gaze looking away from her companion and down to her hands resting on her lap. Phasma seemed to notice her curious-yet-unsure behavior, cautiously raising a gloved hand to rest on Nova’s shoulder, making her blink and look back to meet her blue eyes.

“You’re thinking of something negative?” Phasma guessed in a rather mute tone, yet Nova knew that there was a hint of concern. That little bit was enough to make Nova give her a tiny smile, yet her eyes were still empty.

“Where I came from, slaves could have been used for Masters’ pleasures, if that’s what they’re...made or used for. They probably have protection from conceiving or impregnating, I’m not sure,” Nova explained. “Although, anything else doesn’t apply. When the time comes for the owner to...make arrangements for their slaves to produce more for the planet’s system for profits and income, slaves don’t really get a choice. They either comply or die, there’s no such thing as pleasure for them; it’s rather unknown to me to know the feelings you’re speaking of.”

“It isn’t for everyone, Nova, and that is perfectly okay,” Phasma informed her. “Just know that it has to have all consent from both or more parties. You have to allow someone to touch you the way you want now, no one has possession over you.”

Feeling the squeeze on her shoulder, Nova looked to see Phasma giving her a careful look. Nova could see and hear the faint whispers of Phasma regarding Kylo’s name and image by her much smaller height, nothing unusual or romantic between the two in the image, yet there was comfort in Phasma’s thoughts. Nova’s eyes went wide as she looked back down, yet Phasma didn’t find any rudeness in her acquaintance’s behavior. Instead, Phasma placed her helmet back on and stood up.

“Alright, now it’s your turn for evaluation, little one,” the Captain said in her usual, authoritative tone. “Stand straight, now, and hold out your arms. You’re also due for vaccinations and a physical for this cycle. I have yet to fail to turn someone in as scheduled, and I’m not about to start now. Don’t think about trying to hide off somewhere, you know I’ll have the droids find you for me.”

Nova couldn’t help but smile at the idea, hopping to her feet and ready to be examined by the Captain before her first physical.

“Mm, no, try moving a little bit to the left,” Nova mumbled cautiously, trying to tilt the large, oval mirror a bit while BB-9E bleeped in response and rolled in the direction. In its extended rod-limb, a smaller handheld mirror flickered in the reflection of the other, showing the backside of Nova’s skin. “And tilt it up a little...there, hold it there, please.”

BB-9E beeped in understanding and held the mirror as Nova fixed her piece of mirror to eye the circular bruises the size of a credit coin peppered along her right backside. The injections for the vaccinations and immunizations didn’t hurt, yet she was advised by the medbay staff that bruising can occur and should check them for any unusual discoloring. A part of Nova wasn’t too sure what kind of discoloring she should look out for (being that she never really had vaccinations in her lifetime until now), but Phasma made certain that BB-9E specifically would alert her for anything she should check with the medbay nurses. Despite being only an astromech droid, it seems that Nova is discovering that this particular droid does a whole lot more than just manage small repairs and join in TIE Freighters with pilots.

Nova counted seven circular bruises below the line of her scar, along with five more above, closer to her neck. They looked normal to her, nothing out of the ordinary of her own body healing itself…

However, it was what the medbay doctor told her before being allowed to leave. As regulations for all the other patients old enough, the doctors listed off the possibilities of needing to return to the ward as they attempt to promote ‘safe sex’, as Phasma explained for the apprentice to understand.

Wearing the sports bra that went behind her neck and ran thinly across her back torso, leaving more of her skin exposed than normal. Her whole backside to low on her hips (where her silk undergarments were expensive and soft), her belly and a hint of the valley between her breasts were also exposed. On normal circumstances, Nova wouldn’t mind lacking coverage within her slightly chilled quarters but today...she wasn’t in the best of moods to see herself.

Reaching behind, her fingertips brushed the bottom edge of the large, obvious diagonal scar and the other little, faint ones that followed it. How many times she had to endure stitches and patches of cloth stuck to her skin from injury or attacks, she lost count; any further of dealing with bruises, slivers and illnesses, Nova was now starting to feel it all coming to weigh down on her shoulders. The weight of her self-consciousness starting to pick at her mind as she dropped the mirror she was holding to the plushed rug with muted eyes while biting her bottom lip.

Images of how clean, flawless from scars and marks of skin being held and admired erupted into her thoughts. How the officers’ thoughts of being ogled at and praised for having such pretty hair, eyes, skin, clothes...being looked at like those fancy, rich attendees to the arena with their beauty and high lives when she didn’t.

“Thank you, Niney,” she said after a minute of staring at nothing ahead. “I’ll check how they are in the next cycle. You can leave now.”

BB-9E whirred a moment before placing the small mirror up to the table nearby before rolling off to let itself out of her quarters, leaving her be as she groped the flesh of her backside.

‘That’s just how it is,’ she told herself simply, swallowing down her negative emotions. ‘That’s just how my body is. Let the past die, it won’t...it won’t mean anything anymore. It’s just skin, no matter how torn up and unusual to the sight.’

Fingerprints that weren’t her own lightly touched her shoulders, making her blink out of her trance. Turning her chin to steal a glance to see Kylo watch his thumb trace the curve of her shoulder before lightly pushing the loose strands on the back of her neck before bending further down to press his lips against the back of her neck. Nova felt her chest tighten at the tickle of his breath against her skin, willingly leaning forward as his left arm carefully snaked around her waist, his palm against the soft skin of her belly. Biting her lip, she did her best to hold back her frustrated tears at her negative thoughts towards herself, feeling Kylo kiss behind her ear.

“I-I didn’t...I didn’t hear you come in,” she mumbled, feeling a bit flustered.

Kylo nuzzled her head gently. “The droid left when I entered,” he responded, his arm around her tightening just a bit as his mouth dropped to the side where the small, few bruises from the vaccinations were. His breath was hot against her skin, making her close her eyes at the contrast to her chilly room when he pressed a small kiss to one of the purple spots. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your appointment, I was training with Snoke until he sent me to the medbay. I just got done…”

“Oh.” Nova swallowed, feeling her chest flutter when he gave her shoulder another kiss, the pressure light on the bruise so it wouldn’t hurt or make her uncomfortable. Sitting up straighter, she tilt her head back to an angle and Kylo was quick to trail the light, butterfly kisses to the skin there, trailing to her jaw.

“Your thoughts were a bit loud, Nova,” Kylo murmured against her skin. “As soon as I got into the hall, within your shield, you were doubting yourself in appearance.”

“I’m sorry,” she frowned, feeling a small sliver the shame within her chest. Kylo’s lips pressed a firm kiss under her ear, humming against her.

“Don’t apologize,” he hushed her softly, carefully turning her chin to look at him sideways. “However, I highly disagree with your thoughts.”

Kissing the corner of her mouth, Kylo dipped his head down to the tip of the distinct scar on her back, lightly sucking on the skin with his lips only to avoid irritating the bruises. To Nova, he felt big and warm, and she couldn’t resist but to close her eyes and melt a bit his way for more attention. His voice soaked down to her bones that she unconsciously reached a hand up to tangle in his hair, just to feel the texture to ease her body even more. “You are more of a vision than you think yourself to be, Nova,” he said as his mouth ran along the scar on her back. He stopped at some point before reaching her shoulder blades in order to kiss the tiny, almost-invisible nics and spots that also decorated her skin.

“You have the most desirable skin, strong muscles that shows how determined you are,” Kylo spoke as the blood began rushing in her veins, watching her with half-lidded eyes as she willingly leaned forward to give him more access to her exposed back while he bent more to balance himself with his free hand on the floor. “Every time I get the honor of touching you with my bare hands or my mouth, I end up craving more. Your skin puts me at ease from any stress of the day.”

Once he made it across the expanse of her back, his mouth glued to her scar to the other end by the curve of her hip bone, Nova turned around on her knees to face him. Kylo was fluid and gentle to lift his head into her awaiting hands and allowed her to pull him close enough to connect their mouths in a slow, burning and passionate kiss. Liquid heat boiled in their bellies as Kylo pressed his hand on her lower back to bring her closer and have her hands hold on to him tight. Nova’s gentle nip to his lip and how Kylo’s tongue only gently caressed across her own was enough make her start to realize she was struggling to breathe, and Kylo was gentle enough to move along to trail kisses down her cheek to her jaw and neck.

Kylo gently cradled the back of her head, angling her head just right for him to lightly scrap his teeth against her neck, making her sigh deeply and unbend a leg from underneath to try and wrap around his hip. Prompting himself to lift her body and gently lay her down on the small rug underneath them, keeping his body carefully hovering over her to feel the heat radiating off his body in the chilly room. His hands caressing her sides and the curve of her outer thighs, Kylo reached back up and caught her mouth in a soft, promising kiss that made Nova’s fingers begin to feel tingly.

“Listen to me, my darling,” he whispered against her lips, his nose brushing along the curve of her face before suckling on her pulse. She couldn’t help but release a soft sigh when he carefully bit the skin, her legs wrapped around him with a sort of curious eagerness and tug at his roots for him to groan in return.

A heavy breath against her neck. ‘A work of art…’

Nova’s eyes broke open in a pleasured haze at the soft, gentle voice being whispered to her within the Force. Hearing Kylo, seeing and feeling him overtake her senses in reality and beyond of what she knew of her abilities made her feel all sorts of new sensations under her skin and along every cell and vein in her body that made her toes curl and shiver delightfully. Bumping noses rather affectionately, she couldn’t resist her big smile at seeing Kylo’s smirk before catching her in a quick kiss before returning to his plan of affectionate attack.

‘Radiant, beautiful,’ Kylo continued while his lips trailed soft, gentle kisses along her collarbone and down her sternum. One hand holding her wrist of the hand tangled in his hair while the other trailed down her spine, feeling every sort of scar tissue on his fingertips while lightly nipping the soft skin of her abdomen. ‘Absolutely perfect in every way.’

Nova had to take a deep breath, leaning her head back on the plushed rug and closing her eyes to focus on the feel of his warm body pressed against her and his soft lips kissing her skin. The strands of his hair tickling her the closer he got to the hem of her underwear caused her to gently run her thumb over the curve of his ear hidden, earning another small, hidden smile from him.

‘Every inch of you, every mark,’ Kylo breathed deeper, making Nova bite her lip, ‘so alluring and addicting…’

Lifting both of her thighs over his shoulders, Nova projected her desire and need for him to keep going, how her heart was beating against her chest with new adrenaline that she’s never experienced before and wanted - needed more. Being handled this way as a delicate, yet wanted being was enough to make her feel dizzy.

“No,” Kylo spoke against her pelvic bone, making her shake with need in places she never knew existed inside her body. “I don’t want you, Nova, I need you. Without you, I wouldn’t be experiencing what I’m feeling...I can not see myself being without you. I need you.”

A noise slipped from her lips, peeking at him to see the hot, flaming fire within Kylo’s dark eyes. She felt intoxicated by him, willingly allowing him to take control and continue to make her feel good. “I need you, too,” she slurred, her fingers slipping down his face, letting him tangle their hands to kiss each of her knuckles, refusing to break eye contact with her.

Kissing the back of her hand with purpose, Kylo trailed a pathway around her belly with little nips and gently suckles. His hands massaging the outside of her thighs with the most careful treatment and delicate touches that was reserved for royalty: respected, well-loved, worshipped as fine jewels or silks. Nova closed her eyes once more and bit her lip when she felt him lick by her belly button, caught between liking and questioning the sensation that made her cheeks burn.

Words bubbled in Nova’s mind, muddled with the wall she had protecting them both from the invisible, outside world. Kylo’s warmth was becoming intoxicating and overpowering her at this point, feeling an unusual chill in the back of her spine with how slow his fingers trailed before cupping under her knees to spread her legs further apart. His mouth a feather-touch to her lower belly before finally sucking the small dip of skin between her pelvis and thigh, making her jump in surprise.

Her fingers digging into the rug underneath her, Kylo’s nose nudging so close to her most intimate part that she felt like she was so close to passing out…

Kylo pressed his lips to the ghastly carved ‘X’ on her inner thigh, the kiss so gentle and meaningful that made Nova let out a frightened shout with what emerged in her thoughts.

Forceful green eyes with dirty blond hair. A hand around her throat while the other grabbed at the fresh scar still pulsing blood in a sort of dominated attitude that brought sudden tears to her eyes.

She felt overpowered, unable to do anything to protect herself from the man she knew she killed. The possible outcome what would happen, if she didn’t use the Force. The way her life was suppose to be without her mysterious abilities hidden away inside her. The brute reality that Nova didn’t want.

Nova became frightened…

Propping herself on her elbows as quick as she could, feeling out of breath, Nova came face-to-face with her beloved as his eyes were just as round as her own. Her bottom lip on the verge of piercing from being bitten between her teeth, her sobs stuck in her throat as Kylo swallowed and carefully put her legs off his shoulders and sit up. Breaking eye contact, Nova was forced to watch Kylo push his hair away from his face and recollect himself better, taking calming breaths.

“K-Kylo,” Nova stuttered, feeling a tear slip down her cheek. “Kylo, I-I - I don’t know w-what -”

Kylo cautiously held her face with both hands, brushing the tear away with the most gentle stroke. “Shhh,” he urged her, a hint of desperation in his eyes that made her hiccup. Leaning forward, he kissed the middle of her sweaty forehead. “You’re alright. You’re safe here, I’ll stop.”

“N-no, it’s not - I didn’t want -!”

“I’ll be in my quarters when you’re ready for bed,” he told her softly, nowhere near the deep, seductive tone he had before, the voice that was making her melt into something else. “I need to bathe, but you take all the time you need and I’ll be ready for us to sleep.”

Watching him stand to his feet, Nova was too stunned of herself to say anything more as Kylo left through the steel chamber doors. Sitting up straight, she eyed the soft blemishes and wet spots on her body made from Kylo’s mouth, her hand shakingly reaching to touch a spot on her hip bone. Her eyes and hands moving to her thigh, grasping the healed patch of her ‘X’ shaped scar, Nova’s mouth went to a fine line as hot tears slipped down her face while her thumb dug into her flesh. She huffed, yet couldn’t bring herself to react to how the chilly temperature in her quarters were cooling the sweat on her skin. She couldn’t find herself to react anymore…

She wanted Kylo back. She wanted him back to tell him that she didn’t want him to stop, that the way he was handling her with such care and desire made her feel good in ways she never thought was possible. The memory of the deceased slave who attempted to harm her was only a split second of her fear, only to focus solely on Kylo’s touch; his hands and kisses and just him reminding her that she no longer had to be afraid of anymore. As much as she was nervous and scared for Kylo to pamper her scarred skin and be so willing to take it further, Nova just wanted him to keep treating her nicely and make her feel good for once in her life…

To feel worth of the attention from someone she really adored and loved.

And now, holding her ghastly thigh with adrenaline boiling in her body in newly discovered places, Nova couldn’t hold back her frustrated growl and curled more into herself.

Remembering Phasma’s words, Nova felt herself become more irritated with herself than against Kylo:

‘You have to allow someone to touch you the way you want now, no one has possession over you.’

As she really knew her beloved’s intention - treating her as she is worthy for her own opinion, yet her frightening past seemed to make him resistant in pushing further, and it hurt Nova in more ways than one could describe.

Fun fact: I personally feel like Phasma doesn’t really care of the gender of her lover, yet takes precautions of safety. Physical intimacy wouldn’t be her upmost goal.

taglist: @ayatimascd @ymariejp @yippee-ki-yay-motherfucker460 @formerly-anonhamster @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd @imyourdreamwife@kyloxfem @goth-pigeon @damndriver

Remember, if you would like to be tagged for future chapters, please don’t hesitate to message me! I’d be more than happy to add you. Thank you for reading and I hope to hear from you!

#pilotanonwrites #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #preludekylofic #reader insert #oc/reader insert

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pocket-anon · 7 years ago

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The Long Way Home (4/10)

On to Chapter 4! I'm so pleased that so many of you seem to be enjoying this story, and I deeply appreciate the time you've taken to reblog it, leave comments, and tell your friends about it! This really isn't half the fun without you. Hugs.

As always, thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and to @lifeinahole27, @clockadile, and @ladyciaramiggles for their additional feedback. Additional thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic! Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - go show them some love!

Find it on AO3. Nautical term glossary here.

Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.

Summary: After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves. When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet. But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels. A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of. (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU. Romance, Adventure, & Eventual Smut. Rated E.)

Warning: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

Steel whispers as Emma pulls a cutlass from a rack of swords in the Jolly’s armory and draws it from the scabbard to examine it with a narrowed eye aimed down the edge of the blade.

Hook watches her with amusement, leaned against one wall with his arms and legs crossed. She’s wearing her hair up for the first time today, woven with a few thick braids and pulled back into a ponytail that’s already been touched by humidity and the morning breeze, and there’s something very wild and pretty about it. “I assure you they’re all good swords, Swan,” he promises. “I select them myself.”

“Who says I’m not more discerning than you?” she quips, the corner of her lips pulling upward until one of her dimples appears. She meets his incredulous grin with a chuckle. “Kidding.”

He laughs richly. Glorious creature.

She moves on to a different, slightly more slender sword and looks it over before rotating it with a few turns of her wrist, the blade arcing gracefully through the air. Emma hums with satisfaction, admiring the clean lines of the wire-wrapped grip. “I like this one.”

Hook nods. “Very well.”

The blade hisses back into its sheath, and she flashes him an appreciative smile as he hands over a spare sword belt. Standing back, he watches her thread the belt through the scabbard’s leather suspension and loop it around her waist. Emma experiments with the best angle at which to let the sword hang for a minute before electing to just cinch the buckle snug to her middle. The belt is overlong, but it only takes her a moment to formulate a solution, tying the remaining length off so that it hangs neatly downward and then pulling her hands back so she can survey her work. “Does that look right?”

He hums the affirmative as she practices yanking the cutlass from the scabbard, the easy rhythm with which she slides the blade out and back home again making it seem as if she were old hand at this. “It suits you, lass.” He scratches behind his ear. “As does your hair,” he adds shyly.

Emma blushes. “Thanks.” She fingers a golden lock over the back of her ear. “It, uh, it beats pushing it out of my eyes every other minute.”

He rumbles his agreement. “Indeed.”

Her eyes glint, and she grins, turning her attention back to her new sword. A thoughtful look crosses her face, and she chews on her lip.

Hook eyes her knowingly. “What is it, Swan?”

Her gaze turns hopeful. “Do you have a spare a knife or a dagger? Something small for my boot?”

His face brightens, and he cackles with approval. “Now you’re thinking like a pirate.” He pulls open a locker and retrieves a bound leather bundle, which he unties and lays open across the nearest bench to reveal a dozen smaller blades in various styles. He gestures. “Lady’s choice.”

Emma comes to his side and studies the collection. She selects the slightest of them, a simple blade with an unadorned grip and no guard, and pulls it from the sheath, testing the weight and giving it a simple flip. “Thanks,” she says, slipping the blade back into the sheath and bending down to tuck it into her boot.

“You’re very welcome.” Hook grins with admiration. He proceeds to bind up the remaining daggers and put them away. “And now that you’re armed, we must be sure that you can wield that cutlass properly,” he says, pointing to her scabbard. “It’s no longsword. Come.”

He leads her above, throwing his crewmen cool looks of warning to behave as they make their way starboard, the shadow from the main-mast providing them some shelter from the late morning sun. He takes the time to review the basics, making adjustments to her grip and stance and running her through a few principal cuts to let her familiarize herself with the weight of her new blade and its greater maneuverability compared to what she seems used to.

Emma proves herself to be an apt pupil despite having to take her lessons under the observation of seasoned pirates. Her bearing is indeed noble as she forces her eyes away from them and focuses on her weapon and his words, and her face is so set with concentration he’s left with little doubt that he can turn her into a good swordsman.

By midday, he’s completed his introduction, and he squints in the overhead sun. “Feel up to a quick spar before lunch, Swan?”

Indecision flashes briefly over her face as she glances at her cutlass and then at men scattered around them, most of whom are doing a poor job of pretending they aren’t watching, but, true to form, the decision not to back down takes hold and she straightens and tosses her head, planting her free hand on her hip defiantly.. “If you want.”

Hook smiles and positions himself across from her. “Aye. Let’s see what you’ve learned, shall we?” They stare at each other for a moment, swords at the ready, and though they both know she’s no match for him, her eyes shine with a determination to try to best him that sends a thrill through his chest nonetheless. He licks his lips with anticipation. “Begin.”

Work around the ship halts as the clash of steel grants the crew unspoken permission to give up their ruse and gather round. There are the expected cheers for the Captain, but he also hears a few calls of encouragement for the Lady Swan, and he hums as he parries Emma’s eighth strike. “Seems you have some admirers, love.”

Her beautifully flushed cheeks turn even rosier. “Yeah,” she pants, grunting as their blades slice against each other again and they both spring back.

“Can’t say I blame them,” he adds with a devilish grin. The tip of his sword traces a few lazy circles in the air, his steps mirroring hers as they circle. “You are a far sight prettier than I.”

This earns him a little chuckle, and she feints high and slashes low, forcing him to jump back a few inches.

A ripple of excited cheers and jeers erupt from the men, and Hook crows. “Excellent!”

He begins a light offensive, jabbing mainly toward her sides to give her a chance to practice deflecting, and when she appears to have gotten the hang of that, he follows up with a quick spin ending in a more aggressive slash. She reverts to a two-handed grip to block it and proceeds to keep both hands on the hilt as she tries to return the assault.

Hook tuts. “Drop your other hand, Swan. It’s not a longsword.”

She colors a little and complies. A minute later, however, she falls back to her old ways.

“The hand, Swan,” he says patiently.

Emma corrects herself again, looking chagrined as she whips her blade around for another strike. She grunts when he blocks her blow, the steel clanging hard. “Sorry.”

They exchange a few more attacks before he finally deigns to end it, pressing her sword off to the side and twisting his blade around to force her to lose her grip. Emma yelps indignantly as her cutlass clatters to the deck, but the men cheer, and she shakes her head and gives him a conciliatory grin. “One of these days, you’re going to show me how to do that.”

Hook chuckles, sheathing his sword and reaching down retrieve hers. “I suppose I could be persuaded.” He offers the hilt up to her in gentlemanly fashion, a smirk playing on his lips. “Very good, love. Excellent progress today. But keep your other hand in check,” he teases, arching a brow and gesturing toward her left arm, “or I may have to tie it behind your back.”

“Hmm.” Emma narrows her eyes at him knowingly. “No doubt something you would enjoy,” she comments, her face still glowing as she accepts her weapon and puts it away.

He laughs and gives her a wink as his men disperse. “No doubt.” He motions for her to lead the way toward his quarters. “Lunch?”

* * *

As apprehensive as Swan was about it, having the rest of the crew witness her sword fighting lesson with their Captain seems to go a long way toward earning their respect, and she notices that the men become more open to letting her observe them at their duties, even engaging her and indulging her questions as she learns more about the ship with each passing day.

She’s standing at the base of the main-mast and peering skyward one morning when Thomas swings down from the rigging to land beside her.

“Help you, milady?”

Swan bites her lip, studying the complicated network of ropes that extend in various directions overhead. “What’s it like up there?”

He laughs. “Depends on how you feel about heights, I s’pose. Made my heart race the first hundred times I went up there and still does when the weather’s foul.” He rubs the back of his neck. “But the view from the top on a clear day? Aye, it’s hard to beat.”

Her eyes trail along the thick lines of the shroud which arches above them. “Can I go up?”

“Oh.” Thomas blinks, surprised. “Well, beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but I don’t know if that’s wise. Cap’n says our top priority is to keep you safe,” he replies apologetically.

She rolls her eyes, remembering the royal reward money, and cranes her head up again wistfully. “Well, what if I just go up there?” she asks, pointing to the main yard. “I don’t have to climb to the very top. I just want to see what it’s like.” She glances sideways at him with a hopeful expression. “Please?”

The poor lad looks conflicted. “I…” His eyes dart helplessly to Roberts, who approaches from the bow. “Sir? The Lady would like to climb the mast.”

The older pirate’s step slows, lines of disapproval and confusion creasing his face. “What on earth for?” he demands. “…Ma’am.”

“Just getting to know the ship, Mr. Roberts,” Swan explains. “The Captain’s encouraged me to learn a little about sailing while I’m here, and this can’t be any riskier than sparring with him,” she reasons, glancing back up at the yard.

Roberts makes a dubious sound low in his throat. “All due respect, milady, but the Captain’s an expert swordsman who knows how to spar without hurting you.”

“And you’re an expert sailor,” she counters sweetly. “I’m sure you can find a safe way for me to climb the rigging. Every member of this crew had a first time, didn’t they?”

He huffs, running a hand down his face. “The rigging’s no place for a Lady.”

She chuckles dryly. “Yes, well, I’m already on a pirate ship, sir. I'm pretty sure we’re past the point of arguing where I do and don’t belong.” She fixes him with one last long look of entreaty, and her chest swells with triumph as she watches the last of the man’s resolve finally bleed away.

His shoulders slump with a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he grits. “But you’ll wear a tether or else the Captain’ll have my head.”

Swan beams. “Thank you, Mr. Roberts.”

Roberts grumbles. “Get up there and get a line around the yard for ‘er,” he growls at Thomas. “Be quick about it.”

Thomas gulps and scrambles away.

* * *

Hook emerges on deck for his morning inspection, squinting into the easterly sun and breathing the temperate air.

“’Morning, sir.” Smee greets him with a nervous half-bow of his head.

His first mate’s tone is an immediate red flag, and Hook aims a questioning glance over his shoulder. “What’s the problem, Smee?”

“Um, no problem, Captain.”

He raises an eyebrow before looking around for signs of Emma. “Where’s the Lady this morning?” he asks. “Still below?”

“Uh... n-no.”

Hook turns his head curiously to see Smee wearing an anxious expression and pointing. His eyes travel upward, growing round when he glimpses the telltale green skirts and blonde ponytail whipping on the wind high above them. “Bloody hell,” he breathes. His forehead furrows, and he bellows indignantly. “Swan?!”

Perched atop the main yard and hugging the mast with one arm while she looks aft, Emma’s face comes into view as she leans forward a bit and flashes him a breathless smile. “Hi!” she calls back.

He backs up a few paces in order to see her better, mouth agape. “What the devil are you doing up there?”

She laughs, her face shining. “Flying.”

“Fly—” He clamps his mouth shut and charges forward, veritably leaping down the ladder to the middle deck. His frustrated glare lands on Roberts and a contrite-looking Thomas, who stand watching her at the foot of the port shroud. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Apologies, Captain.” Roberts holds his palms up to mollify him. “She said you wanted ‘er to learn something of sailing and fairly begged to be allowed up, so we tied a tether to ‘er and I let Thomas show ‘er a bit about managing the sails. We’re just letting ‘er enjoy the view a while longer ‘fore she comes back down.”

Hook blinks at him and Thomas dumbly, the quartermaster’s words taking the sting out of his displeasure, and the anger fades from his expression as he glances upward again.

“For what it’s worth, she seems right at home up in the rigging,” Roberts notes with a rare gleam in his eye. “Never would’ve guessed it, but the girl can climb.”

“I’ll fetch her down, Cap’n,” Thomas offers hastily.

Hook huffs and waves the younger crewman off. “No, lad. I’ll do it. Back to your duties.” He reaches for the shroud and swings himself up easily as Thomas looks relieved and scuttles away.

“Will you be needing anything then?” Roberts asks, risking the barest of knowing grins.

Hook shakes his head. “Never thought you’d be the first to fall for her charms, Old Man,” he chides, narrowing his eyes.

Roberts snorts. “Fairly sure I wasn’t,” he shoots back, his expression turning droll. He clears his throat with a shrug. “She’ll do well enough. She’s got guts, I’ll give ‘er that.”

Hook concedes with a hum, trying to ignore the little surge of pride in his chest as he begins his ascent.

Emma is looking down at him with amusement when he draws near. “Coming to check on me?” she teases.

“Coming to make sure you don’t break your pretty neck,” he retorts, affecting a scowl. He pulls himself up onto the yard beside her, taking half a second to ensure a steady footing and a good grip on one of the lines.

She smiles, seeing through his feigned gruffness. “I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble. In their defense, your men did insist on taking good care of me.” She pulls one hand away from the mast to pluck at the improvised rope harness that girds her torso.

He huffs. “As well they should.” He relishes the way the morning sun plays upon her face, even as he forces his features to remain stern. “You are not to come up here without supervision. Understand?”

She nods agreeably. “It was trickier getting up here in a petticoat than I thought it would be,” she admits, wrinkling her nose. “And not just because I have to worry about being exposed by every stiff breeze.” Her cheeks turn crimson, and she smoothes the fabric down over her backside self-consciously.

Hook forgets his pretense and breaks out in a deep laugh, quite certain his men below would be more than happy to see a gale blow her skirt aloft. “Aye. Lovely as you might be in that dress, it may not be the most practical choice for climbing about.” He juts his lower lip out thoughtfully. “We’ll make port in about a week to shore up supplies. Perhaps you could find something else to wear that would be better suited,” he muses.

Emma chuckles. “No, it’s alright. I’ll make do. I don’t have any money anyway.”

“Consider it a gift then.”

She blinks over at him with big eyes before her expression softens and she shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Aye,” he concurs cheerfully, “but there’s no bringing out the sailor in you without the proper clothes, Swan.”

She looks conflicted for a moment, but at last she gives a grateful nod. “It would be nice not to have to wear a corset,” she supposes, grimacing and arching her back slightly.

The motion causes Hook’s pulse to quicken as he eyes her gorgeous curves in profile. He swallows and plasters on a cheeky grin. “Then again, perhaps I should rescind the offer.”

She rolls her eyes and straightens, her cheeks flushing again, but he doesn’t miss the tiny, smug smile that hints at the corner of her mouth.

He chuckles. “Very well, darling. As you like.”

“Hmph.” Emma gives him a reproving side-eye before turning her gaze back out over the southern horizon. They stand there enjoying the view for a few long minutes, surrounded by the sound of the wind buffeting the sails and the soft groans of the ship. From somewhere below, the distant voices of some crewmen singing a shanty also rises to meet their ears.

“So what do you think of it?” he asks, watching a loose tendril of her hair curl backward over her brow.

She inhales the salty air contentedly. “It’s amazing,” she murmurs. “I’m starting to understand the appeal of a life at sea.”

Hook smiles, eyeing the endless blue expanse. “Aye. The ocean’s an unpredictable mistress sometimes, but there’s nothing like standing on the deck of your own ship and knowing that she can take you almost anywhere. Where else can you see so much of the world without ever leaving home?” He taps his hook against the mast.

“How long have you lived on the water?”

“Nearly all my life,” he replies. “Since I was a lad. I was ten when my brother and I boarded our first ship.”

“Ten?” Her mouth falls open. “And you never returned to live on land?”

He looks away. “No.” He hesitates when she waits for him to continue. “We… we were traveling with our father. He disappeared one night,” he explains quietly, steeling himself against his emotions and choosing the words carefully. “Left us in the service of the ship’s captain.”

Emma squints, looking horrified. “He left you,” she repeats.

A cheerless smile ghosts over his lips. “Aye. Turns out he was a thief fleeing capture. He went off the ship in a dinghy shortly after putting me to bed, I’m told. We never saw him again.”

He doesn’t have to see her face to feel the quiet sadness that settles over her. “And your mother?” she murmurs, clearly braced for another unpleasant revelation.

Hook dares to meet her gaze again, his expression becoming more drawn. “Died the year before. She’d been sick a long time. One day she fainted. Liam and I waited and waited for her to wake up. She never did.” He glances briefly at Emma’s now heartbroken face before redirecting his eyes to the tail end of their wake, staring numbly as it’s swallowed by the passing waves.

“You’ve lost so many people,” she observes softly.

“It was a hundred and fifty years ago, Swan.”

“Does that make it easier?”

He sucks in a breath, deciding whether to acknowledge what she seems to know already, and bows his head. “No.” He chuffs. “Wounds that are made when we’re young tend to linger.” Hook lifts his chin again and glowers out toward the waves.

Emma angles her head. “How have you lived so long, exactly?”

He hums, grateful for the change of topic, and his shoulders relax a hair. “I spent a very long time in Neverland,” he says simply. “The magic of the island makes it impossible to age there.”

Her brow wrinkles. “You went back to Neverland? Even after what happened with your brother?”

He nods.

“Why?”

He feels her eyes on him as he contemplates the most benign way he can describe the wrath and overwhelming desire for vengeance that fueled his decision to return to that accursed place. “I needed information,” he answers, trying to sound nonchalant.

She arcs an eyebrow. “You spent over a hundred years looking for information?”

Hook shifts restlessly. “I spent over a hundred years in the reluctant employ of Peter Pan, who rules the island. He was, shall we say, disinclined to let us leave.”

Emma frowns prettily as she considers this, a dozen questions writing themselves on her face. “What kind of information were you looking for?”

He’s quiet for a beat. “The way to kill the demon who took my hand.” His eyes dart away, and he swallows tightly, unsure why, for the first time, he feels less than comfortable telling someone about his quest to destroy the Dark One. For decades it’s been integral to his identity, as much a part of him as his hook, but now… now something about revealing himself to her as a man hell-bent on revenge makes him feel less than proud of who he is.

Silence falls between them, and he wonders whether he’s lowered her estimation of him. Not that it should matter, he reminds himself hastily, sneaking a glance at the unreadable expression on her face as she, too, stares wordlessly out over the ocean.

At last she clears her throat. “So, did you get the information you needed?” Her head rotates back toward him.

Hook nods soberly, a knot forming in his stomach at the bitter memory of learning about the Dark One’s dagger – the only weapon capable of killing its malevolent owner – from Milah’s son, Baelfire, during their ill-fated encounter in Neverland.

“Have you had the chance to act on it?” she asks softly.

His gaze remains fixed on the water. “Not yet.”

Emma bobs her head slowly and licks her lips. “And what will you do after it’s done?”

A wrinkle appears between his eyes. “I don’t know,” he admits.

She opens her mouth but falters, as if debating whether to say something. “Maybe…” she starts, “if you find yourself back in the north… you could come say hello to a friend.”

He blinks, his heart leaping in his chest as she glances back at him with a solemn smile. Friend. “Aye,” he agrees, flushing with pleasure and enjoying the hint of color that rises in her cheeks as he grins back at her. “I’d like that.”

* * *

“Come on, Swan. Let’s get a look.” Hook’s voice is slightly dampened by the curtain covering the doorway of the clothier’s dressing room.

A week has passed since Emma’s first climb up to the yard, and the, true to his word, Hook has put finding a more suitable set of clothes for her on the agenda for their two-night stop in this, the largest port in the Southern Isles. And thus she finds herself in the back of this shop, half-naked, with him but a stone’s throw away.

Swan huffs as she appreciates the lightweight cotton shirt in her hands, the fabric covered in matching white embroidery that gives it a lacy, feminine quality. “As many years as you’ve been alive,” she admonishes, slipping it on and beginning to do up the buttons leading up to the V-shaped neckline, “you’d think you’d have learned how to wait by now.”

Her ears catch his chuckle. “You need a hand, love?”

She smirks to herself. “Is that a joke?”

“No, I’m quite serious,” he calls back airily. “I’m rather good with fastenings.”

It’s her turn to laugh. “I’m sure you are.” Swan finishes buttoning the shirt and sweeps her ponytail free of the collar before examining her reflection in the clothier’s mirror. She smoothes the hem of the shirt down over her hips, turning this way and that to survey her appearance. Her eyes fall to the dark blue leather trousers the clothier had chosen for her. She may have had to suffer the mild indignity of being eyeballed and prodded and measured by the excitable wisp of a man while Hook looked on with a beguiled grin, but the result was definitely worth it, she thinks with a quirk of her lips. The trousers fit like a second skin, and while they’ll take a little getting used to, she has to admit that she loves the look of them as much as she loves the idea of no longer having her movement hindered by the voluminous fabric of a skirt.

Satisfied with her appearance, she reaches for the most indulgent piece of the ensemble – the thick cobalt jerkin with a high collar that the clothier had enthusiastically offered to go with the trousers. She’d expressed reservations about the cost, but Hook had simply rolled his eyes and stepped forward, transferring the jerkin from the other man’s hands to hers and nudging her toward the dressing room.

“Believe me, you’ll be glad for something like this when we travel farther north,” he’d said. “Go.”

Now that she wraps herself in the snug, buttery soft leather and links up the tiny, leaf-shaped clasps that run down one side, she can’t help but let her smile grow. It’s perfect.

Swan tries to mute her pleased expression when she pulls aside the curtain and steps back out into the shop, her old clothes and shoes sandwiched between her hands and the soles of her new knee-high boots thumping quietly across the stone floor.

Hook turns away from inspecting a dark red waistcoat and his jaw slackens at the sight of her, an appreciative sound sneaking past his parted lips. “Now that’s much better,” he rumbles, his wide eyes sweeping up and down.

“You like it?” she asks coyly, giving the clothier a grateful smile when he beckons for her to hand him her old things in exchange for a pair of elbow-length leather gloves.

Hook’s face brightens with a slightly awed smile. “You look stunning, Swan.”

Warmth creeps across her cheeks, and she allows herself to preen a little, experimentally wiggling her fingers as she finishes tugging the first glove on. “And here I thought you’d miss the corset.”

“Well, that does have its own charms,” he chuckles, scratching behind his ear, “but I’d say this is a better fit for a woman who wields a sword and climbs the rigging.” He ducks his head a little. “Besides, you’d be lovely in anything.” His words leave her heart fluttering, and his grin widens. He pulls out a purse heavy with coin and turns to the clothier. “She’ll have all of it.”

They leave the shop behind a short while later, the paper-wrapped parcel containing Swan’s old clothes swinging on its twine from the Captain’s hook. The sun shines, and the call of voices and the squawking of caged chickens greet them as they wander up the small side street and emerge back onto the port’s main thoroughfare.

“So now what?” she asks.

He hums. “Normally I’d begin negotiating for new supplies,” he replies. “But if you’d prefer I show you the town, I can leave the task to Roberts. It’s usually a quartermaster’s job, anyway.”

“So why do you do it?” Swan looks up at him, puzzled.

Hook’s eyes twinkle. “Because I find merchants to be much more honest when they’re faced with this,” he says, lifting his hook, parcel and all. He smiles mischievously, and she laughs. “Most just want to make a decent profit, but there are always a few swindlers who need a little… inspiration.”

Swan nods, remembering the way her skin had crawled when a vintner had once tried to sell Maggie a case of wine for twice what it was worth. A thought occurs, and she tilts her head. “Could I come along?”

He arches a brow and gives her an amused sideways glance. “Desperate to stay close to me, love?”

Her eyes roll skyward. “Or I could go explore the town on my own.”

“No, no.” He grins and pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, handing it over so she can see the purchase list written on it in his neat, flowing hand. “You’re quite welcome. Just remember that not even I can make talk of salt pork and pickled vegetables very interesting.”

She chuckles at his hubris while she peruses the sheet. “I’ll take my chances.”

The butcher that comes recommended to them has a very large shop and an excellent selection, but it becomes clear to Emma as she pretends to admire some hanging ham shanks and listens to him haggle with Hook over ten crates of cured meats that the burly, fast-talking man doesn’t have any qualms about charging whatever he wants, even after the Captain drops the pleasantries and pointedly sets his hook on the counter between them with a dull thunk.

Hook makes a dissatisfied noise in his chest as he eyes the new figure the butcher scribbles on a scrap of paper in lead pencil. “Thirty-two silver. That’s your best price?” he asks, his voice heavy with skepticism.

The man shrugs. “Afraid so, Captain.”

It’s hardly the truth. The telltale crawl of her skin makes Swan lick her lips. She rapidly considers her options for convincing the man to be more cooperative, briefly wishing she were still wearing something that left a little more cleavage on display. “Please?” she purrs, stepping forward to stand at Hook’s elbow and perching her fingertips on the counter. “You can afford to do a little better.” She looks the butcher straight in the eye. “I know you can.”

He blinks. “I… I really would love to, miss. But that has me barely breaking even as it is.”

Lie. She folds her lips in a tight smile. “That’s a shame. We can only spare twenty-six. Guess we’ll have to look elsewhere.” She slips her hands around the crook of Hook’s arm and gently pulls him toward the door. “Sorry to waste your time.”

“You’re not going to find a better price than that!” he protests.

Lie. Swan arcs an eyebrow over her shoulder at him. “I don’t know. I think we might.”

“Silly girl. Captain, please.” The butcher waves a doughy hand at Swan with frustration. “You and I understand business. Talk some sense into her.”

Much to her delight, Hook embraces her charade, canting his head to one side and allowing his eyes to flash murderously. “I’m sorry, did you just insult my Lady’s intelligence?” he snaps, whirling so fast she loses her grip on him. His hand finds the hilt of his cutlass. “You must have misspoken. Surely a smart man like you knows how unwise that would be.” He makes a show of stubbornly refusing to move even as Emma lays a hand on his shoulder and urges him to stand down.

The butcher glances at the sword and the blood drains from his face. He swallows hard. “Of… of course, Captain. My mistake, ma’am.”

Swan accepts his apologetic bow with a gracious nod, biting her tongue and doing her best to keep a straight face.

“Come, love,” Hook growls, giving the man another prize-winning glare before wrapping his hook arm around her back and reaching for the door knob. “If he won’t do twenty-six, he won’t do twenty-six.”

“I could do twenty-nine!”

They pause, shooting him identical dry expressions before daring to look at one another, and she can’t be sure whether the thrill she’s feeling right now comes from having the man right where they want him or from the way Hook’s eyes laugh and his arm tightens around her as they silently agree to continue out the door.

“Fine, then! Twenty-six, twenty-six…” the butcher grouses. He slaps a new slip of parchment on the counter. “Bleeding highway robbery,” he mutters, dashing off a purchase agreement.

Hook gives Swan the barest of winks and wanders back over to the counter, a little extra swagger in his step. “Take it from someone who knows, mate,” he says, snatching up the slip of paper between outstretched fingers. “If this were actual highway robbery, you’d be a lot worse for wear.”

* * *

“How did you know he’d do it?” Hook admires the purchase agreement one more time before tucking it into the breast pocket of his coat.

Emma allows herself a self-satisfied smile as they walk down the road together. “I just have a good feel for these things, I guess.”

“Perhaps I should make you the quartermaster.” He throws her a grin before checking their surroundings and nodding in the direction of the grocer.

Emma follows gamely. “And where would that leave Mr. Roberts?”

Hook snorts. “Knowing him, he’s got a secret fortune somewhere. He could take an early retirement or hire on a crew and find his own ship to captain,” he muses. “The Dread Pirate Roberts. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He savors Emma’s dimpled cheek and dancing eyes and invites her to go first as they wander beneath the shade of the grocer’s enormous tent. “Now, love, care to work your magic again?”

By day’s end, he and Emma manage to secure agreements for enough victuals and supplies to sustain the Jolly the rest of the voyage to Misthaven if need be. Hook mentally tallies the sums while they sit in a local tavern awaiting the arrival of their evening meal. He shakes his head in amazement. “Don’t look now, Swan, but I think we make quite the team,” he informs her jovially. “This is the least it’s cost us to outfit the ship in years.”

“What is?”

They look up to see Roberts, a fresh flagon in his hand, halted on his way to rejoin some of the men at another table a few feet away.

Hook gathers the little sheaf of purchase agreements and hands them over, looking smug.

The quartermaster sets his drink down and shuffles through the papers, his bushy eyebrows leaping upward. “I’ll be,” he drawls with a toothy grin. “Those’re some pretty numbers.”

“Turns out the Lady knows how to drive a hard bargain,” Hook explains, gesturing toward Emma with his own ale and beaming. “You should see her do it.” He catches her eye and smiles. “It’s a thing of beauty.”

Emma blushes hard, and Hook chuckles as Roberts hands the papers back.

“It’s very impressive, ma’am. You’ll have to tell us your secret.”

She lifts her cup up to her demure smile. “It’s nothing, Mr. Roberts,” she replies, taking a sip. “The Captain bought some things for me today, and I was just returning the favor.”

Roberts raises his flagon to her. “Well, my hat’s off to you. And…” The normally-gruff man eyes her new clothes and hesitates a moment, as if the words are awkward on his tongue. “You… you look very nice.”

Hook swivels his head toward his crewman in surprise, and Emma rewards Roberts with a brilliant smile before the quartermaster wanders off with his cheeks as ruddy as a schoolboy’s.

* * *

Foamy waves lap gently at the stretch of white sand that runs north of the docks, the entire landscape saturated in shades of indigo and dark blue beneath the light of an enormous full moon. The dull roar of the ocean mixes in their ears with the intermittent rush of the evening wind that whispers along the coast, and the warm air smells faintly of brine. Swan surveys the scene with a happy sigh as she and Hook elect to make a detour on their way back to the ship. Behind them, the town is dotted with the glimmering light of a hundred lanterns, and the sounds of late-night merriments grow fainter as they hike several hundred yards off the path to the beach. The ground softens beneath their feet, and Swan stops for a moment to bend over.

Hook turns to watch as she pulls off her new boots and hitches the legs of her trousers halfway up her calves. “What are you doing?” Even in the relative dark, the white of his amused grin is evident.

“Enjoying the sand,” she says simply, snatching up her boots and straightening. “You said the shores up north are rocky. Who knows when I’ll be someplace like this again?” She shrugs and flashes him a little smile as she resumes their course, relishing the way her bare feet sink ankle-deep in the cool, dry grains.

They stroll up to the water’s edge, their parallel lines of footprints growing more distinct in the damp terrain, and she sighs happily as the perfectly tepid sea washes over her feet with every lazy surge. Swan cranes her head upward to admire the stars which twinkle in the inky void beyond the moon’s halo. “Does the night sky look the same in all the realms?” she wonders aloud. She glances over to see Hook smile and nod.

“Aye. The constellations move with location and season, but yes, it’s the same stars in every place I’ve encountered. It’s what allows me to navigate no matter where I go.” His gaze sweeps the heavens, and he slows, turning about-face and pointing. “See those four bright ones there? The Southern Cross?” He traces the perpendicular lines in the air with his finger.

Swan steps closer, squinting to try and see what he sees. “There?” Her voice is uncertain as she shifts her boots to her left hand and points with her right.

Hook steps around to her right side and hunches down a bit, all but lowering his chin onto her shoulder to try to approximate her line of sight. He reaches for her outstretched hand, and her heart begins to beat erratically at the sensation of his breath on her cheek and the warmth of his palm around her wrist as he adjusts her angle. “There.” He slowly moves her arm in a similar crisscross pattern, pausing briefly on each individual point of light. “One, two, three, four,” he counts quietly in her ear. “See it?”

Her lashes flutter, and she manages to nod despite the sudden fullness in her throat and the gooseflesh that seems to have erupted across her back and arms.

“Now follow the long axis,” he coaxes, drawing her hand toward the horizon at a slight angle, “about four-and-a-half lengths down. That’s south.” He seems to catch himself and pulls away, clearing his throat. “Um, see? It’s simple.” He scratches behind his ear.

Her breath feels stilted, as though none of the air around them can find its way to her lungs. “Yeah,” she croaks, tucking a stray curl back away from her face and forcing a nervous little laugh. “I’ll have to remember that.”

Hook diverts his gaze almost shyly and looks toward the ocean as he turns to resume their walk. Something a few paces ahead catches his eye, and he strides forward to investigate, reaching down to pluck an object from ground. “Ah! Look at this,” he calls.

Swan trots to his side, watching curiously as he straightens, cradling a flat, round disc in his palm. “What is that?”

“A sand dollar.” His thumb swipes across the surface a few times to clear the thin layer of wet sand that clings to it, allowing her to see the pretty, flower-like imprint in the center and the odd pattern of slits that surround it. He motions for her to take it. “Some people think they’re good luck.”

She chuffs and accepts, admiring the hard, milky white artifact in the moonlight as she gently brushes the last of the beach off it. “Guess I can use all the luck I can get,” she says with a rueful smile.

He chuckles. “Somehow I get the feeling you make your own luck, Swan.”

“Right. Because waking up on the wrong side of the world with no memories was so lucky,” she shoots back wryly, tucking the sand dollar into her jerkin.

“Well, if you hadn’t, you might never have met me,” he points out, shrugging amiably. “I’d call that a stroke of luck, wouldn’t you?” He offers her his arm and an impish grin.

She can’t help but laugh, and she acknowledges his point with a bob of her head, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow and trying to ignore the pleasant quiver of her stomach as they turn to keep wandering. “I guess so.”

Thanks for reading! Ready for the next chapter? Click here!

#csbb #cs fic #captain swan #captain wench #cs ff #cs ef au #cs anastasia au #cs au #cs au ff #ouat ff #ouat fanfic #my writing #the long way home #captain duckling

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sunset-wishes-upon-hill · 7 years ago

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Scent Chapter 2 (Previously known as Human Scent - Batman FF)

She wondered just how a person like Jonathan Crane didn’t lose his license. She might not have had any professional training on counseling, but she was sure some of the things he said or acted during their session were unethical. He loved intimidating her and focusing on her ‘fear’ that held her to the place she was in. She had asked after their first session if she could opt out on the counseling sessions or at least changes her therapist. Emma, although good-hearted and meant well, Anne knew she probably thought her ungrateful with the way she seemed to throw away the help that many people in her situation could not afford.

His probing seemed to worsen; its intensity was becoming increasingly disturbing. It was as if he was singling her out of many people within the hostel for his own sadistic amusement. She wished she could leave the hostel, that way she won’t be pressured into these counseling sessions which was only prolonging her pain.

Many times she wondered if she should just jump in front of the train or jump down from the highest building she could find because she knew she probably won’t ever go back to her world and if that was the fact, then she didn’t want to live anymore; but there was a small hope – futile as it may be – that maybe, just maybe, if she waited out, she can somehow, by whatever miracle, get back to her world. It was thoughts like that prevented her from making that jump. Or cut.

But her memories of her life back in her world were fading; an elusive dream now. Her crying episodes weren’t getting any better and she decided to set out and get back her stolen wallet. She didn’t care if he kept everything he took, as long as he was willing to hear her out and at least give back the family picture she had in her wallet. That’s all she wanted. All she needed.

With Emma’s permission and curfew set to 6 P.M, she headed out of the hostel. Anne made sure she memorized any outstanding building near the hostel, wrote the hostel address on her palm in case she lose track and repeated the directions she took.

Trying to memorise the direction she took while trying to remember where Emma said she was found was really trying her memory. She became lost a few times but she worked up the courage to stop a local-looking passing-by pedestrian to ask for the direction. The hostel was situated in The Narrows, the worst and crime-riddled part of Gotham. It was a side of large, wealthy city that the famously rich and privileged wanted hidden and under the radar from their little bubble wrapped world.

When she did arrive at her ‘home’, it had already been staked a claim by another rough sleeper who treated her with hostility at the potential threat to his now home. She understood his protectiveness of his home and so left him in peace after a brief questioning and vague answers. The man that assaulted her, she remembered, made his way down and she followed the very same rocky path, making sure to carefully examine the alleys and hidden corners.

Anne’s stomach rumbled and her legs muscles twitched in protest for rest as exhaustion took over. She had no idea how long she walked but she couldn’t find the man she only had a brief glimpse to. It was probably over 6 P.M too. She toppled against the wall, burying her face in her arms and letting out wail at the injustice she’s been given. She didn’t know what she did to deserve this punishment, certainly there were much more people out there that deserved this than a girl with low paying job living the life to the best she could.

“Anne?” She heard a familiar voice from the distance.

Anne’s head jerked up slightly at the sound of her name, but she pretended she was trying to shift her head to a more comfortable position when her brain matched the voice to the face.

“Anne, I know you heard me.” He had taken to forgo the formality during their second session, because he knew just how much he bothered her with using her given name with such familiarity.

She wiped away the tears with her hoodie sleeves and gathered the courage to look up.

He smirked as his eyes met her blood shot eyes, “What are you doing out here so late? It’s unsafe.”

She stood up, dusting the dirt from her jeans, “I just came out for a fresh air. I’m going back.”

“It’s late and dangerous for a lone woman to walk all the way back to the hostel, Anne.” He said, “Get in the car, I’ll drop you off.”

“No.” She said it too quickly.

“Anne, you’re safer with me than you are out there.”

She doubted that. “I’m fine.”

“Anne.” His voice grew hard and cold, lined with irritation, “Get in, or I’ll make you.”

Don’t let him control you, the voice said to her. She began to walk the opposite direction his expensive car was facing. She could hear the car moving and screeching to a halt as it made a harsh U-turn before speeding slightly to stop at few feet in front of her.

The psychiatrist stepped out of the car and opened his passenger door before approaching frightened Anne. She stepped back as he stepped forward, then his arm lurched out and caught hers’ in harsh grip.

“Anne, get in the car. Listen to your therapist.”

“I don’t want you as my freakin therapist!” Her protest was weak and futile against the man’s naturally superior physical strength as he effortlessly dragged her onto the passenger seat, buckled her seat belt, tightening it taut in warning and shut the door and made his way to his own seat.

“Now, Anne, we’ve been making great progression. You need my help.” He reasoned, buckling his own belt.

Anne buried her face in her hands, wishing the man would just disappear into oblivion. Then sound of shuffling, and he was speaking on someone over the phone.

“Hello, Emma? This is Dr. Jonathan Crane,” He paused, seemingly letting the woman over the phone speak, “I have Anne here with me, I’ve found her lost in the street…yes, she’s safe. I’ll drop her off at the centre.” He pressed the end call button and tucked his phone inside his suit.

“Can you tell me why you were here out so late?”

Anne took the time to compose herself before she said anything – at least in front of him she had to think before speaking.

“I-I was just looking for my stolen wallet.”

“And you thought going around the dangerous street, alone, was a good idea?”

“I..I just wanted my wallet back.”

“And you weren’t afraid something..unpleasant might happen to you?”

“I just want my wallet back.”

“What’s in the wallet that is so important to you?”

“My family photos.”

His car stopped in front of an unfamiliar building, not the shelter he told Emma he’d drop her off at. Anne’s breath hitched and her hands on her laps felt clammy with sweat.

“Where are we?”

“You haven’t had dinner right? I thought it’d be better if I give you back to Emma with full stomach than an empty one. Besides,” He checked his watch, “The dinner time is over back in the centre.”

“I’m not hungry.” She adamantly said, then her stomach growled as soon as it left her lips and she could not believe out of all possible situation, her body decide to betray her in utmost possible cliché way.

“Perhaps in your mind, but your body says otherwise.” He tilted his head to her stomach, “My treat.”

By the time Anne came back to her senses, she was sitting on the dinning bench as he ordered the food for her. She really didn’t know what made her such an amusing toy out of others. It was clear he was toying with her.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” He questioned while maintaining that cryptic smile, eyes darkening.

“I said I don’t need any help, but you keep on forcing me to attend the sessions.” She answered, although it was a very indirect way of responding to his question.

“Some needs persuading.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need counseling; I don’t need you.”

“I’m the psychiatrist here, Anne,” Reminding her, with emphasis on that single word, to remind her of her standing, “I’m only doing what’s best for you.”

“And forcing me to partake in something I don’t want to do is ethical?” She retorted, eyes narrowing in challenge.

“Sometimes, under certain circumstances with certain patients, ethicality must be bent for the sake of their well-being. I, as your therapist, am bound to that duty.”

“I’m not crazy; I can think clearly!” She slammed on the table, earning worried glances from the servers. They were the only patron in the small diner and when she caught his subtle insinuation, she had lost some of her composure. She wasn’t crazy, she was just confused and alone and scared and frightened by what she was going through. Who wouldn’t be, right? If they found themselves transported into some movie or comic or whatever dimension this was, who wouldn’t be so..unnerved?

“Is everything alright?” Their server asked, holding plate of the food and tension in her face. The white haired Asian lady, plump, tanned in white-and-red checkered knee length dress gave her the glance that she knew something was not right and she was willing to get help.

“She had a bad day. I’m her therapist.” The psychiatrist intervened before Anne could say anything further, swiping out his hospital staff ID to the waitress. Immediately, the concern on the woman’s face melted away and replaced with look of fallacy as she seemed to re-assess the situation between the pair.

“Oh,” The waitress smiled in relief as she put the plate of burger in front of Anne and coffee in front of the doctor, “Right, that’s unfortunate… I hope you feel better, sweetie. Enjoy your food.”

Anne attempted a smile but it came out as a side lopped frown, there was no point of getting angry at someone who had nothing to do with the root of the cause. As someone who worked in customer-orientated service before, she was always careful how she acted toward them.

“Thank you.” She bit big, making sure to chew slowly so that she won’t have to speak and he won’t ask.

He silently sipped his coffee, eyeing her every movements, measuring her every little quirks as if trying to figure her out like one would in some sort of overt observation experiment. She felt like some rat in a cage and him, a scientist who placed various stimuli inside the cage to try and pry out specific reactions from her.

“Do you remember anything about your family, Anne?”

She stopped chewing and started to cough. He pushed the orange juice toward her with his knuckle. Anne gulped down the dry food, nearly spitting out the drink as another fit of cough overcame her.

What does she say? What can she say?

“I-I think so.”

“Think so?”

“I have flashes of them. Sometimes.” It was true, she had flashes of them but those flashes were becoming blurry now. It wasn’t a matter of remembering, more of forgetting. She was afraid her lies, her greatest fear would become true the longer she was here. She needed to get out of here.

She was lost in thought when she asked him, “Are you done with your coffee?” She piled up her plates, putting used fork and knife on top as she gathered up his empty cup and used tissues to placed it next to her cutlery and wiped down the table. She had worked as a waitress before she got a new job at the city library few months before she came to this world and it had become a habit of cleaning plates up in convenient way for the waitress to take them away. He took in the habit, but made no attempt to point it out.

“Let’s go, I’ll drop you off.” He said, sliding out of his seat after putting a twenty dollar note on the table. The burger and the coffee probably cost him ten dollars and it wasn’t everyday you’d see someone leaving a ten dollar tip, particularly in a place like this.

The rest of the car ride was spent in silent. She was grateful, at least. Finally, a long overdue peace she deserved.

She must have fallen asleep; a hand was shaking her awake as she felt the coolness of the outside temperature on the window she was leaning into. Her mouth was probably gaped open the whole journey. How embarrassing.

“We’re here.” He said, “You travelled quite far.”

She wordlessly got out of the car, heading into the hostel when she heard him call her from the window of his car.

“I’ll see you soon, Anne.”

She ignored him and entered the hostel.

#scent story #scent of a human story #batman ff #dr jonathan crane #jonathan crane

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not-a-space-alien · 8 years ago

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Aziraphale’s Legion, Part 1: Fortifications

Title: Aziraphale’s Legion

Rating: M

Word count: 50k words

Warnings: Some violence/gore

Summary: The empty throne left by Satan’s untimely death has Hell in chaos. Aziraphale’s actions may have drawn him some rather unwanted attention from legions of the devil’s former followers, potential successors, and a newly fallen archdemon on the prowl for revenge. (Direct sequel to “In Sickness” and “The Coming Events”)

Series masterpost

On AO3

It is very rare for an angel who did not side with Satan in the rebellion to fall, but it does happen occasionally. Very occasionally.

God does not cast angels out anymore unless he is in a particularly unpleasant mood, but the archangels take it upon themselves to see to it when the need arises. And in a time of crisis, when things get really bad, if all six are united against the seventh, an archangel may fall.

Rare. But it can happen.

“Damn it,” said Victoria, slamming Camael’s desk drawer shut. “Where would he have put them?”

The angel that had been Camael’s personal assistant was standing at the far end of the room, looking chastised and feeling useless. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

She sighed. “I’m not blaming you. I’m sorry.”

She left the hapless angel standing there and moved out into the hall, resentment growing inside her. Leave it to Heaven to thrust most of her former boss’s duties onto her without giving her his position or promoting her at all. Just dump all of the archangel’s responsibilities onto his power and leave the archangel position empty, I’m sure she can handle it, nothing will go wrong at all…

They were dragging their feet on choosing his replacement for some reason. And they hadn’t even let her have Camael’s assistant to help her. He had gone to Gabriel instead. She let herself think a few dissent-laden thoughts, knowing she wouldn’t be punished for it.

“Gabriel!” she shouted, making a bee-line through the courtyard. “Gabriel, I need to-”

“Victoria!” came a sudden, urgent shout, and she turned to see the angel Rosia running towards her at full speed, waving her arms manically. “Victoria, we need you at the front gate!”

“What, Heaven’s gate?” said Victoria. “Are we under attack?”

“I don’t know,” said Rosia, her hands on her knees, panting. “They told me to run and find the first warrior angel I could.”

“Keep running until you find Michael. I’ll see what’s going on.”

The lesser angel fled while Victoria spread her wings and zoomed to Heaven’s entrance.

Victoria thought of what had happened a while back when Heaven’s own infernal double agent had stood close to the gate. He had almost gone into shock. She hadn’t seen it herself, but she had been told about it. If that was what happened when a demon got close, there was no way Hell’s forces could carry out an assault on Heaven directly. No, never in a million years. There was no way…right?

The gates came into view, massive, looming metal bars laced with powerful ethereal iconography and—contrary to common conception—golden brass, not pearly. With a whorl of wings, she leapt over them and landed lightly on the outside, finding four or five lesser angels already aggregating in front of the gate.

“What’s—” she began, but fell silent when she saw it: a milky white portal about a dozen meters away, swirling silently. “What is that?”

“We don’t know,” said one of the angels nervously. “It just appeared. Nothing’s come out of it yet.”

There was suddenly an enormous bang! from the other side of the portal, but it was muffled.

Victoria dropped into a defensive crouch, materializing a bow and arrow. She nocked one and pointed it at the portal. “Well, get ready for something to.”

A few of the other angels produced similar long-range weapons, while the remaining armed themselves with swords.

Faint voices could be heard through the portal, clearly shouting but suppressed as though being heard from the next room.

Victoria’s hands were starting to sweat on her arrow. She really was more comfortable with her sword. “Show yourself!”

Another bang! The angel beside her flinched.

Finally, something appeared from the portal: a figure dressed in black, dragging another body with an arm over his shoulder, both of them covered in blood.

“Oh my god,” said Victoria, dropping her weapon and rushing forwards. The portal closed behind them, and the figure in black collapsed as soon as both feet were through, the second person falling beside him.

“Help,” said a voice, and Victoria recognized it as the demon Crowley.

Victoria indulged in a curse as she knelt down. Aziraphale was unconscious and disgorging blood at an alarming rate, and as she reached him the other angels were already lifting him up and taking him back towards the gate.

“Get him to the healing ward,” said Victoria. The damage to his body had been wrought with an infernal weapon, and she didn’t like the look of it at all.

She turned back down to look at Crowley, but as she did so the angel beside her raised his sword.

“Vile creature—”

Victoria hit his hand with the pommel of her own blade so hard she could hear a bone crack, smacking the sword out of his hand. “What are you doing, you stupid fuck?”

“This demon has the audacity to-”

“Go get Raphael. Or another very skilled healer. Now.”

The angel grit his teeth in pain and scurried off without further complaint.

Victoria knelt down and materialized a rag to press into Crowley’s wounds, trying to stop the blood flow, feeling it saturate immediately. “I’ve got you.”

Crowley looked past her and raised an arm feebly.

“Don’t worry about Aziraphale. They’ll take care of him.”

A few words dropped incoherently out of his mouth. His eyes slid shut, and his head lolled.

“Shit,” said Victoria. “Crowley, stay with me.”

His entire body had gone limp. She looked at how close they were to the gate. Then, she scooped him up and opened a portal to Earth with her sword, stepping through it and plummeting towards the ground.

Heaven’s hospitals are not like human hospitals; there are fewer machines, and much more healing that uses water. And the same heavy aura that blankets Heaven and makes it dangerous for demons is comforting for angels, so the very air itself helps.

Aziraphale drifted awake to the sound of a fountain, and when he opened his eyes he immediately shut them again against the brightness.

Yup, definitely in Heaven.

He lay there for a moment before levering himself upright, suddenly worried about Crowley. Surely they hadn’t brought him inside…?

A low-level healer knocked on the door, then cracked it open to step through. “Good mo—”

“Where’s Crowley?”

The healer looked perturbed. “Who?”

“I would have come in with him.”

“You were brought in by yourself.”

“No,” said Aziraphale. He was making no attempt to hide his anger, because last time he had left Crowley alone while he went into Heaven by himself, the demon hadn’t been there when he came back out. “I want to talk to someone who knows where Crowley is. Now.”

The healer scuttled off, slamming the door behind him. Aziraphale knew he had been rude, but his whole body ached and he was already out of patience.

He drew the covers around himself down to see bandages all over his body. They had done a very thorough job. He suspected the healers in Heaven might have been bored since the only injuries ever happened on Earth, so they would jump at the chance to put their skills to use. He had probably been a first-class patient while he was unconscious.

He struggled to remember how he had gotten here. They had been on Earth, and….

Oh. That’s right. Crowley’s quick thinking in opening that portal had been the only thing to get them out of the shop alive, but Aziraphale had no idea he had been getting them out to Heaven, of all places. It made perfect sense, but it was still bold. And he was concerned whoever had brought Aziraphale in wouldn’t have recognized Crowley, and there was no telling what might have happened.

He stewed in his anxiety until he saw a familiar face at the door. It was a power.

“Victoria!” he said as she came in.

“Aziraphale, it’s good to see you’ve recovered. You looked pretty bad.”

“Thank you. Where’s Crowley?”

“He’s on Earth,” said Victoria. “He’s with Raphael.”

Aziraphale let out a breath of relief. “Is he all right?”

“He was still conscious when we found him, so he’s starting off a bit better than you, at least. And Heaven’s best healer is attending to him, so he should be fine.”

“Oh, good,” said Aziraphale, now embarrassed he had displayed such emotion.

Victoria took a seat next to his bed. “Aziraphale, what happened? Who did this to you?”

Aziraphale’s face darkened. “It was an archdemon.”

“Did you recognize which one?”

Aziraphale sat in silence for a moment, the fountain still babbling.

“Victoria, no one told me Camael had fallen.”

Victoria sighed, and leaned to put her face in her hands. “I was afraid that’s who it was. His name is Kabata now.”

“What happened?”

“The other archangels called a tribunal and decided unanimously that he should fall.”

“Because of what he did to Crowley?” said Aziraphale. He could see Michael being angry enough about it to do something like that, but he had a hard time imagining the others would care enough about a demon to cast out one of their own. Especially Uriel and Metatron.

“Maybe. That’s…. not something for me to speculate on,” said Victoria.

“What?” said Aziraphale. “What do you mean? You don’t know why Camael fell? What would it be, if not for falsely promising asylum to a demon? That has to be what it was, right?”

“Look, that doesn’t matter,” said Victoria. “We don’t need to know the details. They were trying to keep it quiet. Heaven is still trying to start the war with Hell, and if word got out that one of our military leaders had fallen, it would be disastrous.”

Reading between the lines: Heaven, once again, refused to acknowledge it had made a mistake, and instead swept the evidence under the rug. Aziraphale rubbed his temples, trying not to let his frustration loose on Victoria. “But everyone is going to find out eventually, Victoria. A new archdemon running around isn’t exactly something people don’t notice.”

“It’s not my decision,” said Victoria stiffly. “And it’s not yours either, Aziraphale. Know your place.”

He looked at her tiredly, too fed up to be offended. He sighed and said, “I didn’t think the war could go on without the Adversary.”

“I don’t think it can, either. But they’re still trying. They’re nothing if not persistent.”

Annoying, thought Aziraphale, at this point more exasperated than afraid. “I’d really like to get back to Earth as soon as possible. Do you know how long they’ll keep me here?”

“I know you’re worried about him, but he’s with an archangel.”

“Dear girl, that’s precisely why I’m worried about him.”

Victoria looked uncomfortable. “He’ll be fine. Kabata wouldn’t dare try anything with Raphael there, I’m sure. Do you know why he attacked you? Did you manage to injure him at all?”

“Revenge, I’d imagine,” said Aziraphale. “It’s not hard to think of why he might hate us. And as for the second question, no, unfortunately. Unless you could count a small cut on the arm from my sword.”

“I’m afraid you might have made yourself a target by what you did to Satan, Aziraphale. There are probably plenty of other archdemons who’d jump at the chance to avenge their master.”

Aziraphale picked at the hem of his blanket. “Of course. It can never be easy, can it?”

“Afraid not.”

Silence for another few moments, except for the gurgling water.

“I can talk to someone about getting some warrior angels sent down to protect you. But I’m not sure I’ll be able to convince them. I know they’ll keep asking why you can’t just stay in Heaven where it’s safe if you’re such a target. I don’t know how I can make them see.”

There was one reason why he couldn’t just stay in Heaven, and its name was Crowley. “Thank you, Victoria. See what you can do. I think we should be all right. I have lots of grimoires I can get anti-demon sigils out of.”

As Victoria rose to remove herself from the room, Aziraphale called out after her, “And ask them how long I have to stay here, will you?”

When Crowley drifted awake, it was the ceiling of the upstairs bedroom of the bookshop he saw. He struggled to remember how he had gotten here and blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the semidarkness of an unlit room with blinds drawn at midday.

They had been in the bookshop before, which is where Crowley had hastily thrown together that spell to get them to Heaven….unless it hadn’t worked? No, he remembered that damned—blessed—light, bright as Hell—Heaven. More precisely, he remembered the stabbing pain being in the place had caused him, distinct even on top of the wounds he had garnered from the archdemon’s weapon.

He felt bandages tight on his wounds, so obviously he was missing something between arriving in Heaven and now. Just as well. He would hate to see what would happen if they had tried to bring him into the gates.

He slid out from under the duvet. The motion caused a fresh wave of pain to surge through his body, and he stopped, hissing from between clenched teeth. He started again, more slowly, and succeeded in levering himself into a standing position.

He padded forwards and cracked the door open. The hallway was dim and empty. He tiptoed out, taking the stairs slowly both because of the possibility of ambush and the pain moving was causing him.

The shop itself was empty. He turned towards the back room.

It was still a mess like they had left it, jars of spell ingredients and incense scattered and shattered everywhere, multiple volumes of spellbooks flopped open on the ground. The circle Crowley had drawn was still there, although it was smudged now by what looked a broken jar of frankincense. The poor couch in the corner still bore the enormous tear where the archdemon’s weapon had torn into it, as well as the table—

There was someone standing by the table that Crowley hadn’t noticed, and noticing them startled him so much he stumbled backwards and landed directly on his arse.

The imposing figure by the table looked up from the volume he had in his hands and snapped it shut. “You’re awake!”

Crowley nodded, mute with apprehension and a shooting pain in his spine.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” said the other. “But I’m sure you know who I am. I’m Raphael.”

The archangel of healing. The archangel part made Crowley’s instincts to run kick in, but the of healing part engaged the logical centers of his brain that told him Raphael was the one who had saved his life. If the archangel wanted to harm him, he could have done so already. The two reactions fought into stalemate, and the fact that Crowley wasn’t sure he could stand was the tiebreaker. He stayed on the floor.

Raphael slid the book back onto its shelf and, drawing his robes about himself, picked his way across the chaotic room towards him. “You managed to put together such a complex spell while under attack? I’m impressed.” He knelt and held a hand out.

Crowley took it, relieved that he wouldn’t have to fight to get up by himself. He felt Raphael’s hand on his back. “Oh, dear, you’ve hurt yourself again. Here.”

Raphael herded him onto the ruined couch and helped him stretch out facedown. Crowley tried to stifle his noises of discomfort, embarrassed despite that he was sure Raphael had seen much worse.

He felt the touch of hands on his back, and heat flowing through him. “You know,” said Raphael, “I’ve never treated a demon before for….obvious reasons. I wasn’t sure I would be able to do it. The process I would have used on an angel would have involved holy water, so I had to do some scrambling.”

Crowley suddenly felt his spine being popped back into place, accompanied by an unsetting crick. He gasped.

Raphael gave him a pat. “There, that should be better now.”

Crowley swung his feet around and stood experimentally. He felt fine, except for a dull body-wide background ache that he suspected was the inevitable result of getting the shit kicked out of you. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Where is Aziraphale?”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s still in Heaven.”

“Oh.”

Raphael put a hand on his shoulder. “They told me about what you did.”

“You mean with the circle?” said Crowley, bewildered.

“No, I mean about what you and Aziraphale did. About how you switched sides.”

“Oh.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezed. “I want you to know I’m one-hundred percent on your side, Crowley. Demon or not, you’re with us. If anyone ever gives you trouble about it, you can come to me. Okay?”

Crowley had not expected such an outpouring of support from anyone, let alone an archangel, and didn’t know how to respond. “Thank you, sir.”

“Let’s get you back into bed.”

The stairs were easier going up, and Raphael supported him by the elbow even though he wasn’t having any trouble walking now. It was a bit more awkward when Raphael helped him into bed, though.

“I can’t stay around much longer, but I’m sure Aziraphale will be back down soon,” said Raphael, moving towards the door.

“O—Oh, you’re leaving?”

“I’ve patched you up as best as I can, so there’s not much else I can do. Let me know if you start feeling pain in your back again.”

“Oh, okay—wait!”

Raphael’s hand froze on the doorknob, and Crowley flushed with embarrassment, feeling like a child.

“Er, could you….Would you mind putting some anti-demon sigils on the outside of the shop before you go?”

“Oh,” said Raphael brightening. “Of course. How could I forget how you got injured in the first place? Don’t worry, leave it to me. You can rest safely.”

As the bedroom door shut, Crowley felt like he had gained an awkward relative of some sort. But he was fine with it. He needed all the allies he could get.

“Come on, come on,” said Aziraphale, dragging Victoria out of the medical ward and through the courtyard. “If you were going to hold me back, you shouldn’t have offered to escort me back down.”

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t overexert yourself yet,” said Victoria helplessly as Aziraphale motored forwards at an agitated pace.

She put her foot down and kept him grounded when he tried to fly over the gates. He huffed in annoyance and tapped his foot as the gates winched open, then continued to the entrance to Earth, walking straight off it and diving feet-first.

Victoria followed as Aziraphale dropped out of the sky, miles up, white clouds rushing past them. She snapped her wings open and glared at Aziraphale until he did so as well, convincing him that they should descend by gently spiraling rather than skydiving like he had wanted.

They finally arrived at the bookshop. She noted the outside of the building was covered with crude marks in white spray paint. Aziraphale opened the door and left his keys in the knob, which even Victoria, who hadn’t spent much time on Earth, knew was a no-no. She shut the door behind them and put the keys on the counter.

“Crowley? Where are you?” Aziraphale called. He stuck his head in the back room, found it empty, then marched up the stairs.

Victoria followed as Aziraphale opened the bedroom door without knocking. The room was dim, bars of light from the blinded windows falling onto a lump under the covers of the bed.

“Crowley?”

The duvet drew back, revealing a pair of yellow eyes looking at him sleepily.

“There you are,” said Aziraphale, sitting on the edge of the bed. The rest of Crowley appeared from under the duvet. They took each other in their arms. Victoria couldn’t help but think they were holding each other uncomfortably close.

When Crowley reached up and kissed Aziraphale on the mouth, and Aziraphale’s hands slid down lower on Crowley’s body, Victoria gasped and spluttered, “You’re—?”

They broke off, looking at Victoria strangely. “We’re what?”

She was growing red. “You’re together?”

“Victoria,” said Aziraphale, dismayed, “You were there when Camael confirmed he loved me, don’t you remember?”

“Well, yes, but I thought…”

“You thought what?” Crowley prodded.

“I thought. You know, it was philos love, not…”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “Well, I suppose there’s that, too…”

“I, uh, I’ll just be going now, then,” said Victoria, growing more embarrassed by the second. “Let me know if you need help with anything, all right? I’ll definitely ask about getting someone sent down to protect you.”

This last sentence was said as Victoria moved towards the door and disappeared through it.

Crowley’s eyes slid shut and he gave a small laugh that Aziraphale found absolutely delightful. “Philos. Does Heaven understand anything? As though someone would go into Hell for anything less than eros.”

Aziraphale gave him a little slap, and Crowley really regretted saying that, because then he had to listen to Aziraphale talk about how philos wasn’t “less than” eros until he tired himself out enough to fall asleep.

“Coffee?”

Aziraphale looked up from his notes. “I’m more in the mood for tea.”

Crowley waved a hand over the cup, then extended it out again. “Tea?”

Aziraphale sighed and took the cup. “What are you working on?” said Crowley, seating himself next to him.

Aziraphale ruffled his papers. “I’m trying to design a demon-repelling sigil that will still allow you to come and go. So we can put it on the outside of the shop and keep it up.”

It seemed like a good idea. And if anyone would be able to design new occult symbols, it would be Aziraphale, with all those books of magical things he kept around. “Have you ever designed a sigil like this before?”

“No, unfortunately.”

Ah. “How do you know it’ll work?”

“Crowley, I’m still designing it.”

“Right.”

Aziraphale huffed in annoyance. “This would be much easier if I had my copy of the key of Solomon. I looked everywhere for the bloody thing but I can’t find it.”

“You can’t find it?”

“Someone must have taken it. I knew it was a bad idea to let customers into the shop.”

Crowley sipped his coffee. He looked to the front window, where the symbols Raphael had painted were still visible on the front window. He had noticed they kept customers out as well as demons. “You could incorporate my real name into the sigil. That would make sure it was only me and no other demons that could get past it.”

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, slamming his hand on the table, “I’m not putting your true name in an anti-demon sigil. That’s too dangerous.”

“It’s dangerous to protect ourselves with a sigil that has holes in it,” Crowley shot back hotly. “Who knows who’s going to show up next?”

Aziraphale rubbed his temples. “We’ll be getting help from Heaven soon, hopefully. It doesn’t need to be air-tight.”

The handle of Crowley’s coffee mug suddenly snapped off, and it was then that he realized how tightly he had been holding it. He let out a deliberate breath and put the handle down.

Aziraphale marked the page he was on and then closed the volume he had open on the table. “I can see we’re both a little stressed out right now. It’s natural. Let’s just calm down.”

They were both scared, but neither of them wanted to acknowledge it. “Come on, I’ll make us breakfast,” said Aziraphale, patting Crowley’s hand.

They ended up back in the bedroom after breakfast, but when they discovered they were both still quite sore and vigorous activity of any sort would be bothersome, they ended up just laying there and watching telly. Aziraphale let Crowley have the remote, and when the demon predictably fell asleep, the angel quietly slipped out of bed and went back downstairs. A few more hours with his spell books and he had a new sigil that would bar the entrance of any demon with one very special exception. He wiped the outside of the building clean before putting it up. He then crawled back into bed, wrapping around Crowley, secure and resolved to still follow through on the promise he had made before to not let anything happen to him.

#good omens #my writing #my good omens fanfic #fanfic

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