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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years ago

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Pheromones

Fandom: Mass Effect

Collection/Series: N/A

Pairing: Selene Shepard x Garrus Vakarian

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: T - Suggestive themes but nothing NSFW

Warnings: N/A? I think (if i’m wrong let me know!)

Summary: Selene’s a little confused about something Javik says to her, she naturally asks her Turian boyfriend about it.

Notes: Based off this conversation with Javik. I’ve never actually written Shakarian stuff in all my years of loving the ship. But, with Mass Effect: LE taking over my life, why not?

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“So...Javik said something really...weird when I went to see him earlier.”

It had been a long day; finding out Cerberus was turning people at Sanctuary into husks, seeing Miranda again, stopping her father from killing Oriana...it had taken a toll and then to come back and have a really bizarre conversation with their Prothean teammate? Well, Selene Shepard was glad to be back in a pair of yoga pants and a large jumper.

If Selene was completely honest with herself she was exhausted. The war was taking its toll on her, all the responsibility that lay on her shoulders only seemed to be lightened by the support of her team and most importantly, Garrus. Her cybernetics had been bright and bold across her skin as of late, a sure sign that she was running out of steam. Despite the exhaustion, Javik's words weighed on her mind, confusing, curious and just a reminder of how alien he really was.

Garrus came out of her, no, their shower, towel around his cowl, visor, no longer obscuring his face for once. God, it is so utterly domestic between the two of them now and something in her aches with the awareness that this might all be cut short, that domestic might never be a long term option for them. She hopes it will, hopes silently that they’ll get to retire somewhere, have a couple of kids, a varren or two, and life out their days into old age.

“Weird? Weird to humans or...just weird?” The dual tone of his voice rings with curiosity. It had taken her two whole years of missions with him for her to actually get a good grasp on his subharmonics and even now there were things her weak human ears couldn’t quite pick up on, or even hear at all.

She thought for a moment as Garrus sat down next to her on the bed, nuzzling his face between her shoulder and neck like he always did. It was something she’d taken as a turian sign of affection, the way his plates scratched at her skin and mandibles fluttered across her shoulder, she could only compare it to a human placing kisses down. A nuzzling that he never failed to do, whether they were standing and he had to bend over or they were sitting or lying down.

Leaning into him with her eyes closed, she traces a hand across the plates on the back of his neck. “I...think it's just weird? He said he could tell we were ‘joined’ because of my...pheromones…”

Garrus froze in his nuzzling, pulling back with his face plates drawn together, mandibles fluttering in confusion. “Well, yeah? I scent you all the time, been doing it since you agreed to be a one turian kind of woman. I thought...I mean I smell like you too…?”

“Scenting? I what?” Selene was decidedly confused, Garrus didn’t smell like her at all. In fact, the little scent that he had was of the more metallic and engine grease kind from spending all his time tinkering with things or modifying his sniper rifle. She certainly didn’t smell like him, not to her nose anyway.

She pressed her face into his cowl and took a big, over exaggerated sniff. Nothing. He didn’t even smell like her shampoo or the jasmine soap she’d managed to find on the Citadel. Just...Garrus.

Garrus chuckled, three fingered hand cupping her cheek, filed down talons grazing carefully across her skin to smooth out the furrow between her eyebrows.

“Oh, right, you humans and your terrible sense of smell. Cute.” His grin flared his mandibles out wide, sharp teeth on show in a display of good humour.

“Garrus!” He liked getting a rise out of her, enjoyed seeing the pale skin of her cheeks turn as red as a Palaven sunset, something Turians just could not do. It was always so distinctly human, glaringly alien, but adorable. Not that many people would describe the Commander Shepard as adorable, but most people weren’t in a committed relationship with her...or he hoped most people weren’t.

“Honey, it’s normal. We sleep together, we make love,” She groaned a little at the word choice as he returned to nuzzling underneath her neck, talons moving up and down her back in soothing motions, “we shower together, we go on every mission together, we spar together…” Selene can’t help the little moan that leaves her mouth as his breath warms across her skin before that tongue of his, blue and ridiculously dexterous, carves a path over her shoulder and up her throat, lingering on a spot behind her jaw that he knows all too well.

“And turians are kind of known for scenting their partners.”

“What does that even mean? Scenting? Like a cat? Are you marking your territory?” She’s never taken Garrus for being possessive, in fact, he was decidedly cool under pressure whenever someone decided to try it on with her. Occasionally he’d shift in a way that told people to back off, pressing his chest to her back, but that was only in instances where the person didn‘t know when to quit. Usually an overzealous asari or persistent human. The idea of him marking his territory, or even seeing her that way was kind of out of character to her, he just wasn’t like that. They were equals in everything they did. He was her person and she was his, one of them wasn’t more dominant in the relationship, they were partners.

“Yes and no. You're not my territory, honey, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you're a one turian kind of woman, but I trust you and I know you can handle yourself. It’s a habit really, an instinct. I’m surprised you don’t know, you do it too.”

It’s a relief to hear him say that. While she finds Garrus ridiculously hot when he goes all bad boy vigilante turian on someone, the raw power he exudes is something else entirely, something different that starts a fire in her belly, she also doesn’t want to be seen as an object or possession.

“I do?” They’ve gravitated, as they always do, towards each other. Selene finds herself curled up in Garrus’ lap, arms wrapped around his cowl and nose pressed to the junction of his neck, pressing light little kisses there had become a favourite pastime of hers. Calming, soothing.

“Mmm...all the time, that little nuzzling thing you’re doing?” She pulls back, startled, eyebrows almost comically high and red still tinting her cheeks, “Yeah, I thought you were just a little possessive, but maybe this is one of those interspecies miscommunication things, huh?”

“I...oh.” She curls back into his neck, bashful in a way no one else sees. Garrus enjoys seeing her like this, out of her element but trusting, seeking comfort in him even as he’s the source of her embarrassment. Their relationship is unconventional and with it has come embarrassment and nerves from both sides, but it’s the trust in him, and his trust in her that’s made it work, that makes it worthwhile.

He runs his fingers through the red of her hair, the strands soft and silky, a sensation that he still finds fascinating all this time on and one that he knows she finds soothing. He can only compare it to how he feels when she caresses underneath his fringe.

“So is that why that C-Sec officer stopped flirting with me every chance he got?” She thinks of the dark brown turian, bright orange markings across his face. Before she’d seen Garrus again, before they’d rekindled their relationship, he’d been determined to flirt with her, no matter how many times she politely turned him down. He’d since stopped, his tone always overly polite and formal, nervous even. She’d assumed Bailey had given him a dressing down, but...maybe not.

“Mmm, probably.” His chest rumbles with the hum, soothing and deep, reverberations running through her, “Most turians aren’t going to flirt with a taken woman, ever seen two turians get into a proper fist fight? It’s more claws and teeth than anything else.” No turian wanted to get into a fight over someone they had a passing fancy for, that Garrus knew for a fact, best to leave someone alone if they were clearly in a relationship.

“Would you? If someone tried it on?” She’s curious, deeply so. Part of her wants to know he would, but part of her wants to know that he’d think about it, and take his time to decide if it was necessary. Garrus had always had a bit of a temper, quick and righteous and determined to put things right. But, he’d mellowed with age, with her nagging him and convincing him to spare people who’d wronged him and others. He was more calculating these days.

“Depends.” A hand falls to her waist, circles being rubbed into the skin underneath her jumper, absent minded and soothing as his blue eyes look to the skylight above her bed, staring out at the stars. Contemplating his next words.

“On?” She leans up to press a kiss underneath his chin, the soft exposed skin tempting her.

“Do you want me to? How badly are they trying to get into your pants? Are you in danger? Do you need me to? Is it someone I know and despise?” His voice rumbles in his throat, she feels the vibrations against her lips and ringing through her ears. That was something about being with a turian that she loved, the subharmonics were soothing to her ear, the rumble that always seemed to roll through his body was comforting. She wouldn’t call it a purr, mostly because Garrus would fix her with that look, narrowed eyes, mandibles drawn tight against his face. He’d probably go back to calibrating the guns for a week or two straight. God, she hated that.

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t fight for my honour?” She’s teasing him, but she can still feel him tense up. Her lack of subharmonics tended to confuse him whenever she joked and he couldn’t see her face.

Taking pity on him Selene pulls back so he can see the amused little smirk that tugs at the corner of her mouth, freckles scrunching up across her cheeks and nose.

“I...you’re messing with me aren’t you?” There’a a palpable sigh of relief from him as his shoulders relax and he rolls his neck before pinning her with a playful glare, huffing through his nose at her. He’s the only person she can truly be playful with and she knows he enjoys it, the closeness of their relationship isn’t lost on either of them. He makes her feel less tired, more alive, younger, even if it's for a brief moment before reality crashes back down again.

“Yeah, just a little, big guy.” She tugs his face down gently by a scarred mandible, he follows easily, putting himself in reach so that she can press a kiss to his cheek, across the blue colony markings that are oh so familiar to her. Affection with Garrus is easy: “I love you, but I don’t need you tearing someone’s throat out for me...unless it’s Kai Leng, you can tear his throat out.”

The assassin was a thorn in her side and she was close to snapping, her usual restraint and desire to talk things through was failing. She wouldn’t negotiate or talk with Kai Leng. If she finally got the chance...well, he probably wouldn’t be recognisable afterwards.

“Oh, I'm tempted, believe me. There’s nothing I'd like more than to put every ounce of my anger and hatred into beating Kai Leng into a bloody pulp. Buuuut, I think you deserve the satisfaction yourself.”

“I love you, you know that right? Even if I'm walking around stinking like a turian vigilante.” She caresses the lengths of his crest and underneath, scratching short nails against the soft skin there and the purr, because it is a purr, that rumbles from his chest is almost as satisfying as the thought of finally getting revenge on Kai Leng.

“Reaper Advisor actually.” He brushes his cheek against hers, hard plates brushing against soft skin, gently, not hard enough to chafe or rub. “I love you too, even if I'm walking around stinking like a self-sacrificing human spectre.”

#shakarian #selene shepard #selene shepard x garrus vakarian #female shepard x garrus vakarian #fem shep x garrus vakarian #shepard x garrus vakarian #garrus vakarian #mass effect

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thehelleniclunarwitch · 5 years ago

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Second Chance (Randy Orton)

Randy Orton x Reader

Requested by: @ynm1505

Hope you like it, sis!

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You thought you had it made. Randy was simply the love of your life. The two of you did everything together. Plus, the two of you kept your relationship private for as long as you could. When WWE caught wind of the two of you dating it didn’t take them long to throw the two of you into a storyline together.

It was great. You and Randy traveled together. Went home together. You had matches together. It was all blissful. But it didn’t take long for that to all come crashing down around you. You had gotten injured in a match. It was a tag team match. You and Randy against Becky and Seth. It was a move you had practiced a hundred times. The RKO came easy to you.

But when you did the RKO on Becky. You landed wrong. You busted your knee. It came to the point where you had to have multiple surgeries. It wasn’t a good prognosis for you. The decision finally came down to you having to retire.

You were upset. Who wouldn’t be having to give up the one thing you loved the most. It had put a strain on you and Randy. The more the two of you fought the worse you became. You had had enough. After your retirement speech the two of you broke up and you were off to Korea where one of your friends from high school had asked you to come.

Three years. Three years you toured around all over the world. You and your friend had started a girl group. It was fun. It was different. The whole thing excited you in a different way than being in the ring had ever done. But after three years, the group had split. Everyone was ready to go their own way and make a name for themselves.

Not long after moving back home Vince and Stephanie had hit you up. They had wanted you back. You had been cleared years ago for your knee. Dancing on the stage over the years had proven that your knee could handle it.

You didn’t even hesitate to come back. You had missed the ring. You missed the crowd. Most of all you missed the other wrestlers. When you had finally returned to the performance center to start training again the girls were so excited to have you back.

You trained with the Bella Twins. Nattie and Charlotte helped you come up with a new kickass theme song and entrance video. You met some of the new wrestlers and stayed clear from Randy. You two hadn’t left on good terms. The girls were quick to agree to help keep you from him.

“Well look what the cat dragged back in,” Randy’s voice was deeper than you remembered.

“Randy,” You sighed as you pulled on your white laced up boots.

“I didn’t think you’d ever come back here,” Randy said.

“Yeah, well times have changed,” You pointed out as you laced up your boot.

“You sure you ready for this?” Randy asked.

“Concerned?” You asked.

Randy narrowed his eyes at you. “Just be careful. You know with it being your first match back and all,”

You rolled your eyes. One of the cameramen came to let you know that they were ready for you. You began to run in place trying to hype yourself up. Your first match was against Bailey. You had become a fan of hers while over in Korea. You were excited to have your first match against her.

Being back in the ring felt amazing. You and Bailey were putting on quite the show. The crowd was going crazy. You had just jumped off the top ring and flipped onto Bailey. The ref had just begun counting the pin when you felt somebody grab you by the ankles. Before you could kick yourself free you were yanked from the ring.

You landed with a hard thud. You looked up to see Randy standing above you. The ref was yelling at him to go. You started yelling at Randy. The two of you began arguing. Bailey came out of nowhere and attacked you. She pulled you back into the ring, pinned you, and got the win.

You sat there in the middle of the ring stunned. The crowd was booing Randy as he walked up the ramp with a smirk on his face. And that was only the beginning of it. Ever since your first match, Randy would come out at every one of your matches and cause you to lose.

Stephanie and Vince talked to him. They set up security to keep him in his room, but he seemed to escape every time and ruin your match every time. You had had enough of him and the bullshit he was putting you through.

Weaving through the crowd of wrestlers you found Randy. He was down in the ring practicing a few moves before his match tonight. You got up on the side of the ring. He looked at you with a smirk.

“What do you want?” Randy asked.

You climbed into the ring.

“What the hell is your problem?” You asked him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Randy said.

“That’s bullshit,” You snarled.

“If you can’t handle the pressure of being back,” Randy began.

You slammed your foot into his heel. He growled.

“What’s your problem with me?” You demanded to know.

“Nothing,” He said.

“Really? You’ve caused me to lose every single match since I’ve been back. So obviously you have a problem with me,” You said.

“You left me,” Randy finally said.

“What?” You said in confusion.

“You left me. Just like that. No more fighting. No more of us. You just straight up left me without a second thought,” Randy said.

“I had to do something for me, Randy. Blowing out my knee like that? I had lost everything. I couldn’t be here and watch you continue on with your dream with the WWE. I had to get a fresh start,” You explained.

“I loved you,” Randy said.

You stood there staring at him.

“Who am I fooling? I still love you,” Randy admitted.

“Why didn’t you just come and talk to me? Why take it out on me and my career?” You asked him.

Randy hung his head.

“I was afraid,” Randy said in a soft voice.

“What was that?” You asked him.

“I was afraid that I had lost you forever. So I was acting out and being an asshole for no reason,” Randy explained.

“Oh Randy,” You sighed.

He finally looked up at you.

“I never stopped loving you,” You told him.

“Really?” Randy asked.

“Of course,” You smiled.

“Will you forgive me?” Randy asked.

“I don’t know if it can be that easy. You might have to do some making up,” You teased.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Randy said.

You grinned at him.

“You’ll do anything?” You asked.

“Yes,” Randy said.

You had noticed that the two of you had formed a group of your friends and coworkers. Grinning to yourself you acted quickly. Randy had no time to stop you and you were quick to pull an RKO on the RKO master himself. Your friends busted out laughing and some of them winced.

“That’s for blowing all of my matches,” You told him pressing a kiss to his cheek before sliding out of the ring with a huge victorious smile on your face.

*Five Years Later*

You woke up to the smell of coffee. You sat up in bed to find your husband’s side of the bed empty. You slid out of your huge bed, grabbed something out of the drawer next to your bed, stuck it in your pocket, and then made your way downstairs to the kitchen. You found two plates set at the table, a hot cup of coffee on the counter waiting for you, and your husband standing at the stove.

You walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist. You kissed his bareback.

“Good morning,” You said sleepily.

“Sleepyhead,” He teased turning around in your arms.

He leaned down to kiss you.

“Happy Anniversary,” He whispered.

“You did remember,” You teased.

“Hey I was only off by one day last year,” He argued and you laughed.

Randy let go of you so he could plate your guys’ breakfast. The two of you sat at the table.

“Do you want your present now or later?” Randy asked around a mouthful of bacon.

“Well your present is going to be a little late,” You started.

“That’s okay,” Randy began.

“I mean like nine months late,” You said.

Randy froze. You pulled your hand out of your pocket and placed the white stick on the table. You were full of nerves.

“Are you-” Randy trailed off.

“Yep,” You grinned tears already filling your eyes.

“Are you really pregnant?” Randy’s voice cracked.

“I’m pregnant,” You said.

Randy exploded. He jumped to his feet yelling and shouting screams of joy. He yanked you out of the chair and then twirled you around.

“Oh my god,” He gasped.

“Happy?” You asked him.

“Very,” He grinned before kissing you once again.

You felt whole. This was finally your happy ending.

#Randy Orton #Randy Orton x Reader #request #WWE #imagine

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doof-doofblog · 5 years ago

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"Their Mum Isn't Even Here, Jean!"

Monday 18th May 2020

Good Afternoon folks! I hope you've all had a good week, I'm sure you've all been made aware of the recent EastEnders news! For those of you who haven't heard, the soap writers and the rest of the team have been given the green light to start re-filming again, this is due to take place some time next month. However, it does mean that EastEnders will be taken off air for a few weeks until the time will come for them to start re-filming again. This is fantastic news that we've all been waiting for, we won't have to wait much longer than expected for us to get our usual 4 episodes a week back. How long the soap will be off air still remains unknown. It also has been revealed that script-writers will include characters talking about the current pandemic. I for one, feel it's amazing news to hear that plans are in place for our favourite actors and actresses to walk through the Square again! Crew will still make sure that everyone follows the rules and for them to keep 2 meters apart and the recording/editing team will use techniques to make it look as natural as possible for the viewers. I also realise this post is a bit late, due to me being in work again, but today I will post 2 blogs covering both last night's episode and tonight's episode.

I also have some other news for you, it has been revealed that EastEnders are planning to film an episode which will focus entirely on Ben and his hearing loss. The soap will feature subtitles and muffled audio for the audience to get the idea and/or experience what Ben is currently going through. I for one, am REALLY looking forward to seeing this episode. It will be something completely different and something that we've never seen before. I love when soaps jump in the deep end and decide to show something completely different, it was the same when Bobby kept seeing Lucy and also when Stacey went through her breakdown a couple of years ago. I just find it fascinating! I'm sure it'll be a momentous moment for EastEnders and it'll get rave feedback! Are you looking forward to seeing this episode air? The episode will be shown on Monday 1st June! I can hardly contain my excitement!

Now, let's make a start on last night's episode, a lot to cover from last night I think. Let's start with Isaac, still moping about finding out about Patrick being his biological father. Denise has done everything she can to keep him from making a mess of himself. She knows he's struggling but skipping work and making up excuses and drinking until he's nearly having a pee in front of children, is definitely not the way to be coping. All I can really say is, thank you to Bailey! What an amazing child she is! Amazing that it's taken a child to actual make a grown-up realise he hasn't really got it all that bad! Yeah, it would be a shock to him, but what Bailey said was absolutely inspirational and it really spoke truth to him. She's absolutely right in the fact that the guy who Isaac thought was his Dad, never left his side till his death. He was with him every single day and treated him like his own, now he's got another Dad to help him with his future, he could really make a go of building a relationship with Patrick if he gave him the chance. When Bailey spoke how lucky she was to have had two Mum's, I just thought it was absolutely moving, really sweet. I'm hoping now Isaac will realise he hasn't got it all that bad and he'll be able to move on, perhaps when Patrick and Sheree come back, he'll be able to ask them any questions he wants answering and maybe then, he'll feel ready to move on and accept Patrick is his Dad.

Oh Keegan! I feel like he's just not dealing with things well at the moment. I mean, did he really need to post up the video to his social media, inevitably putting Jack's job at risk! Jack told him to keep it to himself as their could be consequences, and its as if he didn't care. He was selfish and wanted to uphold his reputation. I mean, I get he wanted to prove he was innocent, but that would have happened in time and the police would've admitted their mistakes, but it's as if he can't let go after the way they treated him. I personally, feel sorry for Tiffany in all of this, she's being stuck right in the middle of it all. She's trying her best to support and understand her husband, but also her uncle put his neck on the line for her husband. What's going to happen now? Could Jack be in deep trouble with this colleagues? Will Keegan get the justice he's so desperate for? Or will he come to regret posting the video in the first place? I know it's awful to say, but I'm kinda getting a bit bored of this story-line now, I have a feeling this will change Keegan's personality completely and it may lead to further story-lines involving him fighting against the police, fighting for equality and stuff like that? I could be completely wrong, but I just have a feeling that might be the direction it'll take, who knows? I am concerned for Jack now though, is he going to lose his job now though due to Keegan's actions? Will he be able to explain himself or will he do as Keegan suggested and keep quiet? What do you think is going to happen? Do you see this story-line dying down eventually or could it take a whole new direction? Let me know what you think guys, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Ha! She may be a bit gullible, but I do love Habiba! She brings a lot of comedy to the soap, which is what we really need right now. At first I thought she was going to get away with it and be able to get the information for Rainie! I loved the look on Ian's face when he thought she was serious about getting to know more about the business. It was only when she dropped all her papers and Ian saw her paperwork it was all going to go downhill! I just loved the fact she didn't seem to click, not even knowing what "Sweet FA" meant! God bless her! Haha! But now Ian has made Max aware of what is going on, what does it mean for Max? Will he still give Rainie the divorce she wants? Or will he be able to give her the divorce and still be able to keep the majority of his money! Even Ruby mentioned he should be careful with money, considering he wanted to take her out for a meal even though he still has a divorce to pay for. Did anyone else see the flirtation between Ruby and Martin?! Okay, let me just say ... where the heck has Martin been?! With everything happening with Jean, surely he would've been there to help Kush out ... hmm maybe now he'll start helping? Anyway, there was obvious flirtation and sexual attraction there between Martin and Ruby ... Didn't they sleep together once a while back?! And they've not mentioned it to anyone or to each other since? Now Ruby has offered him a job, could there be something on the horizon for them? And will Max start to feel jealous around them and begin to notice what's going on?!

So, due to Ben having a temperature, his operation has had to be postponed. It's a bit of shame as I feel everyone wanted him to get it done there and then, obviously Ben more than anyone! Callum was there to support his partner, after having their argument the episode beforehand, he knew he had to be there for him. It was massive blow for Ben to be told he couldn't have the operation, he just wants everything to be back to normal. But now the question is, when will he have the operation? Will it still be a success? But most importantly, will he have the operation in time before he has to do the dodgy deal with his Dad? Something is telling me, No! Even Phil was eager to know when they'd reschedule his op for, and Kathy noticed it was the exact same way that Ben reacted! Is she going to click on that something is happening between the two of them and will she find out what they're involved in?! I'm really looking forward to seeing what the future holds for Ben, the episode that's going to be completely focused on him is going to be epic! We know that Ben is still meant to come across someone who is completely deaf, a young girl named Frankie will come into the soap, will she be able to help Ben come to terms with his hearing loss? I do hope his op will be successful, but of course, we will all have to wait and see!

Ooooh poor Jean! I just want to give her a big hug and tell her everything is okay. She's found out that both Kush and Shirley were slipping her medication into her food and drink, which actually caused her to have her fit. They'd accidentally given her too much and she'd been poisoned by the vast amount they'd given her. Of course their intentions were caring and loving as they both care very deeply for Jean and can see that she's not being herself recently, they were literally trying to do their best at caring for her. It just turned out so drastically wrong. I hated the fact that Suki had to get involved, she was more bothered about her cardigan!! She is going to be so smug now knowing that Jean also has bipolar and that she was there to help and even stop the hospital from getting both Kush and Shirley in trouble. Jean owes her nothing and I hope Jean knows that! What is Suki getting out of this? I don't understand, why can't she just keep her distance from Jean and leave her alone! I feel sorry for all of them, I feel sorry for Jean, I feel sorry for Kush and Shirley. Everyone is just trying to help and poor Jean can't see that, and now she feels as if she can't trust them and has decided to throw Kush out, as well as the kids. I'm worried that her living on her own is going to cause her more problems, how will she be able to cope? I think now is the time for Stacey and Kat to come back, Jean's mental state is only going to get from bad to worse and without Kush or Shirley being there to look after her, who's going to let them know?! Maybe Kush and Shirley can keep an eye on her from a distance? Will Kush finally inform Martin about is happening? Either way, I just hope Jean will be okay, although I do fear it's only going to get worse for her before it gets better.

I hope you've all enjoyed reading, if you have anything you'd like to talk to me about regarding EastEnders, feel free to send me a message. I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions on the current story-lines. I'll be back again this evening with a second post following up tonight's episode! Thanks folks! xXx

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nellie-elizabeth · 5 years ago

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Grey's Anatomy: Back in the Saddle (16x02)

Lots of stuff going on, as always!

Cons:

Someone hitting Maggie's car with a scooter and then nearly dying and then Owen accidentally shocking Tom in the balls was all... a lot of weirdness. This plot thread was about people being torn up and conflicted about my least favorite romance stories in the show. Maggie is pissed at Jackson for an insensitive social media post about how he's "free" now. And Owen and Tom are having a pissing contest over Teddy, who was conspicuous by her absence this week. You all know I'm team Tom Koracick, and I actually don't mind that he's being a bit of a dick right now. The guy has feelings and he's having trouble processing them. But watching him and Owen have this fight was just... so uninteresting to me. And now Tom is getting a restraining order against Owen? I'm annoyed because the writing and the framing here are meant to make Owen the reasonable one, and Tom the bitter crazy one. But Owen sucks. Yeah, Tom, is acting like a dick, but Owen sucks. I'm just so annoyed.

Maggie's rant to her patient's girlfriend about moving on from a bad relationship was just so annoying. Once again, Maggie makes every little thing about her. Her and Jackson somewhat smooth things over later in the elevator, but Maggie is still feeling mighty bitter. It's just... I don't like either of them when they're with each other. I need them to step back and have other story-lines with other characters for a while, please.

Bailey is trying to get the interns up to scratch and basically fast-track some of the less experienced doctors, since she's now missing Meredith, Alex, and Richard. The second that she told Helm that she could do a surgery, instead of DeLuca, I felt like I could recite the rest of the plot without trying. Helm does a good job at first, while DeLuca assists, feeling jilted. And then Helm messes up and freaks out, and DeLuca swoops in to save the day. And then DeLuca accuses Bailey of not letting him do the surgery because of his relationship with Meredith. You know, I like the idea of Bailey struggling with her feelings over what Meredith has done. But how many times are we going to watch someone have a freak-out during surgery on this show? It just feels so... performative, at this point.

Pros:

I love the idea of Meredith starting an impromptu clinic during her community service, and how she's using her power and privilege for good. There's a great deal of hubris here as well, of course, as she is so confident that she'll be able to avoid the worst of the consequences. It's brave and noble and all that, but Andrew isn't wrong to remind her that she has kids and a life and a career of her own to think about. This could be a really interesting thread to pull in the coming weeks. I doubt Meredith will lose her medical license at the end of all of this, but that doesn't mean it will be smooth sailing along the way.

We haven't seen a lot from Schmitt in these first two episodes, but here we do see him stealing medical supplies to bring to Meredith for her make-shift clinic. I like that he does a good thing, then gets worried about it - he's a Gryffindor. Brave, sure, but scared all of the time, too. I also liked Jackson being so casual about lying to cover for Schmitt, should it become necessary. That speaks to Jackson's privilege, too.

Like I said, I like the idea of Bailey struggling with her new reality. So much of her safety net has been taken from her, and she's left a bit uncertain and in the lurch. But with a pep talk from Ben, she gets back on the horse in no time. It remains to be seen how she's going to deal with DeLuca's insubordination, or Helm's mistake. She also has Tom Koracick lording his power over the other doctors, and for the first time in her career she can't turn to Richard for help.

Speaking of Richard, I am in love with his and Alex's story. They're going to fix this hospital up real good! I am so all about it! We are still in early stages, but we see here how hectic and bad the hospital is right now. Alex and Richard are both somewhat grumpy to be working there, especially Richard. But Alex gives him a pep talk. This place is falling down, but they have a real opportunity to make a change for the better. I love that, and can't wait to see how it goes.

Jo is back and better than ever! I love that Alex and Bailey fight over her, and that she leverages the offer from her husband in order to get a better offer from Bailey. That's such amazing stone-cold strategy right there. Jo was worried that upon her return, everyone was going to be treating her with kid gloves because of her mental health. But instead, these people know her. They know she's brilliant. And after everything Bailey has gone through with her own mental health challenges, she understands that needing some time off to work on yourself is no reason to stifle someone's potential.

Finally, Amelia and Link. I was so annoyed and disappointed about Amelia being pregnant at the end of last week's episode, and now I'm having to eat my words a bit. First of all, there's no drama about who the father is. It's Link's. Second of all, they are kind of very cute? And would probably make wonderful parents? I don't know. I love how this plot thread navigated Amelia's choice. Link still had a say and was allowed to feel feelings, and he did the exact right thing, telling Amelia he would be a father to their kid if she decided she wanted to keep the baby, and would drive her to the appointment if she decided to have an abortion.

I am oddly on board with all of this. It was nice to see Amelia talk about her feelings, process everything, and see Link do the same. As a bonus, we got to see Link talk things over with Jo, which means we're starting to build a bit of that relationship that we've heard so much about, but haven't really seen a lot on the show.

That's where I'll stop for now. This show is always reliable, because even if certain characters or subplots are annoying me, there are always others to grab my interest!

7.5/10

#review #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy review #greys anatomy #greys anatomy review #grey's abc #greys abc

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thelanguageoflovers · 6 years ago

Text

Little White Lies - Chapter 7

TW: This chapter deals super closely with past abuse/trauma

"Cyrus I-" "I'm so sorry, I know it's way too personal. I tried to write something more generic, but Mrs. Bailey wouldn't let me do that so I had to get personal and I'm so sorry," Cyrus interrupted. "No, Cyrus, it- it's beautiful. Thank you," TJ said, wrapping his arms around Cyrus and pulling him into a hug. "Do you- do you wanna come over today? Our time to work kinda got cut short because you had to rewrite this." "Oh! Yeah, I'd like that. Let me just text my dad and go drop off my books in my locker? I'll meet you at your locker." "Sounds good," TJ said, starting out the door. Cyrus followed him, but they turned in opposite directions upon exiting the classroom. TJ turned around a few paces down the hall, a grin on his face as he called out to Cyrus. "Oh, and Underdog?" "Yeah?" Cyrus turned around, meeting his eyes with a smile. "I'm pretty sure you're dyeing me pink." "What?" Pink? Cyrus was dyeing him pink? What the hell did that mean? TJ merely smiled that stupidly perfect smile of his and started to leave. "You'll figure it out. See you in a few!" Cyrus smiled in spite of himself as he walked down the hall, a blush crawling up his neck as he remembered the way TJ had smiled at him, like Cyrus held the world in his eyes. "Hey, Cyrus!" Andi said, jogging up to him as Cyrus fished his phone from his pocket. "Andi!" Cyrus exclaimed, quickly texting his dad to tell him he was hanging out with TJ. "I feel like it's been forever since we hung out," Andi said sadly. "Can we today?" "Oh, I'm sorry! I have plans with TJ," Cyrus apologized. "Soon though, I promise." "Okay," Andi nodded. "How about I call you tonight? We can go for late night milkshakes at the Spoon?" "Sounds perfect. With Buffy?" "She's got a sleepover with the team tonight. The three of us can hang out this weekend, maybe?" Andi offered. Cyrus nodded with a grin, hugging her goodbye. "I've missed you two." "We've missed you more, Cy," Andi promised. "Oh my God! I forgot to tell you!" "What?" Cyrus asked, clearly worried. "No, no it's good. TJ and I ran into each other at the supermarket this morning. He told me to tell Amber how I feel." "Did you take his advice?" Cyrus asked excitedly, nearly bouncing on his toes as he put his books in his locker. "Not yet, not yet. But soon, maybe? I don't know, it's all so...scary." "It'll be great, A," Cyrus said, hugging her again. "Oh, I've got something to tell you too! I've gotta go, though." "What?! No, tell me!" "I want to think some more about it, kind of figure it out? I don't really even know what it meant yet," Cyrus said sheepishly, thinking to TJ's comment about dyeing him pink. "Ugh, alright, I'll call you tonight!" "You'd better," Cyrus laughed, ruffling Andi's hair as he passed her. He turned the corner, his feet hitting the floor the only noise in the hall as he walked. "There you are, Underdog! Ready to go?" TJ asked, leaning against his locker next to Amber. "Yup! Sorry, I ran into Andi. We had some...things to catch up on." Amber immediately glanced up upon hearing Andi's name, grinning at the mention of her friend. "Like what?" she asked, doing her best to maintain a straight face. "Best friend things," Cyrus chastised with a chuckle, shaking his head at Amber's clear feelings for Andi. "C'mon, let's get going," TJ said, tugging Cyrus and Amber toward the exit. "We stay here any longer, we're going to be given a damn mop and asked to cover for the night janitor." "Alright alright, we're going," Amber laughed, letting TJ push her down the hall.

They stepped into the warm September air, the sun pouring over them like water from a faucet. TJ glanced down at Cyrus, whose soft, dark eyes had melted into pools of molasses under the light. His glance morphed into a lingering gaze, but he was snapped from his musings by a sharp pain as Amber pinched his wrist. TJ swatted her hand away, mouthing a silent 'not now' as they walked. 'Then when?' Amber mouthed back, earning a vaguely gestured 'shut up' and a flick to the head as they turned onto the Kippens' street. Amber smiled and raised a knowing eyebrow, stepping forward to walk in front of the pair. They walked encased in a comfortable silence for a few moments, before turning up their driveway. Amber opened the door, only to slam it shut again. "Ambs? What's wrong?" TJ asked, rushing forward to rest a hand on Amber's shoulder. "Nothing," she said, taking a deep breath and shaking her head. "Hand just slipped." "...Okay?" TJ said, pulling the heavy front door open. "Oh." "What? What's happening?" Cyrus asked, stepping forward. Over TJ's shoulder, someone Cyrus had never seen before was sitting at the kitchen table. He seemed to be perfectly normal, dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, and the spitting image of TJ. Connecting dots one by one, Cyrus understood what was happening. "Cyrus, I- we can't hang out today, sorry. You should, um...You should go home." "TJ, I-" "Cyrus, go. Seriously." TJ interrupted. "But-" "Cyrus, just go home! God, do you ever just let it go? I don't need your help, Cyrus." Cyrus recoiled slightly, eyes falling to the ground. "TJ I just want to-" "STOP IT. You can't help us!" TJ roared, marching toward Cyrus, who merely walked backward in time with his footsteps. "Not if you don't fucking let me!" The curse felt awkward tumbling from his mouth, but it didn't matter. Not now. Not with TJ staring at him with tears welling in his eyes. "Listen to me, Cyrus. I know you don't get it because you live in two huge white houses and have more money than you know what to do with. You have four perfect, loving parents, and two best friends who'd kill for you. You get perfect grades. You have perfect clothes. "You can afford to not have to cover the electricity bill or the groceries every few months just to keep food on the table and a roof over your fucking family's heads. You never have to wonder where your next meal is going to come from, or if you can afford to miss another day of school to go to work. You never have to skip out on getting antidepressants just because your health insurance doesn't cover them and your family can't pay it out of pocket. Your life is perfect, and you don't have to lift a finger for it. "But mine isn't, Cyrus. I have one functional parent and one sister. I used to have two, but guess what? ONE'S DEAD. Amber, my mom and I fight and work every fucking day just to keep the lights on and the water running. "So I am sorry if you don't get to play the savior this time, Cyrus. I'm sorry if my life doesn't make you happy or satisfy your stupid fucking need to save every person you meet, but you don't get to fix me. Just go home." "I- I'm sorry," Cyrus said, pushing tears out of his eyes as he turned and rushed down the walkway and out of the neighborhood. "GodDAMNIT!" TJ yelled, kicking the railing on their porch as he watched Cyrus leave. "TJ," Amber said quietly, one hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry." "It's fine, Amber," TJ snapped, turning and pushing back through the front door.

Cyrus walked into his house with a sigh, dropping his keys on the table by the door. "Hey, kiddo," his dad said, stepping into the foyer to hug his son. "I thought you were hanging out with TJ." "I realized I have homework," Cyrus mumbled, eyes on the ground. His words were clipped, but somehow managed to bleed into one another like black and gray watercolors across a bright canvas. He pushed past his dad and started up the stairs. His footsteps, weighted with sadness and concern for TJ, fell heavily against the warm carpet beneath his toes. Ignoring his dad's worried knocking on his bedroom door, he pulled his laptop from his bag and plugged his earbuds into his phone. He fell onto his bed, the soft melody floating through his earbuds calming him slightly, and pushed his laptop open. As he opened Google Chrome, some of the residual worry for TJ that had settled into his very bones began to fall away, replaced with implacable determination. He quickly typed 'color pink meaning' into his search bar, scrolling through the results with languid interest, not really believing he'd find what he was looking for on the first try. However, as it turns out, TJ was very bad at leaving breadcrumbs. He'd instead opted to give Cyrus the whole loaf of bread, thus making his search infinitely easier. Cyrus found what he needed as soon as he started to pay attention to the links he was passing. Several connected pink to little girls and femininity, but neither concerned to Cyrus, as he was very sure he hadn't turned TJ into a little girl. What did stick out to him was the overwhelming consensus that the entirety of the internet had seemed to decide upon. Pink meant love. Apparently, pink was the color of falling asleep next to someone, of intertwined hands and smiling into kisses. It was the color of falling in love with someone before you were entirely finished falling in love with the way they walk down the hall. Pink was the color of the blush that fell upon his cheeks whenever TJ smiled at him. Cyrus Goodman was in love with TJ Kippen. He was in love with the boy who wanted nothing to do with him.

"What are you doing here?" TJ asked, closing the door behind him and moving to stand slightly in front of Amber, taking her hand. "What, you didn't miss me?" Vincent asked, standing from his chair. "No, we really didn't," Amber said, fighting to even her voice. Behind TJ's back, she silently texted their mom the most definite message she could write fast enough. Dad's back.

Jennifer rushed into the house as something shattered, most likely a picture frame.

"Vince! What the fuck are you doing here?" she asked, quickly pushing Amber and TJ toward their rooms. "I have a restraining order out on you, you know that." "I'm here to see my kids," Vince said with a shrug that sent a frightened chill down Jennifer's back. "No the hell you're not," she responded, pulling her phone from her bag and dialing 911. "What do you think you're doing?!" She quickly detailed what was happening and where they were to the operator, who told her help was on the way. "You'll regret that, Jen." "Oh no, I won't." Jennifer looked up at him, ignoring the voice in her head screaming to run, her eyes narrow. "You listen to me this time. You are not going to lay a hand on my children or come near us ever again." She kept talking until she could hear sirens, at which point Vincent finally tipped over the boiling point.

"Hey, kiddos," Jennifer said quietly, opening TJ's door. "Are you two okay?" "I-I don't know," TJ stammered, one arm around Amber, who was crying, the heels of her palms continuously shoving tears away. "I'll take that as a no," she said, closing the door behind her and sitting on the end of TJ's bed. "What happened?" "He was here when we got home from school, so I sent Cyrus home." "Cyrus was here?" "Yeah, we were going to work on our project for health class. I made him go home, because I didn't want him to get hurt," TJ mumbled. "But I think I might have hurt him in the process." "I'll be back to that later. Did Vince hurt you two?" "N-no," Amber stuttered. "I thought he would, but he just broke a picture frame of you, me, TJ, and Molly." "I'll get a new one," Jennifer promised. "What did he even want?" TJ asked, silently handing Amber a box of tissues. "Said he wanted to raise his own kids," Jennifer mumbled with a shrug. "That's not fair! He broke us, he doesn't get to put us back together again!" Amber yelled, anger seeping into her tears. "I know, kiddo. I said the same thing. Listen, how about I go clean up and make some food? You two probably have a lot of homework after your first day, huh?" As Amber and TJ nodded, Jennifer smiled slightly, standing and leaving the room. She let the door shut behind her with a gentle click, sighing as she walked down the hall. On the kitchen floor next to the fridge lay a shatter picture frame. The wood was splintered, the glass fractured into tiny pieces and spread around the frame. She crouched near the mess, reaching forward to gently pull the still intact photo from the debris. Sighing, she set it on the counter and turned to sweep the glass and wood into a dustpan. When she dumped it into the garbage, she paused to look around their house. She'd fought for years to obtain the life they led, but she knew damn well it wasn't all it was supposed to be. Her kids were her life, but was this life enough for them?

#andi mack #tyrus #abuse tw #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #amber kippen #ambi #little white lies fic

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 6 years ago

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I too am in a TWW rewatch, because well I enjoy torturing myself by watching competent articulate political types. (That and the great tv) I'm really struggling with Will. He seems like such an creep the further it goes on yet all the female characters seem to like him. I feel like I'm missing something. Do you have any views on him?

I have views on everything!! :D Seriously though, nobody’s ever asked me about Will so what a great chance for an essay. (This got REALLY long, fair warning.)

First, a disclaimer. I’ve never been very active on Twitter, but when I started using it, I mostly followed TWW actors. I occasionally tweeted at them, and I never expected responses, because they were amazing actors from this show I revered, and I was a random fangirl on social media. But two of them did, and were SO nice, and it shocked me so much back in the day to realize how kind and down-to-earth TWW cast is, when I had just seen the series and hadn’t yet found tumblr or watched interviews. It really made an impression on me. Richard Schiff called me ‘very sweet’ and won my heart forever, and Joshua Malina was also totally friendly and nice, so much so that I felt bad for never really liking his character much.

That’s right, I too used to think Will was obnoxious. But once I realized the actor was kinda awesome, I reconsidered his character and gave him a chance. So I’m glad you asked me, as I’ve been on both sides with Will and really love him now.

IMO, Will Bailey came in not just as a replacement for Sam, but also as a character with very different values, who was meant to contrast with our heroes at a crucial time.

Mid-S4, when Will is first introduced, we meet him as a skilled, idealistic writer who’s also got strong organizational and leadership skills. That’s different from any of our faves, since both Sam and Toby are talented wordsmiths, and both are idealistic in their own ways, but they’re also both oriented towards behind-the-scenes work. Toby is very team-focused and loyal but he would like it if everyone would leave him alone and let him do what he’s good at–messaging and writing and trying to nudge the people around him onto the path he thinks is best. When CJ is promoted above him to become COS, he cares even less about the professional snub than Josh does, because it’s not something he wanted.

And while Sam has political aspirations, he never really shows leadership qualities. He’s an excellent second to Toby and even for Josh when needed, but he’s also shown to be the least canny and experienced of them all, and you could argue that being in front of the camera as a candidate for office doesn’t always equal being a leader, if your staff is really running the show for you, which is what Sam’s campaign looks like. Everyone around him coordinates the details and runs things to leave him space to just be The Guy. But Will Bailey is both the guy running the show behind the scenes AND the guy who can get on camera and speak about the politics and ideals of his campaign because his family and professional background made him much more well-rounded. Heck, he’s even in the armed forces on top of all that! He’s portrayed as good at all the things he does.

Now, what’s interesting to me is that Will, as he’s first introduced, is much more confident and idealistic than he is later on. Early Will goes through a serious transformation, from Toby’s new second to an independent operator who lacks the loyalty the others have to a man more than to a party. To some extent, Will’s rebellious, ‘you need me more than I need you’ attitude was there from the moment Sam showed up to his winning campaign, but I think that who Aaron Sorkin (who had worked with the actor a lot before) conceived him as changed after Sorkin left. The showrunners for S5-7 saw an opportunity in his character’s feisty campaign background and turned him into someone with even less personal loyalty and more detached pragmatism.

The fact is, that’s not what Sorkin-era TWW is about. One of the reasons the later seasons are so different is their clear-eyed look at campaign chaos and shifting loyalties and all the small on-the-ground work that we didn’t see with President Bartlet. The earlier seasons are very much about our found family of staffers and the First Family and watching them fight the status quo that constrains them because they won. They always want to do better, and be better, and as much as they acknowledge the reality that you have to win in order to change the world, the show still promises us that it’s the change that actually matters, and it isn’t worth winning if you have to sell your soul to do it.

So if there’s a spectrum along which everyone falls, based on how much they’re willing to ‘go along to get along’ versus making trouble for the sake of their beliefs, Will Bailey is on the exact opposite end from say, Amy Gardner, with our core characters in the middle. I’ve rambled about Amy before, about how her values and priorities are so different from our heroes that she’s an antagonist even as she works with them a lot of the time. Will has the same complicated relationship with the people we’ve been rooting for for years, but for drastically different reasons. Amy is at odds with the West Wing because she’ll do whatever it takes to win the argument and get what she wants, pulling the Democrats to the left whenever possible.

Will, though–especially in S5 and beyond–is at odds with the West Wing even when he’s in the West Wing, because for all his ideals, he has no problem with compromise. He sees nothing wrong with moving to the middle if it helps you win, if it gets you more power. He’s willing to look like an idiot for the White House, he’s willing to go in front of the press core and be beaten up for days if it will help the cause, he doesn’t hesitate to jump to a new campaign that he thinks could win, because winning is how you get the things you want. Probably, being a diplomat’s son has something to do with how accommodating he is, and how able Will is to justify any position, any choice. We’re told he’s very good with words, but he was probably also good at Debate in school, because he can clearly turn any situation around as needed.

Which means that while Will’s instinct is to adjust and Amy’s is to dig her heels in, they share the one quality that makes any TWW character harder to like: they answer only to themselves. Above all else, their ‘constituency of one’ is themselves rather than a specific politician or even the party. Will is a Democrat, but he’ll happily buck the party wisdom in favor of what he thinks will win. And that puts him up against Toby, the President, Josh, etc, at different times because he bases his choices on his own ideals and they’re just different from those of the Bartlet Administration, which spends 8 years fighting to stay progressive and deciding it’s better to go down fighting than do or say things they don’t believe in.

Will is also an interesting foil for Donna after she leaves the White House, and not just because they become coworkers and good friends. Along with the fact that she left Josh and struck out on her own, most of her post-Sorkin conflict with Josh is actually based on WHO she went to work for and how differently she and Josh see that decision/what it says about her and her time working under Josh. By going to work for Russell, Donna shows that she’s less concerned with finding the perfect underdog candidate and more interested in a future that keeps up Democratic progress after President Bartlet leaves office. She is never dedicated to Russell as a man, and over time becomes visibly concerned with his flaws as a man and a candidate. But tellingly, Will isn’t any more personally loyal to Russell than Donna is–and he’s the one running the man’s whole campaign!

It says a lot about Will that for all the moments when Russell shows himself to be less than honorable, Will clearly disagrees with his actions…but he stays. Because Russell was never why he left the Bartlet Administration, or why he took on the new campaign. He took it on because he’s good at winning campaigns, and in Russell he saw someone who could win, and he may have even admired the antagonistic streak that came out once Russell became VP. Russell also had no interest in the ‘cult of Bartlet’ and quickly proved that he wouldn’t even have the level of respect that Hoynes had for Josiah Bartlet as a man. Most of the characters on TWW consider that strike one against Russell and a major character flaw, but Will doesn’t. He respects the President and the office but he didn’t know Jed before the MS reveal, he sees him from more of a removed distance, and his White House job is a JOB to him more than a calling.

Again, some of this was less true during the Sorkin era. The Will Bailey who lost the ability to speak when he was officially offered Sam’s position is much more in awe of the gravity of it all, and it’s hard to see that guy jumping ship to support a moderate candidate that nobody in the White House even likes. But the hints of who he ends up as were there from the beginning, the way he tells off Sam and Toby even before he works with them–he’s always an outsider.

So the outsider factor, that makes it harder to like Will or any TWW character that doesn’t automatically get along with the others. Ainsley Hayes may be ‘the enemy’ as a Republican, but she is amiable and smoothly tries to change minds–and when she isn’t able to, she opts to live and let live. Will is harsher, more combative at times, and I don’t know if it’s just me, but that makes me feel defensive and protective towards the staffers he’s arguing with. After all, I adore them and I barely know him, how dare he?

But of course, his actions and his beliefs make perfect sense from HIS perspective. He’s had a successful career, and being a part of the Administration was never a goal of his, so he doesn’t need to go out of his way to defer to their judgement or stay quiet in the face of their superior wisdom. He was raised to know how to work people and get his way, but he was also raised with incredible privilege and confidence and if he was banished from TWW inner circle it wouldn’t be much of a loss for him. Being an outsider isn’t a problem for him, he spent his life that way as a diplomat’s son, so he never feels the need to conform the way he would have to in order to really become a part of the gang.

Honestly, the only reason he ever gels as a part of the group is because Josh leaves and Toby is fired and they need Will to speak for the White House–finally he’s the ultimate insider, he’s the Bartlet mouthpiece, and the only original senior staffer left is CJ, so once Will and Kate bond they’re the center of the staff that’s left, and he has somebody on his side. (And once he’s off the campaign trail, the show goes back to highlighting his neurotic and geeky side, because he can’t be the ‘win at all costs’ guy anymore and needed a new focus.)

So here’s why I think it can be hard to like Will: he often seems like an entitled, immune-to-criticism, antagonistic opportunist. At his worst he seems to think the means justify the ends, despite his progressive beliefs in general, and that means he’s the guy who could get almost anybody elected–which is great when it’s S3 and Bruno Gianelli is on Bartlet’s side, but less so when Russell seems like not much of an improvement on Hoynes in terms of decency and intelligence and Will has the skills to actually make that guy President.

BUT, (and I can’t guarantee this will help you but I think it’s important because Will does exist as a complex, multidimensional character, and that’s a good thing even though it means he has flaws) at his best he is an adorable dork who wants to make the world better, will take jobs because he believes they need doing even if they’re not his own personal dream, is willing to put himself in danger to save and protect others, and is not just talented but also very knowledgeable about the same kind of geeky Constitutional and political history that Jed Bartlet is.

What I’m trying to say is that Will, as much as anyone on TWW, is the product of his good and bad qualities, and both sides of that equation come from his core traits. His ability to ignore others’ criticism because he’s secure in who he is can be annoying when it’s Toby or Josh trying to talk sense into him, but it also means he survives hazing with friendly ease and stands up for the White House’s positions like a pro. He cares more about winning than fighting the narrowest version of the good fight, but he’s not wrong that winning is better for progressive goals than losing for the sake of ideological purity (hi 2016, I have not missed you). He isn’t loyal to the Bartlet Adminstration above all else–but if everyone were, then the President would be a dictator. Intra-party fighting can weaken a party but it also allows for diversity rather than a cult mentality.

So, here’s what it comes down to. Will isn’t Sam, and that means Toby could never really like or trust him, even if he had become more loyal. Will is a political relativist, which means Josh was never going to agree with his choices, as Josh has always put people first and hates having to compromise. Will is a privileged white guy (played by a Jewish actor, but never canonically established as Jewish) so CJ tolerates him but doesn’t genuinely like him for some time, because that’s just how she rolls. Leo leaves Will under Toby’s purview, and Jed has even less direct interaction with him. He spends a lot of his time battling a group of young female interns we never see again (tbh I can’t stand those scenes and if that’s where you get your creep factor, I get it). Given how disconnected he often is from the central cast, is it any wonder he’s mostly underappreciated and ignored by fans as well?

As for why the female characters on the show don’t seem bothered by him, even when you are, I think there’s a couple of possible explanations. First of all, TWW is a show that doesn’t show us that much–we have to assume that all of these characters, who practically live at work, spend a TON of time together offscreen, just by the nature of their jobs. If most of that time is similar to Will’s comedic scenes, where he’s a giant nerd with bikes in his office whose response to stress is the fetal position, then presumably his coworkers see his flawed human side, in an endearing rather than annoying way.

And secondly, we as viewers don’t have that perspective. We don’t even have the benefit of being these characters living in the early ‘00s, when it was a given that the government would be full of overconfident oblivious men and that’s just what women were expected to handle with poise and sweetness. Clearly things haven’t changed much over the years when it comes to White House staff and a backdrop of misogyny at work, but for a lot of us as viewers the world has progressed.

So Donna gets along with Will as her boss who can be kind of dense or morally ambivalent sometimes, but she’s also spent almost a decade dealing with the most powerful men in America. As an assistant, for most of that time. To her, even Will’s worst moments are barely a blip in the grand scheme of things. And CJ is totally unimpressed by Will’s smarts and talent because she works with the smartest and most talented men she’s ever known, but he serves a purpose and doesn’t get in her way, so she has no problem with him. Kate rose to power through the ranks of military men and has definitely seen, and probably injured, worse guys than Will Bailey. All the women of TWW have spent their careers dealing with men of varying character. I mean, even compared to some of Sam’s comments, Will must seem downright harmless.

TL;DR Can Will Bailey be a patronizing know-it-all who puts his own interests before party and found family? Absolutely. Is he a bad guy? Not at all. He’s just a different kind of good guy than those The West Wing conditioned us to admire and root for.

#an unexpected ode to #will bailey #thanks for this ask it really made me think!!#tww #the west wing #meta #rambling #mine #replies #karma1987uk

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casskaykingston · 6 years ago

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momma who bore me:

cass & olivia kingston ; sunday, january the 27rd. 11:40 AM.

tw: past and current verbal/emotional abuse

The first time Cassidy Kay Kingston II set eyes on Olivia Charlotte Dean, the first thing he wonders is where she came from, because it hadn’t been from here. He knew Wilmington inside and out, nearly every moment of his twenty five years being spent here, and he knew the townsfolk, their families, their daughters. She couldn’t have been one of them. Because if she had, C.K. would’ve tried to make his move long ago. He spotted her for the first time while at the grocers, Stetson in his hands while he waits to pick up the ham his mother wants for supper, and he sees her. Strawberry blonde hair, the deep blue eyes of an angel, and a smile that quite frankly made his head stop. Little pearl earrings catch the artificial light from above them as she stands on her tiptoes to accept the slice of strawberry shortcake from the baker, and C.K. is momentarily mesmerized by the swing of her light green skirt. Turning around, he kind of stares aimlessly at the glass in front of him, lunchmeat not processing to blue-green eyes as the mental image of that skirt flirts through his mind, taking a few moments before his stupidity hits him like a shock of lightning as he bolts towards the door.

“Excuse me! Excuse me, miss!”

A wrinkle of a creamy brow, and the mystery girl turns, one hand on her car door as she had been preparing to leave. He makes a bit of a sight, scuffed up button down with a kerchief around his neck, cowboy hat being murdered as he crumples it in his hands, dirty blonde hair with a slight cowlick and a smudge of dirt on his cheek. He's handsome, sure, but not traditionally so, and it's not the smile lines by his eyes that makes her keep pausing. It's the slow draw of a crooked smile, and the words he lets drop his country boy accent as casual as you please. “I'm sorry for stopping you, but…” he shakes his head, and the wattage in that smile slides up just a tick. “I couldn't let the prettiest thing I'd ever laid my eyes on just up ‘n walk away.”

Months of courtship and a pearl and diamond engagement ring later, and twenty year old former secretary from Virginia has become a wife. Not only a wife, but Olivia Kingston, steadily adjusting to a new world wherein walking out the front door of her home normally greeted her with sweaty men and plentiful horses. Fast forward four years, and she's cradling a baby given to her by the man who'd stopped her, a boy who carried his same name. Crystalline blues blink up at her, downy blond hair on his small head, and Olivia coos at the person who already held her whole heart, rocking him in the same chair his grandmother had rocked his father. “I'm going to love you always, sweet boy.” She whispers to him, thinking there could be nothing more beautiful than he, this child she had made and would try to fill his life with joy. “You can always, always count on me.”

Cut to now, Cass and his mother taking a walk on one of the trails in the woods that framed his house on three sides. There was no snow today, but a cold rain had fallen the night before, the thin layers of ice crunching underneath their boots. Olivia, Hudson's leash in her gloved hands, having been talking to her son for ten minutes or so so far, discussing the plans she has for a new menu once the seasons change once more. That's one area of the business Cass tends to stay out of, leaving it to his very competent and qualified head chef and his only a bit less skilled in the kitchen Momma, especially after her strawberry lemonade recipe was a smash hit and helped put the as then fledgling B & B on the map. Today, however, Cass isn't much interested in what successes they've had in the past adding a specific amount of cinnamon to their French toast recipe. What he wants to do is ask his mother is something he's wanted to know since the time his father grilled him mercilessly at the table because he'd started on his chores late after going to football tryouts. What he'd wanted to know since he'd stopped depending on his mom having his back when it was against his father. It was an uncomfortable conversation to have with a loved one, especially so close on the heels of the catastrophic one he’d had with Amy barely three days before, but it was one he’d already been avoiding for years.

Pushing the past the feelings of dread that wrapped their uncomfortable fingers around his throat every time he'd imagined this semi confrontation, Cass clears his throat, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of the vest atop his fleece lined jean jacket. “Momma, I need to talk to you about something.”

The furrow in Olivia's brow that her son inherited makes an appearance at what he says, pulling a wayward strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. Smile lines crinkle as she frowns, touching his arm. “Cassidy, honey, what's wrong.”

“What's wrong,” her son begins, subtly moving his arm, forcing his steps to keep going and not lose his nerve. “Is Dad. And how I need to distance myself from him. And why...why you weren't there for me. Then. Now.” Cass's hands curl into themselves, hidden by the puffy fabric of the vest he wore, and he isn't sure his lips are cold because of the temperature or because of the words he's trying to push out of them.

“What do you mean? There's nothing you can't ask me for Cassidy; you're my son. I would do anything -”

“Yeah. Anything. Anything but protect me from Dad.”

Olivia falls silent for a moment, Hudson's overly loud sniffing as he inspects a place to pee stopping their progress, causing them to halt. “I know your Dad is hard on you. But he really does love you and want the best.”

“Does he, Momma?” The thirty two year old man's voice is rusty and short, hard on his throat. “Does he though? Did he want what was best for me when he made sure Greer and Bailey knew how much they were loved and cared for and couldn’t do anything wrong? And if I looked in the wrong direction when he was talking to me, I’d get a lecture that lasted for hours and made me feel like a piece of shit. No fourteen year old should feel like a piece of shit, Momma.”

On some level, Olivia had known that the relationship between her husband and her son wasn’t exactly the best. For the few years, maybe there had been the kind of relationship she always dreamed of for them, but when the girls rolled around she noticed a difference. Showering attention on the other two, C.K. treating Cass more seriously and differently. When he got older, and C.K.’s attention shifted to the next generation leading the ranch, Olivia had mostly left it up to the two of them. Bonding time, she thought. Sure, she noticed over the years that Cass hated being alone with C.K. Spent as much time out of the house as he could if he wasn’t working, thin lips and blue eyes that forcibly cleared of pain when they locked on her own. Their moments had been private, private and devastating in a way she wasn’t aware of. Devastating in a way that she was only hearing now.

“In the beginning, it wasn’t too bad. He’d praise me for getting a full day of work done, for making the football team. And then it seemed to be few and between, the kind words. The spaces between them were killed with nasty ones that made me feel like the lowest of the low. I couldn’t do anything to please him, Momma. Couldn’t then, absolutely can’t now. Not when I committed the gross sin of leaving. I wasn’t going to come back, Momma. Not at all. Not when he was what I was coming back to.”

“Cassidy, sweetie - “

“Actually, can you wait until I’m done?” Cass interrupts, shooting blue eyes sidelong to her. He might not be walking to a noose but every moment spent talking about this seemed to tighten around his neck, a suffocating hand of years of hurt and frustration bubbling up and anxious to escape. This isn’t a safe space the same way that Ashley’s office is, and Cass isn’t sure how to operate in it. To reveal the dark truths hiding in his Momma’s house, but then again - hadn’t she been the one to turn a blind eye? Hadn’t she been only a passive ally? It was only after the accident that she started helping him keep distance between he and his father, that dark spectre that had tainted so many things in Cass’s life. Including, it seemed, his relationship with his mother.

“On my sixteenth birthday, he gave me shit for not showing up to work that night. My friends threw me a surprise party at one of their houses, and I thought he’d be fine. He liked that I was popular, after all. A good face for the family.” The bearded man laughs, but it’s not the full and golden one he usually lets out. This one is scratchy and raw from past pains and incredulity of the sheer lack of humanity C.K. had shown him for much of his life. Something Cass would never, ever do to a loved one, much less a kid. Another pang, a reminder of the fight he was struggling through with Amy, and the thirty two year old fights the urge to grab at his heart. It wasn’t going to ease the hurt. “When I got home, you made me a cake. He didn’t sing me Happy Birthday with you and Greer and Bailey - and when everyone else went to sleep, he came to my room and told me how ashamed he was to have a son who rang in such an ‘important’ age with irresponsibility.”

They’ve given up on walking at this point. Hudson, let off the leash, eats snow and bounds around about them until the stress radiating from his owner reaches the point that even the dog feels it and tries to make his owner feel better. Stories spill from Cass, ugly ones with poisonous words and memories that still whip his spirit. The lectures of the way he wasn’t, couldn’t ever measure up. References to him in front of others designed to tear him down piece by piece. At every turn, Cass was a disappointment. A blight to his father and his name. How no matter how long he worked at the ranch, he was still the traitor who’d left the business behind. How C.K. refused to acknowledge any good that Cass did, anything that went wrong automatically was his fault. How scared he would be when bringing home a C, how many nights he stayed up wondering if his father was right. The incidents that he only recognized now, mostly on the other side of it, as anxiety attacks when C.K. was on the warpath. As he continued to talk, Olivia’s hands slowly seem to rise, covering her mouth. Horror is reflected back at him from his mother, horror and a deep seated sense of inadequacy; for all that C.K. had been a bad parent with all the bells and whistles, even if Olivia couldn’t quite believe all of it, she had failed in her protection of him. “I’m sorry.” Is all she manages to get out, whispered at intervals, soft with regret.

“Momma, he’s literally told me the only things he has to be proud of are Greer, Bailey, and the ranch. When Amy came over for dinner, he couldn’t stop talking about how I’d tricked her into being there. How I had to be holding something over her, or she wouldn’t be there. Because who would want to date his failure of a son, huh Momma?” Winter still has its grips on the landscape, inhabiting the seat sized rocks they’d managed to find on the trails, seeping through Cass’s jeans and yet not the cause of the shake in the broad mans voice. Cass was 220 lbs, almost 80% completely muscle, and six three, carrying an imposing figure that few wanted to mess with. Talking about his father, he seemed frailer, weaker, genuine belief in what had been drilled into his head for over thirty years almost making him try and fit into the descriptive terms C.K. assigned to him so many times. “All I’ve ever heard from Dad for years has been that I’m weak. Stupid. Useless. Incapable of doing easy things the right way, and always a step away from disaster. He’s always right. I’m always wrong. I’m not an iota of the man he is, to hear him say it. And do you know what’s the worst thing? It’s that I know I’m not. At the very least. I don’t use my words to hurt people. To make them feel like horse shit on someones shoe is probably of more use than you. But he’s poisoned me, Momma, and I hate it. He’s targeted me so many times that sometimes, my thoughts turn to aiming at others the same way. I just had a fight with Amy - and no, I don’t want to talk about it - and I said horrible things to her. I knew what to say, how it was going to hurt, where she was vulnerable. I don’t want to know where my girlfriend is vulnerable, Momma. If I do, I should only learn so I can figure out how to protect it. Not use it against her.”

A touch, Olivia’s hand on his knee, and Cass looks up at her with eyes that he’d deny to his grave were stinging, shaking his head, not done. “When he discovered that the other ranch hands actually liked me, that working wasn’t as bad with them, he made it a point to give me solitary assignments if I’d pissed him off. He reminds me every moment that the ranch is not mine, that it was his name first that goes on it and all its successes are his, all its failures are mine. If I lost a football game, he’d give me the silent treatment for a week. He’d only talk when at the dinner table, because you and the girls were there. He made jokes about erectile dysfunction when my friends were over. I learned how to stop bringing people that weren’t my forewarned girlfriends over the house so my dad would stop trying to sabotage my friendships. Do you know how long it took me to realize that other kids dads weren’t like that? Too long. I doubted everything. Dad made me believe I was just being overly sensitive, that he was just trying to push me to accomplish more. To reach my full potential. I should’ve known I’d never be enough. I won’t ever be, not for him.” A harsh truth, but one that Cass had come far enough to be able to say. Even if in his core, the root of him, longs for one sign of his father being proud of everything. Despite of everything. Because of everything. Hope, that hardest bastard to kill. His eyes give up the ghost, let tears slip down ruddy cheeks and disappear into a full beard, sparkes of shine in the gold. Hudson’s head is heavy in his lap, big brown eyes concerned whilst Cass’s shaking hands stroke his dogs forehead, gaze dropped as it had been for most of his unloading. Olivia, having long since started crying, just keeps rubbing his leg and nodding her head.

“For years I thought I was selfish for wanting his love, when he only seemed to have enough for my sisters and not for me. This ranch - this damned ranch, this thing that I love, this place that I call home and work and that I pour my existence into to make it work, the B & B that was my brainchild and my greatest pride - it’s a miracle that I’ve gotten to this place. Crazy that I feel about it the way I do. Because for years, I know it’s meant more to my father than my own life. I’m so angry about it, Momma. I’m angry, and I’m hurt, and I hate being around him, and you have to let me cut him off. You have to.” Olivia’s arm curls around his shoulders, shushes falling from lips that kissed him on the forehead more times that he could count, and Cass holds on, even as he chokes out the last words, a show of stark vulnerability he could only show with his mom. “You didn’t protect me then. But dammit, Momma. You’ve gotta do it now. You’ve got to…”

Sure, Ashley’s prompting in therapy had been a big push to getting him there. The recent blow up he’d had with C.K., Olivia absent as always, when he laid into him for the burned barn, disparaging words about being too distracted by his relationship to do his job properly, of blaming him for hiring pyromaniac workers, and more that Cass is sure he would’ve had if he hadn’t found the strength to book it out of there, that probably helped. Whatever the final push, this was long overdue. How his mom would react to it, only time would tell, but he’d said his truth. Laid out how she’d done him wrong, and explained how. She’d apologized. And she’d probably keep doing it, even now when his tears get absorbed by her scarf and she rocks back and forth with the two of them, a woman half his size who’d been tasked with protecting her son and who had failed. Time would tell where the revelation would take them.

#self para #tw: verbal abuse #tw: emotional abuse #( wildfire lies and humiliation ; c.k. )#ft. ck.#ft. ck #ft. olivia #so....this is sad #don't say i didn't want you #AND YES THIS STARTS WITH A FLASHBACK #I"M THAT KINDA HOE #also i've been trying to finish writing this for over a month i'm really the worst

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qqueenofhades · 7 years ago

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the dragons on the map: iii

Rating: M Summary: After the Lifeboat is nearly destroyed, the Time Team ends up stranded in their strangest and most unfamiliar destination yet: 1195 France. With Rittenhouse to stop, medieval adventures to be had, and a pair of rival kings at war, it’ll truly be a miracle if they ever get home. (Garcy/Lyatt/pre-Garcyatt, Flogan, Rufus Is Judging, general Time Team relationships and bonding. Guest appearances from the Plantagenets, for reasons.) Available: AO3

The streets of Paris are uneven, muddy, and dark, and Flynn is having to concentrate on keeping both his footing and an eye on Lucy. He and Wyatt already decided with a look that it’s too dangerous to try to punch and/or shoot their way out of this, but that doesn’t mean there’s no room for a later alteration of the plan. The captain of the guards has to be Rittenhouse, or at least Rittenhouse-trained – how else would he be able to speak modern English to them? Is it possible that Rittenhouse isn’t just days ahead of them, but weeks, or months? Their jump here was so uncontrolled, like a windsurfer being pulled along in the wake of a motorboat, that they still don’t know when they arrived relative to the Mothership, or even how they consciously did at all. If the machines run on a closed time-like curve, the amount of fold and twist in the fabric of spacetime necessary to bend so far back on itself might have created a maelstrom effect. In other words, Rufus could not possibly have jumped the Lifeboat anywhere – or when – else. It would have just gotten stuck in the Mothership’s massive gravitational anomaly and dragged down here anyway. But like debris washing up on the beach – basically, after all, exactly how they landed – there is no reason it has to have been anywhere close. Did Rittenhouse do this on purpose? Frankly, Flynn isn’t sure they’re that smart. But since 1195 is so very far from 2018 (in more ways than one), farther than either of the machines have traveled before, maybe this jump did mess something up. Something more than history, something that can’t be changed.

That, however ominous a thought, is also a very unhelpful one, and Flynn shoves it away. He glances around for Lucy again. They are being escorted toward the portcullis of the gate that guards the bridge to the Île-de-la-Cité, and Flynn feels a cold lump of foreboding in his stomach. If they’re going here, they’re going directly to the royal dungeons, rather than some noisome local hoosgow for small-time miscreants. Prisoners held at the king’s pleasure have almost no chance of getting out, or at least not for years. Maybe they took the punching thing off the table too early. Have Rittenhouse finally realized that gloating never goes well for villains, and are intending to just chuck them in here and throw away the key? Or –

Flynn is on the very hair-trigger of a considerable scene, but Lucy is too far away for him to reach easily, and he feels oddly obligated for Rufus as well (Wyatt can take care of himself, he’ll be fine). Besides, there has to be some kind of explanation for this. Rittenhouse probably wants information (which they’re not going to get) or satisfaction (which Flynn intends to see they don’t). If they wanted to just kill them, they’d have taken them down by the Seine and tipped the bodies in (though there are guaranteed to be some of their own among them). No. Taking them here means something else is afoot. Something bigger.

The guards shout up at their fellows on the gatehouse, and chains rattle and clank as the portcullis is winched up, mossy iron teeth dripping with river water. The team is marched forward by their respective soldiers, Wyatt and Flynn exchange another look, and once more – for the time being – consent. They still have their guns, hidden beneath their jackets (or tunic, in Wyatt’s case) but that’s only an ultimate last-resort option. And no matter how the saying might go about bringing a knife to a gun fight, Flynn would not like to take his chances against these particular knives unless he has to. Someone swinging a piece of metal at you that is three feet long and extremely sharp is not a prospect to take lightly, especially when they know exactly what the hell they’re doing with it. Boys start training for knighthood at seven years old. Even the best-drilled, crack-shot special-ops soldier in the modern world didn’t enlist until he was eighteen.

Torches flicker from rough iron sconces as they pass under another portcullis, and enter the main courtyard – the bailey, it’s better known as. Flynn is briefly struck by the whiteness and sharpness of the stones in the walls and in the buildings of the royal palace. He has wandered around plenty of old castles in his day – he used to live in Dubrovnik, Croatia, which is a medieval old-city jewel box – but they’ve all been that, old. They’ve had several centuries to slip and scuff and wear, to settle down to comfortable disarray. This one is so new that you can almost smell the sawdust. It looks like a Hollywood set or a modern replica, rather than the real thing. Which is the irony, of course, because it is.

“So,” Flynn says, as pleasantly as he can. “We’re going to visit someone?”

“Yes.” The captain smiles at him, not in a way to make Flynn feel better about this (although that was not likely to happen anyway). “Some formalities. To see why you are here, is all.”

“You do that for all the newcomers to the city? And speak to them in English?” Flynn can’t quite tell if the captain is a native speaker or not. The version of English presently in currency is early Middle English – which, while not quite as confusing to the modern eye as Anglo-Saxon Old English, is still nothing like its twenty-first-century iteration. “Cut the crap. You and your friends – ” he nods at the other three guards marching Lucy, Wyatt, and Rufus, has to fight an urge to tear the bastard’s hand off Lucy’s arm and then throttle him – “you’re all Rittenhouse. Let’s just skip to that and – ”

The captain gives him what seems to be a genuinely blank look, rendering Flynn momentarily stumped. What is going on here? He is baffled enough not to struggle as they enter a hall with a high hammer-beam roof, blue banners embroidered with the fleur-de-lys draped from the rafters. A carved mahogany chair under an ornate baldachin is set on a raised dais at the end, and Flynn screeches to a halt. Wait a damn minute, is this –

The thought barely has time to cross his head when the soldiers stop, the captain say something to another of his fellows by the door, and the other man nods once and turns smartly, vanishing out of it. There follow a very uncomfortable several minutes, as Flynn, Lucy, Wyatt, and Rufus catch each other’s eyes and mouth silent variants of what the hell? They, to say the least, were expecting to be jumped or beaten or thrown into the dungeon (Flynn happens to know that iron maidens were a nineteenth-century myth used to bolster the “barbaric dark ages!” narrative that the Victorians were fond of, but that doesn’t mean that whatever is awaiting them would be pleasant). This appears instead to be the throne room, and that is an entirely new can of worms.

Right now, as Flynn has told the others, the king of France is Philip II, of the Capetian dynasty established in the late tenth century. He is sometimes known as Philip Augustus, originally for the month of his birth, but after his forty-three-year-long reign, from 1180-1223, with its impressive territorial conquests and brilliant, ruthless centralization of the French crown, there are plenty who see it as a fitting imperial epithet. He is presently just thirty years old, but has been a king since the age of fifteen. He is cynical, clever, clear-eyed, calculating, shrewd, bitter, jealous, and obsessed – especially with Richard the Lionheart, his great rival, who gets the best of him in nearly everything until his unexpected death in four years. There is plenty of conjecture as to how their notoriously intimate and passionate friendship, forged in the summer of 1187 as they were both plotting against Richard’s father, Henry II of England, has gone so wrong. But if the team is here to see Philip – Flynn has lost all notion of what is going on, or who can possibly want what from them.

He shifts his weight restlessly. Lucy and the other two are looking at him, waiting for him to history them out of this – Lucy’s job, usually, and Flynn feels an odd reticence at supplanting her. But he can’t do much when they’re still being watched by the guards. Do they all speak English, or just the captain? How long are they going to be kept waiting? It might be a king’s prerogative, but Garcia Flynn has had a goddamn bitch of a few days and he just wants, if that’s fine with everyone, to sleep.

At last, there’s a rustle at the door, and the guards snap to attention. There’s no trumpet fanfare, nothing but a tapestry imperiously thrust aside, and a communal inclination of heads, hands on hearts. Flynn does the same, and the trio follows his lead, as a slender, dark man, with shrewd green eyes, neat black beard, and a cool, haughty manner, strides into the room. He’s wearing a high-necked blue tunic picked with gilted embroidery, rings on his fingers, and a golden circlet on his head. It’s clear, as if it wasn’t by all the bowing, that this is the head honcho, the main man, and Flynn, after trying to decide if they should wait to be addressed or humbly acknowledge the king’s presence, goes with the latter. Unlike in later centuries, when the honorific would be “Votre Majesté,” it hasn’t come into common use for royalty yet. The title, shared between kings, bishops, lords, and pretty much any dignitary below emperor rank (and it can be pretty much anything for them, because they’re an emperor, fuck you) is “Vostre Grace.”

It is this which Flynn murmurs deferentially, as the team again copies him. Philip Capet eyes them with considerable judgment, clearly hearing their atrocious accents, but does not immediately comment upon them. Then he turns to the captain, asks something, and when it is answered, looks back at them. He appears to be asking which of them is in charge here.

For once, although Wyatt might normally have a problem with letting Flynn claim that role, he hurriedly steps back, so he doesn’t get stuck having to do this. “It’s him,” he says, and points. “Definitely him.”

Flynn rolls his eyes, even as he wonders if that counts as a show of trust. He clears his throat and turns back to Philip, who is waiting with an exquisitely arched eyebrow. This is a man who can evidently give Flynn a run for his money in the sassy face Olympics, even if Philip is a head and a half shorter than him (aw, how nice, Wyatt isn’t the midget in the room anymore). Flynn clears his throat. “C’est moi.”

“Great,” he hears Rufus mutter. “This is just who I wanted in charge of not getting us thrown into ye olde dungeon.”

With a valiant effort of will, Flynn does not turn around and strangle them, even as he hears Lucy shushing them like a stern kindergarten teacher. Philip utters a tiny sigh, a sign that they are treating the royal presence with considerable levity and they should knock it off. Then he says, “Can you provincials in fact understand me?”

It’s in Old French, of course, but since Philip speaks the closest thing there is to a standard, the educated Parisian or court French that modern French will develop from, the sort of thing that l’Académie members have special dreams about at night (though really, Flynn doesn’t want to know what those are), Flynn can indeed follow him, with effort. He blinks in abject gratitude, as it feels like grasping the Rosetta Stone after years of ignorance. “Yes. What is the language that your man there speaks?” It’s dangerous, going for the “did you know your bodyguard might be Rittenhouse?” ploy right off, but they need to get a few things straight.

“He says it is your native tongue.” Philip stares back at him unreadably. “Perhaps you should tell me?”

Well played, Flynn has to admit. A king does not give information, he asks for it, and Philip isn’t going to tip his hand on who – or what – he thinks they are. There is an awkward moment as Flynn can hear the boys whispering to Lucy if she can understand it, Lucy answering that she can get more of it than usual, and all of them shutting up sharpish as Philip flicks that viper’s gaze on them. “You have a talkative retinue of servants, do you not? Is it also the custom where you come from for them to gossip behind their masters’ backs?”

Flynn really wishes Wyatt understood that, just because the look on his face would have been worth the whole trip, but manages to keep his own face straight. “That is my wife, my lord. And my business partner – ” he points at Rufus – “and manservant.”

“Your business partner?” Philip considers the unfamiliar term, then glances at Rufus with a cutting expression. “A Saracen? So you are English, then? The English king is the one known to keep consort and commerce with all manner of heathens and unchristian people, after all. And you certainly speak the French language poorly enough.”

Flynn opens his mouth, reminds himself that no good can come of pointing out to Philip that the English (at least the upper classes) and the French speak essentially the same language at this point, and shakes his head. “No. We – we are Castilian, Your Grace. From Spain.”

“I am aware where Castile is.” Philip studies him with hooded eyes. It’s not altogether clear that he believes it. “What are your names?”

“I am Garcia.” It’s a good old Spanish name, already used for a while in one or other of the regional dynasties (Navarrese or Aragonese, Flynn thinks) and doesn’t need to be changed. “My wife, Lucy.” Likewise an old French name that is current, even if more often used as a place name; a Godfrey de Lucy is the bishop of somewhere in England right now. Winchester? Fuck it, Flynn can’t remember, and it’s not important. “My partner is Ramiro, and my servant is William.” When in doubt for a male name in twelfth-century France, just pick William. Considering Flynn could have stuck him with something like Odo or Boso (both old and honorable French names, he will have you know), Wyatt should be grateful.

As he says this, Flynn watches the English-speaking guard very carefully. If he’s Rittenhouse, there should be some flicker of awareness at this (even though, frankly, he’s probably guessed who they are from the moment he saw them in the tavern, and doesn’t need the confirmation). But nothing. He’s perfected the job of acting like a piece of furniture; he is here to protect the king’s person, not to presume to listen to his conversations or interact in his affairs. If he is a sleeper agent, he’s been here long enough to learn the drill, which again – worrisome. There’s a long pause as Philip takes all this in. Then he says, “And when did you arrive in Paris? Recently?”

“Just tonight Your Grace. We were… welcomed by your man there and brought here. We are still not entirely certain as to why.”

There is another pause. Then Philip raises a hand. “Leave us.”

There is an orderly rustle of movement as the guards pivot on their heels and file out without a backward glance; the king speaks, they obey. It’s a power Flynn can’t help but envy, even as he knows it’s the power Rittenhouse wants: that unquestioning, instant submission to one ruler, the arbitrator of a universe built on unshakeable certainty: the people answer to the lord who answers to the king who answers to God who (at least according to them) speaks through the church. This is not a place of postmodern political theory or grey moral relativism or atheism, or even usually agnosticism. This is not a time for considering yourself to have a special, individual destiny, over and above the role in which you have been born and raised. You are part of many, the pillar of the whole. Having seen this world for himself, Flynn understands a little more. You step out of line, you try to detach yourself from the community you need to survive, and you will die.

In any event, Philip dismissing his guards clearly means that he doesn’t think Flynn and the others will try to attack him – which they won’t, obviously, they’re not here to do Rittenhouse’s job for them – and without the potential Rittenhouse mole eavesdropping, they can perhaps speak more freely. Philip moves to the sideboard and pours a goblet of wine, then beckons, inviting Flynn to do the same. The king won’t serve him, obviously, but he can serve himself in the king’s presence, hinting that there might be some more candor in their interactions. Philip then glances over at the other three. “And your lady may take refreshment as well, of course. Madame?”

Lucy blinks, then drops an awkward little curtsy. It’s adorable, even if probably completely anachronistic, and Flynn bites his cheek. She ventures over, having obviously heard some currents of the conversation but not sure how much to let on. Philip is behaving as a well-born lord should, extending courteous conduct to the lady (though he has kept his second wife locked up in a tower without enough food, refusing to acknowledge her as his queen, since inexplicably repudiating her the morning after their wedding in 1193) but that does not mean he expects to hear or value her input in any way. Lucy pours a goblet of wine for herself, then takes a sip. Her eyes widen, which Flynn could have warned her about. Everyday beer and ale is watered down, since most people have to drink it as a common beverage, but wine – an expensive and time-consuming product cultivated in vineyards and sold at gourmand prices – doesn’t pull its punches.

“It’s very – very good, Your Grace,” Lucy says, only slightly hoarsely. “From Champagne?”

“Your wife has a refined sense of taste, my lord.” Philip looks at Flynn as if this is to his credit, not hers. “We import most of our spirits from there. My older sister – half-sister – is still the dowager countess, after my nephew never came home from Jerusalem. Not much of a loss, really.” He shrugs.

Lucy opens her mouth as if to offer sympathy, but Flynn surreptitiously steps on her foot. What Philip actually means is that his nephew, Henry II of Champagne, became king of Jerusalem at the end of the Third Crusade and is living there – at least for another few years, Flynn recalls that he dies young – quite happily, not that he was killed. But since Henry was a close ally of his other uncle, Richard (Marie of Champagne, his mother, is the daughter of Louis VII, Philip’s father, and Eleanor of Aquitaine, Richard’s mother, from their first marriage to each other – incestuous does not begin to describe the family trees), as far as Philip’s concerned, he’s basically dead. Philip doesn’t particularly get along with Marie either. In fact, there are very few people, especially in his extended family, that Philip Augustus gets along with, which is mostly the way he seems to like it. He’s come here to win, not to make friends. Flynn can respect that about a man.

There’s another pause as they all genteelly sip their wine. Lucy is taking small mouthfuls, and Wyatt and Rufus are obviously wondering if they just get to stand here and awkwardly watch everyone else drink with their new best buddy, the king of France. But a Saracen and a manservant rank well below any tier of society that Philip is obligated to acknowledge or make any overture to, and so he continues to carry on as if they’re not even in the room. (God, Flynn wishes he could do that.) Then, when the dictates of hospitality have been fulfilled, Philip sets his goblet down and fixes Flynn with a cool, appraising stare. “I have been informed that you have considerable skill as a routier.”

It’s on the tip of Flynn’s tongue to ask who told him that, before he remembers that he doesn’t get to. Routier means mercenary, or a sword for hire, a man who makes his living being paid to fight in the various territorial wars across western Europe. They’re looked down on and disliked, even as they form a crucial part of most fighting forces. At least as long as it’s your standard skirmish warfare. They’re not the men to hold a fortress under siege; if a garrison resists until the bitter end, rather than coming out to surrender and make terms, the laws of war decree that they are to all be hanged or slaughtered without mercy when the castle is taken. Mercenaries, having a general concern for their skins, won’t do this, and hence will probably accept a payment from your enemy to hand over your castle to him. Richard himself has a feared mercenary captain, Mercadier, who’s served effectively as a co-dog of war. Is that what Philip wants? To also enlist some muscle without moral scruple? He does do that next year – hires a captain named Cadoc, who succeeds in wounding Richard during his attack on one of Philip’s castles – but that is 1196. This is 1195, and here Flynn – demonstrably, apparently, muscle without moral scruple – is. Standing right in front of him.

“I’ve… done that sort of thing,” Flynn says after a moment, carefully. “Yes.”

“Good.” Philip looks pleased. That can’t be good. “A man of your… presence, I would be dismayed if you did not. Well then, Garcia of Castile, if I may presume to such informality. I wish to engage your professional services.”

“You – ” Flynn blinks. “You what?”

“Did I misspeak the first time?”

No, Flynn thinks, no he did not, especially since Philip just pulled the twelfth-century equivalent of “did I fucking stutter, bitch?” This is definitely not good. “I am a – former routier, Your Grace, I mean to say. I’m only a merchant these days.”

“Are you?” Philip keeps smiling. “Forgive me if I doubt that. Your very strange apparel, the way your hand keeps moving to – what is that you have with you, exactly? No, no, please do not remove it. I may feel threatened and call for my guards, and then this would go in an unfortunate direction. As well, you have not ceased to look around this hall since you entered it, nor ever to stand at your ease. I may not be the most valiant soldier, no lion-hearted hero to rampage across battlefields, but I am not untutored in the ways of war. Also, unless customs have drastically changed in Spain – which I grant is entirely possible, what with all the Moorish invasions – I was not aware that it was permissible to lie to a king’s face. Do so again, and we can certainly arrange a different sort of welcome.”

Flynn shuts his mouth with a snap. He’s not used to feeling intimidated by other men at all, much less a man who stands maybe five-seven, five-eight, but he takes that like a backhand across the face. Philip continues to gaze at him. Again, he repeats, “Did I misspeak?”

“You did not, Your Grace.” Flynn grimaces. “I apologize for the discourtesy.”

“And before your lady?” Philip nods to Lucy, as if to say that he regrets that she has found herself attached to such an unchivalrous churl. (It may be true, but still.) It’s also a fairly clear threat that she’s standing right there, a useful hostage for Flynn’s good behavior if he keeps trying to weasel out, and that sends another chill down his spine. “Please, shall we attempt that again? Garcia of Castile, I wish to engage your professional services.”

“And what…” Flynn pauses to wet his lips. “What services would those be, Your Grace?”

“I wish you to travel to Poitiers,” Philip says. “My spies have brought me intelligence that the king of England is currently there, in company with a number of unusual people. You are to make a full report on what he is doing and who they are, and whether they are in any part a threat to me. If they are offering him some sort of advantage or tactic or anything else whatsoever, I desire it to be brought back and presented for my interest as well. Am I clear?”

Flynn’s stomach sinks slowly through his foot. On the one hand, this is exactly the information they’ve been after: Richard is in Poitiers, his hometown and capital city from his teenage days as count of Poitou and duke of Aquitaine, rather than Rouen, where he’s supposed to be right now, reconciling with his wife. Instead, he’s in another city (and another province) altogether, with Rittenhouse whispering God knows what suggestions in his ear. If Flynn knows Richard at all (that is, from books), they will have their work cut out and then some trying to manipulate him, but if it sounds like a good deal, there’s a chance that Richard could agree to it. And Philip – what? Wants Rittenhouse brought back to Paris, is willing to get in on absolutely anything, if it means Richard can’t use it against him? Someone has to have planted this idea, told Philip (mostly) who they are, whether the guard or the person that the guard reports to. Send the Time Team to fuck up history themselves – every interaction they have with Richard might lead him further away from what he’s originally supposed to do. And with the added extra twist that if Richard finds out they’ve been sent by his mortal enemy to spy on him, he’ll kill them. Great!

“We…” Flynn starts, feeling winded. “Your Grace, that…”

“You have an objection, Garcia?”

“It sounds very… dangerous.”

Philip gives him a no shit! look. “I was not aware that you were a man to recoil from danger. A craven routier? If that is the case, perhaps I can see why you went into the merchant trade. Much less risk in counting pennies. A disappointment, though, truly.”

Flynn racks his brains. They are not going to get away with refusing this offer to Philip’s face, they do need to get to Richard and warn him about Rittenhouse – that’s the whole reason they’re here – and even the fairly clear proof that there is a sleeper agent somewhere in Philip’s court is less of a problem at the moment. It’s not like they have Skype or FaceTime or any way for Philip to immediately know what they’re doing. Word travels slowly. And if Rittenhouse is there, the Mothership must be somewhere in the vicinity. Maybe they can grab it and bomb out before Philip ever hears anything. A hopeful thought, even if probably a vastly over-optimistic one. Wouldn’t that be nice.

“You would… supply means for our travel?” Flynn asks at last. “Horses, provisions, clothes, the like?”

“If that would enable you to more conscientiously carry out the task I have asked of you, yes.” Philip inclines his head with faux humility. “Seeing as the lot of you are dressed like knaves to begin with, and should not at least give such insult as to stride into Richard’s court looking like that. Garments in your measure may be difficult to come by, but I will do my best. As for a fee, it will be payable upon your successful return. And perhaps your lady wife would wish to stay and enjoy the society of the court?”

“No,” Flynn blurts out, fast enough to be rude. There is no way in absolute hellfire that he is leaving Lucy behind as a hostage, which he knows damn well that she would be. No chance he’s leaving her alone, no certain chance of a reunion, with the sleeper agent probably just waiting for the opportunity. “We…” He reaches out and puts his arm around Lucy, pulling her close. “We are very fond of each other. She is a great help to me, Your Grace.”

“In matters of war? I have not yet met the woman that was.” Philip turns on his heel to pick up his goblet again, which is probably a good thing as he misses Lucy’s appalled little huff. “I find that excessive reliance on one’s wife is not a trait to be celebrated, frankly. But for such touching marital fidelity, I can allow it. And you will be taking those others as well?”

“Yes,” Flynn says. “We will go together, my lord, or we will not go at all.”

Lucy glances up at him, as if impressed by this display of solidarity, and Philip considers it. Finally he says, “Very well. You may take your manservant and the heathen. We will discuss the arrangements tomorrow – I break my fast after Lauds, you will join me then. In the meanwhile, it does grow quite late, and you must have had a wearying journey from… Castile. You and Lady Lucy may repair upstairs, I will have a chamber made ready. The other two may sleep in the hall with the rest of the serving folk.”

Flynn thinks that despite everything, this may be his favorite mission yet, especially when this arrangement is conveyed to Wyatt and Rufus. Wyatt looks like he is about to spit fire at the thought that Flynn gets to go to an actual room with Lucy, while he and Rufus are expected to crash with the rest of the castle’s residents who don’t have their own quarters, who push aside the trestle tables and bed down in the dirty rushes of the great hall. “Look,” Wyatt says. “Can’t we just go back to the hotel? We paid extra for that room.”

When this is translated to him, Philip raises an elegant black eyebrow. “Leave my palace, you mean? No, I don’t see how that will be necessary. And since when does a manservant voice opinions on these things? I suggest more beating, to be frank.”

“So do I,” Flynn says with fervor, earning himself a dirty look from Lucy. “You are a wise and just man, Your Grace. A gentleman and a scholar.”

Philip gives the amused little smile of someone who sups on flattery daily, but is not above enjoying the taste. “That’s settled, then? Tomorrow, after Lauds. Good night.”

They echo it clumsily back to him, servants appear with the same well-trained speed, and Wyatt and Rufus are shown off to the hall (both glaring at Flynn, convinced – not without reason – that this is his fault) and Flynn and Lucy climb a set of tightly winding, narrow stone steps to a bedchamber on the next floor. At the sight of it, Flynn supposes that he doesn’t get to laugh too much at Wyatt and Rufus, unfortunately. The bed will fit Lucy nicely, but cut him off at about the knees, unless he curls up like a shrimp (and for that matter, if she wants him in it). Jesus. Midgets.

“Well,” Lucy says, once they’ve shut the door. “That was a disaster, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose.” Flynn isn’t honestly sure what constitutes a disaster anymore. “If you mean that we know where Richard is now, but because we’re supposed to travel there and spy on him on Philip’s behalf. And he’s not an idiot, he’s not going to let us go alone. He’ll send men with us, likely including the captain. We’ll have to lose them before we can even think about whatever we need to do with Richard.”

“So Rittenhouse is here,” Lucy says. “Both in Paris, and in Poitiers with Richard. They have more than one agent, they have plenty of moving pieces. And there’s a strong possibility that we’re playing exactly into their trap by going at all, but – ”

“But we can’t not go,” Flynn finishes grimly. “For any number of reasons. So yes. I suppose it’s a disaster.”

Lucy considers this, then gives a firm little nod. “We’ll figure it out,” she says. “We always do. Lauds is going to come early. We should get some sleep.”

Flynn glances at her awkwardly, but Lucy doesn’t seem inclined to challenge their sleeping arrangements. So, after he shucks the dirty 1799 coat and shoes, and she strips off to her shift, they crawl into the bed. He hikes his feet up, grumbling under his breath. The mattress is stuffed with straw and goose feathers, not entirely uncomfortable, but still scratchy, and the pillow is not what you would call ample. Not that he’s suddenly going to kick up a fuss about less-than-luxury accommodations, but he’ll wind up with a permanent crick in his back if they have to spend too many nights like this. He finds himself actually looking forward to getting to Richard’s court, much of a clusterfuck as it is likely to be, for the sole reason that Richard, in keeping with his larger-than-life reputation, had a stature to match: he’s estimated to have stood six-foot-four or five. His palace will be made with the comforts of a tall man in mind. About damn time.

Lucy drifts off quickly, though Flynn doesn’t, mind too busy with plans and possibilities and what the hell they’re going to do next – though he does steal a moment or two to watch her sleep. Besides, they’re very close to Notre Dame, and the fucking monks just have to punctiliously ring those bells, don’t they. He’s awoken once at midnight, again at three AM, and has given up all hope of getting back to sleep by the time the greyness is seeping into their room and it’s time to get up. But he must have dropped under enough not to notice when a servant came in and laid out new clothes for them. He reprimands himself for this carelessness – what if they had tried to do something else? Sloppy.

Nonetheless, there is nothing for it. Lucy has a new dress in blue, sleeves and neck trimmed in embroidery, a girdle and a fashionable bit of gauzy headwear that Flynn tells her is called a toque, a cloak with fox fur, and other garments more suitable for a respectable middle-class lady. As for Flynn, it’s clear that they have had to scramble, but they’ve come up with a tunic, braies, and boots, along with a green cloak that fastens over one shoulder with a bronze pin and makes him feel like a Viking. His toes cram against the end of the boots when he walks, and he’s tempted to keep his colonial shoes, but he might as well go for the look. The other ones are too small anyway. (This is a recurring problem in his life.)

Lucy eyes him approvingly once he’s changed, which makes Flynn think it was definitely worth it, and he offers his arm to escort her down the stairs, across the cool blue courtyard, and into the palace chapel, where the king and his household are hearing Lauds. Wyatt and Rufus are there already; they’ve managed to get some slightly nicer clothes as well, though there is still straw in Wyatt’s hair and he glares suspiciously at their arm-in-arm entrance. He gets glared at in return by Flynn, glances away, and reminds himself to deal with this later.

To his surprise, and to his grief, Flynn finds the service oddly comforting. It’s in Latin, which even he can’t really follow aside from a word here and there, but he’s been to enough High Church Catholic masses to know the drill, and it makes him think of the ones that Lorena took him to. They went to Italy on their honeymoon, there were tiny ancient churches everywhere, many of whom still offered services in the pre-Vatican II style. Flynn looks up at the light sifting through the diamonded window, and finds himself choking back tears. Kyrie, he thinks. Kyrie eleison. Not for him – he’s given up on that a while ago – but for them. In nominee Patri, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Can see Lorena next to him in the pew, crossing herself as the crucifix passes, and laughing over coffee afterward over how much she hates the fusty patriarchal nonsense of the old guard. Her faith was always a contradiction, a struggle and a question, but she never relinquished it altogether. God, how he misses her.

Flynn is brought back to earth with a start when the service is over, and everyone begins to file out. Philip catches his eye over the household’s heads, and tips his own in a significant manner, so Flynn changes direction and follows him, Lucy perforce tagging along. Wyatt and Rufus troop over as well, as Philip leads them through the hall and into his private solar. It’s a combination living room/dining room/study, with large windows to admit sunlight (hence the name), tapestries on the walls to keep the chill out, and a table currently set with breakfast. Everyone is hungry enough that it looks very good, and once Philip has taken his seat, they do the same. They also have to wait until he starts to eat before they do, but fortunately that is not very long. Flynn asks, “Are we leaving today, my lord?”

“Yes.” Philip sips his breakfast wine. “I’ve arranged an escort to accompany you. The roads may be dangerous, after all, and if you insist on taking your wife along, surely we have a duty to see her safe. It will not be large, only a dozen men, and they will be under strict instructions not to be seen with you when you arrive in Poitiers. You are, after all, not to give Richard any indication as to where you hail from, or my role in this endeavor.”

Flynn starts to say something, then stops. While this saves them the hassle of having to lose their guards first, and also trying to find their way to Poitiers by themselves, which would clearly be a nightmare, “a dozen men” is still obviously a lot more than there are of them. Even he and Wyatt would have their work cut out for them trying to take on a dozen knights, if for any reason they should discover that to be necessary, and probably half of them are Rittenhouse or Rittenhouse-trained. After a pause, Flynn says, “And do you think Richard will be fooled by that?”

“You’d best hope he is, mustn’t you?” Philip gives him a mild look. “Or that you can offer him something he wishes to hear? It is quite important that you do.”

“Meaning what?”

“I don’t see how I am obligated to share that information with my mercenary.” Philip shrugs, then smiles, raising his cup. “To your health. I daresay you will need it.”

Flynn daresays they will, and they finish breakfast in terse silence, Wyatt and Rufus not quite daring to glare at either Flynn or Philip one-on-one, but making it very clear that they would like to. Then they are shown out to the courtyard, where the dozen men (including the English-speaking captain, whose name is apparently Gerard) are waiting for them. Because they will be leaving the city and traveling on the roads, Flynn and Wyatt are allowed to carry swords. These are a lot heavier than they look, and while it’s impossible not to feel extremely cool when you belt one on like goddamn Aragorn from Lord of the Rings, there is also the fact that they will be flailing like idiots if they actually try to fight with them. (Well, Wyatt will; Flynn feels confident he can learn on the fly, but he’s under no illusions as to who would win in a pitched fight.) Some of the men are also in chainmail shirts, but those weigh thirty pounds and you have to be trained to bear the weight, much less stand up, move around, and fight in them. Mounted knights are the Panzer brigades of their day, and if they are crashing toward you with a ten-foot-long lance on a heavy warhorse, then God have mercy on your soul. (Plate armor won’t come into vogue for about another century and a half, but they do just fine without it right now.)

The horse part, at least, Flynn is excited about. There are four: two knights’ coursers for him and Wyatt (Flynn can manage it, but that is going to be a lot of horse for Wyatt – normally a servant would have a much worse mount, but it seems that Philip prefers speed over societal observance, as well as possibly not believing that Wyatt is really a manservant). There’s a gentler palfrey for Lucy, suitable for a lady, and a common mule for Rufus, who eyes it with a Really??! expression. Apparently they don’t feel the need to waste good French horseflesh on a black heathen, even if Rufus’s attendance at chapel this morning “proves” that he is not a Saracen. “Can we go to Spain yet?” he grumbles. “That sounds better.”

“No.” Flynn helps Lucy onto her horse (he knows they rode at least once, trying to catch up to him and Jesse James, but this is still not their forte), then steps lightly up into his stirrups, just to prove he can. He gathers up the reins and gets to know his mount a bit, cantering quick circles around the bailey, while Wyatt and his mount are still having a difference of opinion over who is controlling who here. Much as it’s enjoyable to watch him suffer, Flynn sighs and supposes that once again, he is going to have to be helpful. “Be firm,” he advises. “It’s a warhorse, it’s been trained to be contrary. Needs a few hits with the reins.”

“Great,” Wyatt grumbles. “It’ll be just like riding you.”

Flynn gives him an arch look, as if inviting Wyatt to reflect on how that sounded, and Wyatt makes a faint choking noise which would be extremely enjoyable in other circumstances. Rufus divides a judgmental stare between them and gets onto his mule, which then, in true mulish fashion, refuses to go anywhere. It is finally coaxed to do so after a few solid kicks from Rufus, which Flynn approves of; at least someone’s getting the point. Once they have all managed to not fall off their mounts (or the trio has, at any rate), the portcullis is opened, they start to move, and canter down the bridge and toward the Paris streets.

It’s a fine, watery-pale morning, not quite None, and Flynn is almost able to enjoy the sensation of riding again, even as he keeps a very sharp eye on everything around them, the hustle of the morning commerce, and how Lucy is doing with the palfrey. He tries to guess how long this will take. It’s a little over two hundred miles southwest from Paris to Poitiers, a ride of barely two hours on a modern TGV, but that, obviously, is not the case here. A man riding hard can do thirty or forty miles in a day; a king’s procession can sometimes barely make ten. At the most optimistic end, it’ll be at least a week. But Lucy, Wyatt, and Rufus will be in total agony if they ride that hard for that long, which even Flynn feels a little bad for.

There’s also the fact that the further they get away from Paris, the less use their French will be, and that was limited to start with. They just got by with Philip, but he speaks langue d’oïl, the northern French that becomes modern French. Richard himself also speaks that (though really, how to talk to him is the least of their problems right now), but the further south they go, the more it will turn into southern French, langue d’oc or Occitan, which is considerably different from and not necessarily mutually intelligible with Old French. They’ll have their friendly and not-at-all-evil guides for most of the trip, but once they get to Poitiers, communication is going to be even more of a pain. Flynn almost (almost) hopes the place is indeed crawling up the ass with Rittenhouse agents. At least they will speak English.

Flynn blows out a breath as they reach the city gates, and with the crowds and grime and churches and bridges and towers of Paris behind them, the world opens up into a sudden and almost shocking expanse of green ahead. Cities stop here in a way they don’t in the modern world, when they’re surrounded by rings and rings of suburbs and feeder communities and residential neighborhoods, until you finally transition into the countryside by means of a highway. There’s none of that here. There is Paris, and then there is no Paris, aside from a scattering of cottages. The road snakes off into the distance, a single, muddy track. It’s going to be a very long trip, in more ways than one.

Flynn considers it, and steals one more sidelong glance at Lucy. Then he puts his heels into his horse’s side, decides it’s not really worth it to look back now, and so, the wind in his face, he doesn’t.

#nbc timeless #timeless ff #garcy #garcy ff #flogan #garcyatt #the time team #the dragons on the map #for the anon who was curious about an update...#also it's official #i'm having too much fun

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andrewuttaro · 5 years ago

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New Look Sabres: GM 34 - NYI - Clap Back

3-2 OT Loss

Coming into this game it was the Eastern Conference’s two 2nd place teams in their divisions. You might have guessed the New York Islanders would be in this position before the season began; but the Sabres being in second place in their division in December is entirely new for most of us younger fans in Buffalo. Colin Miller sneaks an OT winner against Edmonton and next time you look over the Sabres are on a three-game winning streak. Though it may be a streaky stretch since Thanksgiving don’t say they haven’t been tested. None of the opponents on this three-game banger have been slouches. Say what you will about Nashville and a recent slump from St. Louis, they’re not the beneficiaries of a weak part of the schedule. They’ve faced adversity, often early on, in each of those contests. The formula we’ve seen in wins this season is… well not all that consistent. Ralph Krueger has experimented with the deployment so much that is feels pretty normal to see Jeff Skinner dragging any number of different line mates. There only line that seems consistent is Eichel’s. The experimentation has had a very positive impact on the defensive ranks where players who literally asked out in the offseason like Rasmus Ristolainen has seen his career as a Sabre resurrected by the ascendant Brandon Montour. Colin Miller has saved Jake McCabe. Henri Jokiharju has saved Marco Scandella. Weird world, eh? If it gets us win streaks I can’t say I’m complaining. The point here is in a variety of situations this hockey teams has weathered adversity. That’s a big component of championship team. I don’t know if this club is that caliber yet, but they are showing the signs. Today they weathered the adversity with their special teams: can you think of any other game this season where you can say they’ve accomplished that specific feat? Where they weathered adversity WITH THEIR SPECIAL TEAMS? You might look to a few games back in October but its no secret the powerplay has never been totally stellar. Using your weakness as a strength? That’s clap back energy. They had it today.

The first period adversity hit hard today. The Islanders came out with speed and dekes. Linus Ullmark was tested frequently early on. The Isles forecheck was something out of a playoff game. It was so killer that about five minutes in when Ullmark opted to keep the puck in play hoping for a zone exit he was immediately punished. Jeff Skinner kinda laid the puck off the Ullmark who put it back to the boards hoping for Rasmus Dahlin to move on with it and instead Anthony Beauvillier scooped it up and sent it to the streaking Michael Dal Colle. Colle sunk it. It was 1-0 Islanders and the visitors began finding their moments. In the back half of the first period they were able to make more successful zone exits before it degraded back into the dump-in-chase show. What do the tough do when going gets tough? Well… I guess they get tough on the boards. Marco Scandella laid a hard but legal hit on an Islander on the boards and Josh Bailey came after him shortly thereafter for what they call extracurricular activities. It is Saturday though so idk if that’s what you call it, LOL. Both ended up entangled on the ice, but it was the Sabres who went to a powerplay that gave them some momentum that carried into the second period. They got another powerplay early in that period and it was just okay at first. You don’t like the Sabres spending a full 35 seconds of it without the puck but we’re at a phase with this team’s powerplay where you just need to count your blessings. After they got the puck for a sustained time Captain Jack got the puck over to Dahlin at the point who blasted it to Victor Olofsson for the one timer. It went top shelf in and out. With that it was tied and Jack Eichel’s point streak moved to 16 games.

The Sabres penalty kill hasn’t been terrible since Thanksgiving. It got a full workout as the second period went on. One, Two and Three calls against the team from Buffalo. The Risto holding call was very late and Johansson interference call was weak if you ask me but I’m not one to waste time complaining about the refs. Beauvillier certainly sold it hard. Nothing came of those chances and it was a tie game going into the second intermission. Just like all the games in this recent stretch, it could have gone either way by the feel of it. Now I know I just said I’m not the one to complain about refs but one of the things that can decide a game that goes either way are the calls… or the ones you don’t get. There were several egregious non-calls that hurt Buffalo in the third period. For the sake of appearing like I sincerely don’t want to talk about officiating I’ll only point out one of said non-calls. The Sabres are on the powerplay on the only call they got in the third and are doing battle along the walls to the right of Semyon Varlamov in the Islanders net. Jack Eichel gets held and hauled down to the ice. The puck battle is still going on and he looks around in shock that it wasn’t called. He got up and got back to work on the powerplay. A few moments later he got the puck in a frantic stick-whipping match right in front of Varlamov before whipping it into the netting with less than two minutes left in regulation. That’s leadership. That’s not just assurance of his league-leading point streak, that’s the most palpable example of this team’s new clap-back energy. It got this game into overtime. The phrasing of the change we’ve seen in the Sabres under Ralph Krueger was “play connected” but something now plainly obvious after 34 games is that you can complete the sentence: “Play Connected and Clap Back!”

The OT was as consistent as the Sabres overall effort today: on point. Buffalo carried the possession in the extra frame and had some sick chances including one where the puck ended up on top of the Isles net. Nonetheless this game was one decided by momentary mistakes. Jack Eichel fanned on a pass in just such a way to allow Beauvillier to pick it up to go off on the breakaway and end the game. The Sabres were narrowly the better team in this game but as fans its hard to feel hard-done-by when their effort throughout was so good. I mean if you want to get pissy about the refs this game feels like the right one to do so. Nonetheless this was a great game. Rasmus Dahlin had a decided lead among defenseman in time-on-ice and while you may know exactly whose second in that category without even looking Dahlin’s play was a very encouraging sign today. Perhaps one player’s absence was very felt on this Sabres team. No, I know Miller was benched in the rotation, but we’ve talked that one to death. How about Zach Bogosian? I think we have to be thankful he wasn’t in this game. Alleged trade request aside he would’ve gotten the Islanders so many more powerplays in this tight game. The guy is more of the Islanders style of fighting a dangerous physical battle when you can just win the right way instead. Hey… what can we get from New York for Bogosian? I digress: after a Post-Thanksgiving resurgence defined by revitalized 5-on-5 play the Sabres almost won this game because of a determined edge in special teams. How wild is that? The Captain’s point total reached a league high on the season at 16 games and apart from the full win what more can you really ask for out of this game? Don’t say better officiating, we all know that won’t happen in this league.

Now we once again find ourselves staring down another tilt with Toronto on Tuesday. This road trip is stacked with a closer against the surging Philadelphia Flyers on Thursday. Toronto is the main course as they’ll have just gotten home from the Western Canada road trip that gave us a hurting last week. They lost to Calgary on Thursday and hopefully Edmonton tonight. You could say they’ll be hungry, but I like to think they’ll feel defeated. Get two points. If the special teams play like this for us on Tuesday I don’t see why not. It just so happens that of right now the Sabres and the Flyers happen to have the same number of points in the standings. Surging or not I like our odds against them too. I was wrong in Western Canada but hopefully the mid-Atlantic treats me better. In the meantime: like, share and comment on this blog. I think the Bills can pull it off on Sunday night football. Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. Considering the snooze-fest that was that early November game against the Isles back in Buffalo I’ll consider this one some revenge.

#buffalo sabres #Hockey #NHL #blog

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grapsandclaps · 6 years ago

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GRAPS AND CLAPS REVIEWS - FUTURESHOCK UNDERGROUND 31 #PACINPRESTWICH

Hello and welcome everyone to this edition of Graps and Claps taking me this time to Prestwich once again for Futureshock Wrestling Underground 31 to see the appearance of former WWE star and current Dragon Gate kingpin PAC as he was set to take on one of Futureshocks standouts in the form of Soner Dursun for whom in recent months had recaptured the form that he was showing in a Futureshock ring in 2017 - so anticipation for this match was at a high level for those in attendance, which I can happily say was very much a sellout with people standing at the back to get a view of the action.

As ever, though before the wrestling was the pre-show festivities in Bury, as me and Geoff took our friend Andrew Campbell on a whistle-stop tour of the town's drinking scene as he had not visited it before. First pub was The Thirsty Fish Micro pub that is located next to Bury Bus Station, this small establishment was fairly packed with customers wanting to take a break from shopping on Bury's world famous market with a wide range of Cask, Keg and Ciders to wet the whistle - of which I tried two pints, first off being from Stod Fold Brewery - West Coast Pale Ale (4% £3) which was a nice light starter but rating nothing above average for this drink. However, the pint of Moorhouse Sabbath Flight IPA (5% £3.40) was a more Moorish drink that hit all of the right notes. Even though this place is tucked away from most of the other pubs in Bury, it is certainly one to visit on your travels!

Next stop as ever on a walk around Bury was The Trackside who finished No.2 in the 'Pub of the Year' for Graps and Claps offering a good range of local ales ranging from your 3.8% pales to 12% Barrel Aged Stout this is a good place for the beer connoisseur. My pint for the half an hour or so we was here for was a pint of Torrside Marynka Hazy Pale Ale (4.5% £3.20) that was quite fruity in taste, on the other hand Andrew's 7.4% stout was a bit too strong in barrel aged taste. Next pub was just the 1-minute walk to The Clarence which is home to Silver Street Brewery, plus a range of other ales, cocktails and a good fine dining experience which it has won awards for - a far cry from when it used to be a proper local shithole that I frequented on many a Thursday night. Only the one pint here from Scottish Brewery Inveralmond 'Bard' (4.6% £3.75 with a CAMRA discount), that I would give a 6/10 - proper solid malty drink!

With the time coming up to half 4, we then visited two more pubs before taking the tram to Prestwich. First being, Wyldes which is under the Joseph Holt's banner. Recently this place has had a refurbishment, now offering pizzas on order and plenty of TV Screens showing the afternoon's sport which to be honest has added a bit more character to a pub which was always generally quiet when I used to go regularly. Siding with a pint of Nethergate Glory (3.8% £2.57) as it was the only one on the bar I hadn't had, we finished this off quickly, before moving on to the last stop being Automatic which is ran by the same people who run The Clarence, another fine dining place, but it does sell a good range of cask ales and a big range of whisky's if that is your tipple of choice. I myself though, went for a pint of Three Brothers APA (4.5% £3.25) that was just passable - still though well worth a visit - I certainly recommend the food here of what I can remember from my only Valentines Day in this building (yes I am still bitter - ha! Jilted Ex)

Drinks done, we arrived in Prestwich at 6:05pm only to be greeted with a huge queue outside the Longfield Suite with not much sign of it moving. We were all ready to queue, but we were greeted with the presence of Shauna who we hadn't seen for a few weeks since WXW in London (amazing to think we seemed to see each other every week), so with Shauna in tow we went for a quick drink in the Railway and Naturalist as we waited for the queue to whittle down, which it duly did when we got back in for 6:30pm. Initially though we stood up at the back up until the third match, as eagle eyed Geoff spotted empty seats on the front row next to Shauna, so we took up base there for the remainder of the show. So, with that said let's get into what went down!

First up it was 'Mr Purple Pants' Isaiah Quinn taking on Henry T.Grodd, with the latter looking to build momentum as he looked to stake a claim once again to challenge Crater for the Futureshock Title. Grodd early on beat down on Quinn to floor The Guiding Light, that was until Quinn fit a face front slam on Quinn to get back in the game. However, that was about as much as Quinn would get in as Grodd hit a tilt-a-whirl slam to Quinn and soo finished off Isaiah with a BIG Lariat to get the three count. Grodd as he has been, is getting over very well with the Futureshock audience and in some people's eyes he should be the only to slay Crater and not John McGregor but that is debatable.

Up next was 8-man tag action with many of this writer's favoruite involved with the newly turned JJ Webb teaming with Big Joe, Damon Leigh and the Nordic Accountant Thomas Wolfe to take on Callum Corrie, William Regal's son Joe Bailey and The Young Guns (Ethan Allen and Luke Jacobs). Now The Young Guns here were hoping to get a much needed victory as they have been on the wrong side of things in the last three months losing to James Drake & Sam Bailey and also Big Joe and DDL (Big and Brave) and it would be a great start for the Guns as Jacobs was like a house on fire hitting rapid fire clotheslines and knees to anyone in sight. However as the match went on, it would be Big Joe who put the baddies in control, until Joe Bailey who was wearing his dad's hand me downs, hit a double underhook suplex to Joe to get the hot tag to Callum Corrie. Unfortunately for Corrie it didn't end too well as chaos ensued around the ringside area, leading to DDL and Joe finsihing off Corrie, as Damon hit the compactor to get the three count. Chalk up another one in the loss column for the guns, who will be hoping for better luck next time as they team with The Hurricane to take on Joe, DDL and Wolfe on March 17th at Stockport Town Hall.

3rd match was 'Serious' Kev Lloyd looking to soften up Crater who is due to take on his former team mate John McGregor on the 17th March at Stockport for the Futureshock Title. As the sirens sounded for Crater, so did the patter of feet going to the bar/toilet! Now when they look back at the record books, this match will say Crater won this match which he duly did using his plodding and ponderous offence to flatten Kev with a huge lariat for the three count in around 5 minutes. What it won't say will be what a shower of shit this match was and it wasn't Kev's fault as he is a very accomplished wrestler who I do feel deserves better than this! The reaction to Crater as Champion is being played out to total silence, which has been shown in the crowd wanting a change in the form of the more mobile pairing of Grodd and John McGregor - which we all hope will be sooner rather than later.

Grodd after this match tried to attack Crater with a spear but was thwarted as the big man knocked him down - BOOOOO!!!

Thankfully after that, we got back on track as we had 3-way action for the Adrenaline Title as Chris Ridgeway took on C.J Banks and the Champion Joey Hayes, with the latter wanting to hold to his ever growing title collection at the moment that would make the Ultimo Dragon jealous. Originally, as people might remember this was supposed to involve Ilja Draguanov, but due to Dark Match duties in Coventry against my boy Ashton Smith he was otherwise engaged meaning Chris Ridgeway was his replacement. Hayes and Banks on the other hand have been tearing the house down at Stockport and Manchester, with possibly the first meeting being the best of the two! As a match, I thought this was possibly the best match of the night, with all three competitors producing a fun 3-way action that involved everyone at every moment, which generally you have one on the outside and the other two do the work - so at least this was something different from the norm.

Lasting around 15 minutes, the end came when CJ Banks who was looking to finally topple Joey Hayes, ending up getting hit with the JKO to leave him laying on the outside leaving Joey and Ridgeway to battle it out of which Hayes got the better of it as he locked in the Cross Hayes to Ridgeway who tapped out to end a fine match. After the match we had a confrontation between Hayes and Banks who look set to have another war in the coming months.

We then went into the 15-minute break and half-time photos with Chris Ridgeway of which there were quite a few takers.

Back from the break we came back with John McGregor looking for a fight with a former Futureshock Champion as he looked to get validation from someone to if he is really going to be the man to topple Crater. Now rumours had been rife that a certain Jack Gallagher was going to answer the challenge as he had been tweeting from the National Football Museum in Manchester and that looked to be proven right when Gallagher's music sounded to a great ovation from the Prestwich audience, sadly though there was no Gentleman in sight as McGregor looked on and duly attacked from behind by one Sam Bailey - BOOOOOO!!!!

Obviously with the early attack, Bailey was on top for quite a lot of this match much to the groans of the audience, still though give Bailey his due he is still a capable of putting on a good match and it certainly looked at one stage that he would prove to be that bump in the road for McGregor, but maybe he got a bit cocky for his own good as he was hit with a Tornado DDT by a valiant McGregor who got the three count in a good match to prove that McGregor possibly does have it to defeat Crater next month.

Women's action next with Futureshock up and comer in this division Hollie taking on Taonga with the shrieking Alexxis Falcon in her corner. Now as mentioned on Futureshock's last show, both Taonga and Falcon got involved in Hollie's and Lana Austin's match causing a DQ so this was set fair for Hollie to get some much needed revenge on Taonga and Falcon. For the duration of this contest it has to be noted that Alexxis was being a constant nuisance on the outside especially with our section - sitting on my mate Andrew's lap, whilst also giving shit to me and Shauna, to her credit this did get a reaction from us lot - so well done! Falcon also got involved in the ring as well as Hollie floored Taonga with a Bazooka Knee, Alexxis came up from behind to hit Hollie with a high spin kick to leave Hollie laying, which then led to Taonga to hit the Unprettier for the 3 much to the boos of the audience. Honestly, I thought this turned out better than I though it would be - good stuff!

After the obligatory raffle, we now come to the Main Event with Soner Dursun taking on 'The Bastard' PAC in what was set to be an absolute humdinger! You know what this did not disappoint anyone who bought a ticket with PAC bringing his working boots and so did Dursun who has been one of the underrated stars of the North West scene in the last couple of years. We had dives, strikes and high-octane action that kept the Prestwich crowd on the edge of their seats for the near 20-minute duration. Soner looked like he had PAC beat as he got a 2 count on a Spanish Fly as they soared through the air, it has to be said how great PAC looks with his shoulders looking like someone's kneecap - he has certainly not been on the pie and chips diet like me! PAC as well is just so fluid with his transitions from move to move, just a treat to watch.

As the match reached its conclusion, it would be the man from the North East who would get the win as he hit a 450 splash and then locked in the 'Rings of Saturn' to tap out The Turkish Wolf to end an absolute corker of a match, possibly my second best match of the year only after the Irie/Cobb match from Leeds last week - still this should be one you should search out when it comes on Futureshock On Demand.

Show done, it time took make our way home, but not before having a quick chat to 442Dale and Chaff off the Rochdale Fan's Forum about Rochdale perilous position in League 1 and to whether Keith Hill should go - its a Yes from me! Making our way to the tram after walking past the huge queue to see PAC, we got back into Bury for 9:30pm as our wrestling weekend came to an end, with us now looking forward to Tidal's show in London on March 3rd. Anyways if you want to check out any matches from this show make sure you watch PAC vs Dursun and Banks vs Hayes vs Ridgeway.

As ever give this a like, retweets and share on the usual social media platforms and until next time - BYE!!

@oggypart3

#grapsandclaps

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i-may-have-a-point · 8 years ago

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Chicago Chapter 2

Okay, here is the update. This chapter takes a bit of a twist, and I would love to know what you think about it. Again, this is my first attempt at this, so any feedback is greatly appreciated.

April shifted uncomfortably in her chair and looked up at the clock. Time was not moving. Up until this point, her visit to the Avery Trauma Center had been as impressive as she had imagined. The entire facility was equipped to treat multi-level trauma patients which meant there was a constant, heightened level of intensity and energy that April craved so much. Catherine had given her doctor’s privileges so she was able to scrub in on a couple of surgeries and give the Chief of Trauma in the Emergency Room several pointers on how to make his ER run smoother and more efficiently. He seemed genuinely interested in her ideas and invited her to come by his office to discuss them more. But first, he suggested April sit in on a department meeting so she could get a better idea of how things were already operating. Department meetings at Grey-Sloan were generally quick and direct. Dr. Bailey valued her surgeons time and didn’t want to waste any of it on things that could just as well be sent through an email. This Chief, Dr. Dotson, apparently had different views on the value of meetings. At around the forty-five-minute mark April found herself having a hard time keeping her eyes open, and she was grateful when she felt the familiar buzz of her phone in her pocket.

Her stomach fluttered briefly as she saw Jackson’s name on the screen.

Jackson – Are you busy?

April – I am being slowly tortured in the world’s worst dept. meeting. So no. Not busy. If I’m being honest I stopped listening on slide ten of his power point.

Jackson – Ugh…power point. That sounds rough. Who is running the meeting?

April – Dr. Jeff Dotson

Jackson- Oh, that guy. Yeah, he likes to hear himself talk. Sorry you got roped into that. Did my mom abandon you?

April – She’s having lunch with some board members. So, you know him? I don’t remember you coming out here.

Jackson – I haven’t been there in years, but he and I went to medical school together. He always felt the need to compete with me and was so happy when he got a job at an Avery hospital and I went to Mercy West. Like, man, c’mon. I own that hospital. If I wanted to work there I would.

April – Oh, he’s one of those? Great. He wants to meet with me to discuss my ideas. Sounds like he just wants to tell me why his are better. Fun.

Jackson – You’re meeting with him? Is my mom going to be there too?

April – I don’t know. Probably not. Why?

Jackson – No reason

“…and Dr. Kepner agrees with me. Right Dr. Kepner?” April looked up from her phone to find all eyes in the room fixed on her.

“I’m sorry. I had a message from someone at the hospital back in Seattle. Umm…what were we discussing?” She tried to hide the embarrassment in her voice.

“I was just telling my team that I think using a checklist for ER patients would make things more streamlined and efficient. Don’t you agree?” Dr. Dotson smiled at April, but she returned his gaze with a confused one of her own. She had told him about the checklist she implemented at Grey-Sloan and how much improvement they had seen in their ER since she created it. Was he taking credit for her idea? She couldn’t very well call him out in from of his own staff, but she planned to bring it up at the meeting.

“A checklist. Right. I think using a checklist in the ER is a great idea.” April half smiled at him, grateful that her answer seemed to satisfy the others in the room and they turned their attention back to Dr. Dotson.

When the meeting finally ended, April quickly headed for the door to make her way to the cafeteria. She was in desperate need of caffeine and carbs.

“Dr. Kepner, hold on a moment!” She heard Dotson call out to her as she was just a few steps from the door. Crap, the meeting. She had forgotten about that. She turned around and saw that he had already made his way over to her. “Where are you running off to in such a hurry? I thought we had plans?”

“Right, of course. We’re going to discuss the ER procedures. I haven’t forgotten. I was just hoping to grab some coffee before I made my way to your office.” She explained. “Meet you there in five minutes?”

Dr. Dotson ran his hand down the back of her arm from her shoulder to her elbow letting it linger for a moment before dropping it back to his side. “Looking forward to it,” he replied, smiling.

Well, that makes one of us, April thought, and as she turned to walk out of the room she decided to take the long way to the cafeteria.

April’s coffee was half empty by the time she stepped off the elevator on to the floor where Jeff Dotson’s office was located. When he had first suggested meeting with her, she was excited about it, but now, something felt a little off. After he took credit for her checklist idea in the staff meeting, she knew that Jackson was definitely right about him. He placed a lot of value on getting recognition and coming out on top. That wasn’t the type of person she wanted to spend her afternoon with, and she certainly didn’t plan on offering him anymore helpful tips to improve his ER.

The door that read Dr. Jeff Dotson, M.D., was closed when April found it. Standing outside, April debated whether to knock or skip the meeting altogether. After several seconds, she decided she didn’t want to be rude at Jackson’s family’s hospital, so with a deep sigh, she knocked on the door.

Jeff opened the door and gestured for April to come in. “That was a long five minutes. Did you get lost?”

“Oh, um, yeah. I guess I did.” April took a seat in the chair in front of his desk while Jeff sat on the edge of his desk directly in front of her. He looked down at her and scoffed, “April, this hospital is not that big. If you can’t find your way around here, how do you ever find your way around an O.R.? Well, I guess you have nurses to help you then, huh?” He laughed to himself and April opened her mouth to reply, but before she could decide just what to say, Jeff continued talking. “So, you said someone from Seattle messaged you? Is Grey Sloan falling apart without you there?”

April couldn’t decide if he was being intentionally condescending or if he thought he was charming. She tried her best to keep her thoughts out of her expression. “Uh, no. Jackson was just updating me on a patient’s surgery.”

“Jackson? Jackson Avery? I take it you two are close? I mean, of course you are. Catherine Avery doesn’t give just anyone a personal tour of the Avery Trauma Center.” Jeff was prying and she wasn’t sure why. This meeting was supposed to be about making improvements in the ER, but so far it seemed to be more about her personal life.

She decided to try to steer the conversation back to work. “Yes, Jackson and I are very close, and I respect Catherine Avery very much. But I really wanted to talk to you about the emergency room. Do you have any data on how many patients you take in daily?”

Irritation flashed across Jeff’s face, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll get the data later. So, you met Avery at Grey-Sloan? His mom, like, bought him the hospital or something, right? If you’re so close to him why aren’t you Chief of Trauma? Or on the board?”

The conversation was making April uncomfortable, so she stood from her chair and took a step towards the door. “I’m sorry, Dr. Dotson, but I really need to go find Catherine. If you have a chance to get the data together, I would love to look at it for you. Maybe I can email you some ideas when I get back to Seattle. Thank you for meeting with me, but I really have to go.”

Jeff rose from his spot on the edge of the desk and stepped closer to April. “Catherine is at lunch with the board members which basically means they will be out for the rest of the afternoon.” As he spoke, he crossed the floor and closed the space between himself and April. She jumped a bit when he placed his hands on her waist and lowered his voice to say, “April, relax. We’re just getting to know each other. We both know you came to my office for a reason.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Dotson, but I think you have the wrong idea. I’m not - ”

“I think I have the exact right idea. I have met plenty of women like you. You have this sweet and innocent act but you attach yourself to the most powerful man in the room to get what you want. And it sounds like Jackson isn’t giving it to you, so let me give it to you instead.” His face was inches from hers and although April was trying to pull away from his grasp, his hands only tightened on her waist.

“Dr. Dotson, you need to let go of me, now. I don’t know why you think I came here, but you’re wrong. I – I – want to leave.” April’s voice faltered a bit.

“Is this what you do to Avery, too? You show up in his office and act like you aren’t there for one reason only? Well, like I said, if he can’t give it to you, I will.” In one quick movement, he pushed her against the wall behind her and forced his mouth on to hers. She turned her face away from his while his hands roughly grabbed at her body in places only one other person had touched. “Stop! I said stop!” she pleaded with tears in her eyes. She pushed against his chest, attempting to break free from him, but it only seemed to encourage him more. His rough hands scratched at her stomach under her shirt now, and she began to pray that he would stop. He was bigger and stronger than her, and there was no way she could fight him off. She looked over to the office door and wanted nothing more than to find a way to get there, to the other side of the door, and as far away from this man as she could get.

In that instant, the door to Dr. Dotson’s office swung open and a doctor ran in looking frantic. “Jeff, what the hell? I’ve been paging you. We have a bus crash on the freeway and the ER is filling up –“

April didn’t wait to hear the rest. She quickly stepped around Dotson, grabbed her bag, and ran from the room without looking back.

#japril fanfiction

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 8 years ago

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Where You Go To Rest Your Bones

TWW one-shot, Josh x Sam, set after "Red Haven's on Fire." An early present for @actuallylukedanes. Happy almost-birthday, spouse of mine!

When Sam disappears after the special election, Josh follows to bring him back home. Unstoppable force meets immovable object...in close quarters with minimal clothes.

“Sam had always been sunshine and lemonade and puppies, more than any other political operative Josh had ever known. Bitterness didn’t suit him.”

Cross-posted on AO3; more notes can be found there.

“I called you seventeen times,” Josh said by way of greeting when Sam answered the door. He pushed past Sam into his apartment, squinting his eyes in the darkness. “God, it’s a cave in here.”

“California sun. Late night.” Sam rubbed at his gritty eyes, trying to see the clock over Josh’s shoulder. “Is it two in the morning?”

“Yeah,” Josh agreed. “Five in D.C.”

The weeks on the campaign trail had aged Sam since Josh saw him last. He sounded different in the dark. Weary. “You couldn’t have waited until a more reasonable hour?”

“Nah, why bother?”

“Common courtesy, for one thing.” Sam sighed and shut the door behind him, turning on the light. “Well, you’re here. What did you come to say that you couldn’t have left in a message during one of those seventeen phone calls?”

“You know what I came to say.”

“Oh, god, Josh.” He closed his eyes, willing himself back to the blissful oblivion of sleep. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a dream. “No.”

“No? Just like that?”

“Yes. Just like that. You had to know what my answer would be, after all those missed calls.”

Josh frowned, deep furrows creasing his forehead. “Well, actually I thought that flying all the way across the country might get me a little more consideration.”

Sam yawned, trying to blink the tired away. “You have frequent flyer miles.”

“Still.” Josh raised hopeful eyebrows at him. “There was turbulence.”

“Oh, well, since there was turbulence…nope, still no.” Sam dropped onto his couch, gesturing for Josh to sit. Clearly they were going to have this out.

“Come on, Sam.” Josh pulled out the cajoling tone that he knew usually worked. “What are you going to do with your life that’s better than this? Come home.”

He blinked. Home. That was how he thought of the White House, deep down, secretly. Of course Josh would get that. They were family, and home, and he’d failed them. He couldn’t go back there, take their pity and a job that Will Bailey was better suited for anyway. It was time to move on.

“The weather sucks,” he replied lightly, avoiding the issue. “The pay is even worse.”

“That's crap,” Josh countered evenly. “You don’t care about the money. You never have.”

Sam shrugged. Josh wasn’t wrong. He’d made enough at Gage Whitney to be secure for decades, anyhow. “Not the point.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“I’m not going back.”

Josh froze. He heard the finality in Sam’s voice and began to panic. “You’re not serious. I mean, sure, a little time to lick your wounds, a vacation, even…but not ever? You can’t be serious.”

“I am. Look at my face, Josh.”

He did, and his own crumpled. “Why not?”

“I don’t belong there anymore.”

“That’s idiotic. Of course you do. You write for the President, Sam. How many people can say that? How high up the food chain do you have to be to feel like you’re in the room?”

“I’m not talking about-” He cut himself off with a sigh. “That’s not what I mean. Why would I care about that?”

“Well, then-”

“I can’t help Toby the way he needs, Josh. That’s why I sent Will. I’ve been in the trenches too long and I can’t see past the weeds. I’m just…I’m so damn tired.”

Josh got up to sit next to him on the couch. “I get the feeling we’re not talking about my unexpected wake-up call now.”

“No.”

“Well, god, Sam, we’re all tired. I’m pretty sure Toby’s asleep on his feet half the time at this point. But we have to keep fighting. How else are we going to win?”

“Don’t you get it? That’s the whole point! I didn’t!”

His words echoed in the dimly lit room as the silence stretched out between them.

Stunned by Sam’s explosion, Josh ran a hand through his hair and studied him. “Of course you didn’t.”

His wounded eyes met Josh’s. “I thought I could. That’s what I went there to do. I believed it was possible.”

“So did I,” Josh admitted. “I mean, we’ve seen worse odds.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow his way.

“Okay, maybe not. But close. It’s not like President Bartlet was a shoo-in the first time around…or the second.”

“What was it you said? That you wouldn’t allow me to look like a fool?” He sounded sour, like lemonade before the sugar got added. Sam had always been sunshine and lemonade and puppies, more than any other political operative Josh had ever known. Bitterness didn’t suit him.

“You acted like I had a shot. I believed it because I believed you. Josh, I just got destroyed out there.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Josh reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “I wanted it to be true. I was wrong.”

“I saw the national coverage on Donna and Perez,” Sam told him, changing the subject, even though he knew it wouldn’t work.

“It’ll blow over. One silver lining from your campaign was definitely that disaster of a meeting. She’s been reading books about communists now and going on these long tirades about manifestos and bread. It’s hilarious. Don’t you care that you’re missing it?”

“Of course I miss it!” Sam was insulted by the question. “I’m not exactly enjoying my existential crisis. But I can’t leave here until I decide where I'm going next.”

“Make it easy on yourself and be who you’re supposed to be,” he suggested. “We can catch the same flight back, sit together.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Not happening.” Stretching, he opened the blackout curtains to the neon lights outside his window, giving Josh a better look at him.

He reached over to brush at Sam’s hair with his fingertips. It had grown out so much, Josh thought. He’d never let it get this long in D.C. “You look like a surfer,” he said with a grin.

“You’ve never seen a surfer in your life.”

“Well, you look like a surfer in a movie,” he decided, “all tan, with the hair. Do you even own a suit anymore?”

“It’s been a week since the election, Josh. You’re acting like you haven’t seen me in years.”

Maybe it felt that way, Josh admitted to himself. Despite his visible fatigue, Sam seemed more relaxed here: less Princeton, less anxious. Almost like losing the race had been a relief somehow. “Nothing but phone calls during the campaign,” he pointed out. “So, really, it’s been months. We make a great team, remember?”

“I appreciate the interest,” Sam said with finality, “I really do. But I'm out. I need a different way to accomplish my goals.”

“Hmm.” Josh had already moved on, in that way of his that left no room for argument but refused to cede the point. Sam gave up for the moment. It was 2 o’clock in the morning, after all.

“Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Fine.” Josh rubbed a hand over his hair, making it stick up even worse after the plane ride. “Do you have stuff I could borrow?”

“What do you mean?”

Josh looked down sheepishly. “I was in a hurry. I didn’t exactly book a hotel room, so I was hoping I could stay here. And maybe bum something off you to sleep in?”

Sam laughed. Hand it to Josh to show up unexpectedly, plan to stay without invitation, try to convince him to do what he least wanted to, and then ask to borrow his clothes.

Not that he was likely to say no to any of it. Josh knew him well.

He waved a tired hand toward the couch. “Go for it. I’ll be right back.”

Grabbing the first set of old pajamas he found, Sam returned from his room and tossed them at Josh. “They might be a little tight. You’re…bigger than me.”

Josh swallowed his smirk at that. “Thanks.” He started stripping before Sam was gone.

Sam flopped back in his own bed with the image of Josh shirtless emblazoned on his brain. There was no reason for it to be weird, he scolded himself as he fell asleep. Josh was shirtless all the time: to play basketball, getting ready for public events, even hanging out off-duty sometimes.

But being in California made everything feel slightly off-kilter, like a vacation from reality in the endless sunlight. Then there was his new freedom from responsibility–he could go anywhere now, choose just about any job. What did he want?

Swallowing, he closed his eyes against his brain’s automatic retort. He’d left those feelings for Josh behind a long time ago. Or at least he thought he had. Now, with Josh just one door away, he could feel the same ache, rushing back like it had never faded. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe he had been in denial for all these years.

He laid awake long after Josh started snoring, thinking about all the little moments that had led them here, and where he wanted to go next.

****

When he woke back up, Josh was already checking his messages. “When’s your flight back?” Sam asked over coffee.

“What flight?”

“Your flight back to D.C., Josh. When do you leave?”

“I haven’t got one.” Josh shrugged a shoulder casually. Too casually.

“What do you mean? They won't let you stay here for long, I know that much.”

“Doesn’t mean I booked my flight yet.” Josh sent him a smile. “Told you, I want to get adjacent seats.”

“Josh…”

“I’ve got two days.” He met Sam’s gaze. “Leo gave me two days for this ‘crazy attempt of mine,’ as he called it, before I have to get my ass back to the Oval.”

“Leo doesn’t think I’ll come back.” Sam nodded, oddly comforted by that. If Leo understood, maybe the others would too…and they would hate him less. “But he let you try anyway.”

“He knew I needed to.” Josh talked about leaving his post with the confidence of someone who sat exactly where he wanted to be, no matter the stress and chaos that surrounded him. Sam had always admired that, while he worried and hoped and was never quite sure if he was where he should be.

But California had taught him one very important lesson: wherever that place was, the West Wing wasn’t it anymore.

“Why did you need to?” He asked when he realized Josh had quietly been watching him think for the last few minutes.

“What kind of dumbass question is that?” Josh frowned, as though he expected better. “We need you, Sam. You belong with us, as part of the team. Everybody misses you.”

A hint of a smile played around his mouth. “Margaret and Bonnie the other day, you should have seen–”

“Everybody misses me.” Sam thought about that, too. It wasn’t ‘everybody’ who had been calling him, arguing the case for his return, keeping in touch. It was just Josh.

“Yeah.”

“Including you. You miss me. And…need me?”

Josh returned to frowning. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded, more to himself than for Josh’s benefit.

“Okay, as in you’ll come back?”

He laughed. “No. Okay, as in okay, that’s good to know.”

“Come on, Sam,” Josh pleaded, sitting next to him on the bed. “What’s it going to take to bring you back with me? I’m not leaving until we figure this out.”

“There’s nothing you can do. I’m done as Deputy. I’m done with the West Wing.”

He softened his tone, guilt paining him. “It’s not because I won’t miss you guys too. I just can’t…I can’t go back there and shove myself in where I don’t fit.”

“You keep saying that but it doesn’t make sense,” Josh countered. “Of course you fit. What are you talking about?”

“I left the White House to run for an office that I lost spectacularly. I’m a national joke, Josh. The last thing the President needs is that in his news cycle. Or tarnishing all the ones that come after.”

He winced, remembering. “And god, Toby. He came back here for me, even after I abandoned him. How could I expect him to ever work with me again? You should’ve seen the way he looked at me when I left, Josh. It was like I’d punched his mother in the face.”

“That’s…an oddly specific metaphor,” Josh replied with a smirk. “Toby’s a big boy, Sam. He survived without you. But he would take you back in a heartbeat if you let him. I know he would."

Josh held up a hand. "Just--think about it. Okay? Also, can I use your couch as an office?"

Sam nodded, grateful for a break from the sales pitch. He fixed them both bagels for breakfast.

****

Josh spent the day in his apartment, putting out fires over the phone like he'd never left Washington, still wearing Sam’s clothes. The way he sprawled out on the couch in the shorts and threadbare t-shirt made Sam feel like a moron–or a hormonal teenager. Not that the two were very different.

He took his own phone call, the one he was expecting, while Josh was in the shower, and was glad for the coincidental privacy.

Maybe it would be better this way. Maybe this could solve his problem. Of course, Josh was a separate problem, an unsolvable one. “Amy’s back,” he dropped casually into their conversation while they dug into their delivered lunches. “Mrs. Bartlet hired her as Chief of Staff.”

“Huh.” Sam nodded, adding this to the mix. “She’ll be great at it.” And back in Josh’s orbit.

“Yeah. She’s going to give us hell,” Josh said, looking mildly nauseous. “But it was kind of my idea, so I have only myself to blame, really.”

“What do you mean?”

Josh told him the story, and he couldn’t help laughing–it was just so Josh. “You’re not planning to try again with her, are you?” he found himself asking, against his better judgement.

Josh was surprised, but recovered quickly. “No. No, I think that would be a pretty stupid idea. Why?”

“Just curious. She’s…and you…” He gestured vaguely. “I know what you’re like with her around, and I wouldn’t want to see you get all torn up again.”

“Yeah. No, we’re on strictly professional terms these days. She was a big help on your campaign,” Josh pointed out.

“I still can’t believe you held back your budget,” Sam told him, spearing salad with his fork. “You shouldn’t have done that when I was so thoroughly screwed anyway.”

“The alternative was being part of the mob that was actively screwing you,” Josh argued. “No way in hell we were we going to do that instead.”

“Should’ve,” Sam mumbled around his lunch.

“Why?”

He swallowed. “Because the federal budget is more important than one congressional campaign, and so is the President’s ability to work.”

Josh shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t matter now.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“Why?”

“Because you had Will Bailey lying to me–which means you knew I wouldn’t go for it. And you were right! I would never have been in favor of your idiotic attempt to protect me.”

Josh’s stare was much too intense for the casual lunch they were enjoying. It made the air in Sam’s lungs hitch for a moment.

“Maybe that’s why I kept it from you then. Idiotic or not–and I say not–I have every right to try and do what I think is best for the President…and to try and look out for you.”

“Yeah? When did that happen?”

Exasperated, Josh pushed up from the table. His plate rattled underneath his fork. “God, Sam, I don’t know. When you stopped me from perjuring myself over Leo’s rehab? When you and Lisa broke up and you could barely get out of bed? Two seconds after we met at that party, when all I wanted to do was reach over, grab you and do this?”

And just like that, Josh was in his space, warm hands behind his neck, fingers trailing up into his hair, kissing him like there would be no tomorrow.

Maybe there wouldn’t be, Sam realized, dazed, as Josh pulled back. This could be the last time they saw each other for years. He could find work here, or in New York, maybe, and Josh would never leave Washington–given the nature of Josh Lyman, he would probably be buried there. They’d bump into each other at a function someday, a Democratic fundraiser where he got his name put on a plaque and didn’t even expect to see Joshua Lyman in attendance, and be complete strangers.

How depressing would that be? How utterly depressing, and heart-wrenching, to look back and know it ended this way?

Well, he decided, since he refused to go and Josh couldn’t stay, they should make the most of the day they had. It didn’t matter that they’d never spoken about the way they sometimes looked at each other, or a night of stolen kisses when they were drunk and stupid and too young to be worried about the political grapevine yet.

What mattered was Josh’s warm breath on his cheek, giving him the space to decide for himself, and broad hands moving down the curve of his back. “Maybe it’s not about my rights at all,” Josh added quietly. “I might just be tired of not doing that.”

Nodding, even though Josh was too close to see it, Sam prepared to enjoy Josh’s surprise–because he knew what Josh expected, and it wasn’t for him to tug him closer and kiss him back.

Josh searched his eyes until he found what he was looking for, then closed his own and let himself get lost. When his tongue found Sam’s, the contact was more intense than when they were kids, his flavor deeper and his touch more heated.

Sam nipped at his bottom lip and he hissed in a breath, oversensitive. He’d done his best to bury these feelings for his best friend, but they’d never gone away, and now it was almost too much, being able to steep himself in Sam’s exquisite taste and scent.

“Wow,” Sam whispered against his lips before deepening the kiss. It was Josh who moaned, and Sam who gripped his arms until his fingernails left little half-moon marks behind, but both of them had to break away for air at the same moment.

“Wow,” Josh agreed, running a shaky hand through his hair. What was he doing? This wasn’t why he'd come here. Of course he missed Sam, desperately some days, but this was purely a business trip. How could he expect him to listen if Sam thought he'd really come just to get him into bed or something? He had to shut it back down.

Josh was trying his best to talk himself back to sanity when Sam met his eyes, those bright, impossibly blue ones like windows he could see right through, and it was as powerful as gravity–all his effort out the window, Sam standing up as they crashed together for a rougher, more forceful kiss.

“Oh, god, I have to–” Josh’s hands were under his ratty sweatshirt, tracing a hot path wherever they touched.

Sam took his t-shirt back, tugging it up over Josh’s head. “That’s better,” he declared, looking his fill without guilt this time.

“Hmm?” Josh’s fingers were toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“It drove me crazy last night, seeing you change into my shirt. I don’t know why,” he added, letting Josh pull him closer again. “I see you shirtless all the time. But it tripped something in my brain.”

“Well, whatever it was, I like it.” Josh kissed him, letting their lips meet slowly, softly, so that the heat building was a painful throb that threatened to burn them both up.

When Sam couldn’t stand it any longer, he gripped Josh’s hips, hard, and and enjoyed the sound he made low in his throat. After a few bruising kisses along Josh’s neck, he led him by the hand to his bedroom, where neither of them noticed or cared that the window was open to the breeze.

****

“I got an offer from Gage Whitney,” Sam confessed as they lay tangled up in the sheets later that afternoon.

“You did?” Josh sat up a little to stare at him. “When?”

“This morning. I wanted to give it some time, think about it first, before telling you.”

“Oh.” Josh laid back down, voice flat. “Yeah, that makes sense, I guess.”

“But then I couldn’t. Which you’ll notice, as I’m telling you now, about four hours later.”

“Okay…” With his eyes closed, Josh felt Sam shift his way, settling against his bare chest. He leaned in automatically but didn’t open his eyes.

“I’m going to take the offer,” Sam told him quietly.

Josh swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. I figured.”

“I can’t go back,” Sam said, reminding Josh of the dark hour when he’d first arrived. So much had changed since that morning and yet here they were, right where they’d started.

“So it’s the private sector then.” There was just a hint of disapproval in Josh’s tone that he couldn’t mask.

“I can’t go back,” Sam repeated, deeply sincere the way Josh loved most, “even more now. It’s not just about the job, Josh. Think about it. What do you want?”

He opened his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“What I’m saying is, I want a career where I can do good, absolutely…maybe even affect change from the inside. Gage Whitney is willing to give me a title bump and more responsibility–turns out getting a man elected President looks good on a resume. But outside of my ambitions, there’s also this.”

He took Josh’s hand. “Us.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Sam grinned. “The whole dating thing will be a scandal. But at least if I’m out of the West Wing, it won’t be against the rules. I’d rather you not get, you know, fired or anything.”

“No way I’d get fired,” Josh scoffed. Then he kissed Sam’s fingers. “Point taken, though. It’d kill the President in the media for weeks, if not longer.”

“So, see? I’ve always been a good lawyer. I’ll do that. You’ll fight with politicians. And we’ll have this, in the meantime.”

“I like this,” Josh murmured against his mouth.

“Me too.”

“And you are a good lawyer.”

“Thank you.”

“Won’t you miss it, though?”

“Oh, only every day.” Sam sighed, thinking about their first few years in the White House. It was crazy, but glorious. “Maybe I could come meet you for lunch occasionally.”

“I’m sure we could arrange that.”

“They’re letting me pick my location. Maybe if I land at the D.C. branch of Gage Whitney, we could share an apartment.”

Josh smiled. “Maybe…”

“I mean, you’re a slob, but I think I could stand it.”

“I’m not a slob, I’ve just got too much to do to worry about the little stuff.”

“The little stuff is important,” Sam argued. “If you don’t shut the toothpaste tube all the way, it leaks. Socks belong in a drawer.”

“You’re a control freak.”

“And there is also that,” Sam agreed as they cuddled. “Still…it could be nice.”

“Very.”

“You know what else is nice?”

“What?”

“This.”

“No argument here.” Josh closed his eyes and did the math. Thirty-four more hours until he was expected back. Practically an eternity, when it came to a vacation of sorts with Sam lying next to him.

He turned his most charming grin Sam’s way. “So, you’ll need to meet with somebody at Gage Whitney, right? To seal the deal.”

“Yeah…” Josh’s tone was innocent; his smile anything but.

“I’ve still got a ticket to buy. How about we fly home together? We can get adjacent seats.”

Sam’s laughter shook the bed and warmed Josh’s chest.

He was already home.

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