#and thank you most of all to Melissa for allowing me to join this adventure with you

[madamairlock]

i wanna tell them - [03x11 - bsg, the eye of jupiter]

saturnalia in space from scratch [The Complete Carol]

~ a bsg christmas calender by @madamairlock & @lalalauraroslin 💜💜

25. Merry Christmas

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @doilycoffin donated $100, and requested Liam & Cordell Walker. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

One of Liam's earliest memories is the time Cordell dropped him on his head. Not actually accurate at all to the way it went but that's how it's told in the family mythology. He was really little, three maybe or four—for some reason that part's indeterminate—and Cordell was climbing the stable and playing adventurer, or maybe just showing off and the adventurer part was a good excuse. Liam was following Cordell around like he always did and he tried to climb up, too, on the fence that kept in the horses when they were let out for their run, and Cordell told him no and that he was too little but Liam was determined to try. Cordell climbed back down and tried to steady him where he'd made it up to the top rung of the fence, and Liam lost his balance anyway, and fell straight backwards and landed headfirst on the dirt. There was a little rock and then a lot of blood, and then stitches, and Mama fussing and their dad ripping Cordi a new one—Liam doesn't even remember that it hurt—but the part that sticks it as a memory is how they all rode together in the truck back and forth from the doctor and Cordell held his hand in the backseat and he was crying, the whole way home, a silent seeping kind of crying that made his face a shiny mess. Liam thinks about that weirdly often. Cordi looking out the window and crying.

When the story gets retold for new friends, or the kids, or Cordell's buddies from the Rangers come around for coffee and Mama's pecan pie, they tell it that Cordell's so clumsy he dropped his baby brother on his head. Liam sort of hates it, every time. Cordell laughs and does the aw shucks routine he's so good at, relaxed with his beer and shrugging embarrassed apology. When Liam was about to head off to college, his eighteenth birthday dinner, Daddy told the story again as a kind of miracle survival, and Liam got up from the table real fast and went out onto the porch, annoyed for some reason beyond measure. It was Cordi who got up and came after him and said, a little cautious, "What's up, Stinker?" and Liam said to him, mad, "Why don't you ever tell people it was me? I was the one climbing up after you. It's not like you did it on purpose."

Cordell just blinked at him. "What does it matter?" he said. "You were the baby and I was a dumbass kid. So what?" He hooked his arm around Liam's neck and he smelled like sweat and Old Spice and that laundry detergent Emily bought that wasn't anything like the one they used at home. Liam pushed at his side but didn't try hard to get away. Not that it would've worked. "It's how we figured out how hard that head was, right? Come on. Mama's gonna wonder if you didn't like the brisket."

Liam let himself be dragged back into the house, and Cordi pushed him down into his chair right between him and Emily, and Emily smiled at him easy, and passed him the potatoes. "One month 'til the dorms," she said, very quiet so no one else could hear under Cordell telling some awful lie about Liam having gas, and Liam laughed, surprised, and it just happened that it was the same time everyone else laughed so that was okay. He always liked Emily. Cordell punched his thigh lightly on his other side, and gave him a warmer more real smile, and Liam dropped it, and he didn't complain about the story again.

*

Seven years between them. Liam always wondered if he was an accident, even if Mama said that with Cordell going to school she was ready to have another baby around the house. Cordell was always the one who was getting into trouble. Rambunctious, loud, falling headfirst into things and getting dragged out covered in mud. Liam learned from his example what not to do. Do not: run along the bleachers at the football stadium and vault the handrails until your foot gets caught and you fall and snap your wrist clean in two. Do not: get caught drinking beer with your high school girlfriend behind the horsebarn, and make Daddy give the most mortifying sex talk in the world afterward. Do not: make friends with the most delinquent-ass kid in the whole hill country and wind up explaining every other week why, really, he wasn't that bad, give him a chance—

Somehow even then he was the golden child. Not the best grades, not the most obedient. That wasn't what their dad cared about. Cordell was good on a horse, good on his feet. Respectful when it mattered and devil-may-care when it didn't. In high school he was the quarterback, of course he was, and Liam was right there in the stands with their parents every Friday night, cheering his lungs out. Weirdly boastful with his fourth-grade friends: his older brother was the star of the football team. His older brother could ride a bull for ten seconds and get off hardly winded. Bookish, kind of short, he needed the borrowed glory of Cordell's success to be proud of. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it got him pushed over on the soccer field while some bigger boy went, gawd, William, who cares?

Liam never got in trouble. Never broke a bone. After bringing Cordell back from the hospital with a fresh new cast on his ankle and a dopey slightly-drugged smile on his face, Mama settled him in bed with Liam's help and turned off the light and then, in the kitchen, sighed and said, "Liam, you are a real relief to the mind, do you know that?" He was proud of that, too, in that moment. It wasn't until later that it nagged at him. A therapist asked him, much later in a sleek Manhattan office that smelled faintly of sage, "Do you think your predilection for being contrarian results from that time?" He went home annoyed with her, and was more annoyed when he told Bret the story and Bret didn't even turn around from the carbonara he was making and said, "Babe, you're the most contrary person I know."

He wasn't. He didn't—think he was. He… was, he realized, after a week of sitting with it, and a week after that it made sense. He didn't pick fights, and he didn't make waves. His rebellion was quiet. His hard head, forcing him to make his own space in the world. Not able to live up to Cordell and knowing instinctively that it would be awful even to try—and so taking the opposite turn, every time. It was better than being compared, even if he knew there was no chance but to be compared.

He studied hard. He read, all the time. He liked math and literature equally and did equally well in both. He hated P.E. but he did what he could there, too, and he learned to ride even if he didn't actually love horses the way the rest of the family did, and when Daddy asked if he wanted to join up with the little league baseball Liam asked to play soccer, instead, and Daddy frowned but Mama said, "Why not, I've seen enough boys drop foul balls for a lifetime." So, soccer, and most of his games were during the day or on Saturday mornings, but Cordi came to a lot of them anyway, and when Liam's team won Cordi would jump down onto the field and grab him up by the waist and crow David Beckham, right here! Little David Beckham for sale! Liam would struggle and then he'd be slung headfirst over Cordell's shoulder like a potato sack and his face would get so red from laughing that it hurt.

*

On September 12, 2001, Mama and Daddy were gone from the house when Liam got home from school and he was glad for it. That was a Wednesday. He was in sixth grade. The teachers weren't even trying to hold normal lessons and everyone was talking about what had happened the day before. Melissa Kettering was out that day and the rumor was that her dad had been on a business trip in New York. Liam had raised his hand and asked the social studies teacher if there was going to be a war, like there was after Pearl Harbor, and she sat down on her desk and shook her head and didn't answer.

He was trying to read his book for English when the phone rang. Cordell, calling from his apartment in town. Hey, buddy, he said, over the line, and Liam sat down on the floor by the phone table and closed his eyes, unaccountably almost about to cry. Is Daddy there? Liam told him he was home alone. Lucky, Cordi said, you can totally throw a rager, and Liam didn't laugh, and neither did Cordell, even though he always laughed at his own stupid jokes. Hey, um. I shouldn't—I don't know if I should tell you this but I've gotta tell someone, and Em's in class, and I just have to—I did something, and I need to—

He interrupted himself and Liam could hear him breathing over the line. He didn't want Cordell to say anything. If he didn't say anything then Liam could pretend that he was going to tell a story about some party they'd gone to at Emily's sorority, or that Hoyt had come back into town and they'd seen a show at ACL, or that he was gonna come stay that weekend, and maybe he and Liam would go riding. Anything but what he was about to say. Liam could hear it, in his head. He could hear it like it had already been said and it was echoing, now, inside, like a verse from a song he'd always, always remember.

Cordell graduated from the Marine boot camp on a Saturday in the middle of December. Liam went along even if he wasn't allowed to attend the actual ceremony and Daddy complained about the cost of the plane tickets until Mama told him to shut up. Liam sat between them on the flight and it was the first time he was ever in the air. Over the top of Mama's crossword book he watched the clouds go by over New Mexico, Arizona, with complete wonder. San Diego, then, different to Austin—palm trees, and the air so wet, and even the parking lot at their hotel smelling like warm flowers.

Mama gave him fifty dollars before they left for the graduation. They were bringing Cordell back, after, because they got one night with him before they had to give him back to the military. "Order a pizza," she said, "at 4:30 exactly, and we should get back at the same time the pizza comes so we can all eat together." Liam watched American Pie on the hotel tv while he waited, something he would never have been allowed at home. He made the call when he was supposed to, and when the girl on the phone asked him what toppings his mind went completely blank because he was never allowed to make that decision. Cordi liked ham and pineapple and none of the rest of them did. Liam ordered it with extra pineapple.

When a knock came on the hotel room door Liam jumped up to open it, cash in hand. The one holding the pizzas was Cordell, grinning at him with Mama and Daddy standing behind. "Pizza delivery," Cordell said, and Liam crashed into him for a hug so hard that Cordi almost dropped the boxes and said whoa, Stinker, soft and laughing.

His hair was cut off, an inch on top and shorter on the sides, so he looked like those pictures of their grandpa when he was in Korea. He was skinny, too, which Liam didn't get, because he thought boot camp was all about building up muscles. "Mostly running," Cordi said. He was tired, dark circles under his eyes. He was stretched out on one bed with his strange starched blue pants and the awful khaki shirt that made him look washed-out pale even if he'd been running around San Diego for thirteen weeks, and Mama was sat next to him squeezing his arm like he'd evaporate if she looked away for a minute, and even Daddy was hovering. Proud but worried. Liam sat by Cordell's boots and tugged on the laces, wanting to ask more questions but not daring to.

Cordi fell asleep before six o'clock. Daddy turned on the television real quiet to the news. More stuff about the invasion. Liam hoped it'd be all over by the time Cordi got there. Mama boxed up the remaining pizza, shaking her head. "Don't know why you picked pineapple, kiddo," she said, and Liam shrugged, sitting at the table, watching Cordell's face, turned away a little on the pillow. Liam wanted to shake him awake but of course he didn't. For his whole life, after, he gets a little sick to his stomach when he smells pineapple.

While Cordell was in Afghanistan Mama and Daddy had Emily over to the house a lot. She was sweet. Respectful of Mama, calling her ma'am half the time, and charming to their dad even though Liam knew that she and Daddy probably disagreed on more than things than not. She liked that Liam played soccer and asked if he ever watched the Premiere League. Liam didn't even know what that was. She helped Mama cook supper and went out and took pictures of the horses which made Daddy smile, and one time when Liam went outside after dinner to read she was there crying, on the porch, quiet with her hand over her mouth, and Liam hung back and didn't know what to say. "Sorry," she said, dashing at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She licked her lips and nodded at his book, sniffing. "That's a good one. You should read the sequel, too." He did, and told her about it, and she smiled like a sunrise, the way she always did, and he felt like—he didn't even know, what he felt like.

Liam was the best man at their wedding. He felt and looked ridiculous. Fifteen in a tux and he didn't know how to tie a bow-tie, but Cordi didn't either, so Daddy had to do it for both of them, grumbling the whole time that they should've learned this by now. "Not a lot of bowties in Kandahar, Daddy," Cordell said, winking at Liam, and Liam—blushed. Ridiculous, and embarrassing, the way the whole affair and the lead-up had felt, but Cordell didn't seem to care or notice, so—there was Liam, blushing in a bowtie.

Cordell had only been back for a year and somehow things were off. He was serving the rest of his contract out in the reserves but he wasn't finishing up his degree like he'd told Mama he would. He'd entered the training program for the state troopers and was set up to be a highway cop, of all things. He'd rented a house in Austin with Emily and they lived together the whole year before the wedding—an argument with Daddy about that one, which Liam listened to from the hallway with his heart pounding—and they weren't even going to be married in the church because Emily didn't want a wedding mass and, Liam suspected, Cordell didn't either. Daddy lost that argument, too.

The wedding was tiny. Liam the best man, Geri the maid of honor. Emily's aunt that raised her on one side and Daddy and Mama on the other, and a handful of Cordell and Emily's friends making up the numbers in the little rented hall. Afterward they had a bigger barbecue out at the ranch and in front of the crowd Emily fed Cordell a dainty forkful of the lemon cake and Cordell responded by dotting a tiny bit of frosting on her nose and kissing it off, and Mama's best friend Sue-Ellen sighed and said to Mama, where Liam could hear, "Well, Abilene, maybe they're atheists but I daresay you raised that boy right every other way," and Mama said something dry back but Liam was watching how Cordell cupped Emily's cheek in his hand, smiling down at her like she hung the moon, and he thought, yeah. Yeah, Cordell was just about perfect, wasn't he.

"High school in the fall, right?" Emily's aunt said, later. "Emily says you play soccer. Going to try out for the team?"

Cordell and Emily were dancing, swaying in the grass, the bonfire leaping up behind them. His hand still on her cheek. "I'm quitting soccer," Liam said, without even realizing he was going to. "I'm going to try out for wrestling, instead."

*

He figured out he was gay relatively early. His friends at school got hold of a Playboy in fifth grade and didn't really know what to do with it beyond blustering. This was before anyone but nerds was on the internet, and Liam was a nerd but did a decent job of hiding it. Scott beckoned Liam over while they were waiting for the buses and showed him the top of the magazine, the bold logo and the girl with her boobs pushing up out of her bra—the group of them snickering, saying how hot she was—and that they were going to look at it at Scott's house later if Liam wanted to come over—and Liam said, "No, my mom's making me go to the store with her." The lie came out effortlessly.

They did have a computer at home, and dial-up internet it had been very, very hard to argue Daddy into. He hardly knew how to find anything but he did some careful searches while Daddy was out with the horses and Mama was cooking, singing bad over the stove like she tended to. Made Liam's face hot to see some of what he was seeing. Hoyt came over, once, while Cordi was away in the war, and he helped Liam and Mama dig out a bunch of tomatoes that hadn't grown in right, and afterward they sat on the porch drinking lemonade while Mama asked Hoyt all about the oil field he said he'd been working in and Liam watched how Hoyt's legs sprawled out on the porch, how his jeans hugged up against his calf muscle and how the sweat had made his white shirt nearly transparent, and he had to sit very careful on the bench with his knees drawn up to hide the effect it had on him.

When Cordell came home from Afghanistan they threw a huge party. Everyone came, Daddy's friends and Mama's, and Emily and their friends from college, and even Hoyt, magicked up out of somewhere (for the promise of free beer, Daddy said), and then Liam, the youngest person there, watching from the corner of the porch as always. Cordi was very tan and finally bulky with muscle and his hair had grown out, just a little, from that military buzz, and he barely detached himself from Emily the whole time, his arm always around her shoulders or hers around his waist, and when they did step apart his eyes followed her and she watched him right back, smiling at the most random times. Liam was fourteen and a little more aware of the world and he wondered abruptly if they'd had sex yet. Cordi had only been home one day and he'd slept at the ranch and not at Emily's apartment. How would they have found the time?

He was chewing his thumbnail over it when a sweaty weight crashed down on his shoulders, arms trapping his in. Hoyt. "Hey there, Stinker," Hoyt said, and Liam shrugged fretfully and said, "Don't call me that," and Hoyt laughed at him but stood up and ruffled Liam's hair completely backwards instead.

"Still pretty shrimpy," he said. He was grinning, like he had some big secret. "You planning on growing up anytime soon, champ?"

"Don't you have a sketchy job to get to?" Liam said, annoyed. He tried to fix his hair and gave it up as a lost cause the second Hoyt's grin got bigger. Asshole.

Hoyt sipped his beer. Twenty-one—he was allowed, although Liam had noticed that Mama was being a little free with handing out drinks to Emily's college friends. "Glad big bro's home, I bet," Hoyt said.

Liam didn't dignify that with a response. Hoyt laughed, under his breath, and held out the beer for Liam to take, which he did because he didn't know what else to do. "Go on," Hoyt said, nodding at it. "I won't tell your mama. Not fair that everyone else gets to celebrate while little Liam's sober. And boring."

"I'm not boring," Liam said, although he knew he was because half the kids at school clearly thought so. He took a sip of the beer, anyway, not knowing if Hoyt would snatch it away. Nasty, and he made a face that made Hoyt hoot, and then he took a bigger gulp, determined at least to get something out of it.

"There he goes," Hoyt said, weirdly delighted, and he clapped Liam on the shoulder the same way he would Cordi when they were in high school, and the bit of warm in Liam's belly went lower. "That's a welcome home."

Liam kept the beer, curled against his chest. He felt dumb holding it and also weirdly adult. "He's not even here," he said. Sort of scoffing. "Doesn't matter."

Hoyt curled his arm around Liam's shoulders again and ignored how he went stiff, and nodded out at the party. Music playing from a radio Daddy had set up on a truck-bed. Emily and Cordell, dancing in the firelight. Same as it would be for the wedding reception a year from then, although of course Liam didn't know that at the time. "Aw, he's here," Hoyt said. He squeezed Liam's shoulders. He smelled strange, like—skunk, and Mama's compost bin. It was gross but also kind of appealing and Liam shifted, hoping his dumb body wouldn't react. "He's just with his girl, and who could blame him. No call for getting jealous."

He wasn't jealous. Not—exactly. That night after Mama and Daddy went to bed the party kept on, and Liam went to his room and watched from the dark window, the bonfire still going and all the college kids still going, too. When he finally fell asleep he had a strange, blurry dream about Hoyt—building a bonfire together, and Hoyt smiling at him and being a jackass and then touching his face, the same way Cordell touched Emily's face, and then Hoyt touching his stomach, low—and then the dream shifted, the weird way dreams shift, and it was Cordell, touching his stomach, and smiling at him, and leaning in close—with his hair longer like it was before he enlisted—but wearing for some reason the dumb khaki shirt of his uniform—and then Cordell's hand—

When he woke up he was soaked and it was bright morning. He washed his underwear out in the sink, feeling like his head was screwed on to someone else's body, and then he hid the underwear in the hamper, and showered, and tried not to think about it. He had that dream or one like it on and off for years, until he finally lost his virginity to Michael in college and it went away. He never told his therapist about it, or Bret, or anyone. He could rationalize it but he couldn't ever acknowledge it out loud because of what it—felt like, to think about it. To make it real in a place that wasn't just his stupid, crazy, dreaming head.

He had the dream again the night before he came out to his parents. January 2nd, trying out his new year's resolution of honesty. He figured in a ruthless sort of way that if his parents kicked him out or hated him or tried to change him then at least he had early acceptance at UT for the fall and a full scholarship and it was just eight months where his life would be completely over.

Cordell was at home on the ranch and Liam figured that's what triggered it. A couple days of vacation, since he'd worked over Christmas, and he and Emily and baby Stella had stayed up for ringing in the new year, and everyone had taken turns kissing Stella's forehead when midnight struck. Liam had been allowed a glass of champagne, Mama not even fussing about it since it was a holiday and the house was full—so he had two glasses—and when he went to bed he could still hear Cordell laughing from the front room, telling Daddy some story about a bust on the highway, something about stolen Santa suits, something light.

He dreamed they were swimming, up at the lake, and Cordell was naked. Laughing, that same too-loud booming laugh, but just because he was happy and not like he was making fun. Being kind to Liam. Holding him from behind with his arms around Liam's chest, their legs slipping together in the water. Liam could imagine what it would be like for a man to do something to him, he'd seen porn by that point, and he'd seen Cordell naked too because of the vagaries of living in an old house without a lock on the bathroom door, but somehow there was still a disconnect in his head. He was turned on beyond belief but nothing—happened, just the vagueness of Cordell behind him. His big hands.

Mama took Emily and the baby in to town, that day, for shopping. Daddy said they'd just bought half of Macy's and Mama shushed him so Daddy was up at the barn, checking over the new foal. Liam sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched birds come to the new feeder Mama had got from Emily and he tried to rehearse it, in his head. What to say. He'd seen it in movies but it didn't feel possible to come out of his mouth.

Cordell sat by him, on the bench swing. "Since when do you drink coffee?" he said. Then, less casual: "Is that my mug?"

"Yes," Liam said, and didn't protest when Cordell took it out of his hands. He rubbed his palms on his jeans. He had a hard time talking to Cordi after he had one of those dreams and so it was a relief that most of the time Cordell wasn't around, that he was in town at the house he shared with his wife. With his wife, Liam reminded himself, as though that could help. Another thing to make Liam different. Wrestling instead of football, reading books instead of riding, and now—this, on top of everything.

"Whatever's going on," Cordell said. Liam blinked, came back to the world. The cold, and the swing barely rocking from how Cordi had set his boot on the porch and pushed, and Cordell looking at him very steadily. "You know you can tell me, right?"

Liam swallowed. "Even if it's—" Bad is what came to his mouth and he shook his head. He prayed about this, he resolved. It's not bad. "Weird?"

"If it weren't weird you probably wouldn't be being so weird about it," Cordi said, frank, and Liam shoved his shoulder. The dream dissipated just like that. How could he possibly be crushing on his brother when his brother is this much of a jerk. Cordell swayed, grinning, letting Liam push him even if Cordell outweighed him then by fifty pounds, but then he set his hand on the back of Liam's neck, more serious. "Whatever it is. We can figure it out."

Liam licked his lips, and nodded. He knew then that was going to tell Cordell the one secret, if not the whole of it, before they left the porch that morning, and Cordi would—back him up, with Mama and Daddy, even if he didn't get it. "Give me back the coffee," he said, and Cordell raised his eyebrows but passed it back, so Liam could take a gulp. The caffeine probably wouldn't help but maybe it wouldn't hurt, and it felt nice to hold the mug. "Promise you won't freak," Liam said then, even if he was—mostly, ninety percent, pretty sure—and Cordell said, immediately, "I promise," and Liam believed him. That was the thing, with Cordell, in those days. It was easy to believe him.

*

It's Mama who calls, when Emily dies. Liam's already in bed because he's got court in the morning and Bret shoves at his shoulder, says, "Oh my god answer it and then change your ringtone, I hate that song," and Liam's still fuzzy from sleep and doesn't quite process that there's no good reason Mama would be calling him after nine o'clock in Texas because she always thought that was bad manners, it had been drilled into him all his life, and he says, mumbly, still waking up, "Hey, Mama," and there's a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line before she says, Honey, I'm sorry, but I have real bad news.

He flies out the next day. Bret tries to dissuade him. "There's nothing you can do right now," he says, as though that's the point. JFK to Austin-Bergstrom is four and a half hours and he spends the whole time with his chest this weird achy knot. It doesn't feel real but it is. He texted Mama his flight plan and she says that Daddy will pick him up at the airport, and when he gets into the truck Daddy shakes his head and says, "Good to see you, son," but without any truth to it. Liam doesn't take it personally.

Cordell's not at the ranch when they get there but the kids are. "Hi, Uncle Liam," Stella says, remarkably clear, until he hugs her, and then she curls his hands into his shirt and cries silently, her shoulders shaking. August doesn't get up from the couch, sitting there with one arm crossed over his chest and the other over his mouth, and he looks—Liam's always shocked by it—so exactly like his mother. Stella's a copy of her grandmother, to the point that Mama set her prom picture side by side with Stella's first dance photo and the only real difference was the dress—but Auggie always took after Emily, from coloring to temperament to those long straight eyebrows, that mouth that curves up into a wide, easy smile. Not smiling now, and not for a while, and when Stella pulls away and wipes her eyes Liam sits down next to Auggie and sets his hand on the back of his neck and Auggie just folds over, quiet, like whatever was holding him up just isn't there anymore.

"Where is he?" Liam asks Mama, in the kitchen later. The sun's going down. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours.

Mama's eyes are red-rimmed. "Where do you think?" she says.

Liam takes the truck. Lady Bird Lake is officially closed at night but of course that makes no difference. He parks and walks, up to the lookout, and Cordell doesn't hear him coming. He's sitting on the steps to the gazebo, his elbows braced on his knees. The light hitting his hair. Long again. Liam doesn't know how he's always skirting regs and getting away with it, except of course Cordi gets away with everything. Golden child.

He regrets the thought as soon as he has it. "Cordi," he says, and Cordell looks up in complete surprise. Liam smiles at him, as much as he can, and comes and sits on the step. He tries to think of what to say and can't come up with anything.

"Aren't you in court tomorrow?" Cordell says, after they sit there for thirty seconds. His voice sounds thick and distant.

Liam shakes his head. "Today," he says, and Cordell nods and huffs and says, "Right," and then looks down at his hands again. They're twisted together, his thumb rubbing hard and repeatedly at the mount of his other palm. Liam reaches over and puts his hand over the knot of Cordell's fingers and Cordell's jaw flexes but he lets Liam do it. "I'm sorry," Liam says.

"Everyone is," Cordell says, halfway bitter. Liam squeezes his hands and Cordell makes a rough low noise, some sound Liam has never heard him make. "Jesus. They won't let me go in to work."

"Of course they won't," Liam says, and Cordell pulls his hands away, pushes them into his hair. "Cordi, they have to—they're going to be looking for who did it and it has to be by the books so it'll stick. They're not going to risk screwing it up."

"I just want to—" Cordell cuts himself off but Liam can imagine what goes there. He touches Cordell's back instead and the muscle flinches. Set to fly off the handle any second. Fight or flight, but Cordell never used to run from anything and Liam can't imagine he's going to start now.

He stands up. "Wrestle me," he says.

Cordell looks up. "What?"

Genuine surprise. At least it's not misery. "Come on," Liam says. "See if you can pin me." These jeans are nice, were a gift from Bret, but he'll sacrifice them. He holds out a hand and Cordell lets himself be pulled upright, and it's a shock like it always is when Liam's been too long away, how much taller Cordi still is. Liam always was the shrimp. He pushes Cordell's chest, lightly, and Cordell slaps his hands away. "Cordi," Liam says, coaxing, and pulls at Cordell's wrist. "Let me take your mind off it."

Stupid thing to say and he knows it as soon as he says it. Cordell gives him an ugly look and shoves him for real. "Take my mind off it?" he says, while Liam's staggering backwards. Liam sets his boots in the dirt and braces, and when Cordell pushes him again Liam grapples, and they are wrestling, then. It's sloppy, bad holds, both of them in too-slick boots for this ground. Liam manages to swing Cordell around and get his back on the ground but Cordi's always been stronger and shoves him off, and then they're just—flat-out scrambling, Liam's hand sinking into a patch of mud and both of them breathing hard, Cordell twisting out of his grip and getting an arm over his chest, tight, before Liam eels over and flips them—gets Cordell on his back on the dirt—his leg over Cordell's—and then Cordi drops his head back against the ground and taps out, panting.

"You been practicing?" Cordell says. His eyes are closed.

Liam sits up, says, "Class at my gym." Cordi nods and Liam gets off him, kneels next to him in the dirt. The gazebo's bright and the skyline's pretty, on the other side of the lake. Liam looks at that instead of at his brother, so he won't have to see the tears seeping down Cordell's temples, wetting his hair.

"It's not okay," Liam says. He sets a hand on Cordell's chest. At the DA's office in Manhattan he's comforted widows, widowers, orphans. Some of them seeking justice but most of them knowing it won't really be found. Cordell, he thinks, is one of the latter type, but Liam tries out the lines he's learned anyway. "It's not okay and it's not fair. I can't pretend I know what you're going through but I'm sorry." He swallows, his throat trying to close without his say-so. "Jesus. I'm so sorry, Cordi."

"Yeah," Cordell says, rough, and grips Liam's wrist. When Liam looks down Cordell's eyes are still closed. They stay there for a while, by the lake, long past when it's uncomfortable.

When they finally get up, Liam's knees creak like an old man's but Cordell doesn't make the joke he should. He leaves Cordell's truck and drives them both back into town, and gets drive-through Whataburger that Cordell picks at instead of eating, and says, "Do you want to go back to the ranch?" and isn't surprised when Cordell shakes his head, no. They get a hotel instead, two queens and a respectable mini-bar, and Liam calls Mama from next to the ice machine in the hall and says that he's got Cordell, and they're fine, and they'll be back in the morning. She clearly wants to object but doesn't know how and Liam hangs up before she can figure it out.

He gets back, with the ice. Cordell's sitting on the end of the bed watching the news like it's the Superbowl. "I was thinking about the funeral," Cordell says, when the door closes behind Liam. "I have to plan the funeral and I don't even have her body."

Liam sets the bucket on the bar and sits on the other bed. "We'll help," Liam says. Cordell's cheek sucks in on one side. "You don't have to do any of this alone."

"Yeah," Cordell says, remote, and Liam looks at him. Weird hollowness in his stomach and he realizes only after a second why: it's the first time, all his life, that he can remember Cordell lying to him.

*

The Rodeo Kings operation is supposed to be quick. Three months, is the estimate: to get in, to learn the operation, to get out. They need an agent who can be convincingly skilled as a traveling rider, who knows a ranch operation, who can act. There's a depressingly short list and one name at the top of it. Everyone thinks it's a bad idea except for Graves, and Cordell.

"It'll give me something to think about that's not this," Cordell says, when Liam's trying to talk him out of it. They're on the back patio of his and Emily's house in town. The kids are still staying out at the ranch. It's two weeks after the funeral and they haven't gone back to school. Cordell hasn't shaved in a few days and the sound as he scratches his jaw is loud. There's no music playing from the kitchen window, like there used to be. The plants out here are already dying. Liam wants to grip Cordell's shoulders, get in his face and yell, but doesn't dare to. He gets a deep sigh, instead, and Cordell flipping a poker chip between his fingers like a restless card shark, and then a smile, fake as fake. "Anyway, who do you know who can ride a bull better than me?"

"No one," Liam says, and Cordell nods, like damn straight, and in the morning Liam goes in to the Travis County DA and announces he'd like to transfer offices, due to a family emergency that's going to keep him here in Texas, and it's only afterward when some calls are made and the paperwork's signed that he calls Bret, back in Manhattan, and leaves a voicemail that he's going to be staying a lot longer than he thought.

It isn't three months. As the operation drags on, Liam sweet-talks his way into being one of the assistant attorneys on the case and he tries to alleviate how Graves is getting more and more suspicious. Cordell's old partner James gets promoted to captain, six months in, and he vouches for Cordell, too, not that it seems to matter either way. Cordell's the one who's embedded with the rodeo and he'll either finish the job or he won't. They don't have another agent to send in, not without compromising the work that's been done so far, and nothing else will do but to wait.

The kids ask Liam for updates every week when he comes for dinner at the ranch. "I can't tell you everything," he says, like he does every time, and Daddy's quiet at the head of the table, and Mama quieter on the opposite side. Cordell has a rendezvous every Monday when the rodeo takes the day off with a burner cell phone and an agent waiting impatiently for his call, and his reports are terse: still trying to get them to trust me. They're suspicious of newcomers. The ring seems really tight and I can't figure out an opening. Give me time. He's allowed to call Liam the same day and Liam answers every unknown number on Mondays, giving hope to spam callers nationwide. Cordell usually sounds tired but he still calls and they have a dumb, simple conversation—about how the Rangers beat the Angels, how he's breaking in some new boots and has a blister the size of Indiana, how he's craving, inexplicably, sushi. "Sushi?" Liam asks, trying to imagine when Cordell ever tried it, and Cordi says, with rare humor, "Hey, I'm not a big fancy New York lawyer but I've had my share of raw fish," and when Liam hands the phone over to the kids they lean over the speakerphone and talk over the top of each other about a class project Stella did, and a history paper Auggie got an A+ on, and Liam watches with his hand over his mouth for the moment when Cordell has to interrupt and say, tired-sounding still, "Sorry, guys, I have to go," and the goodbyes have to be quick, and then that's it, for another week.

The first time Liam sees him when he's Duke it's a shock to the system. Seven months in and the reporting agent says that Walker missed his check-in. Walker—that's what they all call him, even when Liam's in the room with them. There's a small frenzy in the operation office. Graves calls for Cordell's head, predictably at this point. James, trying again to calm her down, but looking a little like he agrees. Liam leaves the office unnoticed and walks outside to feel cold air on his face and feel less—how he feels—and there's a text, on his phone, from an unknown number. The Alibi, Driskill ST, thirty minutes. Come alone.

Ridiculously illicit. Liam takes off his suit-jacket and tie and ruffles his hair into something unprofessional and goes. It's hard to park—Monday night football—and inside is the opposite of his scene but he finds a seat at the bar. A girl in a too-tight orange t-shirt gives him a once-over and he smiles tightly, ignores her, drinks a watery beer, and almost exactly on the thirty-minute mark someone sits down next to him and it's—not his brother.

Duke Culpepper was the fake name they picked. Originally from Texas but had some misdemeanors that made Texas unfriendly so he'd been hiding out in Tucson for a few years, working the rodeo there. Not dangerous but willing to get up to something that was, and he looks the part. He smells like sweat and horse manure and hay and some shitty, awful aftershave, and there's a bruise on his jaw like someone suckerpunched him, and he doesn't look at Liam but smiles sweet at the bartender and says, with a fake low drawl, "Darlin', I wouldn't mind a shot of bourbon, when you have a chance."

Jesus, Liam thinks. The bartender has an expression like Cordell slid a hand down the front of her jeans and made her the happiest woman alive—the shot takes about ten seconds to arrive, when Liam's been waiting for a second beer for five minutes. Cordell knocks it back in one motion and says, "Again, and—" and he turns, like he noticed Liam for the first time, "another round for my friend, here. We're celebratin'."

She blinks, notices Liam's empty glass. While the next round's being prepared Liam raises his eyebrows and plays his part. "What are we celebrating?"

"Got a new job," Cordell says—but no—it's Duke, who's saying it, Duke who's drawling lazy and has his hat cocked at an off-angle and who's got a bandana tied around his wrist which for some goddamn reason is working the whole, hot-ass look.

"Congrats," the bartender says, and Duke grins wide and winks at her and downs the second shot, letting out a little whoop. "Another?"

"Better make it a double this time, sweetheart," Duke says, and Liam puts his hand on the warm lean stretch of thigh knocking against his under the bar and squeezes, very lightly, a warning, and sees Cordell's eyes tighten just slightly, and sees how his shoulders round out, like he's ready to get in a fight. Cordell takes a deep breath and toasts the bartender, but turns to look at Liam, face a grinning glad mask. "Got a new girl, too. Real pretty."

The bartender's disappointment would be funny, any other time. "Your lucky day, then, huh?" Liam says. Cordell's knee presses hard into his under the bar. "Girl got a name?"

"Miss Twyla Jean," Cordell says, almost crooning it, and Liam raises his eyebrows—he thought they had embarrassing Texas names—and then Cordell downs the double-shot, grimacing at the sting, and then says, much quieter so that only Liam can hear: "All it took was me making it eleven seconds on a bull and she took me straight to bed."

Liam takes a deep breath. Cordell's jaw flexes, in the silence, and he puts the empty shot glass on the bar. "Thanks for celebrating with me," he says, and slides off the barstool, backwards. He grips Liam's shoulder so hard that it actually hurts. "Gotta get back. Job won't do itself."

"Godspeed," Liam says, toasting with his beer, and Cordell gives him a tight smile and tugs his cap and walks out of the bar, taking with him the smell of the stables and his too-tight jeans and this sensation under Liam's gut that's murky and dangerous, unsettled. His shoulder hurts. It's only after he's written down Twyla Jean's name and texted it to James, and gone home to the apartment where Bret's still bitching about the décor, and taken a shower, and pressed his forehead against the cold tile, that he realizes that Cordell was wearing a fucking Texas Rangers cap. The absolute bastard.

*

The night he hears from Cordell again he has a fight with Bret. The same fight, worked over the same way. Bret hates Texas. He hates being away from his friends. He hates the politics and the food and how Liam's always with his family. He doesn't want to go to family dinner at the ranch because he's sure Liam's dad hates him. "He doesn't hate you," Liam says, for the fifth time, but to be honest he's not sure. Daddy never seems to like Bret that much, either. Cordi's never met him and Liam wonders, like he's wondered many times, if they'd get along, at all. Wonders if that'd be a dealbreaker and then wonders, washing dishes while Bret watches MSNBC in chilly silence, if the fact that he's wondering if it would be a dealbreaker makes it a dealbreaker, after all.

The text comes as a relief. Annunziata's. He dresses down more carefully than the first time. It's a weird spot, on the outskirts of town where it feels less like Austin than like a suburb. Karaoke and Italian food and mostly-fake cowboys slapping their knees to the absolutely horrific song being sung—very suburb. And there, at a table right by what passes for a stage: Cordell. But, no: Duke, Duke Culpepper, with his arm slung around the shoulders of Twyla Jean and his lips on her ear, grinning, wild. It catches Liam's breath like it did the first time. Duke, confident in his body and happy and having a good time, easy. Hot. Jesus, Liam doesn't get how it's so hot.

He waits in the backroom and watches Cordell shoves his face into the water. It's disturbing how panicked he is, once he's Cordell again and not Duke. "You have to," he's saying—babbling—"You have to tell them, they're going to kill people, you can't let them go through with it—" but of course that's not either of their decision and Liam can't help. It's awful, an awful awful feeling. His big brother looking to him for an answer he can't give. Cordell pushes his hair back from his face and puts his hat back on and looks miserable but he goes back, he sits right back down with that girl and lets her slide her hand down his thigh up the inseam of his jeans and Liam watches from the corner of the bar, where he won't be seen, drinking a beer he doesn't want, seeing his brother be someone who's not his brother. Maybe someone his brother could have been. They're going to sleep together, tonight. Liam knows it. They've been fucking for three months. Is it easy, he wonders. It shouldn't be, for Cordell, but maybe for Duke it is.

He goes home to Bret and wakes him up, and apologizes for the earlier fight, and kisses him, and gets Bret on his belly, and fucks him that way, a little hard, kissing the back of his neck, making Bret gasp and flinch and groan, delighted. "Where did that come from," Bret says, lazy and satisfied, and when he falls asleep Liam takes a shower and then only then calls James, from the hall outside their apartment door, leaning with his forehead against the wall. The bank location has been obvious since Cordell reported about Twyla Jean; the only thing that wasn't certain was the time. It'll be fine, James says, firm, and hangs up on Liam to coordinate with the rest of the team now that Agent Walker has finally come back in from the cold, and Liam stands there with his eyes closed in the hall and thinks, yes. Yes, it'll be fine.

After the bank—after the clean-up—Graves debriefs Cordell for a long time. It borders on unlawful interrogation at a certain point but Liam doesn't dare intervene when she's this furious—he can't risk being taken off the case. It takes James making a call to her supervisor at the field office, who then calls her and pulls her out of the room, for Cordell to be given a reprieve, and Liam goes in to the conference room and finds Cordell still in the stupid black hoodie stained with Crystal West's blood, his head in his hands, breathing with his mouth open like he can't get enough air.

"Cordi," Liam says, and Cordell shakes his head. Liam licks his lips and checks the hall. No one's guarding them—they wouldn't, because Walker's one of their own—and he says, "Get up." Cordell looks up at him, finally. "Come on, quick before she gets back. Come with me."

Cordell follows him. Down the hall, left to go through the atrium instead of the bullpen, then through the glass doors to the hall to, at last, the men's room, and Cordell stands in the middle of the tile blinking until Liam nods at the sinks and says, "Do it."

He's sloppier about it, this time. His hair hangs dripping in front of his face. He pushes it off his forehead and looks up at himself, in the mirror, panting a little. Water drips off his nose.

Liam brings him paper towels and he dries his face. "You should take that off," Liam says, and Cordell looks down at his clothes like he has no idea what he's wearing and only just realized, and tears off the hoodie in an awkward tangle. Underneath his t-shirt is black so Liam can't tell if it's stained. The big silver cross swings from his neck.

"What happened," Cordell says. A croak.

"Graves didn't tell you?" Liam says, and then bites his tongue. Obviously not. "Clint and Crystal are both dead. Clint at the bank. Crystal crashed the car. They think she passed out. Blood loss." Cordell nods, tight, looking away. These are his friends, Liam reminds himself. These are the people he knew, the only people he really talked to, for almost a year. "Two more people died at the bank. Twyla wasn't there and we don't have information to tie her to the job. I don't know where Jaxon is but we have people looking. They're still trying to recover the stolen money."

"Graves did tell me that much," Cordell says, and turns around, leaning his ass against the sink. It's slowly draining, behind him. "I think she wants to arrest me since she can't arrest them."

"I think so, too," Liam says, and Cordell smiles a little. He looks like he hasn't slept all year. "You did your job. It's over."

"It's not over," Cordell says, immediately. He drags his hand through his hair. "Graves made that clear. The money's still missing and Twyla and Jax are in the wind."

"And Duke's being sent to jail," Liam says. "So his part in the Rodeo Kings gang is over."

Cordell wipes his fingers over his mouth. He's still wearing that bandana around his wrist. Liam wants to take it off of him. Throw it away, burn it. "Duke Culpepper, common criminal," Cordell says, drawling it a little.

"Never liked him anyway," Liam says, and Cordell smiles, dropping his head. Liam touches his shoulder, grips his neck. "Hey. Means you get to come home. The kids will be over the moon."

"Yeah," Cordell says. He brackets a loose hand around Liam's wrist and nods. "Yeah. Can't wait."

His smile faded, as soon as Liam said it. Liam thinks about that, for that whole night, and for the whole next day, after, when James tells him that Cordell put in for one week's leave. "You talked to him?" Liam says, and James shakes his head, says, "He called Connie. I think he still doesn't even know I'm the captain."

He tells Mama and Daddy that Cordell will be home next Wednesday. Stella's frowning, not eating her dinner. "I saw that bank robbery on the news," she says. Auggie's big-eyed, watching, next to her. "Was that Dad's big case?"

"It was," Liam says, and Auggie's eyes get bigger. "But there's a debriefing period. We need to make sure his undercover identity doesn't have any loose ends that'll tie him back to his real one."

Daddy's eyes narrow and Mama's quiet. Liam got pretty good at lying, over the years, but he never was quite able to fool them.

He calls Cordell the next day. "Tell me where you are," he says, and Cordell doesn't answer for a long moment, letting the silence stretch out over the cell line. Liam considers it a victory that he even answered the phone.

He has a room at the Fairmont, on the fifteenth floor. Liam knocks and it's a minute before the door opens. Cordell's in bare feet, jeans, an ACL t-shirt. Liam follows him in and the room is—nicer than Liam's current apartment, that's for sure. King bed, outstanding view. "Wow," Liam says, and Cordell says, "Better than the Super 8 in Kermit," sort of sarcastic, and then sits down on the bed like he can't stand up anymore.

Liam doesn't sit. He doesn't think he's really invited, even if Cordell let him in the door. "I told them next Wednesday," he said. "Mom and Dad, and the kids. A week. Do you think that'll be enough time?"

"Honestly?" Cordell says, and doesn't elaborate.

There's a table, with four chairs, like a dining area. On it a box, like one of the evidence boxes from the office. Liam walks over and tips back the lid and: there's Duke Culpepper. The striped shirt he wore when Liam met him at Annunziata's. That was—god, only three days ago. A plastic bottle of aftershave. The cross necklace. The gun. Liam picks it up and checks the revolving chamber—that one bullet, still ready. It makes him nauseous just like it did the first time.

"I know you're probably not okay," Liam says. Understatement, he thinks, of the century. He closes the box and pushes it away, toward the center of the table. When he turns around Cordell's holding the beer in one hand and playing with a poker chip, in the other. "I know you're going to need some time. But when you're done, we need you back. The kids, and Mom and Dad. And me."

"C'mon, you don't need anybody, Stinker," Cordell says, with the barest thread of levity. "You climb right up to the top of the barn all by yourself, when no one's around to stop you."

Liam pauses, confused by the subject change. Surprised, then. "You were there for that?" he says, and Cordell shrugs, one corner of his mouth lifting.

When Liam was eleven, and Cordell was at college, and the world hadn't yet turned over on its head. It was early August and his school hadn't started, and Daddy and Mama had gone over to the feed store to pick up a truckload for the horses. He was bored, and tired of reading, and he'd gone out to the barn and looked up at it and thought about how Cordell had done it, at his age or maybe even younger, and if Cordell could then Liam could, too, if he set his mind to it. It wasn't even all that hard, once he was looking careful for the places to set his feet. He sat down on the top of the barn and looked out over the ranch—and further, over the where the road into the ranch pushed out into the hills, down toward the town. He wondered how far he could really see, to the horizon.

"Swung by to pick up my football stuff," Cordell says, now. "Em parked on the other side of the house and I didn't think anyone was home, until I looked out the back. You were up there just—taller than anything." He shrugs. "See? Didn't need my help after all."

"I wouldn't have climbed it if you hadn't dropped me on my head," Liam says, and Cordell snorts, shakes his head. Liam bites the inside of his cheek and crouches, and Cordell's forced to look at him or be ridiculous and so Cordell looks at him. Liam reaches out and gets his hand, the hand with the poker chip, and squeezes it, and Cordell swallows and squeezes back. The edges of the plastic bite into Liam's hand. "Come back," he says.

Cordell takes a deep breath. "I will," he says. "I promise, Liam."

Liam stands up and hugs him, around the shoulders, and walks out of the room. He takes the elevator back to the lobby and steps out into the sunshine, and takes a deep breath, and calls Bret to arrange lunch. Cordell's promises.  Fifty-fifty, anymore, that it ends up being true. Liam decides to believe him. He's hardheaded. He might as well be hardheaded and optimistic about it.

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.3}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.9k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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For the very first time when stepping onto the Hogwarts Express, Robin felt old. The majority of students was younger than her, and it made her painfully aware of how this was the second to last time she would ever feel the happiness of returning to Hogwarts. Luckily that only did little to taint her current excitement, and she mentally patted herself on the shoulder for being at the station so early. Most of the train was still empty, and thus Robin picked a cabin that promised the least walking traffic. Gosh, she couldn't wait to be back at school… as pathetically nerdy as that was.

"Robin!!!" Cas beamed the very second she opened the sliding door, and already had Robin wrapped in a tight hug before she could say hi in return. It was only then that Robin noticed just how much she had missed a simple hug. The luxury of a comforting touch was hard to come by these days, especially since the one person whose touch she craved the most stayed at a constant distance. But hugging Cas was lovely in its own right, and no less overwhelming in the sudden affection. Robin's eyes watered in an instant, but not enough to form real tears. God, hugs were nice…

"Hey Cas." She finally said, once the girl had let her go and now took the window seat that wasn't already occupied by Robin herself. For a few minutes they chatted about the postcard Cas had sent her, and then the entire process of being hugged was repeated as Jorien joined them in their compartment. Robin didn't mind in the least, she baked in every bit of affection she got.

"Your hair has gotten so long!" Jorien remarked, addressing Robin once they had gotten comfortable in their spaces for the long ride. Soon enough, the landscape flew by outside the window, and the sun blinded Robin enough to be a bother.

"I forgot to have it cut over summer the year." She shrugged in return, crossing her legs on the seat. "Perhaps I will do it myself at some point, I'm quite good with a knife by now."

"Don't you dare!" Cas intervened immediately. "It looks amazing just like that! All lush and bouncy and messy… You really don't know a thing about what looks good on you and what doesn't, huh?"

"Thanks." Robin replied flatly and rolled her eyes, which only made Cas groan in return.

"Come on, I didn't mean it as an insult! Your style is perfectly alright; it suits you well with all that… chromatic elegant grungy-ness. But you could use some help with the implementation of that style."

"I didn't even know I had a style in the first place." Robin shrugged and wrapped a loose curl around her finger only to release it again a few seconds later. Her hair almost went down to her waist at this point indeed, but if Cas thought it looked good… oh well. She could still cut it later in the year if it started bothering her. "I just wear whatever I like, usually."

"Which is perfectly alright." Jorien added in with a pointed look at Cas. "Not everyone thinks that school is a fashion show."

"Duh…" Cas rolled her eyes with a huff, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I'm just trying to help. Maybe get Robin a little more male attention this term."

"Yeah, no, we are not having this conversation." Robin said before they could go any further into that direction. "So tell me… what did you guys do over the summer? Anything exciting?"

"What's even more interesting is what you did over the summer." Jorien smirked at Robin with just a little too much mischief in her eyes, but at least she was going along with the change of topic. "Melissa told me that she saw you in the newspaper!"

"Who's Melissa?"

"A classmate of ours." Cas sighed, finally letting go of her feigned pout. "She's become somewhat of a friend recently."

"Good!" Robin smiled, looking at the two girls sitting opposite to her with a hopefully encouraging expression. "I'm glad you're making friends other than me at last! Perhaps your peers are finally grown up enough to be real friend material."

"Don't distract from the question." Jorien cut in, and Robin sighed. She'd taught her too well. "Were you in the Daily Prophet or not?"

"I was indeed."

The two girls' eyes lit up in an instant. "Tell us all about it! What did you do, win some prize for your presumably amazing OWLs? Get arrested for thinking too fast? Cure some deadly disease?"

"Close." Robin laughed, and before she could think better of it, she pulled her locket out from under her shirt to summon up the rolled up picture she had put in there when she'd first cut it out of the newspaper. With a soft smile, she looked down at it for a moment, then handed the photograph to the two girls.

"Now that is a lovely outfit you're wearing here! But… wait a second… Is that Professor Snape standing behind you?!" Cas asked incredulously after a few seconds of staring at the picture. "Did you meet there by coincidence or something? Because in comparison to all the old men, you and him actually stand out quite a bit."

Robin bit her lip to keep from laughing. They indeed were by far the youngest in the picture; and it was close to impossible to miss them even in a group of over forty people.

"The picture was taken at a conference about potions, which we attended together this year." Robin explained, and went to store the picture back in her locket once Jorien had done her fair share of staring as well. "No coincidence about any of that. We went together on purpose."

"Boring…" Cas sighed, and leaned back in her seat. "I wouldn't dream of spending time with a teacher outside of school, nor to spend more time on potions than I have to. But I know you're crazy enough to enjoy both, so nevermind. Anyway, what else did you do during the holidays?"

"I had coffee with a friend, occasionally." Robin smiled to herself, thinking back to Friday. How they'd made the best pasta she's ever had, without any magic at all. How they'd just sat in the open window in the dark living room, listening to the rain drumming on the stone tiles of her patio while a chilly wind contrasted the warmth of the tea in her hands. How when he had left, it had been late enough to say until tomorrow.

"Uuhh…" Cas wiggled her eyebrows in the most ridiculous manner. "That kind of friend, yes? Your smile is such a tell."

"Not even close to it, Cas." Robin quirked an eyebrow at her in return, with an expression entirely humored and entirely feigned; no need to turn into a blushing mess in front of them. And except for the overall existence of such, her and Snape's Friday meetings had been painfully appropriate indeed. Still, they had a silent agreement that it would be best not to mention them to anyone. "We are not even on a hugging kind of level in our friendship, which is perfectly fine though. We talk about books a lot."

"Was it the same friend who gave you the bracelet?" Jorien inquired pointedly innocently, motioning to the three pieces of jewelry Robin still wore around her wrist every day.

"The very same. I don't have friends other than you and him."

"Why do you never talk about him if he's your only real friend? Besides us, I mean… but we're different." Cas frowned. "Will you at least tell us who he is?"

"It wouldn't help you even if I did… You don't know him at all." Robin said, thanking the English language for allowing her this equivocation.

"Is he in Slytherin too?" Jorien tried inquiring in a careful tone, with a curious expression she couldn't quite hide.

"Yes. No. Not exactly." Robin replied and rolled her eyes at herself. She should just shut the questions down immediately; this was coming dangerously close to a place in her mind she didn't want to speak of. But they would never stop asking if she shut them down now. Not like this.

"Not exactly? What's that supposed to mean?!"

"It means that he isn't a student at Hogwarts anymore." She said truthfully. "He graduated long before your first year even started."

"Darn it…" Cas groaned and rolled her eyes. "So that's why you never hang with him during the school year."

"Wait a second, if he graduated before we ever came to Hogwarts, how did he know that I was the right person to give you that bracelet last year?" Jorien frowned, giving Robin a highly questioning look. The girl really was too smart for her own good.

"I talked to him about you, silly!" Robin replied easily enough, as if it was the most obvious thing in existence. Always telling the truth was only difficult if one didn't practice it. "You've been my roomies for a while now, did you seriously expect me not to mention you?"

"Right… that makes sense." Jorien sighed, and her desire to question Robin disappeared along with her frown. "Anyway, what else is new?"

"Got me some new robes. Just because the school says we need black robes doesn't mean we all have to have the same boring students' robes they sell in Diagon Alley, eh? Also got dress robes for the new year's ball at last… you'll be positively surprised by those." Robin shrugged with a smirk, and now the sun finally bothered her enough to make her summon the small round sunglasses she had recently acquired out of the backpack next to her. As soon as she'd pushed them up her nose, the layer of darkness brought an immediate relief to her sore eyes. Who cares if it would get her some weird looks; not everyone could be a worshipper of the sun. "That's about it for me and my summer. What's new with you guys?"

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The best thing about being in sixth year now was that Robin only had to take the subjects she actually cared about. No more history of magic, no more astronomy, no more divination… school was way more fun without those redundant classes. With the list of courses she wished to attend already being fixed, it had been ridiculously easy to set up her schedule on the first day of classes, and the week had started off relatively smoothly.

Professor Morgan's jaw had dropped quite literally when Robin had sauntered into his classroom on the first day of defense against the dark arts class, sitting down in her usual spot and looking indifferent to him as ever. Honestly, she couldn't have cared less if he was upset that she was continuing his class. She was here to learn, and if he couldn't be professional beyond his hatred for her, then she would just have to do the same thing she'd done since first year: study for herself and ignore Morgan as much as possible.

Other than that, Robin loved the courses she was taking; N.E.W.T. level classes were a lot more demanding in their magic and assignments, but still no real challenge to Robin no matter how much she'd hoped they would be. They were fun though, and the assignments were actually enjoyable to complete most of the time.

Outside of classes, she continued working on her handbook whenever she could, adding details and new information on a daily basis, and somehow she'd also ended up adding little drawings or clippings she'd been able to get her hands on to the correlating pages. By the middle of October, Robin felt like her project had finally reached a presentable state, and while she wasn't nearly done in her own eyes, the thick journal she had used was almost completely filled up by now. It was only then, on a lovely bleak Saturday, that she finally decided it was time to show her work to Snape at long last.

Saturday meant that Robin first of all spent a good while after breakfast tutoring Cas, Jorien, and Melissa (who somehow always tagged along with the two of them now) in transfiguration. When they moved on to potions after that, a few other third years overheard that Robin was very much knowledgeable in the subject, and they reluctantly asked if they could join the class. The shy request made Robin smile to herself, and she graciously agreed to accept them as her students for the day. In the end, they needed to move to a bigger room, for Robin ended up with sixteen students of various houses who wanted to listen to her going over the last month worth of third year potions class.

So really it was only after lunch when Robin finally had the time to find Snape in his office. Just out of a spree, she actually knocked before she entered for once, then however continued on in as usual, without waiting for a reply.

"Hey…" She smiled at him while she moved over to the side table to drop her backpack on her chair. "What are you doing?"

"Inflicting terror and remorse, one idiot at a time." Snape sighed in a pointed tone, and Robin had to chuckle. It shouldn't amuse her so much that he was so annoyed with his students… but after three hours of tutoring, she was simply amused by the fact that he looked just like she felt.

"Ah, same old then." She grinned, and was just about to grab her secret project out of her backpack to proudly present it to him as a hopefully welcome distraction, when he muttered something under his breath, subconsciously, followed by a quiet sigh that was almost plaintive even. Perhaps… this wasn't a good time. Robin let her notebook drop back into her backpack and turned around to look at him instead, sitting down on the edge of the small table.

Snape was bent over some parchment on his own desk with a deep frown on his face, looking partially annoyed, mostly frustrated and entirely done with whatever it was he had to do. Robin could practically feel the stress radiating off him, and it strongly supported her decision to lay off with her plans of showing him her project for now. Presenting him with more research and books surely wasn't something that would better the situation, which in return was all Robin could currently think of doing.

"Can I do anything to help you?" She asked first of all, raising her eyebrows in a hopeful expression when he looked up at her for a few short seconds.

"Not unless you want to suffer the same slow death by utter nonsense that was forced upon me with these second year essays." He replied in an annoyed tone, frowning back down at the desk and aggressively scribbling an overly large Dreadful on the parchment in front of him. Robin found that she pitied Snape just as much as his students in that moment, and she knew that for everyone's sake, she would have to come up with something other than chocolate cake.

"Alright, come on." She said determinedly, then pushed herself off the table and brushed imaginary dust off her black jeans. "There is something way more important to do than grading second year essays right now."

"And what would that be?" He raised an eyebrow at her in return, but already dropped his quill on the desk so abruptly that little sprinkles of ink dusted over the next essay paper as well as his hand.

"Going for a walk with me." Robin grinned as she summoned a jumper out of her backpack and then moved to put it on over her henley shirt. The second one she owned now, thanks to the positive remarks she had gotten for it. "I want to show you something."

Admittedly, that something probably wouldn't impress him nearly as much as her handbook would, and Robin had never really considered showing it to him in the first place, but somehow the little sprinkles of black ink on his pale skin had convinced her that it might be worth a try. What she wanted to show him was neither related to potions nor to anything else in that regard at all, it was practically useless but for its potential to delight with its mere existence. So really, all Robin hoped for was that he wouldn't be mad at her for dragging him outside for something as pathetic as that. And still, a part of her couldn't wait for him to see it. With a grin, she motioned for him to come along as she made towards the door.

Snape didn't even try to protest as he rose to his feet to go along with her plan, keeping his eyes on her with a subtly curious frown. Meanwhile Robin wondered when exactly she had reached a point with him where she could just burst into the room and suggested something like this, and he would drop what he was doing in an instant to go with her. Alright, she would do and had done the very same for him as well, but that was different! He just could've told her to scurry off and stop distracting him from his work. But he hadn't, and that made her heart swell in the most pleasant way as she sauntered out into the hallway, where he soon followed before locking the door.

Together they made their way through some of the most desolate corridors and passageways, avoiding as many people as possible until they arrived under the blindingly white sky at last. A chilly wind, swaying trees and the smell of impending rain greeted them, wrapping around Robin's senses like a silken sliver of liquid calm. A perfect day for a walk, and an even more perfect one for what she wanted him to see.

"Lead the way then." He said as they gained a distance to the walls of the castle. "Or is there no precise destination you wish to go?"

"Not really, no." Robin chuckled in return and crossed her arms over her chest for some warmth. It wasn't freezing, but her jumper was barely warm enough. "It's a spell I want to show you."

"A spell that requires us to leave the castle?"

"You'll see, believe me. But other than that, I simply wanted to take a walk and you looked like you could use some air as well."

He returned a quiet hum in acknowledgement, perhaps agreement even, and they continued to make their way down the hill in comfortable silence. It really had been a while since they had taken a walk like this, just for fun. A while long enough for Robin to forget if they had always been walking next to each other so… closely. It was quite distracting to feel his presence next to her on a constant basis, scorching her entire right side and making her skin crawl. But then again, the mere fact that he was here with her was quite delightful on its own.

For a while they aimlessly wandered through the landscape, sometimes following the paths and sometimes straying away on purpose, through the trees that were torn between an early winter's desolate death and a late autumn's colourful beauty. When they finally found themselves on the shore of the black lake, the place that seemed to hold an inevitable gravity on Robin, the October chill was already sitting deep in her bones. But so was the calm.

"Perhaps we should return to the castle before it starts to rain." Snape remarked, but made no attempt to turn around as he stood with Robin on the waterline, overlooking the mildly crinkling but ever vast surface of the lake. A black mirror.

"I still want to show you that spell." She replied easily, smiling to herself as her eyes lifted from the deep dark grey of the water to the almost blinding greyish white of the sky above them. "I merely had to wait for the right moment."

"And when would that be?" He inquired with a layer of curiosity in his tone, as a crashing thunder rippled through the bubble of serenity that surrounded them.

"Now." Robin replied with a soft smile, then she pulled her wand out of her sleeve and pointed it up at the sky. All she heard for a few seconds was her own breathing, her own heartbeat, and the faint lapping of water at the stones beneath her feet. Focus… Breathe. "Lux obscurius."

The white sky, blinding in its cold brightness. A black lightning, a bolt of utmost darkness, cutting through the white and splitting time for a broken second. Veiling the world in darkness. And then, light again, accompanied by absolute silence. The drowning out of every sound, every noise absent and gone for the duration of this negative of thunder. A heartbeat later, the wind whispered again, the water rolled over the pebbles, and Robin let out the quiet breath she had been holding. A perfect lightning of darkness, a perfect thunder of soundlessness.

"It's quite useless, is it not?" She chuckled nervously after a moment, turning to look at Snape with a small frown and a weak half smile. Damn his enigmatic expression, damn his silence; she had no idea what he thought. "I was just experimenting. Again. It really isn't anything special, it's just-..."

"It is a piece of art if I have ever seen one." He interrupted her, holding her gaze with the barest hint of sincere awe shining through the intricately woven layer of burning emotions Robin couldn't separate into graspable strings. A layer that she only now understood to be the very same as his facade of neutrality. "You should show it to someone who is capable of being moved by such delicate beauty."

"I believe I just did." She replied with a small smile, and his brows furrowed into a frown that was more defense than accusation. Robin understood that he didn't want her to know… but she wanted him to understand that she knew anyway. "You are bleeding emotions, you know… Out of invisible wounds that are unfathomable in their origin to me, but still I can feel you bleeding like you saw the crimson on your fingertips when I did."

For a moment he just stared at Robin, and she in return observed how his chest rose and fell with every breath he took. It was a calming sight, intimate and distant at once. They still stood on the shore, still tempting fate to open up the skies in an orchestration of water, sound and wind. But for the moment, time was frozen.

"You are so very receptive of some matters, and yet so very blind to others. Why, pray tell, do I fall into the former category?" He finally inquired without any spite, and Robin realized just how much she had hoped that he wouldn't just shut her out entirely. Relief drowned that spark of fear before it could root.

"Because I care to look, and you allow me to see." She replied easily, confidently almost, in the knowledge that it was true what she said.

"That's ridiculous... I most definitely do not!" He scoffed with a sullen look, but as Robin quirked an eyebrow at him in doubt, he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Fine, perhaps I do. Unintentionally, I should say. What you are supposed to see is annoyance, and occasionally anger."

"Anger is the only emotion that doesn't make you vulnerable by showing it." She shrugged, offering him another small smile that hopefully portrayed understanding rather than disregard of what he was saying. "And the more vulnerable you feel, the more anger comes pouring out of you. Always lashing out, before anyone else has the chance to hurt you first. It's only self-preservation, really. I tend to do the same."

"How do you do it?"

"What?"

"Knowing."

"As I said, I care to look." Robin's smile widened a little, and she shrugged one shoulder. "And you let me see."

"Don't get me started on what you let me see." He huffed, but there was undoubtedly a spark of humor in his voice, now made room for by the vanishing defensiveness. He didn't deny her statement, not again. "For example, I can always tell when you so desperately try to hide your wish to disagree with me in class."

Robin's lips parted as they curled into a large smile, then she had to laugh after a second of surprise. "Well, at least I try not to be an insufferable know-it-all in front of the entire class!"

"You are quite insufferable as it is, but you do know a lot indeed. Next time you want to disagree with me, humor me by trying, will you?"

"You know I'll succeed anyway."

"We should have to see about that." He quirked an eyebrow at her with a not-smirk, clasping his hands behind his back just as the first raindrops ruffled the surface of the lake.

The wind picked up as well, blowing Robin's hair into her face despite the ponytail she'd put it into, but she kept on smiling even as heavy pearls of water hit her lips, her neck, her lashes, each one a beautiful reminder of how intensely and desperately alive she felt in that moment. Sometimes the world ended with a bang, sometimes with a whisper. And perhaps it was reborn the same way.

A bright flash cut through her vision, lightning followed by a deafening thunder, and hell broke loose at last. In an instant the rain doubled in speed, faster and louder and stronger and colder, but Robin only closed her eyes as she smiled up at the sky to let the rain pearl down onto her face. The water soaked through the fabric of her jumper in an instant, stinging her skin in a sodden cold, but it held nothing against the pleasure of raw passion that tided through her at the same time.

When Robin opened her eyes at last, an entire legion of dark lightnings surged through the sky in a web of black ink, hitting the world in a display of brutal fragility. Soundlessness, inevitably drowning out the rain and the wind, as loud in its silence as a crash of thunder in its noise. Then it was just the rain again, putting everything into perspective as Robin finally lowered her gaze from the skies to look at Snape.

He still seemed to be mostly dry, standing under the faint glow of his umbrella spell, and he observed Robin with an expression that, for him, looked almost sincerely happy. The sight squeezed Robin's heart in pure adoration, and she couldn't help but smile while rain dropped down from her lashes and onto her lips.

"You are insufferable." He mused with a small smirk and the most obvious teasing expression.

Robin chuckled in return, shaking her head to herself as she crossed her arms over her chest to at least keep some of her warmth. By now, she was entirely drenched. "What did I do this time?"

"For one, you showed me one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen."

"The spell?"

"Passion." He said without the slightest hint of discomfort, as if it was just another easy fact, and that one mere word set Robin's skin ablaze and her heart under electricity. Damn…

"But…" He added before long, and Robin got the impression that he finally caught on to what he had said. "You are also entirely sodden, and I have to return you to the castle somehow before you turn into an icicle. So get yourself an umbrella before I take pity on you."

"Sure, as soon as you tell me the spell to do so." Robin smiled, giving him a small shrug while she leaned her head to the side. Really, they taught spells for turning animals into drinking cups at school, but not how to conjure up an umbrella. Education… Ironic.

"Perhaps another time." He replied with a hint of a smile as he took the one remaining step to stand next to her, then he wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders at last.

Robin let herself be pulled close more than gladly, under the dry space of the umbrella and into his side. A moment later the water melted off her skin, fading from her clothes into a thin mist that was blown into the wind and disappeared altogether within a few seconds, leaving her dry enough to bask in the warmth that radiated off him. Gods, he was warm indeed… and his touch still heavenly as ever. She smiled down at the path beneath her feet then, and leaned into his side just a little bit more than she had to as they made their way back towards the castle. If he noticed at all, he made no attempt to protest.

______________________________

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[finelytaylored]

he was a stable boy, I said see u l8ter boy

based off of this post: #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #medieval au in which stiles is a poor stableboy who’s wearing rags #and derek is the prince who feels smothered in the castle and often sneaks out to wander the streets and forest alone #and one day someone tries to kill him and stiles saves his life #and the hales make him a servant in the castle which is a slight step up from sleeping in the hay #and he mostly ends up serving derek and there’s a whole lot of snark and sarcasm going on #and then they fall in love (via dylanships)

(read on AO3)

Derek awoke the next morning feeling uncertain about the day ahead of him. For the most part, his days in the castle tended to follow a schedule that didn't differ much. He found he was actually a bit anxious thinking about the day that he had in front of him.

He got out of bed and reluctantly agreed to let the servants bathe and dress him, deciding it wasn't worth the effort to try and argue with them this time. There were other things that deserved his attention.

After the process of getting ready for the day had been completed, Derek headed down to the stables where the guards that were to escort him back to Stiles home were supposed to be waiting for him. Once he reached the stables, he greeted everyone and it only took a few minutes of discussing the details of the route and destination before they mounted their horses and headed towards the palace gates.

Derek always enjoyed riding through the kingdom and getting to see all of the people that he hoped his family was doing right by. This was one part of his job he would never get tired of. Despite what people seemed to think of him, he actually enjoyed being around people. He smiled at and waved to all of the people they passed on their journey, even stopping a few times to engage in polite conversation.

The better part of an hour had passed by the time they reached their destination at around 6 in the morning, and they could see servants out in the yard busy at work as they approached. They slowed to a stop in front of the humble home and dismounted from their horses, those in the yard glancing at them curiously as they walked towards the front door.

Derek knocked on the door firmly, twice and held his arms behind his back to keep from fidgeting. A moment later, the door opened to a reveal a man with salt and pepper hair, standing a few inches shorter than Derek.

"Your majesty!" He greeted, bowing when he realized who was standing in his doorway. "To what do I owe this honor, sir? Please, come in, if you would!"

Derek smiled, "Thank you, sir. That is very kind. We won't be here for long. I just wanted to inform you that it is entirely my doing that one of your serfs, a Mr. Stilinski, is absent this morning. He has been assisting me at the palace."

The surprised expression on the Lord's face was to be expected. "That is a relief, your majesty. He thinks we don't know, but the boy has a tendency to wander at night. He's always back in time to work in the morning. I was starting to worry- as was his family." He replied, nodding his head towards the three serfs working in the yard. "They'll be very happy to hear he's alright, sir."

"I assure you, my family has taken good care of him while he was away. I would just like to apologize for keeping him occupied without your knowledge or permission." Derek said.

The statement startled a laugh out of the man. "Forgive me your majesty, but I do believe I don't need your permission when it comes to anything in this kingdom."

"I suppose you're right", Derek conceded. "however, just because I have that power, does not mean I should abuse it."

The man smiled. "Well, I appreciate it, your majesty. I do feel bad that you had to make a trip all the way out here."

Derek should his head. "Do not trouble yourself with those thoughts. It was a nice needed escape from behind the castle walls for a few hours." he replied. "There is a matter I would like to discuss with you, while I am here. I do believe we should discuss it inside."

"Absolutely- please, right this way.", he replied, stepping aside to allow Derek and his guards entry.

Once inside, they all gathered in the living room, the man and Derek occupying two of the chairs, while the guards stood behind the prince.

"One of the reasons I came out here, Lord Francis, was to discuss the future of the Stilinski boy." Derek began. "Later today, I will be offering him a permanent position in the palace. However, if he agrees, I do not want it to be a burden for you, losing one of the serfs that tends to your land."

The man smiled. "I do not mean any disrespect, your majesty, but I do believe that he will decline your invitation. Family means absolutely everything to that boy, and he will not leave Melissa, Scott or his father behind."

Derek considered the information he had been told carefully before responding. "And those are your other three serfs? Stiles family?"

"Yes, your majesty."

He took another few minutes to mull over his options before replying. "Well, the King and Queen seem very keen to keep Mr. Stilinski around, and on behalf of the kingdom, I am prepared to offer his family positions in the palace as well. In saying this, I would like you to understand that you will not be left empty-handed. If he agrees to leave, you have my word that you and your wife will be taken care of."

"Sir, I hope I'm not being too forward, but please, please make sure he and his family accept the positions. My wife and I, we take care of them as best we can, but we do not have a lot of money. We keep them on our land because we do not want them to fall into uncaring hands. They are wonderful people, and the circumstance that has befallen them is far less than they deserve." Lord Francis replied.

Derek knew the shock he felt was displayed on his face. There was no point in trying to hide it in this situation. "You have my word, they will be in good hands. I promise you that."

Lord Francis smiled, looking relieved as he sagged slightly into his chair. "Thank you, your majesty. You will not regret this, I promise you that."

~

As Stiles walked into the giant room, he noticed the Prince standing by the large wall of windows, his hands tucked behind his back. At the sound of footsteps, he turned to look at Stiles.

"Mr. Stilinski, good morning." He greeted, turning his body to face the other man and walking to meet him half way.

"Good morning, your majesty" Stiles replied.

"Derek, please. Would you join me?" He asked, motioning towards the small seating area in front of the fire place.

"Right, Derek." He said with a nod, walking over to the closest chair and waiting for Derek to sit before taking a seat himself.

After Stiles was seated, he began speaking. "I went to speak with your Lord and Lady this morning, to explain your absence to them. He was relieved to hear that you were unharmed. He told me he worries when you go on your adventures at night." Derek said with a small smirk.

"Of course he knows, I shouldn't at all be surprised." Stiles replied. "Thank you, Derek, for doing that."

"You're welcome", he replied. "I also spoke to him about a matter that I discussed with my parents last night."

"Oh?", Stiles replied, visibly tensing slightly.

"the King and Queen would like me to offer you a position here at the palace. You have proven your courage and your loyalty, and to them, that holds a lot of weight." Derek said, watching Stiles face carefully for his reaction.

"They... they want me to... work here? they want me to stay?", he asked for clarification, seemingly unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Yes, that is correct." Derek said.

"I don't- I can't.... I'm not sure what to say. Lord Francis already knows about this?" Stiles asked.

"I did discuss it with him, yes."

"Derek, I am incredibly grateful for all that your family has done for me, truly I am, and I do not wish to disrespect the King and Queen by declining this offer of kindness, but I cannot leave my family behind." Stiles explained.

"Lord Francis told me that your family is very important to you, which is why I spoke to my mother and father this morning, and they have extended the invitation to the rest of your family as well, if that is all that is keeping you from accepting." Derek replied.

"They-....what?" Stiles was completely overwhelmed. His family would actually be able to have a bit better quality of life if he excepted this offer. It was something he never even imagined in his wildest dreams. "I must say, there is nothing to keep me from accepting the position then. What about Lord and Lady Francis? If we are all to leave, they will have no one to tend to their land."

"Arrangements have been made, if you do accept the position. They will be well taken care of." Derek replied, a small smile on his face.

"Well, then it very much looks like I will be staying." Stiles replied, smiling back. "Does my family know?"

"They do not, no. I figured that if you decided to stay, you should be the one to tell them. I can escort you there, whenever you are ready."

"Lead the way, your majesty", Stiles replied, following Derek as they both stood and started making their way towards the doors.

[dazzledbybooks]

Perfect for fans of Sarah J. Maas and Red Queen, this is the first novel in a sweeping YA fantasy-romance duet about a deadly assassin, his mysterious apprentice, and the country they are sworn to protect from #1 NYT bestselling author Melissa de la Cruz. Caledon Holt is the Kingdom of Renovia's deadliest weapon. No one alive can best him in brawn or brains, which is why he's the Guild's most dangerous member and the Queen's one and only assassin. He's also bound to the Queen by an impossible vow--to find the missing Deian Scrolls, the fount of all magical history and knowledge, stolen years ago by a nefarious sect called the Aphrasians. Shadow has been training all her life to follow in the footsteps of her mother and aunts--to become skilled enough to join the ranks of the Guild. Though magic has been forbidden since the Aphrasian uprising, Shadow has been learning to control her powers in secret, hoping that one day she'll become an assassin as feared and revered as Caledon Holt. When a surprise attack brings Shadow and Cal together, they're forced to team up as assassin and apprentice to hunt down a new sinister threat to Renovia. But as Cal and Shadow grow closer, they'll uncover a shocking web of lies and secrets that may destroy everything they hold dear. With war on the horizon and true love at risk, they'll stop at nothing to protect each other and their kingdom in this stunning first novel in the Queen's Secret series. The Queen's Assassin (Queen's Secret #1) by Melissa de la Cruz Publisher: G. P. Putnam's Sons Release Date: February 4th 2020 Genre: Young Adult, Fantasy Book Links: Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/39334176-the-queen-s-assassin Amazon: https://amzn.to/2WQpCSR B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-queens-assassin-melissa-de-la-cruz/1131493132 iTunes: https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-queens-assassin/id1463329191 Bookdepository: https://www.bookdepository.com/Queens-Assassin-Melissa-de-La-Cruz/9780525515913?ref=grid-view&qid=1573047342544&sr=1-2 Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/the-queen-s-assassin-5 Google books: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Melissa_de_la_Cruz_The_Queen_s_Assassin?id=mNqXDwAAQBAJ Excerpt: Chapter OneShadowSomething or someone is following me. I’ve been wandering the woods forquite a while, but now it feels as if something—or someone—is watching. Ithought it was one of my aunts at first—it was odd they didn’t chase after methis time. Maybe they didn’t expect me to go very far. But it’s not them.I stop and pull my hood back to listen to the forest around me. There is onlythe wind whistling through the branches and the sound of my own breathing.Whoever is following me is very good at hiding. But I am not afraid.Slivers of light penetrate the dense foliage in spots, shining streaks onto theblanket of decaying leaves and mud under my boots. As I slice through thickvines and clamber over rotting logs, speckled thrushes take flight from theforest floor before disappearing overhead. I pause to listen to them sing toone another, chirping elegant messages back and forth, a beautiful songcarrying warnings, no doubt, about the stranger stomping through theirhome.Being out here helps me clear my head. I feel more peaceful here among thewild creatures, closer to my true self. After this morning’s argument at home,it’s precisely what I need—some peace. Some space. Time to myself.My aunts taught me that sometimes when the world is too much, when lifestarts to feel overwhelming, we must strip away what’s unnecessary, seekout the quiet, and listen to the dirt and trees. “All the answers you seek arethere, but only if you are willing to hear them,” Aunt Moriah always says.That’s all I’m doing, I tell myself. Following their advice. Perhaps that’s whythey allowed me to run off into the woods. Except they’re probably hopingI’ll find their answers here, not my own. That I’ll finally come to my senses.Anger bubbles up inside me. All I have ever wanted is to follow in theirfootsteps and join the ranks of the Hearthstone Guild. It’s the one thing I’vewanted more than anything. We don’t just sell honey in the market. They’vepractically been training me for the Guild all my life—how can they deny me? Ikick the nearest tree as hard as I can, slamming the sole of my boot into its solid trunk. That doesn’t make me feel much better, though, and I freeze,wondering if whatever or whoever is following me has heard.I know it is a dangerous path, but what nobler task is there than to continuethe Guild’s quest? To recover the Deian Scrolls and exact revenge upon ourenemies. They can’t expect me to sit by and watch as others take on thechallenge.All the women I look up to—Ma, my aunt Moriah, and Moriah’s wife, my auntMesha—belong to the Guild; they are trained combatants and wise women.They are devotees of Deia, the One Mother, source of everything in the worldof Avantine, from the clouds overhead to the dirt underfoot. Deia worship wascommon once but not anymore, and those who keep to its beliefs have theGuild to thank for preserving the old ways. Otherwise that knowledge wouldhave disappeared long ago when the Aphrasians confiscated it from thepeople. The other kingdoms no longer keep to the old ways, even as theyconspire to learn our magic.As wise women they know how to tap into the world around us, to harness theenergy that people have long forgotten but other creatures have not. Mymother and aunts taught me how to access the deepest levels of my instincts,the way that animals do, to sense danger and smell fear. To become deeply intune with the universal language of nature that exists just below the surface ofhuman perception, the parts we have been conditioned not to hear anymore.While I call them my aunts, they are not truly related to me, even if AuntMoriah and my mother grew up as close as sisters. I was fostered here becausemy mother’s work at the palace is so important that it leaves little time forraising a child.A gray squirrel runs across my path and halfway up a nearby tree. It stops andlooks at me quizzically. “It’s all right,�� I say. “I’m not going to hurt you.” It waitsuntil I start moving again and scampers the rest of the way up the trunk.The last time I saw my mother, I told her of my plans to join the Guild. Ithought she’d be proud of me. But she’d stiffened and paused before saying,“There are other ways to serve the crown.”Naturally, I’d have preferred her to be with me, every day, like other mothers, but I’ve never lacked for love or affection. My aunts had been there for everybedtime tale and scraped knee, and Ma served as a glamorous and heroicfigure for a young woman to look up to. She would swoop into my life, almostalways under the cover of darkness, cloaked and carrying gifts, like the lovelypair of brocade satin dance slippers I’ll never forget. They were as ill-suited forrural life as a pair of shoes could possibly be, and I treasured them for it. “Thebest cobbler in Argonia’s capital made these,” she told me. I marveled at that,how far they’d traveled before landing on my feet.Yes, I liked the presents well enough. But what made me even happier werethe times she stayed long enough to tell me stories. She would sit on the edgeof my bed, tuck my worn quilt snugly around me, and tell me tales of Avantine,of the old kingdom.Our people are fighters, she’d say. Always were. I took that to mean I would beone too.I think about these stories as I whack my way through the brush. Why wouldmy mother tell me tales of heroism, adventure, bravery, and sacrifice, unless Iwas to train with the Guild as well? As a child, I was taught all the basics—survival and tracking skills, and then as I grew, I began combat training andarchery.I do know more of the old ways than most, and I’m grateful for that, but it isn’tenough. I want to know as much as they do, or even more. I need to belong tothe Guild.Now I fear I never will have that chance.“Ouch!” I flinch and pull my hand back from the leaves surrounding me.There’s a thin sliver of blood seeping out of my skin. I was so lost in mythoughts that I accidentally cut my hand while hacking through shrubbery. Thewoods are unfamiliar here, wilder and denser. I’ve never gone out this far. Thepath ahead is so overgrown it’s hard to believe there was ever anyone herebefore me, let alone a procession of messengers and traders and visitorstraveling between Renovia and the other kingdoms of Avantine. But that wasbefore. Any remnants of its prior purpose are disappearing quickly. Even myblade, crafted from Argonian steel—another present from Ma—struggles tosever some of the more stubborn branches that have reclaimed the road for the wilderness.I try to quiet my mind and concentrate on my surroundings. Am I lost? Issomething following me? “What do I do now?” I say out loud. Then Iremember Aunt Mesha’s advice: Be willing to hear.I breathe, focus. Re-center. Should I turn back? The answer is so strong, it’spractically a physical shove: No. Continue. I suppose I’ll push through, then.Maybe I’ll discover a forgotten treasure along this path.Woodland creatures watch me, silently, from afar. They’re perched in branchesand nestled safely in burrows. Sometimes I catch a whiff of newborn fur, ofmilk; I smell the fear of anxious mothers protecting litters; I feel theirheartbeats, their quickened breaths when I pass. I do my best to calm them byclosing my eyes and sending them benevolent energy. Just passing through.I’m no threat to you.After about an hour of bushwhacking, I realize that I don’t know where I amanymore. The trees look different, older. I hear the trickling of water. Unlikebefore, there are signs that something, or rather someone, was here not longbefore me. Cracked sticks have been stepped on—by whom or what, I’m notsure—and branches are too neatly chopped to have been broken naturally. Iwant to investigate, see if I can feel how long ago they were cut. Maybe days;maybe weeks. Difficult to tell.I stop to examine the trampled foliage just as I feel an abrupt change in the air.There it is again. Whoever or whatever it is smells foul, rotten. I shudder. I keepgoing, hoping to shake it off my trail.I walk deeper into the forest and pause under a canopy of trees. A breeze blowsagainst a large form in the branches overhead. I sense the weight of its bulk,making the air above me feel heavier, oppressive. It pads quietly. A hugepredator. Not human. It’s been biding its time. But now it’s tense, ready tostrike.The tree becomes very still. And everything around does the same. I glance tomy right and see a spider hanging in the air, frozen, just like I am.Leaves rustle, like the fanning pages of a book. Snarling heat of its body gettingcloser, closer, inch by inch. I can smell its hot breath. Feel its mass as it beginsto bear down on me from above. Closer, closer, until at last it launches itselffrom its hiding place. I feel its energy, aimed straight at me. Intending to kill, todevour.But I am ready.Just as it attacks, I kick ferociously at its chest, sending it flying. It slams to theground, knocked out cold. A flock of starlings erupts from their nest in thetreetops, chirping furiously.My would-be killer is a sleek black scimitar-toothed jaguar. The rest of thewildlife stills, shocked into silence, at my besting the king of the forest.I roll back to standing, then hear something else, like shifting or scratching, inthe distance. As careful as I’ve been, I’ve managed to cause a commotion andalert every creature in the forest of my presence.I crouch behind a wide tree. After waiting a breath or two, I don’t sense anyother unusual movement nearby. Perhaps I was wrong about the noise. Orsimply heard a falling branch or a startled animal running for cover.There’s no reason to remain where I am, and I’m not going back now, in casethe jaguar wakes, so I get up and make my way forward again. It looks likethere’s a clearing ahead.My stomach lurches. After everything—the argument and my big show ofdefiance—I am gripped with the unexpected desire to return home. I don’tknow if the cat’s attack has rattled me—it shouldn’t have; I’ve been in similarsituations before—but a deep foreboding comes over me.Yet just as strongly, I feel the need to keep going, beyond the edge of theforest, as if something is pulling me forward. I move faster, fumbling a bit oversome debris.Finally, I step through the soft leafy ground around a few ancient trees, theirbark slick with moss, and push aside a branch filled with tiny light green leaves.When I emerge from the woods, I discover I was wrong. It’s not just a clearing; I’ve stumbled upon the golden ruins of an old building. A fortress. The tightfeeling in my chest intensifies. I should turn back. There’s danger here. Or atleast there was danger here—it appears to be long abandoned.The building’s intimidating skeletal remains soar toward the clouds, but it’smarred by black soot; it’s been scorched by a fire—or maybe more than one.Most of the windows are cracked or else missing completely. Rosebushes areovergrown with burly thistle weeds, and clumps of dead brown shrubbery dotthe property. Vines climb up one side of the structure and crawl into the emptywindows.Above the frame of one of those windows, I spot a weathered crest, barelyvisible against the stone. I step closer. There are two initials overlapping eachother in an intricate design: BA. In an instant I know exactly where I am.Baer Abbey.I inhale sharply. How did I walk so far? How long have I been gone?This place is forbidden. Dangerous. Yet I was drawn here. Is this a sign, themessage I was searching for? And if so, what is it trying to tell me?Despite the danger, I’ve always wanted to see the abbey, home of the fearedand powerful Aphrasians. I try picturing it as it was long ago, glistening in theblinding midday heat, humming with activity, the steady bustle of cloaked menand women going about their daily routines. I imagine one of them meditatingunderneath the massive oak to the west; another reading on the carvedlimestone bench in the now-decrepit gardens.I walk around the exterior, looking for the place where King Esban charged intobattle with his soldiers.I hear something shift again. It’s coming from inside the abbey walls. As if aheavy object is being pushed or dragged—opening a door? Hoisting somethingwith a pulley? I approach the building and melt into its shadow, like the petname my mother gave me.But who could be here? A generation of looters has already stripped anythingof value, though the lure of undiscovered treasure might still entice adventurous types. And drifters. Or maybe there’s a hunter, or a hermit who’smade his home close to this desolate place.In the distance, the river water slaps against the rocky shore, and I can hearthe rustling of leaves and the trilling of birds. All is as it should be, and yet.Something nags at me, like a faraway ringing in my ear. Someone or somethingis still following me, and it’s not the jaguar. It smells of death and rot.I move forward anyway, deciding to run the rest of the way along the wall toan entryway, its door long gone. I just want to peek inside—I may never havethis chance again.I slide around the corner of the wall and enter the abbey’s interior. Most of theroof is demolished, so there’s plenty of light, even this close to dusk. Tinyspecks of dust float in the air. There’s a veneer of grime on every surface, andwet mud in shaded spots. I step forward, leaving footprints behind me. I glanceat the rest of the floor—no other prints. Nobody has been here recently, atleast not since the last rain.I move as lightly as possible. Then I hear something different. I stop, stepbackward. There it is again. I step forward—solid. Back—yes, an echo. Like awell. There’s something hollow below. Storage? A crypt?I should turn back. Nothing good can come from being here, and I know it. Theabbey is Aphrasian territory, no matter how long ago they vacated. And yet.There’s no reason to believe anyone is here, and who knows what I might findif I just dig a bit. Perhaps a treasure was hidden here. Maybe even the DeianScrolls.I step on a large square tile, made of heavy charcoal slate, which is stubbornlyembedded in the ground. I clear the dirt around it as much as I can and get myfingertips under its lip. With effort, I heave the tile up enough to hoist it over tothe side. Centipedes scurry away into the black hole below. I use the heel ofmy boot to shove the stone the rest of the way, revealing a wooden ladderunderneath.I press on it carefully, testing its strength, then make my way down. At the lastrung I jump down and turn to find a long narrow passageway lined with emptysconces. It smells of mildew, dank and damp. I follow the tunnel, my footsteps echoing around me.I hear water lapping gently against stone up ahead. Could there be anunderground stream? The passage continues on, dark and quiet aside from theoccasional drip of water from the ceiling.At the end of the corridor a curved doorway opens into a large cavern. As Isuspected, an underground river flows by. A small hole in the ceiling allowslight in, revealing sharp stalactites that hang down everywhere, glittering withthe river’s reflection. The room is aglow in yellows and oranges and reds, and itfeels like standing in the middle of fire. This space was definitely not made byhuman hands; instead, the tunnel, the abbey, was built up around it. There’s aloading dock installed for small boats, though none are there anymore.Then I see something that makes my heart catch. I gasp.The Aphrasians have been missing for eighteen years and yet there’s a freshapple core tossed aside near the doorway.That’s when I hear men’s voices approaching from the corridor behind me.Excerpted from The Queen's Assassin by Melissa de la Cruz. Copyright © 2020by Melissa de la Cruz. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may bereproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Original Link: https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/567301/the-queens-assassin-by-melissa-de-la-cruz/ About the Author: Melissa de la Cruz is the New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of many critically acclaimed and award-winning novels for teens including The Au Pairs series, the Blue Bloods series, the Ashleys series, the Angels on Sunset Boulevard series and the semi-autobiographical novel Fresh off the Boat. Her books for adults include the novel Cat’s Meow, the anthology Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys and the tongue-in-chic handbooks How to Become Famous in Two Weeks or Less and The Fashionista Files: Adventures in Four-inch heels and Faux-Pas. She has worked as a fashion and beauty editor and has written for many publications including The New York Times, Marie Claire, Harper’s Bazaar, Glamour, Cosmopolitan, Allure, The San Francisco Chronicle, McSweeney’s, Teen Vogue, CosmoGirl! and Seventeen. She has also appeared as an expert on fashion, trends and fame for CNN, E! and FoxNews. Melissa grew up in Manila and moved to San Francisco with her family, where she graduated high school salutatorian from The Convent of the Sacred Heart. She majored in art history and English at Columbia University (and minored in nightclubs and shopping!). She now divides her time between New York and Los Angeles, where she lives in the Hollywood Hills with her husband and daughter.  Author Links: Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21911.Melissa_de_la_Cruz Website: https://melissa-delacruz.com/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/MelissadelaCruz Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorMelissadelaCruz/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authormelissadelacruz/ Tumblr: https://authormelissadelacruz.tumblr.com/ Tour Schedule: February 4th The Unofficial Addiction Book Fan Club - Welcome Post February 5th The Book Bratz - Review + Playlist + Favourite Quotes Sometimes Leelynn Reads - Review + Playlist + Dream Cast Ya It’s Lit  - Review + Dream Cast + Favourite Quotes Fanna Wants The World To Read - Review Shelf-Rated - Review + Favourite Quotes February 6th NovelKnight - Guest Post Booked J - Review + Playlist + Favourite Quotes Whispers & Wonder - Review Foals, Fiction & Filigree - Review + Favourite Quotes Beware Of The Reader - Review February 7th Wishful Endings - Interview L.M. 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