#and they end up in the hospital in the process | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

junedenim · 12 hours ago

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hello you

one day more, part four

warnings: dad!al, fluff, slight angst, sprinkled with smut (piv)

word count: 12.4k

Sometime around when Lottie had just given birth to Franny, Alex got infected with the flu. It was likely he picked it up somewhere in those hospital halls, but that was never officially determined. Lottie banished him from the house, not wanting him to infect her or their newborn baby. Thus was born Alex's worry and fear that he was missing Franny's life.

He belonged to a profession that often required him to fly away. Lottie said she never cared much, only that she missed him while he was gone. She considers these girls-only days to be the sweet, special moments Franny will remember with her maman.

But Alex is stuck with that ache of missing them always, even when they are right in front of his eyes. It's like two people laughing at an inside joke. He spent eleven years of his life missing her and it has never fully gone away. Lottie has tried to find solutions to this. It helped that they had mostly three uninterrupted years together after Franny was born, but still, Alex is pained by being away and phone calls just don't do it.

He wants to smell Lottie's lavender shampoo and feel the glitter nail polish on Franny's fingers. The last time he saw them was when the band was in England and he was, of course, sick. He had Franny paint the nail polish on his nails. It mostly ended up on the skin surrounding the nails, but the act allowed him to endure the six weeks without them because he could just rub his fingers on the pink mess.

He talks to them every night before Franny goes to bed. One night he embarrassingly sang her a lullaby in the corner of a bar. He always feels bad about drinking and having fun without them, especially Lottie, who has to deal with a whiny four-year-old who doesn't want to go to sleep.

Lottie always insists it's fine but he worries one day it won't be fine. He often feels like he's never got his shit together. She's just dragging him along. Maybe that's why a wedding took so long. Lottie doesn't even wear a ring. Her last name is still the same too and she was the one who wanted to get married. Sometimes he thinks she's playing a big trick on him. That this has all been some massive fraudulent ruse on him and he'll wake up with them gone one day.

Right before they got married, they were stuffed in a Brussels hotel with Franny. They tucked themselves away in the bathroom while Franny was sleeping. Lottie was in the bath and he was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet in his boxers watching her.

They were sharing a "celebratory" glass of wine between them. Alex asked her, "Do you want me to change my last name?" He thought she might laugh but she didn't. Her expression was contemplative, still processing his words. She sank deeper into the tub, the water touching her cupid's bow. She took her time thinking and he passed it by sipping on the wine.

She lifted her mouth out and asked, "Why would you do that?"

He shrugged and said, "'Cause I love you" because that has been the driving force of all his actions since 2018.

She smiled and placed her arms on the edge of the tub, resting her chin on her folded arms. She was cherubic, one of Botticelli's angels. "That's nice."

He came beside her and kissed her after that, but in the darkness of all these empty hotel rooms, he thought about how she didn't say I love you back. He gets this way on the road and he knows he's overthinking and he knows she’s probably nervous that all this time away from one another isn't good for you. But still.

They got married the next day, so, who is he to doubt her love? He's just insecure and lonely, he knows this. It's different now—missing someone. His love for Lottie is undeniable. It's the only way he's able to function, but Franny...that's something different.

She's a piece of him. Literally. Sometimes it feels like she's his heart just running around their London home with a mind of its own. He always knew having children could be like this. He didn't know it would feel like this. It came to him quickly in two moments.

Right after she was born they placed her by Lottie, but since it was a C-section and given Lottie was still open, they gave her to Alex in place of the usual skin-to-skin with the mother. There, when his heartbeat rang through her little ears and her cries turned to small whimpers, he cried with her. It was the quiet kind of crying. I know how you feel, kid, I love you too.

Loving her is the easiest and hardest thing to do. A weight crushes down on him, threatening to break through his ribs that only subsides when she pats his face and says, "Papa." (Yeah, Lottie got her way).

Late at night on one of those phone calls, he talks to Lottie. She's cleaning up their house in London and he's smoking a cigarette on his hotel's balcony in Vegas. He hears Franny's toys rattle against her hands as she says, "There's no need to be jealous, Al." Maybe he should feel lucky that he's looking out at Sin City's lights and was able to have two whiskeys during a game of poker. He doesn't.

But she speaks to him in a way that always puts things in perspective. The calm in the middle of the storm. It was something that used to seem so unexciting to his teenage mind, even when he was running around Brussels with her, he thought happiness would lay there, but really it lies in her, not the moment.

"You don't miss me?" He asked it jokingly, but he took her answer seriously.

"You're all I think about. The good and the bad. I even miss having your wet towels on the floor."

"Wow," he chuckles. She's crying. He could hear it. But he doesn't comment on it, he knows it will hurt her more. "I bet all my gambling money on green in roulette."

She laughs then says, "You lost, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but it's okay. Got me on the phone with you sooner."

He keeps a photo in his wallet. He'd never thought he'd come to an age when he did that. Lottie makes fun of him for having the default iPhone background. She doesn't know about the photo in his wallet.

It's Lottie and Franny at Waterstones. It's a photostrip, so technically it's four pictures in one. She showed it to him when the band came through London. At first, it felt like another thing he missed out on, but then Lottie showed him a photo strip taken of her with her mother, right when she was around Franny's age. He realized some moments aren't meant for him. But they are, so he keeps it in his wallet.

It's nice to catch a glimpse of it when he's buying dinner or buying M&Ms at a gas station in Roscoe, Illinois. He sees it when he's buying Franny a stuffed animal from the Lincoln Park Zoo. It dulls the ache when he sleeps with it that night. Maybe he's always been childish and never grew out of his twin-sized bed or Franny has just woken the little boy inside him, but he hugs the stuffed polar bear close to his chest that lonely night in Chicago.

It helped that within a few days, they'd all reunite in Montreal, where Lottie could check out how her French compares with the Quebecois. She's never been to Canada before. It reminded Alex of the lack of travelling they had done together. Other than spots around Europe, which nowadays have been reserved for visiting family, he and Lottie have never been on a trip together, non-work, non-family related.

Perhaps because the first "trip" they took together in Brussels couldn't be topped romantically, however, they didn't even have a honeymoon. Alex insisted against it, knowing he'd be gone soon, and not wanting to be away from Franny for too long and Lottie agreed.

They will have to do something like it soon or maybe just start with being in the same city. There's something he longs for, wishes he could be better and not do this, but he is pulled in two, even if Lottie says otherwise. He likes going swimming with Lottie. They've only done it twice, both in a pool, but he'd like to do it again, maybe soon on a Californian beach.

A few years back, when Franny was just a babe and everything about being a parent they were struggling to figure out, Alex and Lottie talked about everything and nothing. The mundane helped pass those sleepless nights. It helped their relationship stay afloat and not drown around the strain of their crying child.

Lottie was breastfeeding Franny on the couch. It was sometime around 3:30 in the morning. Franny woke up crying and Lottie insisted it was her turn. After ten minutes of no return and no noise, Alex went out to the living room where the television was on but muted and Lottie looked a second away from dropping dead. He probably did too, except, you know, he didn't just have major surgery to remove a human being from him.

She gave him a wordless smile as he sat beside her and placed his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. "I'd kill for a coffee," she said. He doesn't offer because she'll refuse, she's breastfeeding after all.

"Maybe we should go out tomorrow. We've all been cooped up for too long." He had been the only one to go out and that had been for a limited time running to grocery stores and the bakery on the corner that has donuts Lottie loves.

She shook her head. "Too much work." She hates the idea of Franny crying in public. She gets so worried about inconveniencing people that she inconveniences herself instead.

Franny unlatched and Lottie handed her off to Alex to burp her. His palm almost completely covered her back. When she was so little like that he had a hard time believing she was real and belonged to him. She sometimes felt like a doll. He always thought the hospital messed up and gave them the wrong baby. She felt too perfect to be his.

"Maybe you should go out for a walk. I can keep Franny company," he offers.

"Who's gonna keep me company? It's boring to walk alone."

They had become so accustomed to that shared space. In the first few months of Franny's life, they were on top of one another and it never bugged them. They liked those early morning couch talks. Sleep suffered but they were fortunate enough to not have to worry about work the next day.

Lottie's mother came a few weeks after the couch talk. Alex and Lottie went on a walk while she watched Franny. It was cold and Lottie curled her arms around his right arm, stuffed away in his coat pocket.

"I love her as my little baby," Lottie said, "but I can't wait until she's a little older and can do all this stuff with us. Can you imagine her walking? We'll each hold one of her little hands and swing her between us. I always wanted to do that."

She had a thoughtful look on her face. Her smile had become a slight frown. She told him about halfway through the pregnancy that she felt like she was rewriting her history. She was so happy Franny would have a loving, present father, but now he's nowhere close to her.

Lottie will say he's nothing like her deadbeat dad, and sure he might at least be around sometimes, but what's the difference if he's not there to hold her other hand?

When he goes to bed in Toronto, he dreams about Paris. They were all together there in May. First for two shows, then during the tour break. They visited Lottie's family and had romantic evenings where Francoise spent the night with her grandmother.

Francoise swung between them as they walked through Luxembourg Gardens. She splashed her hands softly against the fountain waters with infectious giggles. She squealed and asked, "Can we get a frowntain?"

They got her a mini plastic toy fountain and placed it in their small backyard. In late July, the period before he left for North America, he watched her splash in it. They have these metal tables out in the yard that he and Lottie both shamelessly smoked at in the evening after Franny had gone to bed.

He misses that backyard so desperately. The summer air, the smoke that somehow made the air more breathable, the city groaning in the distance. Lottie would sit out there in a shirt and underwear claiming it was too hot for anything else.

They spoke in short sentences, sometimes tossing the conversation back and forth, sometimes in simple junctions one at a time. Usually, they talked about Franny and their days, ignoring the impending doom of his leaving.

The weather was sweet with a breeze and Lottie looked over at him and he could imagine her at every point he had known her, all combining into the woman in front of him. She giggles at the attention but doesn't ask anymore why he's staring, she knows.

He laughed with her, just wanting to savour a piece of this, any piece of her for a breath more. It swelled around him. It's still swollen in this waiting process. He hopes they slept on the flight.

He twists his wedding band on his left ring finger. He wears his because he wants to. He loves that kind of thing, loves thinking of her all the time. He likes it when it glistens on stage or he knocks it against the bathroom sink. He twists it when he's anxious and when they're together, having sex, she kisses it like he's the Pope.

It's probably the other way around. He told her once that if he were to ever pray, he'd be praying to her. He says things like this usually post-orgasm, so maybe it's truthful, or maybe he's feeling faint but a blowjob is a very powerful thing.

He used to think he'd spend his whole life waiting for her in the metaphorical sense. He thought one day she might come backstage to a show or when she's hard pressed for cash she'll write a book about their time together or one day in a Parisian cafe she'll walk in. Part of that was true, but now he waits for her—them—in the literal sense. Or she waits for him.

Lottie and Franny arrived in Montreal yesterday. She wanted to get everything settled and try their best to be caught up in the different time zones before they spent a day walking around the city. Franny can be fussy without her sleep and they're still unsure how she'll react to jetlag. This is her first time on a plane.

Montreal is supposed to be their special day. They'll be going to Boston the next day, something Alex keeps joking about even if Lottie doesn't find it so funny. He keeps saying they'll run into her ex-fiancé and Lottie gets increasingly pissed every time he says it. He won't anymore because the joke is getting old, especially when he's her husband now.

Today is a reunion, although, as always, it's mudded with obligations like a concert in the evening. He'll linger the best he can to avoid being pulled away from them. He's sick of other things taking priority. It's his fault anyway. He brought this suffering on himself.

Back during the start of the tour, Lottie flew out and joined him for the short first leg in North America. It started in Vegas where he initially joked that if Lottie blew on his pair of dice they might get lucky (this sounds like a sexual euphemism but seriously it was just a game of crabs) and then they actually won. They kept doing it until they lost all the betting money and vowed to never gamble again.

Unsurprisingly, in Los Angeles, Lottie wanted to go to as many art museums as possible. He lived in that city for so many years yet he's not sure he saw as much of it as he did with Lottie. She kept going on about how Young Man at His Window by Gustave Caillebotte reminded her of him. Alex still doesn't understand this. The back of the man's head looks nothing like him. As always, Lottie says it's not what you see it's what you feel.

In New York, they went to more museums. She'd never been to The Met so he took her to The Met. It was partially a surprise. He said he wanted to take her somewhere and she wasn't shocked when they landed on The Met steps. She became obsessed with The Costume Institute and kept pointing at garments and shoes, saying, "I'd like you to buy something like that for me." As if Alex is able to obtain a 17th-century wool mantua and as if Lottie would wear it. She sometimes struggles to just wear a skirt.

They returned to London after that, had a week together, and then he left again. She joined him at other points in the tour. She flew with him to Australia, tour dates that were right after Christmas and took place on New Year's Eve. He said it would be bad luck to not be able to kiss one another and since she had never been to Australia, she left Franny with Alex's parents and joined him.

Montreal is warm but not hot. It's the ideal temperature for walking. Lottie says he gets clinical about those things. She says he sounds like how she has always imagined a father to sound. He's concerned with weather patterns and the best route to get somewhere but struggles to use Google Maps. When he yells at the GPS directions someone else might take that as an overreaction but she laughs every time.

He grabs a coffee before he's driven to the hotel. He sips it quickly knowing that'll mean he will have to pee all day, but he needs it to stay on his feet. Then, he's at the hotel. It's nice, but modest looking. A place with room service but not an extravagant spa.

He opens the hotel room door and it looks empty minus a carry-on suitcase and the kid-sized suitcase they bought for Franny last Christmas. It's pink and has a rainbow butterfly printed on it. Franny fell in love with them when they went to Horniman Butterfly House and one landed on her arm.

She tells everyone about that. She taps on the spot it landed on her and tells them a butterfly kissed her there. Whenever he sees butterfly or caterpillar imagery, he thinks of Franny. Chrysalis is his new favourite word. His notebook is covered in butterfly stickers. He knows what they eat, the different species, and that they can tell time.

The bathroom door opens. Lottie stands, still in her pyjamas, smiling. "Oh, hi." She looks like she's just woken up. Her eyes are light and her smile feels like laying your head on a pillow after a long day of work. Her words are spoken with a crackle in them and her hair is occupied with fly-aways.

He reaches out and pats them down. "Hi." Neither move closer. He holds her cheek in his hand and rubs his thumb along the bone. It feels like he is holding the weight of her. Her skin is blessed with a softness he has only felt elsewhere in Franny's cheeks. "Where's Franny?"

"Sleeping under that pile of blankets. She was cold last night."

"Flight okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Yours?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "Kiss me."

He wants to feel her lips but doesn't want to move from holding her in any single way. It's perfect and it's smooth and this is all he needs. He'd stay and camp out in this hotel room as long as they didn't leave. He hates himself for ever wanting anything other than this.

When they part, he asks, "Should I wake her?"

Lottie pouts. "Am I no good?" She's needy and if he's been feeling lonely she's probably been feeling it tenfold. He gets to be with his best mates every day and her only freedom is her independent work. She would say he's feeling sorry for her when there's no need to be. She likes her work, she loves being with Francoise, and she has plenty of company in London. He tends to view her as a lone soul but she's had friends in London long before him.

Her bottom lip is jutting out towards him and he feels like a magnet is pulling his hips to her hips. "I don't think you're trying to be." His hand has fallen from one cheek to another. His thumb rubs her waist. She, of course, keeps her hands to herself.

"Sometimes I need attention too, you know." She pulls her face away but moves her hips closer.

He's falling over himself trying to get closer to her. "Yeah, I know how needy you are."

She rips herself away. It's either a game, a joke, or something to prove a point. He can't read that part of her. She goes further into the bathroom over to the sink where she is getting ready. "I'm not needy. You're needy."

That's always been the case. He begs. A lot. He got down on his knees once, placed his hands together, and begged at her knees. They were both laughing the whole time but he still wanted her all the same.

He moves into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. "Maybe." He wants her. He wants her in every way. He wants to take her up against the sink from behind. He wants her on her knees. He wants to be on his knees. He wants her in the shower. He wants her on the floor. He'll take her to the toilet if he has to. "I missed you."

She brushes her hair and looks at him through the mirror. "Don't get all schmaltzy on me." Her smile quirks in the mirror, much like when they were held up in her Parisian apartment. They spent hours in glances. They felt as sexual as being inside one another. A look meant so much.

He wishes she was naked now like that morning in January right before they found out she was pregnant. They slept naked. It used to be the only way they did sleep before they had to worry about a child climbing into bed with them. She'd get up and make coffee or tea, sometimes toast or a bagel and she'd never put a piece of cloth on her.

He used to feel so hunched over in his body, desperate to hide parts of himself from the morning light. But she didn't care, so why should he? He would get up behind her body and would be rubbing against her in such a sexual sense but never try anything. It was just nice to feel her skin on his. It felt the same as holding Franny for the first time. It was this precious thing that was somehow chosen to be his.

He'd kiss her shoulder and she'd pour him a cup of coffee. It felt like no one else in the world existed. He didn't want anyone else in the world to exist. It was Lottie and that was it. He hadn't felt that way with anything before, not even the projects he created. It made him believe in God in some way because there was no other way to explain how this worked out for him.

Lottie finds that to be dumb. She doesn't believe in soulmates. Probably because of her mother and the years of loneliness their family had. She doesn't like the idea of someone choosing for her. That there was some fate out of there deciding her every move. She finds it more romantic that two people found each other all by themselves. They worked through everything and made things work because they wanted to for each other. He agrees but still believes that they were shaped into puzzle pieces for each other.

Now, he comes up behind her in the same way. It's his way of reminding her. Remember this. Remember when it was just the two of us in a place smaller than this hotel room. Remember how nothing was between us.

She smirks, knowing what he is going for when his hands bring her butt into his groin. She lowers the brush from her hair and stares at him through the mirror. "What are you doing?"

He leans down and kisses her neck. He wishes she had more bare skin to kiss. "Being needy."

She turns around in his arms. She hooks her arm around his neck and slots her knee in between his legs. "It's too early for that."

He brushes his nose against hers. "It's never too early."

She sighs and lets go, returning to brushing her hair. "Not with Francoise in the next room."

He kisses her clothed shoulder. "Does that mean no sex at all?"

"Not now. Later," she promises. Her smirk tells him she wants it as badly as he does. It's like being a teenager and having to hide from your parents all over again. It reminds him of the excited feeling when the house was empty. Or when he got his first blowjob in the backseat of a car. It makes the idea of sex adventurous all over again.

Well, except they're in their thirties, they have a kid to take care of, and he only sees her occasionally these days. It's awfully painful for his sex drive, always having to hit the brakes. The end is in sight. He can't wait to pull off the exit and get that blowjob.

"What do you want to do?" He asks.

"Get breakfast first. I only ate a bag of peanuts and a packet of Biscoffs yesterday."

"Why didn't you get dinner after you landed?"

"Too much work. She was already asleep by the time we got to the hotel." She has that habit. He worries she'll wither away one day. She just forgets to eat and then nighttime hits and she's beyond starving. It's something in her DNA and if he's not there she just won't bother with dinner.

"I'll get you a nice breakfast," he promises. He kisses the top of her head before sitting on the closed toilet seat. "What about after? Other than some art museum."

She turns around with a scowl. "Don't mock me."

"I'm not mocking you."

"I like things other than art, you know." She's sensitive about this. He's never gotten to the bottom of why she always feels he's making fun of her when it comes to her love of art. The passion she has for it inspires him. She's educated him and made him fall in love with it too. Still, she's on the defensive.

"Well, all I want to do is go to the art museum," Alex tells her as he slides off his shoes.

She tosses a smile over her shoulder. She pats her hair down, sweeping it over her shoulders. He watches her and every slight movement she makes. Her legs are bare, she's wearing underwear, a shirt, and a smile. She taps each finger on the marble countertops before she walks over to him and sits on his lap.

Her arms curl around his neck and his arms around her waist. "If you believe me, I missed you."

Alex chuckles. "Yeah. I believe you."

She kisses him with a tight hold. She hops off his lap. "I think you can wake her now. I'm too hungry to wait."

He stands up and kisses her cheek. "Alright, then."

Franny sleeps with these quiet snores. They're cute, not the kind that prevents sleep, the kind that soothes sleep. Her mouth is in a small 'o' shape. Her head hangs back and her hair hangs in two braids, rustled from travelling and sleep.

She likes sleeping more than anything. She whines when anyone wakes her up and clings to the blankets for dear life. Alex's hand covers her back. She's bigger now but still so small. He gives her a light rub, rattling her awake. She groans just like Alex does and rubs her eyes.

"Stop," she tells him.

He chuckles. "Come on, Fran."

Her eyes pop open. Usually, they flutter like those butterflies. She can be slow-moving like a sloth but today she pops up like a rabbit and starts jumping on the bed. "Maman, you were right!" She shouts. Lottie always reminds her, "One sleep until you see papa."

Lottie insists Franny looks like him. Alex knows she's just being polite. She looks exactly like Lottie, besides her hair. Her face is still so small. He can't bear to think of the day she grows old enough to not fit just under his hand. It's getting harder for him to pick her up. Maybe he's the one getting too old with the slight strain in his back.

Franny collapses on top of him, tugging on his neck. He finds himself laughing, so overjoyed by her excitement. "I love planes," she tells him. "Are we going on another one?" That's the best outcome they could have asked for.

Franny is scared of a lot of things. She grew out of her fear of the vacuum earlier this year, but she's still terrified of thunderstorms, monsters under the bed, Snow White, and grapes (they are still unsure of the origin of the latter). He feels bad for liking it when she has bad dreams because she'll wake them up, usually by tugging one of their hands, and ask to climb in bed with them. They slot her in the middle and that's when he feels they are truly a family. He always wishes to protect them.

They go to a cafe near Mount Royal Park and the Museum of Fine Arts. Franny insists on sitting next to Alex in the booth. Lottie is across from them, on her own little island as she puts it. She looks down at the menu, her hair cascading around her. She brushes one side behind her ear. Alex stares at her, rather than his menu.

Franny tugs on his arm. She got a mean pull for a kid who is only four. "Will you order for me?" He's comforted by this, knowing that while she has grown, for now, she's still his tiny little girl who gets nervous talking to strangers like their waiter.

Her hair is in fresh braids. Lottie told him that for the past month that's the way she's insisted on wearing her hair. She's got these overalls on. Blue denim with a sunflower embroidered on the front. Underneath she has a white shirt with purple short sleeves, her favourite colour. She smiles up at him, hoping to charm him into getting her all the treats she wants. She still has all her baby teeth, even though she desperately wants to lose one so the tooth fairy will visit her.

"Can you order for me too?" His other girl requests. Lottie is resting her head on her hand. There's pink in her cheeks and a smile that doesn't show her teeth, something she's still insecure about. Her two front teeth are crooked, turned slightly inward toward the other. It's unnoticeable unless you stare at it for an extended period of time. Everyone calls it cute but she says that it's a clear sign she grew up poor.

She wears a white linen blouse that was made for breezy weather. The front of it hangs open enough that he can see the charm of her two necklaces, one with a small blue pendant, the other with St. Michael. Her shoes have a slight heel to them. She jokes that they wear the same shoes, although he would like to point out that they are different sizes.

Lottie gets two eggs and a chocolate crepe, Franny gets waffles, Alex gets another coffee and Franny's leftovers. He cuts her waffles for her because she still hasn't mastered the grip of a knife. He tries to sneak a bite of Lottie's crepe but she slaps his hand away. "Get your own."

Right after they relocated to London and all of Lottie's things mixed with all of Alex's things, they had the question of possession. In other words, he learned Lottie likes to claim things. They shared shirts, kitchen utensils, and shampoo, but while Alex lost track of what fork was originally owned by who, Lottie still refers to things as yours and mine.

Her possessive pronoun usage was exact. She calls the bed they share your bed, she calls their dining table my table. When she was further along in her pregnancy and refused to buy ugly maternity clothes, she took to wearing more of his clothes. It only lasted for about a month. She's a tad smaller than him but he's no six-foot giant. She still wears some of his jeans to this day and will say, "I'm going to wear your jeans" just like she did back at the hotel.

He doesn't know why she does this. Maybe because English is her second language or she spent her whole childhood getting hand-me-downs from her brother. Either way, what once confused him, now is just amusing. It might be his favourite of her quirks.

"On the plane ride here, Francoise and I watched Toy Story 2," Lottie says to him, but she's prompting Franny to talk. Franny's quiet and keeps to herself. He recognizes that to be a quality she inherited from him. She often hesitates but she differs from him. Once you give her permission to talk, she rambles.

"What'd you think, Fran?" He asks.

She finishes chewing her waffle. She's a proper young lady. "I liked it a lot. It was funny, it was scary. I liked Jessie the best but I want a Woody doll or a piggy bank. I can put my tooth fairy money in there. I don't think my toys come to life. They're too lazy. But it was a good movie. Maman cried but I didn't. I still give it a thumbs up." She gestures the thumbs up with a head shake before returning to her waffle bits.

Alex contains his laughter. "I'll have to see it then, especially if it made maman cry."

"Shush," Lottie signals.

"We can watch it tonight!" Franny suggests with a big smile.

Lottie answers for him, "We're going to papa's concert tonight, remember?"

"Oh, yeah!" She excitedly tosses her head back and forth. Her braids jiggle around like two jump ropes playing a game of double Dutch. "I like your concerts."

It's a genuine compliment, Franny still doesn't know how to give fake ones. She told him after the first show she saw that she found him to be too loud and that they should turn the volume down. Still, she danced around like the music was being played just for her. She's never been to any other concerts and says she wants to go to more.

For her third birthday, Lottie gifted Franny a toy microphone. She didn't like it and handed it to Alex instead because he'd use it. Franny doesn't like singing or the guitar or even banging on drums. She doesn't like loud things.

She's quiet and conserves her energy. She likes the flowers they grow in the backyard. She likes to paint with her maman. She likes doing somersaults in the grass. She likes the smell of honey. She would one day like to bake cookies by herself, but she's too young to turn on the oven. She's a flower child.

They walk over to the Fine Art Museum, Franny swinging between them. "You know, this is the oldest art museum in Canada," Lottie says.

Alex nods. "I did my research."

Lottie rolls her eyes, convinced he's pulling her leg. "You did not."

"Yes, I did." Alex quickly nods. "I got one of those Blue Planet books."

Still not believing him, she says, "No, you did not." He snorts at her jaw dropped open, the disbelief smothering her face.

"How else would I know where Leonard Cohen is buried?"

"'Cause you're a dork."

He's baffled at the accusation, tapping his chest. "I'm a dork?" This is coming from the woman who has a membership at nearly every art museum in London despite the majority of them being free.

"I'm a dork," Franny cheers. She eases tensions. She came along so early in their relationship that it's hard to judge how their dynamic would have developed without Franny. Alex has no doubt they'd still be together but things would be different without her.

He imagines Lottie would join him for more legs of the tour if they didn't have to worry about Franny, but that's probably not true. Lottie has a job that she's passionate about. She's more filled with drive and love for it than he has seen anyone else in any other profession. She loves observing art, she loves writing about art, she loves creating art.

They'd probably still be in Paris. Lottie agreed to move to London because Alex had a larger living situation there that would fit a growing family. Her boss had friends in London that he recommended Lottie for, allowing her to make the move.

He knows she longs for it. London isn't her favourite. But Franny loves it and Alex loves being home and she's willing to make that sacrifice for them. He worries that he's allowed her to give up so much. One day she'll see that she's let go of things she's loved for him and she'll hate him for it. They've fought about it before. They'll probably fight about it again.

But she does love it there. She loves their house and their neighborhood. She loves that she's four blocks away from Leah and on the corner of their street is her favourite bakery. She loves the London art scene and she loves that she has enough space to make her art. She loves the way people admire her slight French accent and finds her to be cool from that alone. She hasn't felt cool most of her life.

However, he knows she misses her mother. She has friends in Paris that she rarely sees now. She only speaks her mother tongue to their four-year-old. For that, he'll always feel guilty.

"I've always wanted to go to Monet's garden," Lottie says as they stand in front of A Cliff at Pourville in the Morning. "It's only about an hour outside Paris, in Giverny, yet I never went."

Franny's eyes gaze up at the painting completely lost in it. She's getting to the age when she understands the beauty in these things. She'll marvel at it and understand the gravity of what is in front of her. Or she's just copying her mother, she likes doing that too.

"We can go when we go to Paris in December," he offers.

"It's closed in the winter."

He can't control the weather and yet it feels like he should be able to. He wants so badly to give her what she wants but it feels like it falls flat all the time. Every gesture falls at her feet with a disappointed thud. A gift she is forced to fix all the broken pieces he created.

Lottie bends down to Franny's ear. She grabs her arms, holding her in place. "Do you like this one?"

She rapidly nods her head.

"It's an exchange between the ocean and the sky," she talks to Franny like she's an adult. "The fleeting beauty of dawn before day sweeps it all away." Alex doubts Franny knows what dawn is but she nods along enthusiastically.

They move quickly, not soaking in nearly enough art as he's sure Lottie would want. They have a tight schedule before they have to be at the venue. He'd apologize for it but he knows she'll be more annoyed by that than actually having to leave the museum.

They take a walk through Mount Royal Park. Lottie takes pictures of Franny as she goes up the Grand Staircase. Franny taps her shoe on each stair. She likes to hear it knock against the wood, the crick each step makes. She stands proudly at the top of the stairs with her hands proudly tugging on her overall straps. You'd think she climbed the mountain itself with how much pride she and her parents have.

She doesn't like to walk on the established path, so she decides to walk ahead of her parents on the grass. Alex walks with his hands in his pockets. Lottie walks with her tote bag over her shoulder and a light-knit black sweater in case it gets cold (it never does).

"Does it remind you of France?" Alex asks.

"Um." She thinks for a moment, looking around at the greenery. "No." She doesn't explain further and Alex doesn't ask for more. "Does it remind you of France?"

Alex chuckles. "You'd know better than me."

She shrugs. "Maybe I'm too snobbish or too filled with nostalgia to decide whether this does measure up with France."

"A little, but maybe it's just the French part."

"You gonna go se branler in the bushes?"

He tosses his head back. "Hush."

She giggles and moves closer to him, knocking shoulders with him. "I think Francoise likes it more than either of us." The little girl is examining flowers, sprouting between the grass and the concrete. She doesn't pluck one, just looks at it from all angles.

"I wish I had an attention span like both of you," Alex says. He tries for both of them but staring at a painting as long as Lottie does is a near-impossible task. Franny has inherited all of those traits. He loves it, but there's no way he can do it.

Lottie curls her arm around him. "You have other talents."

He raises an eyebrow. "Like?"

"We are going to your sold-out concert, Al. There's no need to be modest."

"I'm not trying to be."

She smiles. "I know." She brushes the side of his head, pushing back his hair off of his forehead. "You have blinders on to all your achievements. You forget that you're the most talented person I know."

He scoffs. "Don't lie to me."

"You don't have to believe me. Just think of all the people that are probably jealous of you."

He tosses his head from side to side. That convinces him. She giggles and kisses his cheek.

Leonard Cohen's grave is covered in small stones. Some are painted, some have writing on them, some are blank. It's weird. It's someone he's admired all of his adult life and he's right in front of him, buried in the ground. He doesn't think about death much, but he's thinking about it now.

He hasn't been to many cemeteries. Lottie has been to more than she can count. France is covered in them. She used to walk through Cimetière du Père-Lachaise with her mother every Saturday, finding a new corner of it. Her mother also had a thing for Jim Morrison.

Alex wonders if they should have brought Franny here. If she knows enough about life and death to understand what stands before her. As always, she's well-behaved, admiring the sculptures that stand above the gravestones.

Cohen is buried with three generations of his family. He thinks that's what he'd like. He'd like to be buried in the same coffin as Lottie, disintegrate into one another. That would probably disgust her. She hates the smell of fish. He can't imagine how she'd react to rotting flesh.

Still, he thinks about losing this one day. He'd like to go before her, of course. He probably couldn't function without her. Poor Franny would have to take care of him, remind him of his appointments, tell him to take his meds, and remind him that the sun still exists. So, he'll go first. He smokes and drinks more than her anyway so it'll probably work out that way. He should stop thinking about this now.

"You want to go to the Basilica now?" He asks her.

She smiles softly. It feels like a kiss upon his soul. A blessing he feels so lucky to receive. "Sure."

The bus is close to empty but they sit in the back because Franny likes that it's higher than the rest of the bus. She used to like sitting on one of their laps when riding public transit but she doesn't like that now. She likes to be viewed as a big girl but she wants to sit between her parents so she can touch both of them.

She rests her head on Lottie's shoulder. She's growing tired of all this walking. They aren't doing funny little kid things here but he promises that they'll do it in Boston. Lottie already plans to have fancy afternoon tea at the Boston Public Library, which Franny is already super excited about.

The altar of the basilica is centered by a golden Jesus. The spires strain Lottie's neck as she gazes up at them. He tries to figure out what the wood carving below Jesus is for so long until Lottie tells him it's a high relief of the Last Supper. His eyesight is getting pretty bad.

The spiral staircases captivate Franny. She wants to climb and descend them, waving her hand like she's a royal. Alex wants to know about the organs. There are thousands of pipes, varying from some of the tiniest he's ever seen to the biggest. He's definitely a dork.

He leans next to Lottie's ear and whispers, "They've got some big pipes here."

She laughs in anticipation. "Don't you dare make a sex joke in a church."

Alex contains his laughter. "Wouldn't be the first time."

They walk along the St. Lawrence River because Lottie likes the water and Franny likes quays with ships docked in them. She becomes occupied in her own world. She likes running ahead but not out of sight. She's too well-behaved, it's strange.

Alex holds Lottie's hand. "If I die—"

"Jesus, Al!" She drops his hand, already shaming him for bringing it up. "I don't like talking about that."

"Fine, if you die—"

"Stop it."

"It's a serious question. I'm curious."

She frowns and crosses her arms. "Fine."

"Would you want to be buried in Paris?"

She shakes her head. "I don't want to talk about this now."

"Okay."

Franny tugs on his hand. He looks down and she pats her stomach. "I'm hungry."

They walk down Saint-Paul Street, stopping at a place called Modavie because Franny likes the live jazz music that's flooding out onto the streets. The kind they listened to when they were building the crib in what would be Franny's room. Well, he built the crib, Lottie yelled the instructions at him.

The room was painted lemon and the rocking chair in the corner was an old wood with a pink seating pad. It had been the same chair Lottie was rocked to sleep in. They never used it; instead, they always sat out on the couch. They finally got some use out of it when Franny was old enough to climb in on her own and rock it back and forth.

While Franny said she was hungry, it's actually Alex, who had only eaten scraps of waffles and two coffees. The place is too nice for a quick meal before the show but it's French and he likes the sound of lamb chops. Franny gets calamari because she likes the pronunciation and she's had it before so they know she won't hate it. Lottie gets mussels and fries because Brussels.

Lottie orders for them in French. The waiter says something back to her that makes her laugh but Alex has no clue. He's tried to learn more but he hasn't practiced on the road. It's not his fault his own private tutor won't come with him.

They don't talk. It's far too loud to hear each other over the music, which is nice, but he'd prefer conversation over it. Lottie leans over and whispers straight into his ear, "I bet you she likes this more than your show."

He turns to speak into her ear. His skin brushes against hers. His stubble scratches her jawbone and his lips lightly touch her earlobe. "Yeah, this one has food and mine will be 'too loud.'"

Lottie turns back to his ear. "It's good. I want her to protect her ears." Alex agrees but he's almost certain this jazz band will do more damage to her ears than his band. Their table is right near the stage. Her ears are so close to the saxophone.

Franny pops calamari into her mouth so quickly he worries she'll choke. Granted, he does inhale the lamb chops. Lottie hasn't even had a fry yet by the time he's finished. He snags one of them and she allows it. She then drops a mussel shell into his lap just because she wants to see him squirm. (He does and she giggles almost as loud as the music).

They take the metro to the venue, Bell Centre, or Centre Belle as Lottie calls it because she's French and difficult. The second they step on the platform and wait for the 2 train Alex asks, "Is there something special about Montreal trains I should know?" He speaks quietly so as to not expose his shame.

He truly never got the hang of the doors of Paris's Metro. Either it took him too many tries to open or his arm would get ripped off, eventually, he refused to do it and forced Lottie to do it every time or they wouldn't get off the train. She'd laugh hysterically.

The last time they were there and Lottie was sad they were leaving, Alex opened the door to cheer her up. He tripped and almost fell face-first on the platform. Suddenly, Lottie wasn't so upset anymore.

Now, she laughs at his question. "I don't know. I've never been here before."

"We'll just have Francoise take care of everything," he says.

She smiles and leans her head on his shoulder as they wait. Franny is holding his hand. He doesn't care how long the train takes. This is a nice place to be.

When it comes powering through the station, Franny jumps up and down, beyond excited by the mode of transport. The doors automatically open and Franny leads the way, hopping on the train. She sits on Alex's lap because it's only two seats per row and she doesn't want anyone to be separated. She kicks her feet out and the heel of her shoes beats against his shins.

"These are sleek," Lottie says while looking around the train car.

"Much nicer than London," he says. Lottie rolls her eyes. "What?" He asks.

"This is what happens with a French regime," she says.

He makes an amused noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "What? Nicer subways?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. What was Toronto's metro like?"

"I didn't go on it," he says. "Are we comparing French imperialism and British imperialism right now?"

"No, I'm just saying it's a nice subway."

"Okay."

It's silent between them for a moment. Another train whooshes past and they stop at Station Côte-Vertu. Once the doors close and the train sets in motion again Lottie says, "Not everything is a jab against you."

His eyes widen. He didn't think they were fighting. He needs to be more aware of his tone. Lottie tells him that all the time. "I never said it was."

She rolls her eyes and turns away, looking out the window. He stares at her. She reflects onto the window, her soul staring back at him. He's thinking of her blue bandana and those sunglasses that she used to hide herself with. He thinks of that saddle bag. All those saddlebags that have been left behind in Paris like shedding a piece of who she used to be.

She is every version she's ever been right in front of his eyes. He knows every stretch of her. He memorized it long ago back when they were in Brussels. He was dumb then but he knew that there would be a chance he'd never see her again. So, he brushed his finger on every nanometer of her and swore he would remember it. Has she forgotten that? He's overthinking, he knows. Besides—

"This is our stop," she says.

They walk off the train and up the metro steps. They make it one block before she tells him at a red traffic light, "I'm going to go to the cathedral for a bit."

It's clearly not an invitation for him to come. "Okay."

"You keep Francoise," she requests. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, of course."

She bends down and kisses Franny's cheek. She rises to his level and does the same. It's rushed. She says her goodbyes as she tries to make it across the street before the light changes. "I'll see you in an hour."

Then, it's just Franny's hand in his. She tugs on it. "Dad. The light's green."

He nods. "Right." They make their way across the street and Lottie isn't in view anymore, already ducked in Mary, Queen of the World Cathedral. He wonders if Lottie ever prays. She's not religious—that was beaten out of her by the nuns at her Catholic school—but she loves all places of worship. He knows this comes from being an aesthete but something about the Catholics always draws her back. He'll have to ask her.

Franny skips through the venue halls. "It's big."

"Yeah."

"It's bigger than me."

"I think it might be."

He picks her up and she's squealing and flinging her arms and legs around. He made those legs and arms, well, half of her, maybe just the right arm and left leg. Still, it hits him sometimes just as hard as the way her heels kick against him.

He releases her and she goes off giggling. He can't tell if she enjoyed today or not. She enjoyed it enough not to complain about it, which is a relief to him. She can whine. She may be well-behaved and not throw tantrums but she's still four and has a habit of whining and crying and tugging on his arm until he gives in because he always seems to give in.

Franny hangs out backstage while they do soundcheck. He comes back to her drawing with crayons on a coffee table and sipping on a juice box. Lottie still isn't back. He squats down to sit on the couch with the crack of his knees. "Whatcha working on, lady?"

She lifts up the paper featuring a purple creation resembling a butterfly. "I'm not finished."

His grin is unstoppable. He loves all these little creations. They're plastered all around their home from her first work (her handprints) to the latest craze (butterflies). He'll have to make sure this one is packed away safely. "I'm liking it so far."

Alex leans back and watches her. The stroke of her crayon is wild and unstoppable but somehow lands in the form of butterfly wings. She stops, takes a sip of her juice box, and asks, "Are you ever coming home?"

His eyebrows jump and an ache hangs upon his heartstrings. This has gone on too long, he's known this. He knows Lottie shields him from this. It's impossible that Franny doesn't ask why he's gone for so long or that she misses him. "Yeah. In about a month. I'm sorry."

She shrugs and continues drawing. "It's fine. I like mummy a lot."

There's remorse in his smile, but he tells her, "Me too." He can't remember the last time he and Franny were alone together like this. There were plenty of times at home when it was just the two of them but he can't recall the last time the two went somewhere together. Every museum, every playdate, every grocery trip has been handled by Lottie. He can't remember the last time Lottie did something by herself.

It makes him want to slap himself like no shit, not everything is about you. Except it kind of is. He has been the reason she hasn't gotten a moment to herself. She locks things behind a door and says what's going on behind the door is so much fun, but he's never been on the other side of the door so he doesn't know the full truth.

"What juice are you drinking?" He asks.

Franny holds the box up. Elmo faces him with wide arms and a big, wide-open-mouthed smile. "Apple. Want some?" She walks over with the box and holds it out to him.

He almost says no but she pushes it toward him, willing him to take it. His mouth covers the tiny straw and he can't remember the last time he had apple juice but Elmo has good taste. "You can have the rest," she decides. Franny leaves the box with him and trots back to her drawing station.

"Thanks, Fran." He continues to sip on it. The tiny size of it and his hands back him feel like when Franny was a baby. It makes him remember Franny still is a baby and he should savour this time rather than worrying about not having that time back.

He leans his elbows on his knees and drinks the juice. The taste makes him think of his childhood home and how his mum used to give out apple juice boxes whenever his friends came over. Now, well, he's still drinking them.

"Hitting the hard stuff?" Lottie asks as she walks in. She looks brighter as if she went to the beach and got a tan. She's joking, she's smiling, she sits right next to Franny and kisses her left cheek and then her right cheek from behind.

Alex chuckles and places the empty box on the table. "Just trying to calm the nerves. How was the cathedral?"

Her cheeks look like they ache. "It was lovely. The statues, the paintings, the cupola. I'll show you pictures later."

It makes him nearly as happy as her, though that doesn't seem possible to meet. "That's great. I'm excited."

Lottie wraps her arms around Franny's stomach and hugs her back to her chest. "No you're not," she brushes off, looking down at Franny's paper.

He furrows his brows. "I'm not lying."

She looks up, smiles, and does a single nod. "Okay."

Alex can't see them when he's onstage. He imagines they are either dancing or Franny has fallen asleep. He tries not to think about it much when he's playing. It makes him too nervous. He feels the need to be impressive and grab their attention. Plus, if he messes up and falls on his face in front of Lottie she'll make fun of him forever. She'll mock him later anyway.

After the first show she went to on the tour, she stood up on the bed with a bare chest, only wearing his boxers, and started imitating him with a crooner voice and all. Her impersonations aren't just for the present day. In the shower, she'll comb her hair back to look like she's slapped a pound of gel in it and do a horrible impression of him in 2013. She can't sing so it's pretty funny to watch.

When the show ends he waits for them by Franny's purple butterfly drawing. They open the door with Lottie giving Franny a piggyback ride and Franny shouting, "You were great!"

"Really?" He asks, hands on his hips as they reach him. He grabs Franny and holds her on his hip. Her braids have been messed with like she was thrashing in a mosh pit.

"You weren't too loud or quiet. Just right!" She emphasizes her opinion with her hands, adding punctuation with each word.

"Well, thank you, Goldilocks." Alex's eyes shift to Lottie. "Mama bear?"

Lottie wrinkles her nose. "Ew, don't call me that." She cackles loudly as if he's the first person who has ever told her a joke. "You were lovely. Very energetic but not overtly."

He's not sure what she exactly means but he takes it with a chuckle. He takes a big yawn, throwing his head back for extra emphasis. He looks at the little girl. "I'm tired. Are you tired, Franny?"

Lottie makes a pointed look at him. "Francoise, remember?"

"Francoise," he corrects.

Franny giggles and clutches his neck tightly. "You guys are funny."

"Francoise." Alex pops her on his hips, making her laugh more. "What do you think about hanging with Matt and Amanda?"

She shrugs. "I guess so. They want to be my friends soooooo badly."

Lottie has to turn around her as laughter bursts out of her, lips flapping, and in desperate need of taking a deep breath. Alex turns his face to the side, not wanting to laugh straight into Franny's face.

"What?" Franny questions, having no idea of the hilarity of her words.

Lottie covers her mouth as she looks back. Her words come out muffled as she says, "Nothing, honey. You'll have a great time with them."

Alex can't control himself and has to place Franny down in order to contain his laughter. Franny ends up running over to Matt and tugging on his arm saying how excited she is to hang out like they're two guys getting beers together.

On the ride back to the hotel, Lottie nearly falls asleep against the window. She would have if the van hadn't hit a speed bump and knocked her head up against the glass. She walks into the hotel hanging off his side. She bends down and hugs Franny good night before bidding farewell to the rest of the group and escaping into their hotel room where she promptly rushes into the room, kicks off her shoes, and takes her clothes off.

"Geez," Alex says at the sight. "Are you rushing to bed or just excited to see me?"

She moves over to him and kisses him full on the lips. He nearly falls over. His arms flailing at his sides. He feels like he's hallucinating from exhaustion. "Excited to see you." She's unlatching her bra and throwing it at him. The sight of naked boobs should arouse him but leaves him as perplexed as when a woman threw a bra at him in Athens.

"Alrighty. Were you not just about to fall asleep two seconds ago?"

She rolls her eyes, sits on the edge of the bed, and takes off her socks. "It's called putting on a show, Alex," she says to him like he's their four-year-old daughter.

"Right."

"If Francoise thinks I'm tired, she will believe she should be tired. She fully believes my bedtime is 8:30 and that I don't stay up watching television until midnight. It works every time so you should work on your tired look for the next time."

Alex blinks slowly, still fully dressed. "I am tired."

"Oh." She's sitting in her underwear. She sits up straight and crosses her arms. "So, you didn't pawn off our daughter to have sex with me."

"Well," he sheds his jacket and tosses it on the sofa chair, "I never said that. I'm not an idiot."

She smirks and stands up. "I know." She turns her back to him and slowly begins to pull off her panties. Alex rushes to grab her hips and do it himself. He crashes into her, forcing a giggle out of her and landing them flat on the housekeeping-made bed. "Stop. You're gonna break one of my ribs."

He lifts himself, allowing her to breathe again. He stands up and begins to remove clothing items starting with his shoes. Lottie flips her body to look straight at him while he does this. She bites her thumbnail like she needs something between her teeth while she waits for him.

She then takes him off guard, "Do you jerk off?"

He's kicking his trousers off when she asks this, stopping with them pooling around his ankles. "Why do you want to know?"

She shrugs. "I'm just curious. That's all." There's something more to it because if Lottie there's always something more. She's made with ulterior motives.

Alex steps out of his pants. He smirks as he stands over her. His penis hanging near her cunt. "You want me to jerk off."

"What?" She awkwardly giggles. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't," she insists. "I was just curious if you had time for that kind of thing."

He chuckles at her. "Lot, I've got plenty of time to se branler."

She reaches out to slap his stomach, right above his evidence. "Shut up. What kind of foreplay is this?"

Alex stares at her in disbelief. "You asked the question!"

"Did you forget how to have sex? Is that how long we've been apart?"

He rolls his eyes. And just to see her squirm he asks, "Do you watch porn?"

Her jaw drops. "Shut up!" After that, he does because it's much more fun to fuck your wife than to talk about fucking your wife.

The first time they had sex after having Franny, Lottie wanted to go slow. It was foreign and sore and filled with uncertainty for the first time in their relationship. But it was a lovely affair, a reunion of sorts.

This is different. It's a reunion but it's quick and attacking. He feels like they're a step away from eating each other (and not in the eating out kind of way). He's in her and they're together on the edge of the bed, their feet hanging off onto the floor, but neither makes a move to decide whether they should fuck on the bed or the floor.

And they're embarrassingly loud. Or at least she is. He can't keep track of himself. All he knows is he's moaning in her ear and the volume could be a small whisper or a full release. It's like when they were stuck in her Paris apartment that was so tiny you had to fuck in such a confined space and it might have been the hottest sex they ever had because of that.

He feels sweaty for the first time that night. Her hands are grasping on his shoulders, imprinting fingernail crescent cuts. He pushes his mouth directly next to her ear. "What if we had another baby?"

She pushes him up off of her chest, desperate for air, for some release from this heat. "You carry it." Yeah, he probably shouldn't be asking for things like that. He's barely been around this past year for the one they already have.

"Sorry," he pathetically mumbles.

She's not listening. She's busy getting ready to come. "Just fuck me." She's sick of him. He's convinced.

But at least he can fuck her. He knows he's good at that with the way she moves, arches, and clamps around him. She pushes him back further and tells him, "Jerk off now."

He listens, obedient as always to her orders, and pulls out. He would have come on the carpet, completely unsure of where to dispose of himself, but she gets down on her knees and opens her mouth. He moves closer. "Don't put it in my mouth," she says.

He lays the tip on her bottom lip, which seems to be okay with her. His fist is quick because he feels he'll burst into flames at the sight of her right now if he doesn't come into her mouth. So, he does. It takes him a while to relax and he's unsure if she swallows it or spits it into the wastebasket.

Lottie throws her hair up and stretches her back in front of him, bending back and forward. He feels old all the time, it rarely registers that she's the same age as him. She’s getting older too. She's more youthful than him, that's for sure. There's a reason women live longer than men.

She laughs at him still catching his breath as she hides herself under the blankets, waiting for him. "Come here," she reaches out.

He straightens out. "I'm coming. I'm coming."

She curls her lips, refraining from the sex joke. He stretches out on his stomach beside her. She has to tuck him in. It's cozy and soft. She moves him like a doll by grabbing his arm and curling it over her stomach. He moves closer and lies his head on his shoulder, brushing his nose against her jugular.

She moves down and even with his eyes closed he feels her eyes gazing at him. Her breath is so close to his. The tip of her nose carefully brushes his. "I missed you."

He slowly opens his eyes. He longs for her so much. He doesn't think he could've survived another day without her. She's as necessary as food and water. It's a hunger and a desire but it's sustenance and nourishment. Yet, he chose to starve himself. "I'm sorry for doing this to you."

She grows concerned, shifting over to her side. Her brows furrow and she is completely lost. She puts her hand on his upper arm, rubbing it in a soothing manner. "Doing what?"

"Being away. Being absent. Taking things away from you."

She shakes her head with confusion. "You gave me my whole life, Al."

"I gave you a whole different life."

"I'm quite happy with the life I have," she assures him. He goes through phases like this before where he covers himself in self-doubt. But this is different. There's a reason to be concerned because it's hard to question what is in front of your eyes, it's easy to question what you don't see.

"You've given up too much, Lot."

She doesn't refute him. She looks around but doesn't make eye contact with him. She's thinking. She gives his arm a squeeze to calm him. "I'm a very lucky girl." She hesitates before deciding to tell him the truth, "But I sometimes get jealous of you. I give in to you a lot and it's my own decision. You didn't force me into this. I'm going to spend my whole life missing out on things but I don't want to miss out on you. Believe me, I'm very happy right now."

She curls closer to him, needing the comfort, needing the love, needing him. He tries to soothe her the best you can. "I'm gonna take care of you for the rest of my life."

"I believe you."

He's never been great at compromise. He's gotten his way. Lottie gives in. She's the one willing to give things up. It's his turn. It should have been from the beginning. "Do you want to move to Paris?"

She gives him a small smile and a light shake of the head. "I just want you to come home."

"We should spend every summer in Paris. Get a little place there."

"I have work," she points out.

He groans and falls on his back. "Fuck work."

She giggles and lands on top of his chest, lying there. "I appreciate the sentiment though."

Alex brushes her arm. "I'm going to give you what you want. I promise. I'll learn French, I swear."

She kisses his cheek, a smile placed on his skin. "Thank you. I just want us all to be back in our home."

It grows quiet, both just feeling the other's presence, relaxing into it for the first time in forever. Her skin is so soft and her body is a comforting warmth on his skin. A feeling he's felt since the first night he slept beside her. They keep each other close because there's no other way of doing it.

Lottie breaks through the quiet. "Are we going to sleep naked?"

He grins with closed lips and turns to her. "Like the good ol' days."

"Something like it."

He squeezes her butt and she teases the skin around his dick but never touches it. They fall asleep a half hour later. He always thought it was bullshit that people slept better in the presence of someone else but it's true.

Then, there's a knock at the door. He awakes before the noise gets to Lottie. The room is dark and he stubs his toe on one of the bed's legs. He manages to find boxers to throw on before opening the door. It's early and he might be sleepwalking. His eyes squint and he manages to make out the sight of Matt with Franny in his arms.

"What's wrong?" Franny is curled into Matt's shoulder so peaceful looking that she could almost be asleep but she clearly isn't. Her eyes stare straight at him.

Matt looks tired. He's in his pyjamas too. "Bad dream. Sorry for waking you but she's too scared and I just thought..."

Not wanting to trouble Matt more, he reaches out and takes Franny from him. She grabs his neck so tightly she's almost choking him. "Don't worry. Thanks. Sorry about all this."

Matt shakes his head and pats Alex's arm before shuffling his feet back to his own room.

Alex quietly closes the door as best as he can. He whispers to Franny, "You okay?"

"Just don't leave," Franny tells him.

He rubs his hand up her back, holding her the same way he used to burp her. "I'm right here," he reminds her. She squeezes him tightly just to make sure. He reciprocates, holding him close to him. "Mum's still asleep."

She nods against his neck. "I'll be quiet. Swear."

"I know you will." He carries her to their bed, lying her between them. Her arms stay curled around him. He rubs his hand up and down in the hope she will fall asleep before he does.

"I'm happy you're here," she whispers to him.

He smiles because for once he is here. "Me too."

a/n: did not think it would be this long. i didn't think i'd ever write another part to this but i wrote the first 3k words in pencil on random sheets of paper and then the rest just happened. i hope it translates well.

#alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #junedenim

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revacholianpizzaagenda · 2 days ago

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Three days left to sign up for the 2025 runs of the beautiful amazing transcendent Elysium LARP!

When and where

The larp will have two runs (20-24 & 27-31 August 2025) in Terezín, Czech Republic (about an hour’s drive north of Prague) [there will be options for car-less people]. The event starts on Wednesday evening and ends on Saturday evening; players need to be on-site for the entire duration of the event.

Price

Standard ticket €360, 13 subsidised at €150, understudy (last-minute spots) €50. The price includes the full experience, key parts of the costume, food, and basic lodgings.

Practicalities

What: A Disco Elysium larp for 109 players.

When: 20-24 & 27-31 August 2025 (starting Wednesday evening, ending Saturday evening)

Where: Old Military Hospital, Terezín (Czech Republic)

Cost: €360 standard ticket, €150 subsidised, €50 understudy (last-minute spots)

Produced by: Rolling & and international crew

Language: English

Location: Old military hospital in the middle of the city. Indoors and outdoors environment. The venue has basic amenities (toilets, water, basic portable showers etc), but don’t expect high standards (no central heating). Hotel accommodation can be bought extra.

Accessibility: Venue not wheelchair friendly (no elevators, stairs) and very large. Dusty environment. Need to read long texts before the larp (30+ pages). Higher levels of activity during the event. Loud noises, strobing lights, and crowds may be present.

Time: Arrival mandatory on Wednesday evening. One day of pre-game activities, then game time. Dedicated 8 hours a night for sleep. End of game on Saturday evening, cleanup on Sunday. All players need to be present on site between Wednesday and Saturday evening to participate in the event.

Costumes & props: Key costume elements and key props will be provided. You bring a base layer, shoes, and any extra props you want. Think 70s-90s wacky style.

Food & drink: Scheduled breakfast, lunch, and dinner (served in-game). We will provide water, tea, and vegetarian food, with the whole menu available beforehand, allowing people to bring food to address their allergies and special needs.

Design

Potential content warnings: Racism, violence, physical larping, poverty, political extremism, loud noises, realistic firearms, drug use, oppression, suicide, dysfunctional family dynamics, real work.

Design & play style: Immersive experience grounded in a poetic world. Some scripted story points and more collaborative than competitive play. Pre-written characters and plots. Characters have secrets not transparently known to all players.

Sign-up process: Lottery system with certain conditions applied by organisers. Players will have the option to flag they are uncomfortable playing with somebody or think somebody is not safe to be at the event. When given a spot, players have some weeks to pay. Casting happens after spot assignments but before payment.

Co-creation: Pre-written characters. Given act structure with some limitations or mechanics; otherwise, players have the freedom to create. Players are not expected to prepare or create relations, have meetings, partake in events, etc., before the event – co-creation happens in pre-game activities on site. Lore is established by organisers. Players create art and make things at work during the game.

Physical & emotional safety: Opt-out techniques & safety techniques. Some themes apply to the whole larp and cannot be opted out of (for example, “poverty”). Medium-contact mechanisms for violence, symbolic mechanisms for physical intimacy. Dedicated organisers for safety and medical and emotional support. Calibration techniques will be workshopped.

What you will be doing: Playing out conflicts, romances, brawls, revealing secrets from the past, pursuing political goals, dealing with community problems. Creating art, music, weird performances, or just striving to have a normal, working family. Work is also part of the game. Most players will have 2-3 hours of some form of “work” to perform each day (making things, cleaning things…). Scheduled and spontaneous activities in the characters’ social groups (hobbies, families, politics, interest groups, etc.). Socialising, trading, scheming or just chilling and people-watching.

#disco elysium #97poets #97 poets of revachol #the eel's hips and then some!

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sjsmith56 · 2 days ago

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Anniversary

Summary: Bucky visits his wife, a patient at a specialized hospital, to celebrate their anniversary.

Length: 4.1 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, named OFC (wife), named OCC (children), Sam Wilson, named OMC (doctor), Shuri, assorted Dora Milaje.

Warnings: contains description of severe emotional trauma and PTSD, which may be triggering. Bucky experiencing major angst.

Author notes at end to avoid spoilers.

Today was Bucky's anniversary. It had been 10 years since he got married to Angela, his angel. He still remembered how she looked as she came down the aisle on her dad's arm, her eyes focused on him. Her bouquet of gerbera daisies, their distinctive bright colours setting the joyful tone for their wedding, was nestled in her other arm. There wasn't a dry eye in the house when they spoke their vows to each other, promising to love and cherish each other through better or for worse, through sickness and health, until death separated them. Their first dance at the reception was to You Are So Beautiful. She was everything he ever wanted, and he thanked the fates for bringing them together.

As Bucky came out of the shower, with a towel wrapped around his waist, he looked at himself in the mirror. There was more grey in his beard now, as well as a few stray strands in his hair. His aging process was slower than most humans, but it was still there, and he didn't mind. Neither did Angela when she first teased him about someday being a silver fox. He carefully trimmed his beard down, making it look neat. Next, he brushed his teeth, then he styled his hair, making sure it was just like his wife liked it.

He began to get dressed, pulling his pants on then his dress shirt. Before he could button it there was a small knock on the door, and he zipped up his pants before opening it to his son Jamie, and daughter, Emma, aged 8 and 6. Sam was behind them.

"Sorry, but they wanted to see you," said his friend, apologetically.

"I was going to say good night before you left," he said gently to the pair, sitting down on the bed facing both of them. "Why the long faces?"

"Why can't we come?" asked Emma.

"Because this is a special occasion for Mom and me," he replied softly. "We've been married for ten years. You'll see her tomorrow and you can tell her all about what you and Uncle Sam and Auntie Jade do tonight."

"Why can't we see her tonight?" asked Jamie, fidgeting with his hands.

"Oh, bubba, it's just how it is," answered Bucky, stroking his son's head. "Tonight, it's just me and your mom. Tomorrow, it will be all of us. I promise."

He hugged them both, looking up at Sam's sympathetic face. It was hard for the kids to understand that their visits were difficult for their mom sometimes. For them to see her tonight could make tomorrow almost unbearable for her. Cradling their faces in his hands, Bucky kissed their foreheads, then walked them out to the living room, where Sam's wife, Jade, was waiting with the kid's overnight bags. He kissed her on the cheek then hugged his kids again, wishing them all a good night, as they left.

Back in his bedroom, he finished dressing, putting Angela's favourite tie on, then the watch she bought him for their fifth anniversary. He packed his overnight bag, and took another look around the bedroom, sighing at how empty it seemed.

On the way to meet his wife, Bucky stopped at the florists to pick up the bouquet of gerbera daisies, remembering his wedding day once again when he saw them. Every time Bucky came to see her, he brought them, hoping that she would notice and give him a sign that she heard him or knew it was him that was visiting. Half the time she did. Those were the best visits.

It didn't take long to get to the facility. He parked, grabbed his overnight bag and the flowers, and strode up to the door. Inside, he checked in at the reception desk, where the receptionist looked up at him.

"The doctor would like to see you before you go in," she said. "I'll call and let him know you're here. If you could just check in at the unit desk, he'll be there."

Bucky wondered why the doctor needed to talk to him, hoping it was just a check in and not a warning. He took the elevator, coming out just down the hall from the unit desk. Doctor Fletcher was waiting, smiling kindly at Bucky as he approached.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"I just wanted to see you before you entered the unit," said the doctor, motioning for Bucky to come with him. He ushered him into an office and closed the door. "There was an incident just a short while ago. Since you were coming anyway, we didn't call."

"Did she hurt anyone?"

"No, but it was a severe flashback," he replied. "She had to be sedated. I know tonight is a special night, but we had no choice. She's awake but right now is non-responsive. I'm sorry."

Bucky breathed out, clamping his jaw tightly shut. He couldn't be angry at the doctor as they took such good care of Angela but sometimes when she remembered her trauma she reacted violently. As the doctor recounted what happened, Bucky listened, looking down at the floor. Sometimes, it was a struggle to dampen his own emotions when he thought of all that happened to her, but it was important to her well being that he appear calm when he was with her.

"You ready?" asked Dr. Fletcher. "You're still welcome to stay the night, just be prepared for a recurrence."

"I do wish to stay," said Bucky. "We haven't ever been apart on our anniversary and I'm not about to start now. What about the kid's visit tomorrow?"

"We'll assess her behaviour in the morning and decide then," he replied. "We'll turn off the internal cameras for your privacy as soon as you're in there."

Bucky nodded in agreement, then followed the doctor out of his office. They went through two locked doors then came up to another door. Doctor Fletcher looked up at the security camera and nodded. The buzzer on the room door sounded and the lock clicked open. Bucky opened the door, stepping inside and pushed the door closed, hearing the lock click and the buzzer sound. Up in the corner, the camera light went off. Angela was seated in an armchair by the window. She wore a dress, and someone had done her hair.

"Sweetheart?" asked Bucky, approaching her slowly, putting his bag on the dresser.

She didn't look at him or respond. Slowly, he positioned himself in front of his wife and kneeled in front of her.

"Hello, my darling," he murmured, touching her hand with his hand. "I brought you your favourite flowers for our anniversary." Her face didn't change, not acknowledging his presence. "It's our tenth anniversary, Angela."

There was still no response, and he sighed. Standing up he opened a cupboard and brought out a plastic vase, filling it with water in the bathroom. After unwrapping the bouquet, he placed the flowers in the vase and put it on her dresser. Taking his phone out he brought up the playlist of music played at their wedding and started it. Then he dragged the other chair over to sit next to her and reached for her hand. As the music played, he told her the story of how they met.

"I was looking for a specific album from the 1940s," he began. "For weeks I had searched the internet for someone who had it and you put up an ad on one of the websites, as you were selling your grandparent's record collection. I showed up at your place and you had a treasure trove of music that I loved. I offered to buy it all and the price you quoted was outrageous, but I didn't care because it was the music I grew up listening to, dancing to, and making love to. We reached an agreement for me to pay you in instalments. Every month I would meet you, pay you a portion, then you would give me another box of records. About three months into our little transaction, you asked me to stay for a drink and we played some of my favourites on a record player that you bought. We had such a good time, as I had a story for just about every album you played. When I got home, I realized that I forgot to pay you, and I drove back. That was the first time we kissed."

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed them. Her fingers flexed as he did it and he looked at Angela's face. She had a slight smile on it.

"You called me a few days later and asked me over for dinner," he continued. "We danced and I stayed until breakfast. When I moved in a month later, I didn't have to pay for any more records. You took the ad down, which irritated another buyer who tried to outbid me. We got married six months later. Since then, it's been ten years, and I love you as much now as I did then."

"Bucky?"

Her whisper was barely audible, but he heard her.

"Yes, my angel. I'm here."

"I'm sorry."

He kneeled before her again, looking up into her brown eyes that struggled to focus on him.

"You don't have to be sorry for anything, sweetheart. You just had a bad day."

"I remembered." His hand went to her cheek, caressing it gently. She blinked then took a shuddering breath. "They hurt me to hurt you."

"Yeah," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. They'll never hurt you again. I made sure of that."

Angela's eyes squeezed shut and she whimpered, the sound piercing Bucky's soul. Those bastards destroyed so much of her when they took her. In the few days it took to find her they ripped her apart physically, emotionally, and mentally, as part of a targeted effort to bring him to heel. All because he said no, that he was done with killing, done with everything he ever did as the Winter Soldier. At the time he meant it, then they took Angela and there was no stopping him when he caught up to them.

"Sweetheart," he murmured. "Do you want to sit on my lap?"

Her head nodded slightly, and he helped her up, then took her place in the armchair, gathering her onto her safe place, close to him, surrounded by his warmth and his strong arms. As her hand slid into the gap between his shirt buttons, settling on his chest, he smiled that she still felt comforted by his skin.

"Sing," she whispered.

He stopped the playlist, cleared his throat, and began to sing her favourite lullaby.

Hush little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird.

And if that mockingbird don't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring.

And if that diamond ring turns brass, Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass.

And if that looking glass gets broke, Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat.

And if that billy goat doesn't pull, Papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull.

And if that cart and bull turn over, Papa's gonna buy a dog named Rover.

And if that dog named Rover won't bark, Papa's gonna buy a horse and cart.

And if that horse and cart fall down, we'll you'll still be the sweetest baby in town.

She gave out a sigh and burrowed further into his chest. They sat like that for some time, listening to each other's heartbeats. He kissed her head, breathing in and out calmly.

"How long?" she asked, like she did every time he visited.

"Two years," he answered. "You've been here two years."

"When can I go home?"

He felt his eyes burn and throat tighten at the question and struggled to answer, afraid that his voice would crack. But she deserved the truth, always.

"When you're better and you stop trying to hurt yourself and the kids," he replied. She was quiet and he knew she was blaming herself. "It wasn't your fault. They know you love them, and they love you."

"I'm sorry," she whispered again. A sinking feeling filled Bucky's body as he waited for the next words. "I remembered. They hurt me to hurt you."

"Yes, they did." He swallowed. "I'm so sorry but they'll never hurt you again. I made sure of that."

She was quiet again then she spoke and asked him a new question that threw him off for a moment.

"Did you hurt them back?"

"Yeah, baby, I did. I hurt them bad."

"Good."

After several more minutes of silence Angela pulled her head away from Bucky's chest and looked at his face. She placed her hand on his cheek and smiled at him, making him smile back.

"Hi Bucky," she said. "You wore a suit."

"Hi sweetheart," he whispered. "I wore a suit because it's a special occasion and I love to see you smile."

"Is it our anniversary?" she asked. Bucky nodded and glanced back at the flowers, drawing her attention to them. "Gerbera daisies.�� Just like on our wedding day. Can we dance?"

"Sure."

They stood up and he searched for You Are So Beautiful on his phone, placing it on the table near the armchair. Taking Angela in his arms, Bucky bent his head so that they were cheek to cheek and began dancing. Holding her was so amazing and for a moment, he could almost imagine they were dancing at their wedding again. Then the song ended, and another one began, and Angela suddenly pulled away, looking around at her surroundings.

"Where am I?"

"You're in a safe place," he answered, hoping this was just a question and not the beginning of another episode.

"No, no." She backed away, looking more and more confused. "This is a prison."

"No, sweetheart, it's a hospital," replied Bucky. "They're trying to help you, remember?"

"NO!"

She pushed him away and tried to get to the door. Bucky wrapped his arms around her, but she turned on him and began scratching at his face, crying for help. He could hear the intercom turn on before the sound of Dr. Fletcher's voice. Looking at the door, he could see the man's face in the small window.

"Mr. Barnes, we need to intervene. You're bleeding."

"I'll heal," said Bucky. "Please, don't."

"It will just get worse. You know that. Let us do our job."

His face crumpled as he nodded, and the door buzzed then the lock clicked, and three men came in to take Angela under control. She kicked and screamed at them as Bucky was ordered into the corner of the room. He had only witnessed this a handful of times, but each time tore him apart. For all his super soldier abilities he couldn't handle Angela when she got this bad. He couldn't fix what her abductors had done to her. Only time and professional care could do that, and even that wasn't certain.

Slumping down in the corner, he covered his ears and closed his eyes unable to listen or watch them as the three men gently but firmly held Angela still while Dr. Fletcher injected her with a sedative. It took only a minute for it to take effect then her head lolled back and two of the men lifted her onto her bed. One removed her shoes while the other covered her up with a blanket. The third waited at the door while his coworkers left, leaving Bucky and Dr. Fletcher in the room. He bent over in front of Bucky, looking at him with compassion.

"Let me check your face."

"I'm fine," said Bucky, slowly standing up.

"You're not. Please, come into the bathroom and I'll make sure nothing is too deep." Allowing the doctor to lead him in, Bucky sat on the shower chair while the doctor examined his scratches. "They are superficial, but we should clean them. You have blood on your shirt."

He prepared a facecloth for Bucky, then watched as the super soldier cleaned his face.

"She's not getting better, is she?" asked Bucky.

"Healing doesn't happen in a straight line," said Dr. Fletcher. He sighed. "I'm not sure that anything we're doing here is helping, to be honest. Have you approached your friends in Wakanda for help?"

Bucky nodded. "They believe they can help her, but I'm not allowed to leave the country, and I won't send her there alone." He pulled up his pant leg, showing the ankle monitor. "I should be in prison for what I did to the kidnappers, but the judge was lenient with sentencing and allowed me to be at home to look after the kids. If I try to leave, they'll come after me. They'll send a black ops team into Wakanda to extract me. I can't do that to them, and I can't live a fugitive life again. It's no life for a wife and family."

"Mr. Barnes ... Bucky." Dr. Fletcher exhaled loudly. "She has talked of suicide and frankly, I'm afraid she will succeed, despite all our precautions. If they can help, isn't that worth your freedom? From what I've seen of you, your wife means everything. I can talk to whoever will listen and try to make them understand that your wife's recovery needs to happen in Wakanda and that she needs you with her. But if they don't agree, then I think the time for drastic action is on you."

He patted Bucky on the shoulder, then left him in the bathroom, checking briefly on Angela before closing the room door behind him. Still in the bathroom, Bucky wiped some tears from his face then took off his jacket, tie, and dress shirt, staring at himself in the mirror. Returning to the room, he took a T-shirt and sweatpants out of his bag, and changed into them. After turning all the lights off, he slid into bed beside Angela, cradling her in his arms before kissing her on the forehead.

"Happy Anniversary," he murmured.

One year later

The Wakandan diplomatic jet approached JFK airport. Inside, Bucky sat, holding his wife Angela's hand, their daughter, Emma, on her lap, while Jamie, their son, looked out the window, still captivated by the view from above. The announcement to buckle up for landing came and he made sure both kids were strapped in before turning his attention to his wife.

"I'm fine," she said, pointing to the seatbelt. "See? I managed it all by myself."

"Just making sure," he smiled as he belted himself in. He looked over at Shuri and Ayo, both of them smiling knowingly at them. He could have been flippant, but he was too grateful for that. "Thank you again for all that you did. I'm forever in your debt, once more."

"There is no debt, White Wolf," said Shuri. "Living the life you were meant to have will be payment enough." She looked at Angela. "Remember to always wear the kimoyo beads, even in the shower. Any episodes of PTSD will alert us, and we can apply corrective measures immediately."

"I will. Thank you for taking care of me. I'm going to miss living there but it's time my parents got to see their grandchildren again."

"You are always welcome to visit and bring the grandparents," smiled Shuri.

Nomble came out of the cockpit and sat on a nearby chair, shaking her head in disgust.

"The authorities requested permission to board the jet to place Sergeant Barnes in custody. I took the liberty of reminding them this is a diplomatic aircraft, and any incursion could be construed as an aggressive act. They will be inside the terminal, but I believe they wish to take him before the press has a chance to ask him for comment."

"Well, that's not going to happen," said Shuri, looking at the other members of the Dora Milaje accompanying them. "Make sure that Sergeant Barnes and his family are within the security perimeter."

"I don't want trouble," said Bucky.

"Too late for that," murmured Yama, loud enough to be heard by all of them.

When the aircraft landed and the Dora Milaje set up their guard formation, Bucky and his family were placed immediately behind Shuri, as they walked into the terminal via the passageway. As they approached the arrivals lounge inside, they could see an assortment of police and federal agents waiting to take Bucky into custody. Shuri walked right past them, and the Dora Milaje gave no space for anyone to slip between them. They proceeded through the doors to immigration and customs, entering the diplomatic line. Even though Bucky and his family were instructed to enter a different line, Shuri ignored it and declared the Barnes family as being under her diplomatic immunity. The agent on duty looked questioningly at his supervisor who sighed, then nodded his head, not wanting to cause a diplomatic incident with the formidable women warriors. As two of them were delegated to collect the luggage, Shuri led the others out to the public arrivals area of the terminal where the press was, along with Sam Wilson.

While the Wakandan group faced the others, preventing any law enforcement from entering their perimeter, Bucky kneeled and hugged his son and daughter, stroking their heads with affection.

"I have to give myself up now," he said. "Remember what I said about listening to your mom and Uncle Sam, and Auntie Jade. If anyone says anything bad about me, you just walk away. I'll fight my own battles on this, okay?"

They both tearfully nodded and kissed him on the cheek, receiving forehead kisses from him. He stood up and faced his wife, their eyes glistening.

"I just wanted you to get better," he croaked, as his voice broke. "You're everything to me and it will be worth it." He looked at Sam who nodded and smiled at him. "You'll be okay living with Sam and his family in Delacroix. Matt and Foggy will meet me at the arraignment. With luck I could be out in a couple of years."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"No, don't be, not for this. I would go to hell and back for you."

They kissed each other deeply, their tears mingling together, then Bucky smiled at Shuri, giving her his vibranium arm for safekeeping. He stepped away from the protective circle of the Dora Milaje, offering his one hand to the ranking police officer there. They couldn't cuff Bucky in the normal way, so an officer cuffed his left hand to Bucky's right and led him away, followed by several other officers, photographers, and reporters. The rest remained there as Angela and the kids joined Sam, receiving hugs from him. After several calls for a comment, he looked at Angela, who nodded for him to speak. It took several attempts as he struggled to keep his emotions in check then he looked out over those who were there.

"What you just saw was a husband and father, who voluntarily gave himself up to the authorities to face charges of escaping custody. He deliberately cut off his ankle monitor to take his wife to Wakanda for treatment she couldn't get in the United States, and even though her doctor fought for Bucky to be allowed to go with her, the authorities didn't trust him to return when her treatment was finished. They only saw the Winter Soldier when they made that decision. They didn't think James Buchanan Barnes was honourable enough to return. You just witnessed how wrong they were. Even more remarkable is that today was their 11th wedding anniversary. How many of you would do the same?"

He wanted to say more but Jamie tugged his hand.

"I want to go now," he said, looking at the reporters.

Sam faced the press again. "We're done."

One month later

News update.

Former Avenger James Buchanan Barnes was released from custody today, after receiving a full pardon from the President. Barnes, who deliberately escaped from house arrest over a year ago in order to accompany his wife to Wakanda for psychiatric treatment that was not available in the United States, declined to comment but his lawyer, Matthew Murdock, did say that his client was looking forward to resuming a quiet life with his family.

In related news, former CIA Director Valentina de Fontaine, was named as the person responsible for the abduction of Angela Barnes, wife of James Barnes, over three years ago. A spokesperson for the Justice Department said the case was never closed, despite the deaths of the abductors upon the rescue of Mrs. Barnes. Fontaine, known as the queen of black operations before her CIA appointment has proclaimed her innocence on these charges. She has been placed on house arrest pending her trial.

🌸 🌸🌸

Author notes: I admit that I have no experience with mental health care in a hospital setting. In this story I have imagined that this psychiatric hospital is very specialized, providing a high level of personal care. The image of the hospital room is from an actual mental health facility in another country. Angela's trauma is so deep that they have been unable to be little more than caretakers, keeping her from harming herself. I was more concerned with showing Bucky's devotion to his wife, as he honored his wedding vows and broke the law to help her.

One Shots Masterlist

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #honoring wedding vows #mental illness #emotional trauma #ptsd #devotion

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ejzah · 2 days ago

Text

A/N: This one was suggested by @mashmaiden. Set within a few weeks of Rosa joining the Deeks-Blye household. Hope this hits the mark.

***

Just in Case

“Marty, Kensi is there any more pain medicine? I used the last two,” Rosa asked. Deeks looked up from his laptop, instinctively checlking for any signs of blood or injury. Beside him, Kensi got up, cupping her cheeks in concern.

“Are you ok?” she checked, and Rosa nodded.

“I just have a headache.”

“Uh, we should have more in the closet at the end of the hall,” he told her. “Careful, it’s a little cluttered in there.”

“Let us know if you need help,” Kensi called after her as Rosa walked out of the room. She sat down on the couch, grabbing her own laptop.

“Ok, so we have another meeting with Rosa’s social worker next week. Should we try to schedule it for the morning or afternoon?” she wondered.

“Good question. Kilbride hates it when you’re late, but also can’t stand it when you leave early.” Deeks squinted. “Eh, let’s try for something in the morning, but mid-week.”

“Because Kilbride will be less cranky.”

“Theoretically,” he said with a shrug. Depending on the day, anything could set Kilbride off. Thankfully, they had a good amount of personal leave time saved up from over the years, which had come in handy during Rosa’s entire foster and adoption process.

“Alright, I requested 8 AM.”

Rosa returned then, empty handed, and confusion written across her face.

“You couldn’t find any?” Deeks guessed, starting to get up. “I bet there’s some behind the vitamins.”

“No, I found a bottle,” Rosa said. “There’s also a lot of bandages, three blood pressure cuffs, five thermometers, prescriptions, a walker, crutches, and a lot of things I didn’t recognize. Are you two ok?”

“Oh yeah, those are mostly leftover.”

“Leftover? Why would you need multiple braces?”

“Um.” Kensi glanced a at Deeks, clearly looking for guidance. He shrugged, not having considered this particular topic coming up.

“You know, in the past we’ve had some work-related injuries,” he began slowly.

“Like when you were shot?”

“Right. Though that was before Kensi and I were together. Some of those injuries came with a, uh, good amount of recovery time and therapy and we don’t always love staying in the hospital for the full recommended time, so we’ve collected a good amount of medical paraphernalia over the years.”

“Though we haven’t had any significant injuries like that in a while,” Kensi inserted.

“But why did you keep it all?” Rosa asked. She didn’t look overly concerned or scared, simply curious.

“Well, given past history, it seemed smart to keep some of it around. In case we had any future…incidents,” Deeks said. He pulled a face. “It turns out medical equipment is kind of pricey and they start looking at you funny after you get your third pair of crutches.”

“You’ve broken something in your leg three times!” Rosa gasped.

“No, of course not. A couple were from bad sprains and…other things.” He glanced at Kensi, who had her lips firmly pressed together.

“Rosa, Deeks and I are fine. I don’t want you to look at all the things I’m that closet and worry something’s going to happen to us,” Kensi told her. “We take a lot less risks than we used to.”

“I wasn’t that worried. Though I did think you might be sickly.”

“Oh no, we’re pretty healthy aside from various bullet holes and what not,” Deeks said. Rosa exhaled in apparent relief.

“Good. Because no one besides a doctor should have that many pulse oximeters and liquid stitches,” she said. “It’s kind of weird.”

“So, you’re saying we should maybe de clutter and reorganize the medical closet?” Deeks summarized.

“If you have some spare time. And I can help.

“We can do that. It’s Kensi’s favorite thing.”

“Hey,” Kensi protested. “I am much neater than I used to be.”

“Yeah, tell that to the three years expired Vicodin in there.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder.

“I should have known you would bring that up,” Kensi sighed.

Rosa giggled, covering her mouth, and Deeks grimaced playfully.

“Sorry, we are really weird sometimes.

“I don’t mind,” she assured him. “But maybe we can get rid of at least one pair of crutches.”

“Fine,” Kensi agreed. “But when we need those blood pressure cuffs, I don’t want to hear a word.”

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #densi #Rosa #ejzah fanfiction

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chiarrara · 1 day ago

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@writingandsufferingblog I'm so glad you asked!! 😇

okay so this is where I was at with them at first blush:

just giving you a little peek behind the curtain at my note taking process, which is like turning my brain inside out on the tl

so BASICALLY Gojo is the head of this team of vampire hunters, based out of this big old mansion where he puts them all up. He's picks up Yuuji in the hospital after he gets attacked. He's very present throughout the story, he runs the operation, he's in charge of protecting everyone in the team which .... poses a bit of a problem when his little pet vampire ends up preying on the poor kid he pulled out of the gutters? He may have a lil traumatic backstory that might push on that nerve a bit too harddd...... ALSO he's got magic of some kind. there's magic in the story, and he's got a fuckton of it.

NOBARA is here!!! She joins up same time as Yuuji, coming in from the country and they hit it off pretty quick. She does NOT fuck with Megumi. She doesn't fuck with vampires, she does not care. She's like, he's a monster and he needs to be put down. But she doesn't get to make that decision unfortunately. And when her best friend starts getting tangled up with that monster, she's torn between supporting him and wanting to get him the fuck away from that situation. She's very not nice to Megumi throughout the story. She has her reasons for being so strong in her convictions as well.. an incident in her childhood that changed how she saw the world around her quite a lot.

I need to work on the magic system more. Like I've worked out a lot of vampire lore, and now I'm not really sure what "specialized against vampires" means anymore?

hiiii ask me questions about characters in the vampmegau, i need to get deeper in their heads and stuff, help me out if u bad <3

#hit up the replies or rb!#vampire megumi au

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obstinaterixatrix · 2 years ago

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god I could go for a crematorium-ish romance right now. but like not the ones I’ve already read something new. I’ve reread my bias so many times I wanna see a different guy stepping on rakes and getting kicked down flights of stairs and wailing sobbing throwing himself to the ground groveling for forgiveness. and being hit by a car

#my ramblings #[romance fan] I’m in the mood for blood #maybe I should hunt down that series that I never read bc it looked like the li was too scummy #I rember skipping ahead on a whim and he was getting stabbed by an ex #lol. deserved probably. I support women.#anyway I can’t figure out if there’s a mangaupdates tag that encompasses the crematorium dynamic #I’ve check a couple series but doesn’t seem it #then again it might be too specific and it’s technically covered under ‘regret’#listen I just think it’s really entertaining when characters have to grovel and then afterwards they’re super docile and clingy #and they end up in the hospital in the process #oh yeah there was that one manga where that guy got so stressed and sad about the consequences of his actions #that he ended up hospital #that is so funny #mbalb #orlbs

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introspectivememories · 2 months ago

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can i be honest? i dont think tim and bear have a really grand proposal. i think it happens at their apartment that they got bc bear finally put his foot down and went "baby you're immunocompromised. you cannot live on a murderboat on the gotham river" and tim reluctantly gives in but not without finding some random apartment complex that's still near the marina so he can go down and get his ass beat at poker by pie. and so it happens late at night, when tim is in nightwing sleep shorts and bear's old band tee on and bear is in some horrendous anime sweats and no shirt because their home is the only place he's ever felt comfortable leaving his scars out. and the lamplight gives a soft hazy glow to bear's tattoos and tim reaches under the shirt to scratch and in the movement bear can see the bear tim got tattooed onto his hip and he can't help grin softly. and they're both sitting on the couch as some lame ass procedural drama goes on in the background and they're eating batburger. tim's got the nightwing special and bear has the sword robin combo. and the ringbox is burning a hole through bear's thigh and tim makes some stupid comment about how lame meredith sounds begging some guy to love her and all bear can think is how much he loves this boy. so he gets up to get some water and he positions his phone so that he can get the best video bc tim is a sucker for home video and he plops down on the sofa hard enough that tim turns around to complain except bear is holding the ringbox open with a soft "marry me?" and tim goes "what?" and bear says "baby i have loved you since you walked through the gates of our high school and i loved you when you left and i loved you when you came back. i love the way you talk to yourself and i love the way dance when i put music on. and i even love the fact that you shove your ice cold feet in my shins every night. and i don't know exactly what to say except that i want to do this everyday until you get dentures and i get a hip replacement. and i want to be horny in the old age home and-" and tim cuts him off sob-laughing and says "can i say yes now?" and bear who is also crying says "wait, let me finish love. -and i want to do this in as many lives as we get together. so all this to says, timothy jackson drake, will you marry me?" and tim launches himself bear and shouts "yes, yes, yes! a thousand times over, yes" and they're sobbing as they slip the rings on each other.

#and then they fuck like rabbits all night #and then they tell the marina and that ends up being a multiple day celebration #and then they keep their engagement to themselves for like a year before bear gets hurt at work one day and tim says he his husband #to get access to bear and everyone is like HUSBAND???? and tim is mortified bc they've gotten so used to calling each other that #at home and now it's slipped out in public and anyway bruce and dick go full dad/bro-zilla #just absolutely insane over the wedding details and tim and bear dont know how to break it to them that they were never planning on #having a huge wedding and that they were just gonna go down to the courts and sign their name #and then they do that anyway during the wedding planning process and they get the marina together and they have a partyyy #an pie is fucking sobbing by the way #and mrs gupta from the houseboat all the way at the end is a little miffed bc 'why didnt you tell me u were taken bernard?'#and tim has to stop himself from launching at the woman bc he did tell her!!! and she kept trying to set bear up with her son who #works at the hospital!!!!!#and miss bongkamtree from next door just wants to know if it means they'll stop having super loud sex #and bear smirks and goes 'sorry next 5 years are booked for super loud sex'#anyway they get married ontop of their apartment on the rooftop garden and lemme tell you it's packed up there #and the reception is in the marina ofc!!!#those are their people!!!!#bernard dowd #tim drake #timbern #timber

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elenadoeslife · 2 months ago

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⛈

#last night we got devastating news from the hospital #friday we took my grandpa to the er for a delirium and leg pain due to clotted veins to get some testing done and help him #turns out he has end stage lung cancer that spread through to his bones. doctors give him 4-8 weeks - tops #i felt guilty all weekend for setting all of rhis in motion while he preferred to stay at home (which he couldn't)#and then we got this diagnosis on top of it all. i've been an absolute wreck. i was wirh him at the er and visited him sunday and today #he's doing okay but he's depressed -has been for years- and it's been really tough fighting for someone who has given up years ago #i'm going home tomorrow. i need some time to rest and process to prepare for al that's to come #anyway. just wanted to update y'all after friday's post. i'm okay - all things considered. i just won't be as active out here as usual

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heybaetae · 6 months ago

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#there's no way i could ever have another pet bc this has destroyed me in unimaginable ways #despite him being old and his health declining the past three or so years #we did everything we could to keep him around and healthy but his little body just couldn't do it anymore #i love him so much i hope he wasn't in pain #i regret not saying goodbye when my mom told me to before he went to the hospital friday but i was in denial #we held out all weekend to see if the treatment would work but he was just so weak my dad gave them the go-ahead to stop it today #idk if they've put him to sleep yet but we're assuming so since my dad is gonna go pick up his collar tomorrow #i cried so much last night because i just had a feeling today would be it #and then i woke up this morning and already had tears in my eyes #this is gonna be. another long grieving process and i'm already so tired from losing my sister last year #when does it fucking end lol like when do i get to the other side #i'm just exhausted. I'm mentally and emotionally exhausted #he's such a big extension of me like who tf am i without my dog i'm nothing he's all i had

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foolishlyzephyrus · 8 months ago

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i’m so sorry but seven’s death is comical

#doctor who #dw #dr who #seventh doctor #doctor who tv movie #doctor who the movie #the fact that he just ends up in the middle of a gunfight #one step out of the tardis and he is gone #really expedites the process #sure he technically dies in the hospital but that is semantics he was critically injured

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orcelito · 11 months ago

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As for my post this morning. If anyone was worried. Me personally I'm okay (I guess) but my dad's in the hospital and things r still very up in the air. So.

#speculation nation #bracing myself for the possibility of Major Grief.....2!!!!#well actualy more like 3 or 4 or 5 (lol lol lol)#but likely the worst one bc it's. my dad. that's my dad.#i left work early to visit him at the hospital. hes stable rn at least (he wasnt this morning)#he wasnt conscious though. and i really really hope he ends up okay #but. i still saw my dad unconscious in a hospital bed hooked up to like a million tubes and #thats my dad. Thats my Dad.#im really trying to not do my processing until after i know for sure how things are gonna go #dont wanna start grieving until after he's officially gone #so im trying not to think about it. but it's still... yeah. unpleasant.#and theres a part of me thats so so resentful. if i have to have a dead parent why would it be the Good one?#take my fucking mom instead. hell my life would even be BETTER without her. horrible as that is to say.#but it's my dad. he's not perfect. he has his flaws. but he's still tried in a way she never ever did.#seeing him like that makes me feel so... small. makes me remember being picked up by him.#makes me remember riding on the back of his harley as a tiny little 10 year old with a helmet that was giant on me #we'll hope for the best. we'll hope for a recovery. even if not a full recovery. i just want to have my dad.#sorry. this is probably too real for my tumblr dot com. it's just been... a lot today.#negative/#death/#hospitals ment/#idfk. sorry

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 10 months ago

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got my seventh covid shot today and currently waiting for the side effects with my iced coffee like heyyy

#on one hand it is fine on the other hand the last time I got a full dose I WENT TO THE HOSPITAL #it ended up being fine LOLLL unserious - not to scare ppl BC I LOVE VACCINES <3 <3 #going on a walk to think about writing bc idk I am confused rn <3 #got an email from my agent that I am currently processing LOL so need to think OK BYE

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razzle-zazzle · 2 months ago

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Whumptober Day 30: Recovery

Hospital Bed

3817 Words; Ouroboros AU

TW for injury, mentions of murder

AO3 ver

“Of all the irresponsible, ill-thought out, reckless—”

Hollis continued her lecture, pacing back and forth throughout the body of the Pelican. Sam shrunk back a little further into her seat—though that did nothing for the killer headache currently prancing about in her skull. Apparently she did have a limit to how many times she could explode metal or empty air or stone, good to know. Now if only her head would stop trying to explode itself…

Mirtala shifted beside her, blatantly staring at Raz who was sitting next to her. Hollis was still lecturing, and it looked like everyone else was listening, but Sam had kind of tuned her out a while ago. Not that she had meant to—just, it was kinda hard to listen to someone when her head was being chewed up better than Fur Lancelot could ever mash acorns. Ugh, an acorn kinda sounded nice now—except for the fact that her head felt like a mashed acorn. Her gaze drifted over to Norma—did her splinted arm feel like a mashed acorn, too?

Actually, now that Sam thought about it, wasn’t everyone exhausted? Couldn’t the lecture wait until they could all actually listen to it—no, wait, Hollis was just gonna give them the same lecture at class in the morning, wasn’t she. So maybe Sam didn’t need to tune in now, if she’d get to hear it later.

Mirtala shifted beside her, drawing Sam’s attention back to her. As far as Sam could tell, Tala was pretty cool. Not as cool as Dogen, of course, but Sam could appreciate Mirtala’s determination to blow her enemies up. That she had been Pooter’s missing sister all along probably explained that, actually. She was currently alternating between staring at Raz like she wasn’t sure what to make of him and glaring at Hollis—

(“Where is my brother.” A quiet demand that stopped Hollis in her tracks as she finally noticed Tala standing next to Raz, “Where’s Dion.”)

But from what Sam knew, there really wasn’t any choice but to send Dion to the hospital. She hadn’t gotten the chance to see the guy herself, let alone meet him—but from what she had overheard Sasha mentioning to Milla, it uh. It hadn’t been good. Mirtala, on the other hand, was relatively unscathed and holding Raz’ hand like a lifeline, so she’d been shuffled onto the Pelican with the rest of them for the time being. Sam wished she could offer anything more than a “sorry I indirectly blew your brother up” but there really wasn’t much she could do. Not with her brain feeling like a steamrolled acorn.

Hollis’ lecture continued. The Pelican flew on.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion drifted into consciousness. Pain scrabbled at his everything, but in a way that was distant, muffled.

He caught a blurry glimpse of white—

And then he fell back into unconsciousness.

+=+=+=+=+

“What the f—heck is wrong with you?!” Were the first words Lili said as the junior agents trudged off of the Pelican. Her arms were crossed, much like Truman’s, who stood beside her. You went on an adventure and didn’t think to TELL ME? Her mental voice snaked into Raz’ head like fire up a trellis, anger undercut with what might have been worry if Raz was lucky. While Hollis’ attention turned towards Truman, Lili marched up to Raz, poking him in the chest. “What if Ford hadn’t told Truman where you guys went?” She asked, “What if you didn’t come back?”

“Leave him alone!” And there was Mirtala, interposing herself between Lili and Raz with a glare, hands balled into fists. “You don’t get to talk to my brother like that!”

“Wh—” Lili flinched back, eyes widening as Mirtala’s words registered. Raz grabbed at Mirtala’s shoulder to try and pull her back, a warning “Tala—” creaking out from his throat.

Mirtala shrugged Raz’ hand off and stuck her tongue out at Lili. Sparks danced at Lili’s fingertips, unwilling to back down to a six year old—

And then Truman was there, gently pulling Lili back while Hollis herded the rest of the junior agents towards the door. “So you’re Mirtala,” He greeted, as Lili crossed her arms and turned her glare onto Raz—we are NOT done talking about this!

Mirtala turned narrowed blue eyes onto Truman. “And who are you?” She demanded.

Raz elbowed his sister. “That’s the Grand Head of the Psychonauts.” He hissed, before looking back at Lili and thinking I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry at her.

Mirtala processed those words, then—“oh, like your dorky spy comics?” She asked, suddenly the picture of girlish innocence once again.

Raz sputtered. “Dorky—?”

“Children, children.” Truman set a hand on Raz and Lili’s shoulders, leading them towards the door. “We’ve all had a very long night. Let’s try hashing this out once we’ve all had a good night’s sleep, okay?” He turned his attention to Mirtala directly. “Your family will be very happy to see you again—do you want to see them tonight, or wait until tomorrow?”

Mirtala would have crossed her arms if she wasn’t holding Raz’ hand. “Will Dee get to see them too?” Her eyes widened, “Or do you hate him for killing people?”

“We’re… working on that.” Truman said. “He’s not actually in our custody, currently—the…” he trailed off at Mirtala’s glare. “You and your brother won’t be separated for long.” He promised, as the four of them made it to the tube leading up to the atrium.

Raz really hoped Truman could keep that promise.

+=+=+=+=+

“I mean, we have just as much jurisdiction here as you do.” Agent Booth was arguing. “And the guy committed several murders.” This was why Hollis hated dealing with the Federal Bureau of Investigations—they seemed to go out of their way to make things as difficult as possible for her.

“Ouroboros is just as much our case as yours.” Hollis explained, with more patience in her grit teeth than she felt the man before her deserved. “Not to mention, we’ll be handling the bulk of the paperwork regardless since it was our agents who were present at the scene—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Booth waved dismissively. “But it was our guys who took the fighters to the hospital, and it’ll be our guys who investigate from here on out. Your work is appreciated, but—” He shot her a grin that was probably meant to be reassuring, but that really only made Hollis grit her teeth a little harder, “We’ll take it from here.”

Hollis’ eyes narrowed. She smiled primly, not breaking eye contact with the agent in front of her. “He’s a child.” She pointed out. And an Aquato, who the Psychonauts owed and even if they didn’t it still wasn’t right to keep him separate from his family—

Booth shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll try him as a minor.” He offered. Hollis’ smile twitched.

The door behind her opened, a woman Hollis recognized as one of the top forensic anthropologists in the country entering the office. “Booth, Hodgins found—am I interrupting?”

Booth shook his head. “Nope! Forsythe here was just leaving.” He nodded his head towards the door, a clear dismissal. Hollis stood slowly, but she didn’t leave. No, she leaned forwards, and spoke, voice calm and collected.

“I don’t care how much bureaucratic bullshit you throw my way, Agent Booth.” Hollis warned. “Dionysus Aquato was a missing persons case before all of this, and a child on top of that. The Psychonauts will handle his part of the investigation—and he will be transferred to Clay Ridge even if I have to oversee the transfer myself.” She grabbed the folder she had brought with her as she straightened back up. “That’s a promise, Agent Booth.” Her piece said, she turned to leave, though she could still hear through the open door as she left.

“Booth.” Brennan scolded, looking aghast. “You’re really trying to keep a child separated from his family?” She sounded disgusted. Hollis couldn’t help but agree.

“Wh—” Booth’s hands flew out, “He’s got a body count in the double digits!” Whatever else he was going to say faded out as she made her way down the hall to the elevator. As the doors slid closed, chintzy elevator music floating into the space, Hollis allowed herself one satisfied smile. She hadn’t accounted for Brennan, but—

It seemed luck was on her side, for once.

+=+=+=+=+

Mirtala threw a rock into the water. It had been a few days since… well, everything, and they still hadn’t let her see Dion. Her family’s caravan was a little further back into the trees—and wasn’t that weird, that her family was so close to a whole bunch of fortune tellers after everything Dad had said about them—still within her line of sight if she looked back.

Or rather, Mirtala figured, she was in her family’s line of sight.

Frazie chucked a pinecone over the water, far further than Mirtala could throw it. The two of them had been chucking rocks and pinecones in silence for the past while, though Mirtala noticed Frazie using her mind to blow up some of the pinecones after she threw them. Mirtala… wasn’t sure how to think about that.

She wasn’t sure how to think about a lot of things. She hadn’t seen a sky that wasn’t green or purple in a while, she hadn’t been an acrobat proper for a while—

Her braids were still twisted into tight little buns, dark blue ribbon not really standing out from her hair. Her mom had offered to braid it, this morning—but Mirtala had gone to Frazie, instead. She was too on-edge, she supposed. Nothing—nothing made sense anymore.

Nona wasn’t her Nona. The water curse wasn’t real(?), and psychics were a good thing now. It was so different from the family Mirtala remembered, the change so jarring and sudden—

But Raz looked happier, and Dad walked around a little lighter now, and Frazie was shooting pinecones with psychic blasts without hesitation, so Mirtala figured the changes weren’t bad. They were just different.

(Or maybe Mirtala was the one who was different.)

“Hey guys.” And there was Raz, coming up behind them on that ball of brain stuff that let him run around faster. “How’s things?”

Frazie shrugged. “Any news on Dee?” She asked, as Mirtala managed to hurl a pinecone just short of the opposite bank. Mirtala turned her attention fully onto Raz, waiting for his answer. She was expecting a denial—

Raz brightened. “Hollis says we can go see him at Clay Ridge whenever we’re ready!” He said. “Mom and Dad were planning to visit him tomorrow—”

“Why not now?!” Mirtala nearly shrieked, before stepping back and lowering her voice at Frazie’s flinch. “Why can’t we go now—”

Raz shrugged. “Dad said it’d be a two-hour drive.” He glanced up at the sky, which was still quite blue in Mirtala’s opinion, even if it wasn’t quite as bright as it had been during lunch. “And Nona wanted to come along.”

Frazie nodded, like that made perfect sense. Mirtala’s face scrunched in a pout, and she picked up a rock to hurl into the water as hard as she could—

Only for a hand made of water to catch the rock and throw it the rest of the way to the other bank. Mirtala blinked.

“Pooter, stop that.” Frazie groused, as the hand fell away only to rise again with a new rock and hurl it at the opposite bank.

“But why?” Raz was grinning, as he made the water hand grab another rock from the riverbed to throw. “Why can’t I throw rocks with you guys?”

“Because you won’t let me see Dion.” Mirtala sniffed, crossing her arms. Frazie snorted into her hand.

“They won’t let me see him either!” Raz protested. His face softened, and then—“Is… what’s Dee like?” He asked, “After… Ouroboros?” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, something uncertain written across his face.

“He’s still Dion, if that’s what you’re asking.” Mirtala replied airily. Except Dion wasn’t the same as he’d been before Ouroboros, not really—

(And neither was Mirtala—)

—but it wasn’t like the rest of the family had stayed the same, so it probably evened out.

“Is it…” Frazie started, flipping over onto her hands as her jaw worked. “Is it true? That Dion… killed people?”

“It’s Ouroboros.” Mirtala said flatly. “And Dee never lost when it mattered, so I don’t get what you’re so worried about.”

Raz and Frazie exchanged looks, silent conversation running between them that Mirtala wasn’t privy to. Mirtala huffed, and started wandering back in the direction of the caravan. So what if everything was different and wouldn’t be the same? So what if it was all so confusing, in a way that almost made her miss the awful routine of Ouroboros? Mirtala would find a way to roll with it—she was an Aquato, after all. And she was good at keeping her head above water—

She’d had to be, to survive Ouroboros.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion drifted back into consciousness slowly.

The first thing to register was pressure at his back; the next, a faint beeping. His mind rolled around in his skull as the rest of the world slowly drifted into reality around him, like water trickling down a wall. His limbs felt sort of distant, muted, his whole body kind of vaguely floaty in a way that his muddled brain didn’t care to puzzle through.

He groaned, attempting to sit up and ask Mirtala how last night’s fight had gone—

(Fire in the stands, rent metal debris all over the arena—)

Muffled pain shot through his bones. He couldn’t move his right arm or his left leg, his throat was unreasonably dry and that stupid beeping wouldn’t stop—

Oh.

Oh, he was in a hospital. Or something like that. There was a cuff around his wrist connected to the frame around his bed, leather-wrapped metal pulling taut when he tried to move his left arm. But… he’d been in the Death Pit, hadn’t he? How had he managed—

(A fist like a sledgehammer impacting his gut, a backhand that made his head spin—)

Dion groaned again. His everything hurt in a distant way—some kind of painkiller? The room smelled like antiseptic. He craned his head to look around—yep, some kind of hospital or infirmary or whatever. There was nobody else in the room—

Mirtala! Shit, where was his sister, what had happened to her—

“Oh!” Dion’s head snapped over to the door—oh, fuck, he moved it too fast, eughhhh—the nurse was at his side in an instant, as Dion blinked up at them. “Here, let me—” They did something to adjust the bed Dion was laying on, and suddenly he was sitting upright, braced against the fold of the bed. “Is that better?”

Dion hmmed affirmatively. “Where… am I?” He asked, despite the dry throat.

“You’re at Clay Ridge Hospital,” The nurse explained, rattling off the name of a town Dion didn’t recognize. “You suffered several injuries—though it looks like you’re healing well! The doctor can give you a full rundown once she’s in.” Yeah, Dion kind of figured he was injured, what with the injuries clear as day all over him—

“Can you tell me your name?” The nurse asked.

“Dion.” Dion answered. “Aquato.” He added, after a moment of thought.

The nurse nodded, mouth opening to ask another question—

“Oh, good, he’s lucid.” Dion looked at the woman who had entered the room. She was wearing a striped suit, short curls falling over one eye, a clipboard floating at her side—

Dion’s eyes narrowed. He was at a hard disadvantage, what with the broken arm and whatever was going on with his ankle—not to mention the cuff on his left wrist. Still, he watched warily as the woman approached, as though he would actually be able to put up a fight.

“Oh, Dr. Forsythe!” The nurse greeted. “I didn’t know you were in today.” Forsythe nodded at the nurse, clipboard still floating at her side.

“So you’re the doctor?” Dion asked, staring at the floating clipboard. Maybe she was like Tammy, or Raz—oh, who was he kidding. He was fucked, wasn’t he?

“I’m a doctor.” Forsythe agreed, as the nurse left the room—no no don’t leave him alone with a fortune teller—“But not yours.” She grabbed the clipboard, unclipping a folder and pulling out a sheet of paper. “Currently, I am the Second Head of the Psychonauts.”

“Then why are you here?” Dion grit out, leaning back as though he might physically melt into the bed. Where was Mirtala—was she okay? Had she been taken by fortune tellers, or cops, or something worse that Dion couldn’t think of?

“Because you’ve caused quite the ruckus with that little stunt of yours.” Forsythe explained, like tha made any sense. She was writing something on the paper, though Dion couldn’t make out what. “You did murder Ethan C. Reed right in front of one of our agents.” Dion could vaguely remember doing that.

Dion would have crossed his arms if he could. “‘S not like he didn’t deserve it.” He argued.

Forsythe leveled him with an unimpressed look. After a moment, she continued. “Regardless, your situation is… complicated. As nice as it would be to put you right back with your family—” Ha, like any sane Aquato who didn’t obsess over nerdy comics would ever go near a powerful fortune teller— “—there’s the matter of the ongoing investigation into Ouroboros, and your own involvement.” She slipped the sheet of paper back into the folder, and took a seat in the chair next to the bed. “So you’ll be remaining in Psychonauts custody until we can get that sorted out.”

Oh good god, Dion was being held prisoner by psychic cops. Ohhhh he was so fucked—

“And my sister?” Dion cut in, as a new fear entered his mind.

“Your sister doesn’t have a body count.” Forscythe responded flatly. Dion’s eyes narrowed; that wasn’t an answer to his question.

Forsythe continued speaking. “It’s better than FBI custody—really, once you’re cleared for discharge you won’t actually be very far from your family.” Her voice had softened slightly, for all that Dion didn’t quite believe her. “Your brother isn’t sharing his dorm with anyone—” what— “and what the FBI doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

Dion sputtered, choking on nothing. “Brother—” Oh god, what had Raz gotten himself into this time? Or—or was it Queepie—

Forsythe grimaced. “There’s a lot you’ll need to catch up on.” She stood. “But it’ll be better if you hear it from your family directly.” She made her way for the door, and turned back to say one last thing. “Visiting hours are over for today, but they’ll be in tomorrow. Dr. Wilson will be in soon.” The door closed behind her, leaving Dion alone in a room he couldn’t escape and probably shouldn’t try to leave. She left more questions than she had answered—

And Dion’s throat was still unreasonably dry.

+=+=+=+=+

Mirtala rocked back and forth on her feet as her parents talked to the receptionist. She wanted to run around in circles yelling at them to hurry up—but Frazie’s hand was heavy on her shoulder. At least Queepie looked similarly impatient—though he was probably just bored. At least Raz was definitely impatient, rocking back and forth and standing on one of his brain stuff balls to see over the counter as the receptionist confirmed where Dion was. Nona hovered towards the back of the group, watchful eye on the children.

The moment the Aquatos had the go-ahead, Mirtala launched herself down the hall, ignoring her mother’s calls to slow down. Room 239, 240, 241—there! The door opened easily. “DIDI!”

Dion blinked. He was sitting up, leaning back against the pillows propping him up. His arm was in a cast, his leg similarly immobilized in a sling. There was a faded bruise along his jawline. But most important of all: he was alive. He had won.

(Just like he always did, when it mattered—)

Mirtala ran up, launching herself up the chair and onto the bed. Dion wheezed as she landed not quite to the side of him, her knee smacking into his side. “Tala, ribs—”

But Mirtala didn’t have it in herself to care. “You big dummy!” She was scolding him, hands on his shoulder as she put her face up in front of him so he could tell how serious this was, “We’re supposed to stick together!” She jabbed her finger in his face as he sputtered, “And you’re not supposed to die!”

“Wh—I’m not dead!” Dion protested.

“You almost were!” Mirtala riposted. She opened her mouth to continue—

“Mirtala, topolina, don’t rush ahead—!” Dion’s eyes widened as their mother entered the room. Donatella froze in the doorway at the sight of him, hands over her mouth. After a moment, she rushed forwards, the rest of the family filing in behind her and spreading around the bed.

“My son,” Augustus started, face going slack.

“Oh.” Dion nearly squeaked, as Donatella scooped Mirtala up into her arms—to much protest. Mirtala wiggled free, dropping down onto the chair and clambering up onto the back of it to remain level with Dion. “You’re all—” He sounded… not quite small, but like—

(a hand ghosting over her back before pulling away, the silence painful—)

Mirtala gripped the back of the seat. Queepie crawled up beside her, squinting at Dion like he didn’t quite believe he was real. “You look different.” He said, pointing at Dion. “are you really Dion?”

Dion snorted. He lifted his right arm to gesture towards Queepie—Mirtala’s eyes narrowed as she noticed the cuff around his left wrist. “I don’t know, are you really Queepie?” There was humor in his voice, tired as it sounded.

Queepie gasped. “Of course I am!”

Donatella clasped Dion’s hand in hers, ignoring the cast. “Oh, bambino, it is so good to see you’re okay.”

“How are you feeling?” Augustus asked. “Are they treating you well?”

Dion shrugged, then winced. “Well, I’m alive.” He replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so bored.” He added, annoyed.

Nona chuckled. “Nothing for you to do but heal, is that it?” She tsked, then raised her hand to her mouth to mock-whisper conspiratorially. “We’ll bust you out of here before lunch.”

“I can’t wait.” Dion agreed. He turned his attention to Frazie, who had been standing at the foot of the bed in silence. “You finally find a girlfriend who can stand to look at you?” He half-joked, making Queepie giggle.

“So much has changed!” Mirtala announced, bouncing up and down in place. “Dad’s psychic!”

Dion jerked in surprise. “What—since when was that—” He cast a helpless look to Augustus, who grinned sheepishly. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story.” Raz warned.

“I’ve got nothing but time.” Dion pointed out.

“Okay.” Raz nodded. “So it started when I ran away—”

“YOU WHAT?”

#whumptober2024 #no.30 #hospital bed #psychonauts #zaz writes #injury #death mention #murder mention #ouroboros au #sam boole #hollis forsythe #mirtala aquato #razputin aquato #lili zanotto #truman zanotto #the other interns get mentioned #frazie aquato #queepie aquato #nona aquato #augustus aquato #donatella aquato #dion aquato #a totally random fbi agent who's totally not a reference to a mediocre 2000s forensic dramedy #fun fact!! i wasn't gonna write this piece this yea #it was just gonna be the three part climax #but then someone left very lovely comments on days 19 and 24 and. yeah my fate was sealed #so if you ever wanted a single example of anecdotal proof that comments are good well. there you have it #i also was gonna end this on dion waking up but then hollis inserted herself into the scene #and i couldn't not write the aquatos finally all reuiniting #i did originally intend to do like. some more intern pov of them trying to process everythign but. that did not happen WHOOPS

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