#and with my nephew getting a diagnosis + my other brother when he was a kid

[falseroar]

Listening to Distractible and Mark mentions thinking he had narcolepsy for a while and I’m like ha, same, there’s been times in class or at work or that one meeting that will forever haunt me where I’m struggling so hard to stay awake and I don’t know why—

Mark: —turns out it was an ADHD thing.

…Oh.

[lasenbyphoenix]

..

I dont know if i want to post something about this or just have a chance to ramble some thoughts

My dad is dying.

He's been saying the last few years that he likely only has a few years left in him, he wanted to be realistic with us. There's been a letter pinned to his notice board that he wrote as a goodbye for when that day comes, apologising for leaving the mess for us to clean up and that he's grateful to have been our dad.

I'm grateful he's been my dad too.

He went into hospital several weeks ago and they've determined his pancreas has died. Now all they can do is try to hold off sepsis for however long they can. He's been moved to a residential care home as he's not well enough to care for himself at home anymore.

So the house isn't being lived in anymore.

Except that my brother, sister and I have been living here on and off since the diagnosis so that we can visit him (as none of us live in the same town as dad), with partners and my nephew and even my mum has come a couple of times to help out too (they've been separated several years).

So we've been lighting the fire and keeping the house warm, cleaning all the bits that dad couldn't get to, trying to eat as much as we can out of the over stocked freezer & pantry, and sorting through all of the things dad has collected in his lifetime.

We used to live in this house too, back when I was a teenager. We moved around a lot but spent 5 years here, and then mum and dad moved back in several years after we'd all left home. The family photos are still on the walls and the bedrooms are still called ours even though they've been repurposed over the years.

No one lives here anymore but we still do.

Between visiting dad in the rest home we've been packing up and giving away and/or selling various collections and peices to his friends at his request. Slowly the shelves have gotten barer, and the garage has gotten emptier.

Part of it feels weird that we're emptying the house while he's still alive, but at the same time we know that Dad wont come back to live here again.

None of us are looking to buy the house (expect mum but that's another weird story that's probably emotionally motivated), we've all got our own places and family plans in other towns. One day, once the funeral is over and everything is moved out and the house is sold, there won't be a reason to drive this way again.

[theshelbyclan]

The Young Nurse

Summary: When it turns out Finn is more ill than anyone suspected, you don’t know what to do, apart from being practical about it and taking care of him

(Gif by @nofckingfighting​) A/N: The amazing @staygold-bebold​ send me her first request and I’m SO honoured: Hellooo there :) This is my first fic request *smiles shyly* I have this idea in my head for a while now... How about sick!Finn with reader taking care of him? I'm hoping for it to take place between seasons 2 and 3, so he is still soft. (before blinding the Changretta man in s4) Bonus if there can be an innocent cuddle in it! 😊 I love love love the way you portrayed Finn in your fics and how you never write too mushy fics even with fluff in it. Hope this is ok!You are such a wholesome sweetheart, I love this idea. Hope I did it justice! Finn’s fourteen in this one (so season 2) and the reader is of a similar age. Words: 2537

*** “I don’t feel so good…” “What?” you’d asked, but before Finn could answer, he’d fallen down and passed out already. 

At first, you had to laugh and you could hear others do the same. Everyone was down at the Garrison to celebrate and Finn had been sneaking whiskey all night. Tommy kept on taking it off of him, but John allowed it. Like it was really his first time drinking whiskey anyways… You were working at the bar. Officially, you were too young for the job, but your mother worked there and you occasionally helped out. Being only fourteen, you did work at the Garrison, but only during daytime, to clean. This is how you and Finn had met and he used to sit with you while you worked, watching and talking. He was a different boy away from his family. You never really talked much, it just wasn’t in your nature. But you could observe and deduce things that others failed to notice. For example, Finn was different with John. He was careful around Arthur, because he was the one to usually tell him to piss off. This annoyed Finn, as he desperately wanted to be seen as a man. With Tommy he was acting tough, trying to prove something, but never quite succeeding. But with John, he was just the little brother. John let him ride horses, let him drink and talked and played around with him. In all honesty, it seemed like Finn could make John forget all he’d seen and done, and allowed him to be a boy once again. So, it was John who’d given him the whiskey. When Finn fell down, you all laughed. Tommy took him back home and sighed deeply, “I fucking told you, didn’t I? And now I’m having to waste my fucking time on you, eh?” You’d seen many men fall down for the drink, but something didn’t feel right. Frowning but not speaking, you decided to keep an eye on your friend. ***

The next day, you went to Polly’s. She told you Finn was still in bed and that you couldn’t see him right now. “What’s wrong with him?” “Finn’s having his first ever hangover!” John called from the kitchen, grinning broadly. But Polly’s face showed some worry, “He’s puking his guts out, that’s for sure, and he can’t hold down any water. It’s the shortness of breath that’s worrying…” “Is he still drinking?” you asked at once. “What do you want with him?” John inquired, “Sit by his bed and hold his hand?” “Just wanted to see if he needs anything…” you mumbled. “Like his girlfriend maybe,” Arthur growled deeply. “I’m not his girlfriend!” you replied indignantly, but immediately you looked down again to hide your blushing. You’d never talked back to any other Shelby than Finn and it scared you. “Leave her alone, Arthur,” Tommy spoke from the shadows, “She’s a good girl, Y/N, sensible. She won’t do anything that isn’t proper or right, eh?” “Y/N,” Polly saved you, “Come back tomorrow. He needs to rest now.” And so you came back the next day, and the next, and the next, always being denied entrance into Finn’s bedroom. His chest pains had gotten worse and he had real trouble breathing now. You were tired of waiting. At home, you had started pacing for fear of the unknown. “What’s the matter with you?” your mother challenged, “You’re never like this. You’re supposed to be the calm one, I’m the agitated and loud one.” She was right. Sometimes you wondered if you and your mother were even related, because you couldn’t be more different. She worked at the bar, talking easily to all men and flirting always. You liked to hide in a corner and passed unnoticed. Your mother preferred the company during work, while you enjoyed the work in silence. Everyone knew your mother, but few even knew she had a kid. Your mother always complained how you were too boring, too practical, too silent, while you just whished for a mother to take care of you, not the other way around… All of this played out in your head, but you didn’t say a word. Then one night, it became too much to bear and you decided to do the bravest thing you had ever done in your short life. Silently, you crept out of your own bed and put on some clothes. While you were making your way out of the house, you saw your own reflection in the mirror, and you faltered. Strictly you said to yourself, “Y/N, stop being a baby. Do you want to go on the rest of your life not mattering to anyone? Finn needs you. Now man up, and go!” So you breathed in deeply and slipped out the front door. That was the easy part done, but now came the difficult part. Standing in front of the Shelby home, you cursed your own sudden courage but decided there was no going back now. Clattering up the drainpipe, you reached the roof of the houses at Watery Lane. Like a cat, without making a sound, you crawled towards the room in which Finn usually slept. Peering in, you saw he was alone: a stroke of luck. Getting the window to open was a lot easier than you’d feared. But what to do now that you were inside? You didn’t have much time to think it over, because Finn suddenly woke up and opened his eyes. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” You blushed again, “I wanted to see you,” you whispered. “How did you get in?” he said in a hushed voice. “I climbed the roof and came in through the window.” “Does Aunt Pol know?” “Obviously not, if I climbed the roof, silly!” you hissed. Finn frowned, “Is this a dream? It’s a dream, isn’t it… I’ve been having the weirdest dreams lately…” You quickly walked over to his bed and knelt down next to it, “I’m really here Finn.” “You climbed the roof,” Finn raised his eyebrows, “Y/N would never climb a roof. Without permission from Aunt Pol. In the middle of the night.” “Well, I did.” “In my dream you did.” “Finn!” you said, a little louder than anticipated, “It’s not a dream!” And you pinched him, “See?” “Ow!” he called out, “That hurt…” He actually looked a little betrayed and hurt, so you had difficulty in stopping yourself from laughing. You managed to hide it though, by taking a cloth from a washing basin and dabbing his head with it. He was burning up and worry took a hold of you. “Y/N?” Finn asked, “What are you doing?” “Taking care of you,” you said matter-of-factly. “Why?” “Well, I can’t imagine your brothers are doing much to help you,” annoyance slipped into your tone. “John’s scared,” Finn said softly, “We lost Martha and he doesn’t like people being ill after that. Tommy thinks it’s just the whiskey, maybe they all do. Arthur was never great with… anything really.” “What about Pol?” you asked, while taking his pulse with two fingers. Finn shrugged a little, “She’s got Michael now.” Full of sympathy, you looked at him. “I’m glad you’re here,” he smiled, “Got bored.” “Your pulse is fast,” you commented, “Have you been drinking enough?” But the two of you were rudely interrupted by someone barging into the room. Polly’s eyebrows rose, she looked like she was about to start yelling, but then motioned for you to follow her. Without a second thought, you obeyed. “Care to tell me what’s been going on?” she demanded once you were downstairs. You were officially scared of her, but answered, “He needs someone to look after him.” “Does he now?” “He’s seriously ill, Polly,” you said, but quickly followed it with, “Sorry, Miss Gray…” And for the second time, Tommy emerged from the shadows, “No need to stand on formal ceremony. How did you get into my house?” “Roof,” you practically trembled. “Jesus Christ…” Polly sighed, “Young love, that’s all we need…” “It’s not about that!” you called out, “He’s actually ailing! And he’s still vomiting after three days, he’s dehydrated, has difficulty breathing, a seriously high fever and his pulse is too fast. I don’t think it’s the whiskey, Mr. Shelby.”

“Not the whiskey, eh?” he slowly lit a cigarette, “Then what is your diagnosis?” “Influenza,” you said at once, “Saw my father die of it.” “And you checked his fever and pulse, you said?” Polly asked, in a much calmer voice now. “Yes, both elevated. He needs medicine,” you said in a practical manner, “I can see if I can get any Ginseng or elderberry, but I can’t get a hold of any other drugs.” “Surely it’s not that serious…” Polly objected. “It is,” you interrupted her, “he needs medicine fast and he needs fluids. He seems fine, but tonight might be critical.”

“Tell me, Y/N, how do you know all of this,” Tommy asked softly, seemingly unaffected by all of this. Again, you blushed, “I want to be a nurse.” “Makes sense,” Polly smirked a little. “I mean, I would like to…” you stumbled, “Can’t, but, I still want to help people…” Tommy understood at once, “If you can save Finn tonight, I’ll pay for your schooling. Now, tell me what I need to get.” Polly turned around and looked at her nephew with big eyes, asking, but not speaking out loud. He did reply however, “Y/N’s the most sensible person I know and she’s only fourteen, Pol. We’re not losing Finn. Let her take care of him.” For a moment, it looked like Polly was about to argue with him again, but then she closed her mouth. After a few seconds of silence, she asked, “What can I do?” “Do you have any green tea?” you grew shy at ordering a woman like Polly Gray about, “Green tea would be good for him…” “Tea,” she repeated and stood up to make some, “Anything else?” “Maybe you could send someone to my mother’s house, because I know she has the elderberry and Ginseng I mentioned.” “I’ll send John,” Tommy nodded and he told you, “Go sit with Finn. Let us know if anything changes.” Suddenly feeling numb, you walked up the stairs again. It was like this little conversation had only just made clear to you in how much danger Finn actually was. And it scared you, because Finn really was your only friend and you needed him. Sitting by his bed, he had lost consciousness again. It was as you had said: this night would be critical. Whenever he did wake a little, you tried pouring some of the green tea into him and luckily he kept it down. Still, his pulse was racing and his fever was blazing. Waiting and praying, you had no idea that downstairs Polly was doing the exact same thing. The next day went by uneventful. It seemed impossible to get him to drink enough, but you never stopped trying, mixing different drugs in with the liquids and teas, hoping it would be enough to save him. Every two hours or so, Tommy came walking up the stairs and when he came into the room, he only asked one question: “Has the danger passed?” You had to keep on disappointing him over and over. When Finn was awake, he ailed. ‘Awake’ was too liberal a term anyways, because you could no longer talk to him and his eyes wouldn’t focus. Sometimes he’d ask for you and when you talked to him and he recognised you voice, he became calm again and drifted off to sleep. “Y/N?” he once asked, “When I die, where will I go?” “Heaven, I suppose…” you muttered, “But you’re not dying, Finn, I won’t allow it. Now, drink this and rest.” “What do you mean, you won’t allow it?” “You’re young and you still have things to do!” you called out. “Like what?” he muttered, “Business? My brothers all think I’m just a kid… useless…” Angrily, you threw the wet cloth on his head again, “Well, I’d miss you. I need someone to talk to while I’m working and that’s you. Now, stop talking about dying.” “Okay,” he whispered, and drifted off again.

Another few hours passed and he wasn’t awake much. Was his fever going down, or were you just imagining it? Maybe it was wishful thinking…

The next time Finn woke up, he was complaining, “I’m cold. Is it cold? Because I’m really cold…”

And the concern was right back, because he was actually sleeping under five blankets already and even though it was Birmingham, it was in fact summer.

“Y/N,” he whined, “I’m really cold…”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what else to do. Do you want some more tea?”

“That doesn’t help.”

So you decided quickly, “Okay, move. I’m going in.”

His eyes opened a little more in surprise, “In?”

“In the bed,” you clarified, “don’t get excited. I’m warm, boiling actually because of the fire, and I can warm you.”

So here you were, in bed with Finn Shelby. And for the first time, you felt your own pulse quickening.

Of course this was the moment that Tommy chose to check up on Finn again, taking half his family with him. They just stood there and stared.

“He was cold,” you explained meekly.

“Right,” Tommy said, smoking quietly.

“How is he?” Polly asked.

It’d been a few hours since you last checked and when you felt for his pulse, it appeared to have slowed down a little. Also, his head wasn’t feeling as hot as it had been before. He hadn’t vomited for a few hours now and when you looked at him, you saw he was wide awake, with a small smile of satisfaction playing around his lips.

“He doesn’t look unhappy,” John ventured.

“He has no bloody reason to be unhappy,” Arthur added with a grin.

“Tell me,” Tommy said simply.

And you sighed a sigh of relief, “The danger had passed.”

“Better thank your girlfriend, Finn!” John practically cheered.

“I’m not…” you sighed, but you didn’t have the energy to finish that sentence.

“Leave them be,” Polly said in a soft voice, “they both need to rest now.”

“I wouldn’t rest much with my girlfriend in bed…” John continued teasing.

You ground out, for what felt like the 20

th

time, “Not. His. Girlfriend.”

Finally, everyone left, which took some force on Polly’s part. You looked at Finn and noticed he was getting a bit of colour back into his cheeks already. He’d even complained about being hungry, which was surely a good sign.

“Y/N?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said softly, “what is it?”

“I have a question,” he tried to sit up, but you wouldn’t let him, “Thank you for taking care of me, but why?”

“You’re my friend,” you stated simply.

He shook his head, “No.”

“No?”

He didn’t respond for a while, but then repeated, “Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Just ignore my brothers and whatever they’re saying.”

“They’re wrong,” you smiled, “They don’t even know us.”

“They don’t,” he confirmed and then he was silent for a few moments, fidgeting with the buttons of his pyjama’s.

“Y/N?”

“Finn?”

“I don’t want them to be wrong…”

“What do you mean?” you furrowed your brow while he stared at you with an expectant look.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

***

Masterlist

[scapegrace74-blog]

Ginger Snap, Chapter 2

A/N I am breaking probably the only rule I gave myself when I started writing fanfic, which was Don’t Ever Post a WIP.  But lord knows I’m not immune to peer pressure and the narcotic that is reader feedback, so here it is, the second chapter of what is now an open-ended modern AU story about Jamie the Chef and Claire the Kitchen Disaster.  Still a first person Claire POV, so I apologize in advance for any stray pronouns.

For the first chapter, I recommend reading it on Ao3, since I’ve made some minor edits since I first posted it on Tumblr.  See above re. not planning on posting a WIP.

Oh, and funny story.  When I decided to check the location of the real Ginger Snap catering company in Edinburgh, it was squished between “FrazersOnline” and “McKenzie Flooring”.  If that’s not kismet, I don’t know what is.  The location I describe below, however, is based on a catering venue here in Ottawa called Urban Element, where I’ve attended a few team-building events.  I have yet to set anything on fire, though.

I checked my phone for the third time, confirming I wasn’t lost.  

Frank and I moved to Edinburgh over the summer, just in time for him to start his position as Associate Professor of History at the University of Edinburgh. Despite our years spent in America, neither of us cared overmuch for driving, so we chose a flat (or rather, Frank chose a flat and I concurred) not far from campus.  Therefore, this was the first time I’d ventured as far afield as Leith, a maritime enclave just to the north of the capital that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be grittily working class or artistically hip. 

When I finally reached the address, I had to smile.  No main street pretensions or non-descript commercial frontage for Ginger Snap Catering.  Before me stood a two-story red brick fire station, still emblazoned with the crest of the Scottish Fire and Rescue Services.  The two massive truck bays were now enclosed by see-through doors that could be drawn back on a sunny day.  Through these a warm yellow light could be seen, spilling onto the grey, damp pavement.

A petite woman with dark hair manned the small reception area, a red-haired toddler clinging to her like a marsupial.  She held a phone to one ear while simultaneously pacing the polished concrete floor.  I stood as unobtrusively as possible near the door, but in such an open space it was impossible not to overhear her side of the conversation.

“... they willna take ‘im back until ‘is fever goes down...  aye, an hour ago when I picked him up but it hasn’t... nay, i dinna think it’s... tis jus’ terrible timing with two weddings t’morrow... Could ye?  Och, I owe ye Mrs. Fitz, a million times o’er... Anytime, we’ll be here.  Alright, soon.”

The speaker turned to me, the harried look of a working mother sharpening her already honed features.

“I apologize fer keeping ye waiting.  What can I do fer ye t’day?”

Before I could respond, the young boy, probably no older than two, began to fuss, rubbing his flushed cheek against his mother’s shoulder.

“Och, mo ghille, Mam kens ye’re poorly.  Mrs. Fitz is coming as fast as she may.”

Unable to quell my instinct to diagnose and then cure, I spoke up.  

“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.  Based on his age and the way he’s holding his head, it may be an ear infection.”  At the woman’s penetrating look, I hastened to explain: “I’m a doctor.  Would you mind if I took a closer look?”

Permission granted, I carefully palpated the boy under the jaw and peered as best I could without an otoscope into the offending ear canal.  Confident in my diagnosis, I recommended treatment with a warm compress, an over-the-counter analgesic ear drop, and children’s paracetamol to control his fever.  If, after twenty-four hours the symptoms had not improved, they could consider seeing his pediatrician for antibiotics, but these were only truly necessary for a persistent infection.

“Och, ye ‘ave no idea what a relief it is tae hear ye say so, lass.  He’s my first bairn, ye ken, an’ I can ne’er tell if I’m over-reacting or being negligent.   Can ye say thank ye tae the nice doctor, Wee Jamie?”

My stomach jumped.  “Wee Jamie?  Is he related by chance to Jamie Fraser?”

“Aye, tis his nephew.  I’m Jamie’s sister, Jenny.  Ye ken my brother, then?”

The pieces fell into place, and my insides settled.

“We’ve spoken before,” I explained.  “I’m Claire Beauchamp.  You and your brother helped me with a dinner party emergency last Tuesday.  I came to return your market bags, and to thank you again for coming to my aid during my hour of need.”

Jenny and I spoke for another ten minutes, sharing the superficial narratives of two strangers brought together by circumstance.  She was warm and thistly by turns, and I felt a longing for the honesty of female friendship that I’d given up when we left Boston.  Eventually a matronly woman arrived to collect Wee Jamie.  I carefully wrote down the exact names and dosages of my prescribed remedy.

After Mrs. Fitz and Wee Jamie had left, it occurred to me that Jenny needed to get back to work.  I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do, even if I hadn’t thanked Jamie himself.   As I began to make my goodbyes, however, Jenny interjected. “If ye’re no’ in a rush, why dinna ye join our afternoon cooking class?  My brother will be demonstrating how tae make quiche.  Tis the least we can do, after ye helped Wee Jamie.”

Which was how I found myself standing behind one of six cooking stations arranged across the fire station’s main area, a bright red apron covering my black slacks and saffron turtleneck.  My impetuous curls were slowly breaking ranks from where I’d slicked them into a bun that morning.  I worried I looked like a human Pez dispenser.

I glanced at the workstation immediately to my left.  A slight woman who I guessed to be roughly my own age was engrossed in her phone, a cheeky smirk playing on her berried lips.  Her strawberry blond hair was swept into an effortless chignon that made me twitch with envy.  She looked up from her screen and caught me looking her way.

“Geillis Duncan,” she said, offering a well-manicured hand.

“Claire Beauchamp.  Pleased to meet you.”

“Is it yer first time taking a class, Claire?”  At my nod, she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially: “Ye’re in for a treat.”

Before I could enquire what she meant, a murmur amongst the other students (all women, save one) was accompanied by the heavy tread of work boots on polished concrete and a familiar Scottish burr.

“Good afternoon, everyone.  Thank ye fer joining me on this dreich Scottish day.  I ken a few of ye are new, so let’s start with a brief overview of yer stations and some basic safety reminders, before we tackle the quiche.”

Today Jamie was wearing a pair of olive pants that tapered down his endless legs and a technical shirt that clung valiantly to his upper body.  He looked like he’d just stepped off the nearest rock climbing pitch.  I wondered if he owned anything that answered to the name of a professional wardrobe, but I couldn’t deny that he looked impressive, in an athleisure sort of way.

“See what I mean?” Geillis hissed at me as Jamie made his way to the front of the hall, speaking now about optimal burner temperatures.  “That man is a dozen kinds of yes.”

I concentrated on each step of the ostensibly simple recipe.  Pie crust had been the previous week’s assignment, so I had only to blind bake the prepared dough already at my workstation.  Once I had the crust centered exactly in the pie pan, pierced with a fork in orderly rows and placed in the oven, I rushed to catch up with the others.  I’d missed Jamie’s instructions regarding pan frying the bacon, so I increased the flame, thinking I could make up a little time.  The fatty meat crackled pleasingly as I set it in the lightly greased pan.  I was inordinately proud of myself.

Things went very badly, very fast.  First, my eyes wouldn’t stop watering as I meticulously peeled then dissected the onion into near-transparent crescents. Tears obscured my vision and I tried to wipe them away without contaminating my hands.  To my left I could make out Geillis skillfully cracking eggs into a glass bowl, her pie crust already elegantly filled with crispy morsels of bacon and caramelized onion bits.  

A vague sense of having forgotten something important tickled my mind.  My pie crust!  Grabbing a silicone glove (I wasn’t making that mistake twice) I rushed to the wall oven and extracted the pan.  Giddy with relief, I saw the dough was only a little dark around the edges.  

Before I could return victorious to my station, Jamie uttered a Scottish noise of alarm from his vantage at the front of the class.   We both rushed across the room to where my rashers of bacon now resembled blackened shoe laces obscured by a heavy veil of smoke.  With practiced ease, Jamie lifted the entire skillet into the adjacent sink and turned on the cold water.  A cloud of steam enveloped his head, highlighting his auburn curls.  I bit my lip as he looked my way in amusement.

“I hope ye werena planning on serving quiche to yer faculty guests t’night, Ms. Beauchamp?”

I stood meekly next to Geillis for the remainder of the class, no longer trusted around open flame without adult supervision.   She graciously allowed me to extract her quiche when it was done baking.  It looked like a magazine cover.  Meanwhile, my workstation looked like the scene of an industrial accident.

While we were waiting for her quiche to cook, Geillis and I got to know each other a little better.  She was a Highland lass from up near Inverness.  Married to a wealthy older man, her life sounded like an endless quest for diversion.  Despite this, or because of it, she had a sharp-witted frankness that I appreciated.  She was also a hard-core gossip.

“Wee besom,” she remarked with a nod towards a blond girl who was currently monopolizing Jamie’s attention with endless questions punctuated by manufactured giggles and flicks of her pin-straight hair.  “Tha’s Laoghaire Mackenzie of the Mackenzie brewing dynasty.  They’ve a live-in cook, so there’s only one reason she attends these classes, and it isna for the quiche.”

I watched Jamie laugh over something the girl said, mineral eyes alight and his perfect white teeth on display.  I suppose I couldn’t blame her.  I wasn’t here for the quiche either.

The interminable ninety minute lesson finally ended.  I thanked Geillis profusely and we exchanged numbers before she rushed off for her reiki treatment.  Gathering my trench coat and purse, I tried to slink away without calling any further attention to myself.

“Ms. Beauchamp!”

I cursed under my breath, then turned to face him.

“Please, call me Claire.  After I nearly burned down your place of business, we should probably be on a first name basis.”

Jamie chuckled. It sounded more natural and lived-in than his earlier response to Laoghaire, but I was likely fooling myself.

“Och, wha’s a cooking demonstration wi’out a wee bit of drama.  Will ye be joining us next week?  We’ll be making ceviche, sae I willna need tae put the fire brigade on stand-by.”

“Bastard,” I replied to his cheeky smirk.  “Alas, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a cook.  It appears to be the one science I can’t master.”

“Cooking isna a science, Claire,” he explained with sincere intensity.  “Tis an art.  Perhaps tha’s the root of yer struggle.”

“Perhaps it is.  But in that case, I may as well give up now.  I haven’t an artistic bone in my body.”

His languorous perusal of said body lit a different kind of flame in my belly.  Geillis was right; he really was a dozen kinds of yes.

“I canna say as I agree.  Come back any time if ye’d like tae try again.”

I blushed, thoroughly discomfited by his blatant flirting.  He knew about Frank.  He’d fled from him onto my fire escape, for Christ’s sake!  Maybe when you looked like James Fraser, every interaction with a woman was merely a chance to hone your craft.  Or maybe he was truly ignorant of his effect.

“I’ll take that under advisement.  Thank you again, Jamie.”

“Until the next time, Arsonist.”

[that-crow-kid]

to define a way of being

by @galactic-cam (galactic_cam on ao3) for @slothbeans (slothbeans on ao3) in the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

the story is here on ao3

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, background May Parker

Summary: Peter Parker had ADHD. He’d never gotten an official diagnosis, and it’d never been on his medical records. All he had was the vague memory of a doctor at his four-year-old check up recommending he get tested - and then his parents dying before the appointment could be made. He's done his research - there's nothing else it could be. But he'd adjusted, and he was good at school, so it hadn't really mattered all that much.

And then, because the spider bite put its greasy little fingers on everything else, it had to grab that, too.

It had been a rough few days. Well, no, scratch that, a rough few months. 

Peter Parker had ADHD. He’d never gotten an official diagnosis, and it’d never been on his medical records. When he was super little, like, before his parents died little, his pediatrician had told them that he should probably get tested. But then they’d died, less than a week later, and Peter was left with no official diagnosis, just the remnants of a memory of the doctors appointment. He’d reinforced this idea all throughout his life with his own research, but he had never told Ben or May. He figured they had enough to worry about, what with their four-year-old nephew suddenly coming to live with them after Ben’s sister-in-law and brother tragically died in a plane crash and all. 

So he’d just kept quiet. He was incredibly smart, and nobody ever accommodated for him, so he learned to adapt. Maybe not super well, but his grades were stellar despite the ADHD, so nobody ever really cared enough to diagnose or medicate him. 

And then he’d been bitten by the spider and it had gotten worse.

He’d always identified with Percy Jackson’s view of ADHD: You can’t streamline your thoughts because you get much more input. It made sense, and it was kind of how he felt. But then he developed superpowers, and it made more sense than ever before. 

He was getting 15 times the input he’d been getting before, between the super hearing and the super sight. It was pretty useful when he was fighting - if he was ‘focusing’ on one guy, he was also aware of the other guy pulling out a knife from a hidden pocket, and could adjust accordingly. It was not so great for school. It was already hard when you were acutely aware of the people whispering across the room - it was worse when you could actually hear what they were saying, and what the kids in the classrooms next to, across the hall from, above, and below you were all talking about. 

When his grades took a dip, he wasn’t shocked. He was mad at himself, of course, that he was letting his ADHD get in the way when he’d always been able to manage it, and since Peter Parker was good at stuff, there was a massive hit to his ego. He quit most of his after school activities to compensate - he needed to be doing stuff he was good at - and not at school where he was doing sub-par - and the thing he was suddenly good at was fighting crime.

And then Tony Stark had shown up at his door and whisked him away to Germany to steal Captain America’s shield, and his Homecoming had happened, and suddenly he was going to Mr. Stark’s lab in the newly rebought tower twice a week and staying over at the compound once a month.

Mr. Stark’s labs were actually a safe haven. They were sound proof, and Mr. Stark always had loud music playing, and most of the time there was nothing in there that messed with his senses. Mr. Stark worked strangely, jumping around from project to project unless he found one that really grabbed his attention. That style of working really clicked with Peter - he’d always just sat down and tried to do whatever it was he needed to - which had never really worked that well - but working in the lab, bouncing from thing to thing? That was perfect.

Today was different.

Peter had gotten his report card last week, and since it was now Tuesday, that meant he got to be scolded by Mr. Stark now, on top of the disappointment he’d gotten all weekend from May.

See, his grades were bad. Like, really bad.

Well, to a lot of kids, his grades were average, even pretty good. But for Peter Parker, top of the class in one of the country’s best schools, every teacher’s favorite Peter Parker, anything below a 90 was an extreme rarity. Anything below an 80? Where several of his grades were? Gods save the earth, because it was going to implode.

May had mostly been confused, with that constant disappointment rushing through her words. Why had he gotten Cs? He was supposed to be Peter Parker, perfect student, perfect kid. 

And now, Mr. Stark was going to take away his suit. His spider-manning was entirely reliant on his grades staying up, Mr. Stark had been clear on that. And how could he be Tony Stark’s protege if he got Cs? Mr Stark was halfway through his PhD by Peter’s age. 

Today was probably going to be the last time he saw Tony.

That was upsetting -  lab time was the only thing (other than spider-manning) that he looked forward to anymore. He was good at lab time, and Peter Parker was good at stuff. 

Of course, his brain gave a little “not anymore, you’re not.” Which, not cool, his brain was supposed to be on his side.

When he walked into the lab, Mr. Stark wasn’t working on anything, which was unusual, to say the least. He was seated, facing the door, a look of such disappointment on his face. 

Peter’s eyes focused on the floor. Wow, Mr. Stark sure had some nice tile under the epoxy that covered his lab floor. How could Peter have never noticed before?

“Peter.”

Tony’s voice startled him a bit, even though he knew that was why he’d been looking at the floor in the first place.

“Hey, Mr. Stark! How are you today? I’m really great. What are we working on today?” His sentences all came out in a rush, barely leaving any space between the words.

When he glanced up, Mr. Stark was looking at him, a smirk of amusement was tilting his lips, even though the rest of his face was still etched with disappointment. 

“What happened

Peter shrugged, eyes going back to looking at the floor.

“C’mon Kid, I need an actual answer. I know you’ve been doing all your work, and I know you’ve been home by curfew, unless you’ve hacked your suit again and convinced Karen to lie to me about it. So why’re your grades so low?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“Peter, you are the worst liar in the world.”

Peter sighed. “I know.”

“So? What happened?”

Peter glanced up. He looked at his mentor’s face, expecting disappointment, but instead he found… worry? And maybe curiosity?

“I have ADHD.”

“What? That’s not in your medical files -”

“I know, it’s not an official diagnosis. I was going to get one when I was little but… my appointment was after the plane crash, and…”

“You never did.”

“I never did. And I adjusted, kept my grades high, and nobody ever thought I could possibly have ADHD.”

“So what happened here?”

“The spider bite. It was always hard having ADHD because I noticed so much, but there’s a difference between being aware that the kids in the back of the room are talking and being able to hear what the class on the other side of the school is discussing with perfect clarity.”

Tony nodded. “I can only imagine.”

“But so my focus and participation went down, as did the quality of any work I did anywhere but in here.”

“Peter, why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Peter shrugged, but he knew the answer. He didn’t want Mr. Stark to think badly of him. How could he, Tony Stark’s protege, have ADHD?

Tony sighed. “Kid, did you know I have ADHD?” Now that caught Peter’s attention. He abruptly looked up. “What?”

Tony chuckled. “Yeah, kid. Dear old dad paid a lot to cover that up. And I wasn’t nearly as good at hiding it as you. I was all the way hyperactive, and Dad refused to medicate me. Told me to get over it, or that he wasn’t going to fuel a drug addiction in his son. His excuse changed.”

“But - But you were so good at school!”

“Dad paid off MIT to keep them quiet, but I assure you kid, I failed… several classes..”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

There was a quick beat.

“So, kid, what do you want to do about it?”

Peter, who’s eyes had refound their way to the floor, snapped back up to Tony. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you want to get a professional diagnosis? See a therapist? I’ve been meaning to rope you into therapy for a while now, this might just be the perfect way to start.”

“No - No, Mr. Stark! I don’t need therapy!”

“You might not need it yet - which I doubt, considering you fight crime in New York and I’ve seen you have several panic attacks - but all of the avengers go, and you’re an avenger-in-training. Gotta get you ahead of the game, kid.”

Peter sighed. “Fine. Okay, Mr. Stark.”

Tony pulled him into a brief hug, then slapped his back. “Brilliant, I’ll get on that for you later. For now, though, you wanna do something fun?”

Peter smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds -”

“Fun?” Tony broke in, a smile dancing across his face.

“Fun.”

[willowaudreykeyes]

So... it’s 2021 I guess. 

2020 was a shitty year where I could no longer do my Uni class due to not being able to do the online course without having anxiety attacks every week. It was the year I learned I had PTSD and that it’s what makes me so afraid of doing anything. It was the year I got so many bad thoughts about my own body, I even self harmed again a few times. It was the year that I got back on anti-depressants. Again.

But 2020 was also the year I joined Tumblr and met so many new people. I have friends now, who I love so much, despite the constant fear that they’d leave me any day... Every day that passes, with every new thing I do together with them, the fear gets a tiny bit smaller.

I learnt that I was non-binary asexual. It’s given me some building dysphoria, but knowing a little more about who I am is so nice. Plus, I got my lovely new name to go with it!

I learnt so much about religions and cultures and diagnosis’. I can always learn more, but for now, I’m glad that I spoke to people about their cultures and read posts about people’s religions.

My second nephew was born this year. He’s so small and the months afterwards gave my sister some health issues, but both her and her two sons are healthy now. I’m getting him a little penguin blankie for a late Christmas gift...

My little brother got awards that he more then deserves. He’s definitely a ‘gifted child’ but he’s handling it better then what I did... He’s a school captain for the primary school kids in 2021; the only boy and the only Aboriginal. I’m so proud of him and I’ll be there if he needs me...

My other brother got a nice girlfriend that fits right in to the family. I rearranged my room and finally got a desk. We got two birds (Joey and Lemon) and five fish (Fishstick, Chip, Tim, Jim and Mark Sucker-burg) to add to the family. I commissioned for amazing pfp’s and I still love them so much. I donated money to people on Tumblr and to charities. I wrote several stories, got so many prompts to eventually write, I drew for myself and for others.

2020 was absolutely horrible, but there are always positives somewhere. This post took me over an hour to write as I’m not in a great headspace the last few days and it’s a little more difficult to look on the bright side, but I’m glad I did. 

---------------------------------------

Thank you @sparrowofsong for always being there for me when you could and helping me so much. I love you dude, so much <3

Thank you @ambersky0319 for being there, even though our interests went in different directions.

Thank you @landofsaltandshade for your strange knowledge and for reaching out to me so that we could eventually be friends.

Thank you @kieraelieson for being so supportive and sweet and just an amazing friend.

Thank you @edwinya for being supportive, informative and kind to me. Yeah, you do a lot of shitposts, but seeing you have fun is so amazing.

Thank you @candied-peach for being sweet as pie and for that amazing fic that you wrote for my 100th follower thing that I still think about so often.

Thank you @5am-the-foxing-hour for being so open and caring. Your cosplay and art has gotten so amazing too.

Thank you @surohsopsisofclouds for being awesome. All of you. You all explore and do so much and your posts are more uplifting then I think you all realise.

Thank you @beauty-and-passion for your amazing theories and delightful music breakdowns that people send in. 

Thank you @grouptalekindnesssoul @amphibiousuprising @logan-got-yoinked @joylessnightsky @deceits-left-glove @devilsfics @impatentpending @coconut-cluster @wroammin for being so sweet to me and others. Some of you I look on from afar, but know that I think that you’re all so amazing.

And to all 155 of my followers. You’re all amazing and I wish for you a safe 2021. Thank you all so much for making a shitty year a little less shitty.

Love

- Remy

Hey look it's me and my shitty selfie skills-

[mchalowitz]

the woman is the king, part two

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part of this story! writing again has been so great and i’m excited for everyone to read where it goes from here! 

part 1: melissa

part 2: dana

———

The exam room is harshly lit, brutally overclean. When the doctor gives the diagnosis, it knocks the breath out of her, and she has the audacity to declare her gratitude. How could she.

The fragility of her age comes to mind on the drive home; her eyes prickle watching her copy of her oncology referral slide across the dashboard.

Dana is only thirty-three. Melissa was only thirty-three. She ponders her mother, Maggie, at thirty-three. Her destiny already decided; along for the military ride. She was carrying the fifth Scully child that year. Their matrarical line is cursed by the thirty-third year.

She simmers with the news for a few days; plotting methods of delivering impending doom. Mulder, the usual harbinger of bad news, is the one she tells first, and she believes using a clinician’s touch might soothe her.

The pronoun that binds them, the “we” travels from his vocal cords to their air between them. When he pauses, she can fill in the blanks of how he wants the sentence to end. We can do something about this or we can fix this. The problem is, there isn’t anything to be done.

Inside her head is a glass and cancer is the water from a faucet turned all the way on. They are merely waiting for the overflow.

--

Tara is pregnant; she is having a boy. Her brother’s wife is thirty-three. It must be so nice, to be dubbed a Scully, and yet remain so blessed at this foredoomed age. 

An appointment to be pumped with poison and Tara’s baby shower fall in the same week. What a scheduling nightmare, she jokes, when she declines the invitation with warm regards. Bill does not laugh and he buys their mother a plane ticket. 

The total lack of skeletal structure takes her over, has her melted into the couch. Scully finds the initial nausea passes quickly this time. It is the wave of self-consciousness from Mulder bearing witness to this betrayal of her body that lingers. 

“It must be kind of exciting,” Mulder comments. She is watching him wipe down the counter and she doesn’t remember a single time she has seen him willingly clean anything. He is not half-assing any of the responsibilities bestowed upon him by the Mrs. Scully. 

“It might be more exciting if it were someone else,” Scully responds, forgoing her usual diplomatic response on the subject. 

Mulder pauses, focuses in on her eyes, and in unsaid words, he nods in agreement. He throws the wet rag into the sink with a stomach-churning squelch and falls beside her on the couch. 

“You know,” she adds, “Melissa always said she wasn’t going to have kids until she was forty.”

Melissa would goad her into increasingly ridiculous futures; nothing is more ridiculous than futures that will never exist. Neither of them could have predicted such an outcome. 

When they were young, one Scully sister was rarely found without the other. It was only the intricacies of adult life that would split them apart. Melissa yearned for adventure; to shed ideals and expectations from their youth in far off places. Their parents envisioned a certain fate for their children, and Dana followed it, until she didn’t. 

As she conjures up those conversations about where their lives would go, she realizes she cannot even remember her voice. It rolls over her like a wave, the awareness of fading memories, and it cracks her guise held barely together. 

Her glassy eyes brim and she finally crumbles, feeling wholly pathetic. She lacks her usual resiliency that he is accustomed to seeing from her as she weeps, “My sister is gone and I have cancer, Mulder.”

“I know,” he says.

“I’ll miss everything,” she whimpers. The weight of mortality hits her; the decades worth of wasted holidays and the lost memory of her nephew’s birth. Scully will never stand in resolution with her partner after their tireless work for the truth. The loss of an uncomplicated life feels enormous. 

She laments what she was never sure of even desiring; the two-story in the suburbs, the babies of her own, the one true love...

“Let’s get married.”

--

His offer hangs in the air. Scully cries a bout of nausea and bolts for the bathroom. When she emerges, Mulder is there to tuck her into bed.

The sun sets and it rises again on a new day. She comes out of the bedroom apprehensively. Finding Mulder on one knee in her hallway isn’t an idea she can rule out completely. It wouldn’t even come close to the craziest thing she has seen him do.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Mulder rubs circles into his forehead with his cell phone pressed to his ear. She gets close enough to vaguely hear the caller on the other end, listen to the outrage behind, “I couldn’t even put the kettle on without her standing right behind me. In my own home, Fox,” and making it seem as though this is the only issue in the world that matters. And Scully kind of wishes that was true.

“That’s her job, Mom,” he replies. The tone of his voice almost makes her laugh. A polite but clear get me out of here she knows well that comes out during conversations with authority figures, midwestern cops, and not unsurprisingly, mothers.  

Their eyes meet, he looks at her as though she is his unsurpassable savior. He begs off the phone, making the usual adult child promises, and sets his cell phone down on the table. 

Scully commends Mulder for trying to be more involved with his family since his mother’s stroke. But what a fate he has, caring for the medically and emotionally broken women in his life. He gives her a tight lipped smile and she asks, “Is everything alright?”  

“Jury’s still out,” he declares with a shrug. He stands and starts walking toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Water, toast, a ring?” 

A certainly interesting turn of events for them, a question that could develop into an actual conversation about the night before. 

“Mulder.”

“We could get married, Scully.” 

“This is so like you, Mulder. This is your stream of consciousness decision making,” she counters. Scully flattens her hands on the table, takes a breath, and attempts to change her tone to sound a little more kind. “I know the idea that I’m dying is bleak. But there are implications to getting married. I couldn’t do that to you.” 

Scanning Mulder’s eyes, Scully can see he understands what she means by implications. “Don’t think about that,” he tells her finally, “If you really believe this is the end, what do you still want to experience?” 

Scully’s eyes flash away, toward the door. Four years ago, she stood in that spot, and assured her sister unequivocally of her absolute disinterest in dating her new partner. Even if he were just a guy. 

Selfishness has often forced a wedge between them; a precursor to many experiences they would have as partners. His brilliance and humanity drew her in then, not unlike the way it does now. When the question was posed--just any guy--their debates were thrilling, a little flirtatious even, and now they can absolutely infuriate her, but she respects his ideals, and she knows that sentiment is reciprocated. 

On occasion, Scully is even a little selfish, and allows herself to appreciate just a guy with a little flop of hair that falls onto his forehead, and with the most charming smile. 

Whether it be guilt or admiration, Mulder wants her to experience everything before it gets taken away. She can admire the altruism. 

Mulder doesn’t ask again, he only suggests. And she accepts. 

--

The commencement of their marriage is without fanfare in a government building on a Friday afternoon with grocery store flowers and a safe kiss on the cheek to clinch the deal. There are no rings but he holds her left hand as they bound down the courthouse steps. During their late lunch at a local diner, the waitress notices their attire, and offers them a free slice of pie, any flavor they want, because it is a special occasion. 

A few paces ahead of her on the way to the car, Mulder opens her door. “Your getaway car, my bride,” he teases. The smile on her lips quickly fades. His jovial face morphs to confusion. 

But it’s the drip. Blood splatters on the clean, clear plastic protecting their chocolate cream. She tries to maneuver for her purse but he quickly procures tissues from the inside pocket of his jacket. 

He squats next to the passenger side of the car and holds tissues to the nose of his bride. 

--

Something is weirdly, intangibly incorrect. 

It starts with weekend plans. Mulder is already well aware of her singular escape, her monograph for the Penology Review, with its looming deadline coming up. 

He normally makes comments about her unwavering professionalism. It is a mutual agreement to keep their marriage to themselves. The federal government has no investment in the inner workings of their lives; they are legally married and they both know that could easily mean reassignment for both of them. It doesn’t stop him from sneaking in a few witticisms for his own amusement. 

Mulder knocks. That’s weird.

The wine is truly suspicious. Except for the occasional beer, Mulder was never much for alcohol to begin with, but what is especially bizarre is the sudden lack of concern over her doctor’s recommended meal plan. He had been following it down to the last letter, and while a glass of wine is not exactly forbidden, it is not the first item on their shopping list. 

“We never really talk much, do we?” 

Admittedly, the shared looks and delicate touches of silent communication is where they excel, but the question is still somewhat puzzling. Since beginning a routine of casual marital cohabitation, she believes they talk quite a bit. The minutiae of everyday life is often a topic of conversation in ways it never has been. 

Scully still plays along by agreeing that, no, they don’t talk. She sips wine and tells him true-ish stories of Marcus, the prom date of a Scully, but not herself, and the infamous pumper truck scandal involving her brother Charlie. 

Romantic intimacy has not exactly been a component of their marriage and she has found that cancer does not make one feel like the most desirable of specimens. He has never expressed anything to make her believe he feels anything for her beyond friendship, despite the deep affection they share. 

He leans in now; his eyes closed and head cocked. Kissing him isn’t a repulsive idea, but it just seems off, because Mulder is acting so strangely out of character. 

Scully scrambles off the couch to get away from the man that is so clearly not her partner. Absolutely horrified, she stares at Mulder, and has no reservations when he steps forward to cuff the pathetic and vile man that invades her living room.  

--

Many lines have still not been crossed and she doesn’t think they ever will be. The cancer is still aggressively present with the treatments doing very little. 

Scully prepares herself for the eventuality of hospitalization, potentially for good, and it is very tempting to keep that from Mulder, to allow them to remain in their bubble, but she knows that isn’t fair.

Her car idles on the street outside Harold Spuller’s care home and three soft raps sound on her driver’s side window. She sucks in air deeply and wipes the tears from her cheeks before rolling down the window.

“I didn’t mean for things to get so heated back there.”

“Me neither,” she agrees. When her eyes flash up to his, so guilty and fond, her words fall out in a tumble, unable to prolong this evasion of the truth any longer. “I don’t know why I lied to you. I’m not fine. My treatments aren’t working and my doctors don’t think another round will change that.”

“I’m in this with you, Scully.”

“I know you are,” she affirms. She ducks her head down toward the steering wheel, like a little girl caught eating dessert before dinner. “I’m tired, Mulder.” 

“I’ll follow you.”

His headlights shine in her rearview mirror, trailing behind all the way back to where they began this night in Georgetown. Arriving in the apartment, she shuts the door behind them, and informs him, “I’m going to take a shower,” and he nods, reaching forward to squeeze her shoulder. He loosens his tie and starts meandering toward the bedroom. 

The phantom ghost of his touch remains on her shoulder and it reminds her of his romantic soul that she is only now been introduced to. Mulder is more emotionally open and affection than she is. He treats her like a wife. They are married, after all. 

Their marital bliss is of their own design; enjoyably innocent with its lack of certain intimate elements left largely undiscussed. However, there is delight to be found in mere shared company. With a no-work policy now enacted in her home, the opportunity to see funnier, more relaxed, and domestic sides of each other often makes it feel as though their marriage could be real. 

An unspoken agreement to live this arrangement without rules creates something representative of authentic matrimony. Ignoring the initial awkwardness when sharing a bed leads to the normalization of pressing into his warm side each night; falling asleep faster and deeper. Leisurely playing with his hair while reading on the couch one evening introduced a few form of relaxation they both enjoy. He even calls her “honey” occasionally, and she must admit, it makes her feel pleasantly warm to hear it. 

It wasn’t right to keep him out of the loop.

Sitting on the tile shower floor, Scully washes the last six hours from her skin. In an attempt to prove to herself, to everyone, that she can still do this, she pushes herself too far. The best decision for the case was to take down the nurse. For her fragile body, not as much.

A small box sits on top of her towel. She picks it up, weighing it gently in her palm.

Mulder already lies innocently under the covers and appears deeply enthralled in his nighttime reading. He looks very youthful and sweet in his wire-framed glasses and his large feet poking out at the end of the bed. She presents the box in question and inquires, “Mulder, what’s this?”

“Hmm?” he murmurs. He glances up briefly, taking off his glasses. “Oh. Wedding present.”

Eyebrows drawn together in confusion, she sits down on top of the comforter, and cautiously opens the box. Her eyes fall on a gorgeously dainty bracelet with a small diamond affixed to a silver chain. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Scully finally admits. Mulder smiles, wordlessly leaning forward to close the distance between them. His kiss finally comes with soft lips and firm resolve.  

--

A keen ear kept on the exchange occurring in the hallway, Scully hears the malice in “let her die with dignity,” the intense intent to guilt. Since childhood, Bill has been masterful at identifying a scapegoat. 

Appearing at her bedside, Scully takes her brother’s hand. It has been quite some time since they were together in person and she is aware she should focus on the grand gesture of his presence. But they have always sparred on injustice and she just witnessed him as the purveyor. 

“I don’t want you to talk to him like that,” she tells him. 

It takes almost nothing to generate a quarrel between the two of them. “You keep defending him, Dana, and I don’t see what there is about him to protect,” Bill argues. “You wouldn’t even be in this situation if...”

“Fox has been very helpful,” Maggie interrupts. Their mother is well versed in deescalating the disputes of Dana and Bill; the oil and water of the Scully children. “Bill, sit down and be civil.”

Where Mulder pushes, Bill pulls, and Dana is left somewhere in the middle. Something akin to a jealous feud brews between the two men in her life; each vying for the role of ultimate fixer. It is only when Mulder orchestrates the impossible that her brother cannot deny the miracle. 

Most conversations were plans for a comfortable end or perhaps a prolonged, managed experience. The concept of remission, a life without the dark cloud of cancer, was a possibility never even considered. 

The day of her discharge finally arrives after a final weeklong observation of her progress, and Mulder, as a now regular fixture of the post-critical care ward, shows up to her room early as usual. He drops a bag on her empty hospital bed. “I brought you some clothes from your apartment,” Mulder informs her. “Unfortunately I couldn’t find anything as uniquely versatile as the hospital gown.” 

“I appreciate the effort,” she smiles, ripping open the plastic bag.

Scully can feel an awkwardness emanating from him with three feet between them. She is taking stock of the items he provided when he finally speaks, “Listen, I can be out--” 

With a week to discuss the topic, neither of them were brave enough to allow it. The last thing Scully wants Mulder to believe is she married him to take advantage of a kindness he extended to her. It was done with such a different outcome in mind; a selfless act with an outcome to be bathed in heartache. 

Now, there is no plan on how to approach where things will go from here. Scully didn’t ever think she would be in a position to have to consider it. 

At the very least, they deserve time to enjoy a lack of this particular impending doom. 

“Should we get dinner tonight?”

If there is anything they deserve more of, it is time.

It is health.

It is stability.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Pure Blood 34 (Sirius Black x F!Oc)

Words: 2, 299

Warnings: Injuries. Domestic violence. Pain. Trauma

Masterlist:

Chapter 33. chapter 35

The voices are far away. I feel my body shiver from time to time and several hands touch me. I try to open my eyes, but the light hurts. I want to speak, but only a groan comes out of my mouth. My throat burns, my lungs are desperate for air.

I move my hand, a stabbing pain runs through my body, like lightning, spreading from my legs all the way up to my head. I complain again, I hear voices more clearly.

"Persephone, stay still, please…”

That's Jane. I'm with Jane. Why?

"Persephone, stop moving, you will hurt yourself more,” I feel hands on my arms and I growl. "If you listen to me, squeeze my hand,” I feel her hand on mine. I obey her orders. "Good girl. I know you have questions, your body has gone through a lot. I'll give you a potion so you can sleep. But I need you to stop fighting. You’re safe…”

Her tone sounds desperate, so I stopped moving. Then a liquid passes my lips and travels down my throat.

***

The second time I woke up, I was able to open my eyes. I find myself in an unfamiliar room, the curtains are closed and it is only me, lying on a bed.

I sigh now feeling that my lungs can work better, but with every minute that it takes, the pain keeps coming back, especially in my left arm. I stir by letting out a groan, it doesn't take long for the door to open, illuminating the room a bit for a few seconds.

“How nice that you are awake. I was already worrying, ”says Jane.

I hear him drag a chair to get closer to the bed.

"Jane" I say hoarsely.

"No, don't talk yet" she scolds me. "I will explain everything to you, but first I will heal your wounds"

***

My left arm is broken, I have two broken ribs, almost and that affects my lungs. Many bruises all over my body, my right cheekbone is swollen, I have a cut on my left ear, and several displaced cuts everywhere.

That is the diagnosis or the "simplest" way in which Jane could explain it to me. The healing is horrible and with every salve, potion and bandage change I feel like my bones are about to shatter into a thousand pieces. My screams echo through the room, only when Jane is done do I feel the burning in my throat.

The worst fight against my father happened at my house on the same day that I returned for Christmas holidays. That has been a week. Juno and my mother were on the side of Ares. They helped him, they agreed that I deserved something like that. Balder was another accomplice, he was responsible for various injuries.

I don't remember every detail, until now, in my dreams, green flashes arrive, screams, curses, and pain.

Apollo arrived just before they could assassinate me. My own family.

I’m with Apollo, Jane and Atlas. My parents don't know where I am and they don't want to know. To them, I am dead. Just like Sirius, but worse.

***

1

"You must walk a bit.”

"I've already done it.”

"Not just to go to the bathroom, Persephone."

“It hurts every time I breathe. I can't walk, Jane,” I growl looking at the ceiling.

She sighs.

"I know it hurts, but if you don't start moving, it’ll be worse.”

"This could not be worse.”

“Persephone…”

"Leave me alone.”

***

2

“Sirius wrote to me. Actually, all your friends have,” says Apollo. He’s sitting next to my bed with a book in hand. I don't respond and continue eating. “They’re worried about you. You should answer them.”

"They wrote to you,” I reply.

"If you keep sulking in your misery, you won't be able to go back to school."

"Maybe I don't want to go back…”

"That's a lie and you know it,” I shrug. He shakes his head. "Listen," he leans and takes the tray away from me. “You know I'm not like Jane and maybe I'm not the right person to encourage you to keep going. But you know the consequences very well. You’re not stupid and you’re no longer a kid. Go out, play with Atlas, write to your friends, do something. You are free, Persephone, although it may not feel like it.”

***

3

“I spoke to Dumbledore, you’re allowed to miss the first week. I told him that your body needs more time.”

"What if I don't return?"

Jane sighs.

"Your friends would miss you.”

"Forget the other people. What would happen to me? What if I don't finish school?"

"I can't see the future.”

“Try."

“No,” She answers raising her voice. “What you’re doing is not right. You demand answers that you know already. You cannot hide forever. Neither your brother nor I will allow it. Allow your head to think of someone other than you, Persephone. Think that a war is coming, and that we need every wizard and witch to be able to stop it.”

"Do you know about that?" She nods. "The order of the phoenix?" She nods again. "You said you talked to Dumbledore…”

“Yes, he came yesterday. I don't know how he found out. Your parents tried to hide any scandal…”

"He knew," I whisper.

"What?"

“Before the holidays, he said that he would help me with whatever I needed. He knew something was going to happen. That's why he called me to be part of the Order.”

It would be pretty stupid to tell the whole plan to a girl with parents involved on the wrong side.

I make a face.

"Crafty old man.”

"Persephone!"

“What?"

***

4

In the early morning, I sit up in bed and crawl to the end, I raise my hand and move the curtain. I see the huge garden outside my brother's house, the plants and flowers are illuminated by the dark sky

Today I would be waiting for the train to return to Hogwarts with my friends, with Sirius. But I'm still in bed with my left arm bandaged. Some cuts have closed and the swelling went down.

Physically I am improving and I want to believe that mentally too. My brother and his wife are right, I know they are. It's different from the last time things got tense between my family. This time I fought back, I was strong, but there is something that stops me.

Fear.

Although I’m no longer part of the family, I had never thought to leave them, not even when the whole show started. All my life I admired my father, I admired the loyalty and the dedication that other generations had for me to be in that place.

But now I know it was all a sham. Unnecessary sacrifices, death, murderers, the purity of blood and hatred.

I am free.

It doesn't feel good, but I don't see it as a bad thing either. It was necessary. This is all very complicated for a 17-year-old girl.

Someone cries and interrupts my thoughts. I sigh and get up slowly. My weak body slides towards the door and I open it. I walk until I get to the blue door next to mine.

Atlas is sitting on his bed, holding the railing. He's over a year old, but he still can't get out of the children's prison. Even though the bars are lower.

"What is it, nephew?"

“Monsters," He whispers between hiccups.

"Where?" He points to his closet. I nod and limping a bit I go towards it. I open the two doors and check every corner in detail.

“There's nothing here,” I inform him.

"O’tside?"

I lean out of his window and shook my head.

He sighs in relief. I move the railing so I can sit on the mattress.

"Better?" He nods with a smile. He takes off the covers and crawls over to me. He looks at my bandaged arm.

"It hurt?" He asks pointing at it.

“Yes.”

He pouts, with the help of my good arm he gets up on the bed and kisses my cheek leaving a trail of drool. That makes me laugh.

"Bettur?"

"Yes, thank you, darling.”

He nods, sits down again, but it doesn't last long. He carefully sits on my lap, wraps his arms around my neck and rests his head on my chest.

"Buv u, aunti phony,” He whispers into my chest.

"I love you too, Atlas.”

***

5

"Are you sure this block doesn't go here?" I ask him not very sure of the construction of the castle.

"Mine!" He squeals.

"Yes, I understood that, but it will fall if you put it like that.”

"Yes?" I nod. “Okay.”

“It'll be a problem to share his toys, right?" Jane says sitting down on the grass in front of me.

“So far, he’s only lend me the green blocks. I don't think it's his favorite color. But if he's with other kids, maybe he'll change,” I shrug.

"Well, he’ll have to get used to it soon.”

I turn to see her and she smiles at me.

“You're pregnant?"

"Two months.”

I raise my eyebrows.

"Don't you have anything else to do?" I tease and she nudges my leg lightly. "Does the selfish midget already know?" I ask pointing to the blond castle maker.

"We told him, but I don't think he cares."

I laugh.

“Atlas," I call. "Do you want a brother or sister?"

"I don’ know.”

"Another baby in the house so you can play?”

"With aunti phony!” He points out laughing.

"It's progress,” I nod.

Atlas turns to his blocks.

Jane takes my hand, I return my gaze to her.

"You have visitors," She points out.

I lift my gaze and my breath catches at the sight of Sirius leaning against the frame of the door. His hands inside the pockets of his school pants.

"How long has he been there?" I ask Jane.

"Couple of minutes,” She gets up and walks into the house, not before saying something to Sirius. He nods and takes the blonde's place. Atlas feels the change and turns to look at him closely.

"Did you run away from school?" I ask.

“No, James's parents brought us. Dumbledore agreed.”

I nod.

He looks at me, smiles sideways and takes my hand.

“You'll come back?"

"I should,” I stroke his hand. “Yes, I’ll go back. It’ll be very strange, but I have to finish. Apollo told me that he'll send me off if I don't come back.”

Sirius laughs.

"No," says Atlas trying to remove Sirius's hand.

“Hey, selfish. Don't be rude,” I let go of Sirius and stroke my nephew's blond hair. “Greet the visitor! Atlas, this is my boyfriend, Sirius. Sirius, this is my nephew Atlas.”

Sirius smiles and tries to touch the baby's hand, but he pulls away a bit.

“Mine," he says pointing at me.

"Great, I have competition.”

"Better come in,” I turn to the baby. "I can't carry you, buddy. You'll have to trust Sirius,” I stand up and the baby looks at me confused. "Tomorrow we continue with the castle.”

Atlas pulls on my pants to get up, but he has a hard time. Sirius kneels in front of him. He searches through his pockets and pulls a figure out of them.

A black dog carved out of wood. He shows it to my nephew.

"How about a peace offering?"

Atlas looks at the figure and smiles. He takes it and Sirius takes the opportunity to carry him in his arms.

"Well played. Did you really bring the figure for him?" I ask him walking towards the house.

"It's not much, but since we planned this trip, I wanted to give him something.”

We both walked in.

Apollo and Jane are sitting in an armchair in front of another couple, and in another chair I ese James.

Jane takes her son to his room.

"You can do this if you really want to, Persephone,” says Apollo without deviating.

I sigh and nod. He smiles and gets up to hug me.

"Thank you," I whisper against his chest.

When we part, he kisses my forehead, then he leaves me in full view of the other guests.

“Normally, I wouldn't be so cheesy, but you look terrible and I'm a new man now,” says James hugging me. "You're pretty tough for a Slytherin,” I laugh and we part.

"Percy, these are Fleamont and Euphemia. James's parents,” Sirius introduces us. He puts a hand on my waist.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," I shook hands with them.

"The pleasure is all ours, darling,” says Fleamont

"They have told us much about you," continues Eufemia. "And I must say that you are more beautiful than I could imagine, even with all that our Sirius told us…”

I look at the aforementioned who is now blushing.

"Thank you, Mrs. Potter," I say laughing.

“It's true, although sometimes h exaggerated. Sometimes I wondered if we were talking about the same girl,” adds James.

"James!" His mother scolds him.

Apollo laughs.

"What did I miss?" says Jane.

Suddenly I feel a strong dizziness. I take Sirius's hand for support.

"You're good?" Sirius asks. I shake my head.

The laughter ends and Apollo approaches. They both lead me to an armchair. Sirius sits on the armrest.

"I'm sorry. It was just a dizziness and nausea, something common lately,” I comment.

“Dizziness and nausea?" James asks. "Anything you want to say, Padfoot?" He points out.

"Don't be an idiot, Prongs.”

"They act like children," says Eufemia. "Behave yourselves, boys!”

"He started," Sirius mumbles.

"He called me an idiot, mum!” James replies.

"I can't believe I actually missed this,” I say laughing.

Taglist: 

@treestarrrrrrrr​   @siriuslysirius1107​   @madmaiden2890​ @ren-ela​  @avipshamitra​   @auroraawrites​ @findzelda​  @lizlil​ @siriusmuch​   @chloe-geoghegan1​ @reverse-hxlland​  @may-rapp​ @the-specific-oceans​ @eveft​  @secret-obsessions​

@xkonpinkx​​    @inkandpen22​  @thagreenmoon​​​

@littledeadgirlwalking​​

@yunloyal

@bloodorangemoonlight​

[finnverbose]

I am struggling because I’ve been thinking a lot about autism because one of my nephews was diagnosed pretty young and another cousin is understood to be on the spectrum and has been pretty confident in that for several years, and now I’m looking at other family like my older brother (and father of the nephew with formal diagnosis) and my mom (who connects and understands her grandson with the formal diagnosis more than anyone) and I’m just like hmmm a few of us then.

This gets really long and i don’t remember how to do a read more on mobile, so I’m sorry. Just scroll past.

But I look at myself and I think about masking and I think about my childhood and I’m like okay just cause I have stuff in common with autistic people doesn’t mean.. and I relate to a lot of autistic people on social media. But there’s so much overlap with other forms of neurodivergence and mental illness! Especially the way things are expressed outwardly vs internal experience!

So I was talking to my husband recently and was like “yeah I don’t think I’m autistic because I don’t have some of the most major traits like difficulty in social interactions and inflexibility like with routines and schedules” and he was like what in the world are you talking about you definitely struggle with both of those.

So I start trying to justify and I’m like no the social thing is just because I grew up with no one liking me because I cried all the time and talked too much and also struggled to convince people I understood what I was talking about so everything I say just has to be carefully composed and built from the ground up like a dissertation. And then I started thinking about how I love the face masks because I don’t have to think about my expression and never really realized I was doing it until I didn’t have to anymore and how I work for a call center and all the time people think I’m reading from a script when I’m not and how I look at people when they’re talking but really struggle to when I’m talking and how I have always felt like other people don’t seem to think the same way I do but I can’t figure out why.

But also any and all of these things could just be normal for lots of people and also influenced by my anxiety and fucked up emotional attachments from childhood.

And I didn’t think I had the inflexibility because I think I handle change fine and I’ve moved a lot in life and had minimal issues and never really had routines, but then my husband pointed out that any time something changes suddenly, my first reaction is to get upset and I tell him often that it’s not that I mind that the plans have changed it’s that I have to process that change for a bit before I’m okay with it. And I was still like noooo, but then today a work meeting ended up being about two hours earlier and half an hour shorter than I thought it would be, and it didn’t interfere with any of my breaks and it was just a training going over stuff I already knew, but after the meeting I started getting really anxious and overwhelmed for no reason when before the meeting I was fine. And it wasn’t until I had my lunch later that I thought back on the timeline of when I started feeling bad that it lined up perfectly with that meeting being different than I expected.

But again, I am an anxious person and I really look forward to any time I don’t have to be taking calls even though that’s my whole job because it’s just really tiring sometimes.

And I’ve always had some level of sensory issues. I’ve always been a a fairly picky eater, worse when little, and the older I got the more I realized that it’s often textures that are the problem, or strong flavors like spicy or vinegar. I get overwhelmed easily by certain kinds of touch. I am basically nonfunctional if I’m too hot and I’ve always hated things that are very soft. When I stopped shaving my legs I even told people a big reason is I hate the feeling of my pants touching or sliding over my legs when they were smooth.

I don’t know. I still don’t think I’m autistic though I do have some things in common with people on the spectrum, it’s just like... I’m noticing more and more particularly neurodivergent traits and behaviors? Idk what to do with this knowledge and now that I’ve noticed it I can’t stop noticing.

[lieutenantcactus]

Here's a girl who, in my opinion, has probably one of the most interesting stories of my ocs

The tragedy in young Madison's life started when she was only a few months old and both her biological parents sadly past away in a car accident. Now in the care of her older brother Paris, who was just shy of 19 at the time, Maddie was raised as best as the young man could handle, and boy! Could he not handle it. Especially when it came to her shock diagnosis of Meningococcal meningitis. Suddenly, she was whisked away into intensive care, where she remained for weeks. She was touch and go for a while, blood vessel damage becoming so great that she ended up with both her legs amputated below the knee. And, of course, poor Paris was stuck with the medical bills, on top of...well everything else. The full details of what Paris did to keep him and his sister afloat is best saved for his separate ref, but, safe to say, it wasn't pretty. It was around this time that one Mr Joseph Collard came into their lives. A bouncer at the, uh, "club" Paris worked at, Joseph had grown a real soft spot for the young man, which grew into a soft spot for little Maddie once he met her. Which eventually led to him officially adopting her when she was around three years old. Of course, Paris was still in her life, as the three moved across the country to start a new life far away from the old. But not everything was perfect. You have to understand, witnessing and going through the things Maddie did in the first five years of her life...It was traumatising. And the thing with that childhood trauma: she doesn't remember any of it. It just affected her in a major way. This led to her being what teachers would call "a problem child". Acting out, unable to control her emotions properly, prone to meltdowns. Plus, being over attached to her brother and father. And not liking when things came between them. Or PEOPLE for that matter. She reacted VERY poorly to her brother in law when they first met. It had always been just her, Paris and Papa. And, if she had her five year old way, it would remain just them, thank you very much. But, unfortunately, her brother HAD to go and fall head over heels for the man. Honestly, she could do without seeing the way Nick would kiss him goodnight when dropping him off from a date. Then came the horrible news: Paris was moving in with him. Maddie cried and begged, trying to offer alternatives; like Nick moving in with them! But, Paris calmly explained how impossible that would be, what with Nick having a daughter and their apartment only having two bedrooms. Paris even light-heartedly added that this would mean that Maddie would finally have her own room. But of course, this caused the girl to throw a tantrum and lock herself in said room. She didn't talk much to Paris for a while, though she did eventually come out her room. Paris, of course, was heart broken, but figured (more like hoped) that she'd come around eventually. Joseph... was stuck in the middle. Happy for his best friend, but unsure of what to do about his daughter. Like any misguided dad, his mind eventually turned to one solution: a pet! Maybe a pet could knock the blues out of Maddie. So, he took her to the shelter and told her "pick out anyone you want! Well, uh....so long as our apartment complex approves of em". They ended up coming home that day with a little cream calico scruff ball with mucky eyes and a scratchy little yowl of a voice, which Maddie named Bubblegum (Joseph could only assume this was due to Maddie's near obsession with the candy). Bubblegum did help some, but ultimately, it was time who was the biggest healer, and she did eventually open back up to her brother, though she would remain cold to Nick for some time to come. It was around the time that they got the news that Paris and Nick were getting married (gross) that a little white cat rushed into their apartment, causing a middle aged man to rush after her and crash right into Joseph, the man haphazardly catching him in a dip. The moment they locked eyes, Maddie had but one thought: "Oh god, it's happening again". Robin, however, proved himself a lot better than Nick. Well, for starters, he only lived across the hall from them, so he wouldn't be dragging her father TOO far away from her. And he also had a young son, Phoenix, who was pretty cool! So maybe, just maybe...she'd give this one her blessing...begrudgingly... She would grow to be happy she did.. As a young adult, Maddie has chilled out A LOT. She loves her fathers and her little brother (though, sometimes she acts too cool for them). She's buried the hatchet with her brother in law, just in time to welcome her nephew into the family (plus she loves to tease Poppy by calling herself her "step aunt"). Then came the day her fathers brought sixteen year old Natalie home. Both agreeing that they were too old to handle a younger child, they had had their hearts set on adopting an older teen and, well, they fell in love with Natalie just about as fast as they fell in love with each other. Mads is fiercely protective of her little sister. Perhaps her brother rubbed off on her in that aspect... 

[artorias-dantes]

A Story Idea (Part 1)

A young man in his late teens wakes up out of bed at 4:00 A.M. on a Saturday to the sounds of someone banging on his front door.

The loud crashing against sound in his ears was starting to give him a headache. Deciding that it was not merely a dream but someone hammering his door down, he rises out of bed, grabbed the robe that rested on the door's hanger, and headed downstairs. As he slowly and sleepily descends the stairs, the banging was now much louder and alarming than before.

"Alright, alright... keep yer shirt on, I'm coming..." He replies to whoever is banging on his front door. He unlocks the door and slowly pulls it open as the banging quickly stops. Two men were standing there with a third, much broader and muscled one between them. He's not sure whether to laugh or to cry at this point because, by the looks of their suits and other small details, he was sure he had just opened his front door for three Mafia men. Taking in a deep breath was a mistake because one of them was bleeding. Badly.

"Kid, could you do us a favor and help him. We know your Uncle and already called him, and he gave us the A-okay to bring him to your residence. Sorry for beaten your door to shit." All he could do was nod and tell them where to lay the wounded man. After getting him settled into the guest room of his home, the two men stood guard in the living room and, he's told that more would arrive later to protect the house.

He lets out a gentle yet uneasy sigh as he starts to tend to the mans' wounds. Thank god his Uncle taught him how to sew and take care of these types of emergencies. He prayed, however, that this man pulled through, or there would be hell to pay. The man had many scars on his body. Many were closed, but the newest wounds were not. However, the newest ones had inflicted with a sharp knife and a gun, probably a pistol of some kind. The bullet wasn't too deep, and the knife wounds were dangerous, but not enough to kill this man. They were cleaned, sewn, and mended the man's wounds, but with the utmost care.

It appeared that it would be a very long day for the young Barista, but it was nothing new to him at all. It was about 5:37 A.M. when the Underworld's best Doctor arrived with the 12+ men who were very close to the injured man. They came in and started to check every little aspect and detail of the kids' home. Once they were satisfied, they led the Doctor to the guest room, which had become a makeshift hospital room for them to use. The Mafia Doctor walks in and, the Barista walks out. He was exhausted and too gloomy to go to bed. All he can hear are the church bells, and as he walks to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee, he feels that it'll be the only thing he'll have before they beat him to death in his own home.

The Doctor returns, a beaming smile on his face and a skip in his step while he looked for the little Barista. What he finds is quite the sorry sight, even if the occasion was one to be happy about, the man didn't expect the little Barista to be drinking a cup of coffee as if it was his last meal on death row. As if the kid was accepting that he may die once he had heard the diagnosis of his patient. He felt for the kid, an innocent that was in the right place at the wrong time, but he was old enough to understand what would happen if the man had died. "Little Barista Boy~ Don't be sad... You did a fantastic job, and your Uncle has taught you well to be a little housewife, huh? Well, you needn't worry, the patient is quite healthy, and I thank you for fixing him up for us. He is a good man, despite what many say about him either to his face or behind his back." Doc gently pats the Barista on the back, a soft chuckle slipping out, which stopped as quickly as it had started when he saw the tears streaming down the kids' face.

"Well, I guess I won't need to worry about Uncle Claudio when I'm gone... He'll be okay. Maybe I'll see my family when I get to Heaven. Maybe..." The kid has had a rough life, so happy news wasn't something to be expected on a Sunday, not when his loving parents and two older siblings had died on a Sunday in various "Accidents.", and he was the only one left alongside his Uncle. He was tired, heartbroken, lonely, and scared too. The church bells served as a reminder of death, and nothing else would change that ideology in his mind.

After a brief moment, the kid was falling to the floor, having fainted from a sudden relapse of memories, lack of sleep, and aftershocks of grief. Doc calls "The Devil's Butler" to take the kid to his room and tuck him into his bed. "Come with me, M'lord, and let's get you to bed, and you've been without sleep for too long now." The nephew of Claudio Knightvale was put to bed and was under the protection of the Mafia group. Regardless of what happened to their boss: No one wanted to deal with the literal "Devil" known by the name of Claudio Knightvale. or anyone associated with him, his family, his "Butler.", nor the only family that his brother had left in his care: A young Barista by the name of Nero Knightvale.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 42

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @ocfairygodmother​

She’s been asleep since they got home; curled up on the couch in a fetal position in one of his sweaters with the hood pulled over her head, the comforter from their bed pulled up past her ears. Not even stirring no matter how long and loud the baby cried (despite his best efforts to stop it) or how many times Declan would climb on top of her and play with her hair or try to cuddle with her or attempt to pry her eyes open. He tries not to let concern eat at him. Attempts to convince himself that it’s just stress and worry; a tough and shitty situation making her depression even worse. She says she’s okay with it; him getting back into the job and starting up his own merc business. She’d rather put up with the frequent absences,  the cuts, bruises, stitches and the odd broken bone than have him lose his sanity or sobriety. If the pace and the intensity of the job makes it easier for him to cope with the slower and quieter times while at home, it’s a lifestyle she’s willing to subject herself to yet again.

He wants to believe that things will be better this time. That once the craziness of the Mahajan situation is dealt with and he can focus on running the business, things will settle down. He won’t have to leave home as much as he used to and can concentrate on delegating the work to others instead of getting his own hands dirty and endangering his own life. But he knows it won’t be THAT simple. It’ll take time to get things off the ground and running smoothly, and he’ll have to trust guys enough to handle jobs on their own and do them right. There will be more blood on his hands. More kills on his record and on his conscience before that happens.

There’s another part of him… a darker and even more worried part...that fears there is something more serious going on inside of her. Easily remembering the early days of Austin’s cancer; before a diagnosis had even been made. Crushing fatigue, constant head and body aches, severe mood swings. And he tries to stop his mind from going there; not allowing his brain to dwell on worst case scenarios when it’s most likely nothing THAT bad. That it’s most likely just mental health issues and the stress of the situation hanging over their heads. It’s hard to function normally when you know there’s a price on your head and a target on your back.  But it’s also hard to abandon those fatalistic thoughts entirely. That something is seriously wrong and she’ll only get worse and suffer and all he’ll be able to do is sit back and watch it all happen.  It’s his own personal hell; knowing that he’d never survive (mentally at least) if he lost her; regardless of how it happens. That he’d go back to the booze and the meds and be even worse than he was before. And in the end he’d lose his kids. His last remaining tie to her.

She wakes momentarily when he sits down next to her. Looking dazed and disoriented -almost confused- but saying nothing as she slides closer to him; placing her head in his lap with her face pressed into his stomach. Easily falling back asleep when he strokes her hair and lays a palm on the top of her head and repeatedly brushes his thumb across his brow. It reminds him of the the early days of her pregnancy with Declan. He’d been the third but the worst of them all; constant all day sickness, migraines, and crippling fatigue that made it impossible to get out of bed some days.  She’d sleep wherever and whenever she could and he’d try to provide some sort of comfort. Secretly enjoying how vulnerable and needy she was; the way she was almost completely dependent on him instead of being so goddamn stubborn and furiously self reliant. He’d found he liked taking care of her; it selfishly made him feel useful and needed outside of just kicking in the sperm that helped make all the babies.

Of course it can’t be THAT.  It’s far too soon after Addie’s arrival. And even if it wasn’t, his own doctor had said the procedure had been successful and that there’d be more babies unless he chose to reverse things. And so far they haven’t made a firm decision on whether there will be a sixth.

With both Addie and Declan napping, the house is quiet; nothing but Mac’s soft snoring as he sleeps on the threshold between the kitchen and living area, and the sound of the waves as they roll up onto the shore. With an hour and a   half before the return of the three oldest, he takes advantage of the down time; relaxed by the warmth that radiates off of Esme’s body and the soft tickle of her breath against his stomach. He’s on the brink of sleep -that moment when your limbs feel weightless and all your senses seem muted- when he’s jarred awake by the sound of tapping against the glass of the patio door.  And his eyes immediately snap open; a frown already on his face when he glances over.

Kyle’s hand is paused in mid air; just getting ready to rap his knuckles against the window again. And he gives a slightly sheepish and apologetic smile and then gestures for his brother in law to join him outside.

Sighing heavily, he groans as he stands; mentally cursing the stiffness in his back and knee and the pain that comes with just trying to get off the couch.

“Tyler?” Her voice is groggy. Confused. And there’s even a hint of fear in it that he tries to ignore.

“It’s okay.” he assures her,  and her eyes never open as he cradles her face in one hand and grabs a throw pillow with the other; placing it where his lap had been and then gently lowering her head onto it. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Where are you going? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. I’m just going outside for a few minutes. I’ll be right back,”

 He runs a hand over her hair; presses a kiss to her temple and then tucks the comforter securely around her.  Looking over his shoulder as he heads for the patio door, watching as she attempts to burrow as deep into the couch as she can and pulls the hood of the sweater completely over her eyes.

“What do you want?” Tyler asks, as he steps outside, shutting both the screen and the glass door behind him.

“What’s going on? Things okay?” Kyle nods towards his sister’s sleeping form. “She alright?”

“What are you doing here? Thought you were too busy dicking down the neighbour to bother with us?”

“What’s wrong with her?” Kyle ignores the cheap shot.  “She doesn’t look so good. Another one of those panic attacks or whatever?”

“She’s just tired. What do you want?”

“She told me. About everything. Salena...Allison.  She told me about who she is and why she’s really here and what’s going on. About Ovi’s dad and all the threats and…”

“And you’re still banging her? You don’t find it a little weird she’s been lying to you this whole time?”

“My sister was lying to me and our entire family for years before we found out who you really are and what you really did for a living.”

“That’s hardly the same thing. You’re okay with all of this? You’re still going to fuck her or whatever the hell you’ve got going on over there?”

“We’re going to work through it. It doesn’t have to be a deal breaker.”

Tyler smirks. “The head must be epic to put up with that kind of shit.”

“Is it true that you’re starting up your own business? That you’re looking for people? Mercenaries?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“I want in. People are threatening my family. My kid sister. My nieces and nephews. I don’t want to just sit back and watch this shit go down. I want whoever is doing this to pay. I want to make them suffer and humiliate them and torture them and…”

“This isn’t your standard schoolyard bully,” Tyler interjects. “This isn’t about calling some guy out to right and meeting him in the parking lot. This is serious. Hard core shit. And these are dangerous people. Dangerous and powerful.”

“You think I can’t handle it?”

“I think you need to just stay  out of it and let the people who’ve dealt with this kind of thing before handle it. There’s no need for you to get caught up in this.”

“My family is the one that’s being threatened. That’s in danger. I'm just just sitting back and letting someone hurt them. I don’t care how powerful and dangerous they are.”

“The best thing you could do is go home. Go back to Colorado. Get away from all of this. Back to your normal life and your normal job. You do not want to get involved in this. In the job. In this life.”

“But it’s okay for my sister to be involved in it?” Kyle argues.

“Okay, first off, keep your fucking voice down. She doesn’t need to wake up and hear this. She’s got enough going on and she doesn’t need to hear this. So either tone it down or fuck off. Those are the only two options.”

“You dragged her into this!” Kyle’s voice is a harsh whisper. “You could have walked away seven years ago. You could have thought about her for once instead of only thinking about yourself. It was fucking selfish; letting her get involved in this. Involved with you.”

“We are not having this conversation. I didn’t force your sister to stay here after Dhaka. I didn’t hold a gun to her head. I didn’t guilt her into stating. She chose to stick around. All on her own.”

“You could have stopped being a selfish price and told her to go. That you didn’t want to be with her. That there was nothing between the two of you worth holding onto.  You could have said something...anything...to convince her to leave. All you cared about was what was best for you. What you wanted. You didn’t give a shit about her; what kind of life she’d have with you.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You don’t know anything about what down between your sister and I. She chose this life. And she’s had plenty of chances to leave.  Every time I fucked up, she took me back. She could have walked away and she didn’t. So you need to back the fuck off. I’m not telling you more than once.”

“You really think she would have walked? When there’s kids involved?”

“You think that’s why she sticks around? For the kids? If things got real bad, she’d leave. And she’d take them with her and she’d raise them on her own and she’d do a damn fucking good job doing it. Stop treating her like a child. Stop looking at her like she’s weak and pathetic. Because she’s anything but.”

“She’s my sister!”

“She’s my wife!” Tyler snarls.  “I don’t give a shit that she’s your sister. You know nothing about who she really is.”

“You did this. This craziness. You got her and the kids mixed up in this life. Now there’s people out there threatening them. Who want to hurt them. Who want to KILL them. All because of who you and what you do. And you think that’s okay?”

“I think it’s fucked up. You think I want this? You think I want targets on their backs? This is the last thing I wanted. But I’m taking care of it and I don’t need your help. Go home, Kyle. Go back to Colorado and your normal life. Be thankful you’ve got that life. Just go home. That’s the best thing you could do for all of us.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not going back there.”

“Well you’re not staying here. So unless you’re going to play house with the neighbour…”

“I want in. On your business.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t think I can handle it? Being a mercenary?”

“I think you need to go home and go back to being a firefighter and forget all about what I’m doing down here. I’ve got people. I don’t need you. And even if I did. I’d say the same thing.  I’m not bringing you into this. If something happened to you, Esme would never forgive me. So go home and go on with your life.”

“I’m staying here,” Kyle remains adamant. “In Australia. Whether you like it or not. And I’m going to get involved in all of this. I’m going to help find the people that are threatening my sister and my nieces and nephews. And you know what? You can’t fucking stop me?”

“You want to watch me?” Tyler challenges. “Because I CAN stop you. And I will. I am asking you...no…I’m telling you...to stay out of this. You have no idea what you’d be getting yourself into it. And I bet your girlfriend or booty call or whatever the hell she is, would tell you the same thing. I’m trying to fucking protect you! I don’t want you involved in this. Not because I don’t think you can handle it, because I don’t want you getting into this kind of life. So stay out of it and let the people who know what they’re doing handle things.”

“Like you handled things in Dhaka?”

Tyler’s eyes narrow; fists twitching and clenching as he inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Things didn’t go so well, did they. Even with all your experience.”

“Dhaka went to shit because I got royally fucked by Ovi’s old man. Because instead of paying me, he sent someone to kill me and get the kid back. I did everything right. Everything went according to plan and…”

“Was fucking my sister part of the plan?”

“We’re not talking about this. What went down between me and Esme is none of your business. Maybe you think you’re an expert on it or that you know everything there is to know because your fuck buddy let you read a file on it. But you know shit. You weren’t there.”

“I know you trusted some douche bag friend of yours and he was going to hand my sister over to a drug dealer. For money.”

“And that douche bag paid the price. And he was never going to hand her over.  I wasn’t going to let that happen. Keep your mouth shut about Dhaka. You weren’t there. I was. Your sister was.”

“She shouldn’t have been.”

“Take that up with Nik. That has nothing to do with me. Things went to shit there. Big time. But I did everything I had to get your sister out of there. I would give my life up for her. I nearly did. So don’t stand here and tell me Dhaka was my fault when I did everything I could go straighten that goddamn mess out.”

“And even after that you still wouldn’t send her away. Even after everything she saw and everything she had to do, you were still a selfish fuck and kept her around. It was never about what was best for her. It’s always been about what’s best for you.”

“You know what, just shut the fuck up. I’ve heard enough. You come here to my house and you get up on that fucking pedestal of yours and you spout all your self righteous bullshit and you think I’m just going to stand around and take. Fuck you, Kyle. You were going to marry a woman that tried to ruin your sister’s life and you think you’re somehow morally superior? That was a bitch move and you let Esme know loud and clear that everything Nik put her through meant shit. And you have the nerve to call me selfish? You stabbed your own sister in the back for a piece of ass.”

“That’s not how it went down. That’s not…”

“You got mixed  up with a woman that tried to tear your sister’s life apart. And that broke her heart. It hurt her. My wife. You did that. Not me. I’m just the one that was here to fix your shit and make her happy and help her get over it.”

“When is it going to be enough?” Kyle asks. “When will she have given you enough of herself? When she’s hurt? When she’s dead? Will that be enough for you, Tyler? When she dies because of who you are and what you do?”

“Go home, Kyle. Get the next flight out of here and just go home. You don’t need to be here. I’ve got bigger and better than you working on this. Go home and rescue a cat out of a fucking tree or something.”

Kyle snorts. “You’re a real fucking prick, you know that?”

“Maybe I am, But everything I do, every decision I make, is always what’s best for your sister and my kid. That’s all that matters to me. And I would die for them. In a heartbeat. So don’t you ever accuse me or not putting what’s best for them first.”

“I’ll hunt you down you know,” Kyle threatens, as Tyler heads for the door. “If something happens to her or those kids, I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

“It’ll be too late,” Tyler says. “‘Cause if anything happens to them, I’ll put a gun in my mouth. And then I’ll pull the trigger.”

****

“Why isn’t mommy coming with us?” Millie asks from her seat in the back of the SUV.

He’d been waiting for them when the school bus arrived; buckling them in as opposed to ushering them into the house; giving their mother a chance to sleep off whatever has her down and out. She’d stayed awake for all of half an hour after Kyle had left; long enough to have a tea and something small to eat before going back to sleep, this time upstairs in their bed.

“Is she sick?” Tanner inquires; and through the rear view mirror Tyler can the concern and panic written all over the five year old’s face. Their bond has become tighter since his return from New Zealand, but no one compares to mommy in Tanner’s eyes. She’s the centre of the universe as far as he’s concerned.  Looking at her with a love and adoration that can’t be matched by anyone.

“She’s just tired,” Tyler assures him. “She needs some sleep. Her body’s still getting back to normal after having Addie. So we’re going to let her rest. In a nice, quiet house without you guys bothering her.”

“Maybe she just needs cuddles,” TJ suggests. “Cuddles with mommy always make me feel better.”

“Well maybe when we get back, you can cuddle with her. But right now, we’re going to let her sleep.”

The worry lingers. The nagging voice in his ear that says this isn’t just stress and the lingering effects of postpartum depression. She’s battled that particular demon after every baby she’s brought into the world. Successfully. But  it has never been THIS intense and all consuming.   And he’s thankful that the kids seem satisfied with his half assed explanation; relieved he won’t be hounded with all kinds of questions he won’t have answers for.

“You okay?” Ovi asks from the passenger seat. He’d offered to tag along on their excursion; a hastily planned road trip along a small section of the coast, time at whatever beach caught their eye, dinner in whatever small town they finished up in.  

Tyler had been hesitant at first; not liking the idea of leaving her alone for that amount of time. And when he’d called up Allison and asked if she’d come over and ‘keep an eye on things’, she’d been more than willing to help out. It made him feel better. Somewhat, His trust level is still low; it’s hard to get over that kind of betrayal whether it was done in your best interest or not.  But she’s experienced; her business world renowned and her reputation solid.

“Just a little on edge.”

“About what’s going on with my father? Mumbai?”

“Can we not talk about that? Little ears. We’re trying not to talk about it around them. Keep things as normal as possible. Whatever the hell normal is.”

Ovi nods in understanding. “Is Saju’s brother still coming?”

“What did I just say? About not talking about this?”

“They’re not even listening. They’ve all got their headphones and they’re planning on their tablets. Besides, I didn’t say anything about my father or Mumbai.”

“Tomorrow. He gets here tomorrow. Flight arrives at ten in the morning.”

“And he’s coming to the house?”

Tyler nods.

“I want to be there. I want to meet him. I never got the chance to meet any of Saju’s family. I’d only seen Neysa and Aarav in pictures. He was very private like that. Saju. He always kept this business life and his private life separate.”

“Smart man.”

“Your business life because your personal life,”

“Yeah, it did. And I don’t regret it. No matter who thinks I should.”

Ovi arches a quizzical brow.

“Just Kyle. He came over and brought up some shit that didn’t need to be brought up. Esme’s entire family has it in their heads that I somehow forced her to stay here after Dhaka. That I should have just told her to fuck off and sent her away. Instead I held a gun to her head or brainwashed her into sticking around. And then there’s Nik,” he sighs. “She’s always had an issue with it. Esme and I being together. Especially how things started.”

“Because you guys were...you know...when you were supposed to be working?”

“Pretty much.” He removes the sunglasses that hang off the neck of his t-shirt and slip them onto his face. “I’m the first to admit that it was totally the wrong place and the wrong time. It shouldn’t have happened. One of us should have been strong enough to put a stop to things. But it DID happen. And it kept happening.  Seven years later and she’s still pissed about it.”

“But there’s more to it than that,”, Ovi says. “I mean, I guess she was pretty hurt about the fact you didn’t want to be with her that way.”

“Nik and I both went into things knowing where each of us stood. I didn’t want what she wanted. And she was okay with that. Until she wasn’t.”

“Until someone else came along you did want that with.”

“She just went psycho. Once I got back into the job the first time, she wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone. Texting me all the time, calling me, emailing me. Showing up whatever hotel I was staying at. IT was fucked. It was like no matter how many times I said no, she took it as meaning she just needed to try harder. Six years of that shit I put up with. WE put up with. Every chance to fuck things up for us, she took it.”

Ovi smirks. “Pretty determined.”

“Or crazy. I don’t know which.”

“Maybe she was just really lonely,” Ovi says. “It’s not like she’d ever admit that. That’s not Nik. Maybe she was tired of being alone so she tried to hold onto someone familiar.”

“You don’t hold on to a married man. Especially one with kids. Find someone available. That wants you that way. Don’t try and break up someone’s home. That's pretty low.”

Ovi nods in agreement. “Can I ask you something?”

“This isn’t a repeat of seven years ago, is it? You’re not going to ask me some bullshit about being brave and rescuing people are you?”

“You ARE brave. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

Tyler scoffs. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t want you to get upset.”

“Why would I get upset? How bad is whatever you’re going to ask?”

“It’s...personal.”

“How personal?”

“Personal enough you might get upset.”

“You know what…” Tyler chuckles. “...just ask. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You could punch me in the face.”

“If I promise not to, will you ask?”

Ovi nods.

“I promise I won’t punch you in the face. What is it?”

“Is it true that you and Nik had a thing?”

“I just told you we did. “It was strictly sex. That’s it. When I had an itch, she’d come over and scratch it.”

“I mean AFTER you and Esme got together. After you got married.”

Tyler scowls. “What?”

“It’s what I was told.”

“That I had a thing with Nik after I got married? Who the hell told you that?”

“Chloe. Nik told her that you and her were hooking up. On the regular. After you went back to the job the first time. That she’d meet up with you in whatever city you were in.”

“That never fucking happened. Ever.”

“And that things were especially...intense...during the six month you and Esme were apart. That you even told Nik you’d get a divorce and be with her.”

“Are you serious right now?” He can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. “She said all that?”

“And that things only stopped when Esme was having problems when she was pregnant with Addie. That you ended things because you didn’t want anything happening to the baby and you felt obligated to stay in your marriage. For your kids.”

“Nik actually said that? That I was cheating on my wife with her?”

Ovi nods.”I told Chloe that it wasn’t true. That you’d never do something like that. That I’d been living with you guys for a long time and I would have noticed something was up. You guys have never had THOSE kind of problem.s I mean, you always fought a lot, but I never got the impression you were messing around,”

“Because I wasn’t. Not with Nik. Not with anyone. I would never...ever...do anything like that. Why would I want to? Why would I want to mess around on the best thing that’s ever happened to me? Someone who saved my fucking life. Why the hell would I do something like that?”

 It makes him feel sick to even think about it; that someone would even accuse him of that, never mind think he’s the kind of guy that would do it.  And it makes that rage to start to simmer; that low, slow boil that just takes one wrong move to send it spiralling out of control.

“I didn’t say I believed it,” Ovi says. “I just…”

“I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a cheater. I may not always be the best man for her, but I’m a faithful one. And the fact Nil would say something like that….”

“I knew it wasn’t true,” Ovi insists. “”I knew you’d never do something like that.”

“You must have thought I would or you wouldn’t have asked ‘is it true…?.  No. It’s not fucking true.”

“Daddy!” Millie scolds from the last row of seats. “Language, remember? Little ears in the car.”

He scowls at her through the rear view mirror. “I thought you had your headphones on?”

“My ears got sweaty so I took them off.”

“Well do me a favour and put them back on, because there’s going to be a whole lot of adult language I don’t want you to hear.”

“I already know you swear, daddy.  You’re the one who taught me all the best swears!”

“Amelia..”

“But my ears are still sweaty!”

“You’ll live.”

“Fine,” she dramatically huffs, and slips the headphone back on; arms crossed over her chest, and a scowl on her face. The exact same expression he’s seen in the mirror many times.

“You actually believed something like that?” He addresses Ovi. “What Nik said?”

“I didn’t say that. I…”

“Your exact words were ‘is it true’. Meaning you thought it was. You actually thought I would do something like that?”

“Well you guys fought a lot and…”

“And because we fought at lot that automatically meant I was fucking around on my wife?”

“Not necessarily. But…”

“There’s no but. Not a single fucking but.. I have never cheated on my wife. Not with Nik. Not with anyone. Yeah, we used to fight. A lot. And they were nasty, ugly fights and we said a lot of mean and hurtful shit to each other.  Sometimes we still fight; not nearly as bad but it still happens. But we always work on shit and. We even go to a goddamn therapist.”

“This is what I mean about you getting upset.”

“Do you blame me? You just admitted that you think I’m the type that would screw around on my wife.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. …”

“I have never and I will never, do that. You can call me an alcoholic, you can call me a drug addict. I don’t give a shit. But don’t ever call me a cheater. I haven’t fucked around on her and I don’t WANT to fuck around on her. She's the love of my life. The ONLY love of my life, actually. And I’d die for her. I almost did. And I barely knew her then. Don’t ever question my loyalty to her. Or I’ll beat your ass into the middle of next week,

“I honestly never thought you did,” Ovi insists. “The way I said it? That’s  not how  I meant it. I swear.”

“You’ve been saying and doing a lot of dumb shit lately.”

Ovi sighs. “I know.”

“What the fuck, mate? What’s going on with you? You don't tell me about your old man contacting you, you don’t tell me about wanting to get into the job until it wasn’t almost too late, now you’re bringing up this shit with Nik. What the hell?”

“It won’t make any sense. No matter how I try to explain it to you.”

“Look I know I’m not the smartest guy on earth, but I’m not THAT stupid.”

“It doesn’t even make sense to me! How is it going to make sense to you?”

“Try me. I might surprise you. I’m brain damaged. Not brain dead. I do have my intelligent moments.”

Ovi sighs. “I feel I’m just here. That I’m just existing, This isn’t where I thought I’d be with my life. I thought I’d be in school. Getting an education. Doing something with my life. And I feel like I’m just stuck.  Like I’m just HERE. But nowhere at the same time.”

Tyler nods slowly, letting the words...and the meaning behind them...sink in. “Well where do you want to be?” he asks.

“Here. With all of you. It’s the only place I want to be. With my family.”

“But…”

“But I want to be a different me. Which is why I want to get into the job. I want to prove to myself that I can do it.  That I can be strong and brave and…”

“Kid, you ARE strong and brave. You don’t need the job to make you that way. You think just anyone could have survived what you went through? Not just Dhaka but everything afterwards? You were a kid. A kid who had to do and see shit no kid should ever have to.   And you still turned out good. Damn good.”

“Because of you. And Esme. If you guys hadn’t gotten me out of Mumbai, where would I be now? I’d be running things for my father. Or I’d be dead. And I owe you guys for that. I owe you so much.”

“You don’t owe us anything. We took you because we wanted to. Not because we felt we had to. We wanted you to have a normal life. A family. We tried to give you that. I don’t know how well we did with it, but…”

“You’re not my father, but you are my dad. And Esme didn’t give birth to me, but she’s still my mom. And those are my brothers and sisters. We don’t have to be wrapped in the same color paper to be family.”

No…” Tyler says, a slow smile spreading across his face. “...we don’t.”

“I just want you to give me a chance. With the job. I’m trying to find myself. Find out what I’m to do and who I’m meant to be. How can I do that if you won’t let me?”

“I want more for you than that. You deserve more than that. You’re WORTH more than that.”

“And you’re  not? My life is of no more worth than yours is.”

“My life before all of this? Before Esme, before my kids, before Dhaka? It was shit. Pure and utter shit. But the last six and a half years of my life have been amazing. Even with the PTSD and all the crap that comes with it. I’ve got a great life. I’ve got a wife and I’ve got kids and if I go to Mumbai and I die there, at least I know I did something good with what was left of my life. But you’ve got a lot of years ahead of you. Why take the chance of cutting them short by getting into the job?”

“You said you’d take me on. You said you…”

“And I am. I am taking you on; giving you a chance. But I don’t think you really know what you’re getting into. What don’t you want more for yourself? Go back to school. Get your education. A real job. A career. Don’t settle for this shit. Because once you get into you, you can’t get back out. It stays with you, It lives in you. It never lets you rest. Trust me, I know. I can’t get out. No matter how fucking hard I try. Is that really what you want for your life?”

“I just want the chance. To find out if it’s for me.”

Tyler sighs. “You’re a stubborn little bastard, you know that?”

“Yeah?” Ovi grins. “I DO know that. I get it from my dad.”

***

She’s awake when he steps into their room; freshly showered with her damp hair wrapped up in a towel, clad in another one of his t-shirts and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. She’s sitting up in bed; pillows stacked behind her and supporting her back; knees against her chest and both arms wrapped around them, attention focused on the television across the room. She looks better; the color has returned to her cheeks and her eyes don’t seem so dull and lifeless. And she glances over at him and smiles; genuine and warm, neither strained or forced.  It’s enough; that one smile  relieving a little bit of the worry he’d been carrying around since early in the afternoon.

“Hey.” she greets, and turns her face up towards him when he leans down to kiss her. “I thought maybe you’d run away.”

“Never,” Tyler says, and offers her a take out container of food he’d brought home with him. “Someone told me you never went downstairs the entire time I was gone, so I know you haven’t eaten anything since this afternoon.”

Esme frowns. “I can’t believe she ratted me.”

“Weren’t you just on my ass this afternoon about eating? Something about not being able to run on an empty tank?”

“Touche. And I can’t believe you actually trusted her enough to leave me alone with her. That’s not like you.”

“We’re both on the same team. I figure things will just be easier if I try to get along with other people.”

“Baby…” she reaches out and pats his stomach. “...I’m proud of you. That’s huge progress for you, You haven’t been drinking have you?”

“No smart ass. I haven’t. Just trying to make the best of a shitty situation.”

“It is pretty shitty.” she agrees, and then stretches her legs out and sets the container of food on her thighs, a wide grin spreading across her face and her eyes sparkling when she opens the lid. “...oh my God. You really DO love me. Tacos? You’re a good shit. You can stay. I’ll keep you.”

“I’ll have to let my other wives know I've decided to settle down here.”

“You mean your side hoes?” she teases. “ What is it up to now? Ten?”

“Even dozen.”

“No wonder you work out so hard in the gym. That’s a lot of bitches to satisfy.”

“I fake it with them. I only put actual effort into you.”

“I knew it. I AM your favourite.”

“Always have been. Always will be. Sorry. You’re stuck with me.”

“I think I can suffer through maybe forty, fifty years with you. It’s awful quiet. You already put the kids to bed?”

“All five of them. Ovi helped. He’s been kissing ass today.”

“He sort of needs to,” she says, and bites into one of the tacos. “He’s done a lot of stupid shit lately.”

“He’s going through some stuff,” Tyler says, his shoulder cracking and popping at the simple act of pulling off his t-shirt. Pain travelling all the way down to the tips of his fingers; the accompanying pins and needles making it difficult to tend to his belt and the button and zip on his jeans.

“What kind of stuff?”

He shrugs. “Guy stuff.”

“That can only mean one thing. It’s about a girl. More specifically, about Chloe.”

“He’s pretty torn up about her leaving. I think we might have underestimated how he felt about her.”

“He’s young,” Esme reasons. “There’s plenty of fish in the sea. He’ll meet someone else.”

“She fucked him over pretty good. Used him as a free ticket here, took what she could, screwed around on him.”

She looks up, pausing mid chew. “She what? He told you she was messing around?”

“He doesn’t have any proof. Just a feeling he has.”

“That bitch,” she scoffs. “I told you she was a knuckle dragging thunder cunt. He was definitely more into her than she was into him. I’m glad he didn’t cave and buy a ring and all of that. What disaster THAT would have been. Imagine if he’d gotten her pregnant?”

“I don’t even want to think about that. I do not want to be a grandpa any time soon. Let’s hope he holds for another...I don’t know...ten...fifteen years…”

“Millie could be having kids in fifteen years.”

“You wanna sleep on the couch? That’s the kind of talk that finds you sleeping on the couch.”

“Whether you like it or not, your daughter is going to get married one day. She’s going to have a family. She’s going to meet a really nice guy that reminds her of you and she’s going to fall madly in love with him and they’re going to get married and have babies and...”

“I brought you tacos and this is how you repay me? Talking like this? I do not want to hear this.”

“I’m just saying. In fifteen years, our daughter could be having her own kids. It’s not impractical to think that way, You’re just bent out of shape over the fact that you won’t be number one in her life anymore.”

“I’ll still have Addie.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. You promised me I could have Addie.”

“I lied.”

“Well fuck you too then, Tyler. You want me to play dirty.?”

He grins as he peels back the blankets and slides into bed next to her. “I love when you play dirty.”

“You want to steal both girls for yourself? I’ll take all three boys for MYSELF, You won’t have a single one left on your team when I’m done with them. They’re going to be all about mommy and you’ll be so pissed. I’ll even turn your name sake into the biggest momma’s boy EVER. Just you watch. I have powers that you don’t fully understand.”

“TJ will never crack,” he says, as he stretches out his legs and leans back against the headboard.  “You’re not THAT powerful.”

“I’ve kept you around and  in line and for seven years.”

“Because you use sexual favours to brainwash me into staying.”

“Yep. That’s definitely it. My head game is THAT strong.”

He chuckles. “Actually, it is. And what kind of dog shit is this?” he nods in the direction of the tv.

“Some reality show about marrying someone before you actually get to see what they look like.”

“That sounds...fucked.”

“Just a bit. But who knows? Maybe love truly IS blind. Maybe you can fall in love with someone sight unseen.”

“That sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me.”

“Such a romantic,” she chides, and then moves closer to him when he drapes an arm across her shoulders. “When you  said you were going out, I didn’t think you were leaving the country. You didn’t have to stay out THAT long?”

“You needed a break so I gave you a break. Kids were fine. I told them that you were tired and you weren’t feeling well and that they’d see you tomorrow. No big deal.”

“Kind of a shitty mother than needs THAT long of a break.”

“Every mother needs a break. We have five kids. All under six. You’re a fucking legend. Going this long WITHOUT a break?”

“Well I’m lucky that I picked the right guy to have babies with.  Because you’re not one to shy away from getting your hands dirty. And all five at once? And you say you’re not brave. That’s as brave as any man can get.”

He grins at that, then tugs the towel of her hair and runs his fingers through her damp tresses. “You okay? You feel better?”

She nods. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being you. The way you are with me. The way you love me like you do. You’re one of the good days.”

“Sometimes,” he admits.

“All the time. Even on your worst days you’re not THAT bad. I’ve lived with bad. Very bad. You don’t even come close to that. I’m one of the lucky ones. Some women never get away from that. From that type. Makes me feel shitty that I’ve taken for granted when there’s guys like Mark..and worse...out there.”

“You know what? I think we’re both guilty of taking things for granted.  I know I am. I’m not always the best husband. I know I’ve put you through a lot of crap. That I’ve made shitty fucking decisions and broke every goddamn promise I’d ever made.”

“Tyler, you’re not perfect. Neither am I. But you’re perfect for me.  And that’s all that matters. I mean I was a whiny little bitch baby all day and you still brought me tacos. My one true comfort food. You don’t have to remember stupid little things like that, but you do. You’ve come a long way in seven years. I still remember you trying to choke me out in Dhaka.”

“I was NOT trying to choke you out.”

“You had your hand around my throat.”

“I was pissed off. I reacted. Badly.”

“I should have kneed you in the balls.”

.“You would have had to stand on a step stool.”

“You and your short jokes,” she dramatically huffs. “And okay, maybe you weren’t intentionally trying to choke me out. But your first instinct when you were raging was to grab me by the throat.  That was kind of…”

“Fucked?”

“No we did that AFTER you tried to choke me out.”

He smirks.

“It was weird. Because you’re so big and you’re so strong and I knew you could have easily snapped my neck if you’d wanted to. But I wasn’t even thinking about that. I wasn’t even scared.  You were mad but I could see it in your eyes; you didn’t WANT to hurt me.  You just snapped and reacted and…”

“It was an asshole thing to do. I never should have done it.”

“It did turn into the sexy kind of choking, though,” she reminds him.

“That’s not the point. The fact I even did that...grabbed you like that...it makes me sick when I think about it. I hate that I did that. Even seven years later, it still bothers me. I never meant to do it.”

“I know. You’ve apologized a million times. And that’s exactly what I was saying; you’ve come a long way since then. You’re calmer and you laugh more and you smile all the time.”

“I didn’t have much to smile about back then. Now I have six very good reasons to smile. I’ve got you, I’ve got my kids. Life’s pretty good.”

“Even when all this other stuff?”

“The other stuff will get worked out. I’ll get shit taken care of and it’ll all be over and we can get on with things.  We won’t have to worry about Mahajan ever again. Trust me.”

“For every Mahajan and Asif that dies, five more crop up.”

“And if I have to, I’ll take care of them too. Can we not talk about this? Because talking about this and dealing with this is what freaked you out today. And I’d rather you NOT freak out. Just let me handle it, okay?”

She nods.

“And you weren’t a little bitch baby. There’s a lot going on. And none of it is good. You’re stressed and you’ve got your own depression and PTSD and all that crap to deal with. And five kids to take care of. Including a pretty new one. I’m honestly surprised it took this long for you to have a mental breakdown.”

“Are you kidding?” she laughs. “I think I’ve had about five in the last week alone. All I can do is worry. About you. About Ovi. About you.”

“You said me twice.”

“Well I worry twice about you. Just the thought of you going to Mumbai and somehow ending up in Dhaka…”

“There is no logical reason for me to end up in Dhaka. None whatsoever. Just get that out of your head. Or at least try to. Can we talk about something else? I don’t want to talk about this.”

“What should we talk about?”

“I dunno. What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t want to talk at all. I want to do other things.”

“What kind of other things?”

“Remember when I asked  ‘you know what would make me feel better?’ and your first reaction was…”

“Oh,” he grins. “THOSE kinds of things.”

“I figure I don’t know how long you’re going to be gone for, so we better get as much of ‘those kinds of things’ in before you leave.”

“What if we do as much as ‘those kinds of things’ as we can,  but I never end up going anywhere?”

“It’s a small price to pay. I’ll gladly suffer through multiple orgasms and you end up not going anywhere. I won’t complain about it. I promise.”

“I don’t ever want to hear you say I never do anything nice for you,” Tyler chides, as he tosses the covers back and then kneels at her feet. “One or two orgasms for a couple of tacos? That seems a little steep.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” she promises, giggling when he grabs her by the hips, pulls her down the bed, and she lands flats on her back. “In the best way I know how.”

His hands make short work of her pajama bottoms; quickly sliding them down her legs and dropping them at the end of bed. “You’re going to let me sleep in past the school bus tomorrow?”

“Okay, in the second best way I know how.”

“I guess that’ll have to do,” he grins, palms pushing her legs apart, mouth blazing a trail of warm, moist kisses along the insides of her thighs.

“You’ve never complained before,” she says. “In fact, you…” her voice trails off, replaced by a long, content sigh as his tongue pushes its way past her folds and makes its first sweep over her clit. Suddenly nothing else matters; just the feel of his mouth and the way his fingers move inside of her.

All thoughts of Mumbai and Dhaka are completely obliterated. At least temporarily.

[atths--twice]

Okay... so Nothing Lasts Forever... I have to admit that the only parts of it I truly enjoy are the MSR scenes. The rest of the episode is creepy and honestly gross to me. So, the focus of this chapter will be on their relationship and not the story line. I think we can all agree that that is what is most important anyway, right? I mean, come on...

Chapter Thirty Nine 

Shining Light  

Time spent in church, prayers, discussions and decisions, lead to conversations that should have been had years ago.

March 2018

Scully woke up and felt off, the same way she had been feeling for a few days now. Something was not right, and she could tell. Turning onto her back, she sighed, so many thoughts running through her head. Closing her eyes she thought of the last few days.

Mulder had come over after the case in Connecticut and they had spent the night together, each healing the other in turn. They slept together, holding tight to the other, and she had ordered breakfast for them when they woke.

When he left, his eyes were saying things his mouth was not, and she felt inexplicably nervous. He kissed her forehead and left, no words spoken, and then no call or text for a couple of days. Things were strange between them, and she felt confused and off balance.

Pushing the covers back, she sat up and sighed, making a decision. She would go to mass and see if that helped. Recently she had been doing that more often, spending time at a church near the hotel. She did not always make it for a mass, but she found simply sitting in the church to be calming and peaceful. She took a quick shower, dressed, and headed for church.

The coolness of the holy water, the scent of the candles and pews, and the beauty of the stained glass brought back so many memories from her childhood. First communion, confirmation, her rebellious pull from church, her mother’s desire for her to find her faith once again, and how she found it again following her cancer diagnosis.

She sighed as she sat and closed her eyes, listening to the priest as he began to speak, but at the same time not paying much attention, drawing strength instead from the building itself and the memories it held. She felt for the quarter on a chain in her pocket and thought of her mother. She wished her mother was there, sitting beside her, ready to listen and offer advice for the worries plaguing her heart.

Scully knew how much her mother loved Mulder. She had known for years, and she could almost hear what her mother would say - It’s your decision, Dana. Nobody can make the decision for you.

Yes, she might say those words, but her eyes would silently be praying and begging for her to go back to him, to find her happiness again, and for them to be them again.

If only it were that easy …

She sighed again, her fingers rolling across the quarter in her pocket. “I’m trying,” she whispered. “We’re trying.” Sighing again, she let the quarter go and clasped her hands together, prayers passing silently across her lips.

Communion received, her mind still racing, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Glancing at the screen, she sighed and walked out of the church, heading to meet Mulder for a new case.

Seeing the manner in which the victims were killed and the reason for it made Scully feel uneasy, because it reminded her  of the case with Father Joe. She hated what that case did to her and Mulder, but it had forced them to talk in order to move forward. Following that case, a shift occurred. It was still a dark and sad time and was not something she liked to think about.

She investigated liver transplants in the area and found nothing out of the ordinary. Feeling the need to go back to a church, she texted Mulder where she would be and sent him the address. Opening the doors, she walked inside and dipped her fingers into the holy water, crossing herself as she knelt a bow at the pew before she sat down.

She sighed as she attempted to find peace in the church. So many thoughts swirled in her head, with Mulder first and foremost. She knew he was enjoying and welcoming this slow walk back to each other, and so was she, but what was the plan for the future? Were they just going to continue on this … visiting each other for comfort? Hanging out, going out to eat, and then sex if they felt like it? It was nice, very nice, but it was not enough. She wanted more, but was also scared to take that leap again.

She closed her eyes as she thought of the hurt she had suffered from their separation. The loneliness, the solitude, the feeling of missing her other half. She thought of William, or Jackson, whatever name he went by, and she knew she had failed him. His parents, the ones he had known his entire life, were dead and he was all alone in the world. A boy with amazing abilities who had no way of understanding how or why he possessed them was now alone and scared. Being young, ignorant, and powerful  was a lethal combination, and she feared for him.

Opening her eyes, she looked to the front of the church and made a decision. She stood up and walked toward the candles, intending to light as many as she felt were needed to address the challenges she, Mulder, and their son now faced. Not many were lit initially and for that she was grateful. She knew she was going to be asking for a lot.

She did not want to be selfish in her prayers, so she lit one asking for peace and guidance for her family members. Nieces and nephews making life decisions they may not be prepared to undertake. She lit another and prayed for wisdom to do her job to the best of her ability and to help those who were unable to help themselves. She lit one for William, praying that one day she would have the chance to tell him the truth and be given a chance to explain why she made the decisions she made. The last candle she lit, she prayed for Mulder, for peace, understanding, and guidance that would be required for them to find their way back to one another.

As she lit his candle, Mulder appeared at her side joking about not bursting into flames as he crossed the threshold. She smiled at his joke, her prayer still in her head as she told him of the liver transplant recipients all being accounted for as he struggled to read off the information he gathered from a document on his phone without his glasses on.

“Oh, God, help me,” he said and she stared at him, amused. “Sorry.” He looked up and raised his hands as he put his glasses on, reading the screen of his phone and telling her what he discovered.

“I think we should hand this over to the NYC Organized Crime division, Mulder. I don't think this is an X-File,” she said, looking at him and shaking her head, as he raised his head in intrigue. “I'm gonna need some time here. I can meet up with you later, or you can wait for me.” He nodded and put his hand on her back before walking away.  

She turned back to the candles, needing to finish her prayer. This one was for herself and she prayed for wisdom and guidance, and to not be such a fucking coward. With a small groan, she asked for forgiveness at her choice of language and crossed herself as she turned around.

What she saw made her heart skip and her breath catch. There Mulder sat, waiting for her, just as she had suggested. Though she had suggested and hoped, she had assumed he would wait for her as he always had, outside, or even meeting up at a nearby coffee shop. She honestly thought he had left to do just that, leaving her standing there alone, but he was different now. They were different. Maybe her prayers had been heard after all.

“You waited,” she said quietly as she came to stand beside him. He looked up at her and away from the bible he held in his hands. Once more she had to ask for forgiveness, as the glasses he wore gave her some very impure thoughts.

“I waited,” he answered in the affirmative, sliding over so she could join him in the pew. She sat beside him and smiled as he went back to looking at the bible in his hands. Her prayers continued as she sat down, her thoughts jumbling together as the past and present began to blend.

She heard him mentioning the scripture about vengeance and she smiled, telling him it was a common biblical passage. He looked so disheartened that she felt the need to share something with him.

“Did I ever tell you how I came to believe in God?” she asked quietly, knowing he would get a kick out of the story.

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“When my brother Charlie was a baby, he got seriously ill. I think I was about four. I later learned that it was rheumatic fever.”

“Hmm,” Mulder nodded.

“Every night, Mom would tell us to get on our knees and pray for his recovery.”

“Your prayers were answered. He lived.”

“Only, after the first couple nights, I wasn’t praying for him,” she said, thinking of being a little girl again, her prayers so big. “I was praying for a puppy.” Mulder gave a big quiet laugh, and she laughed with him. “And we got one that Christmas. I thought God had performed a miracle.”

“I finally know why I’m not a Christian, Scully. My parents never got me a puppy,” Mulder said with a smile, and she laughed quietly.

“So are you-you praying for another miracle now?” he asked her curiously.

“I don’t know if I do believe in miracles. But I do know the power of faith,” she told him softly, as she took her mother’s quarter from her pocket. “I saw it in my mom, the strength that she received.” She stared at the quarter, holding it in her fingers. “I could use some of that strength now.”

She put the quarter back in her pocket and smiled. “I need what you have. You always bear north, Mulder … no matter which way or how hard the wind blows against you.” She stared at him with a smile, and he smiled back.

“I think all I have- all any of us have are the results of all the choices that we’ve made. And at the end of the day, we just hope that we made the right one,” he said softly and she nodded, closing her eyes, her choices weighing heavy on her heart. “Don’t know if that measures to what you’re saying, but it’s what I feel.” She opened her eyes and looked at him, his smile so open. She sighed and nodded again.

“Five minutes, okay?” she whispered, and he nodded, putting his glasses back on and picking up the Bible.

“Make it ten, I’m really interested in the Old Testament. Curious what happens to this Joseph fellow,” Mulder said and she laughed, closing her eyes again.  

“Oh." She heard beside her a few minutes later. “That took a dark turn.” She heard the book close and then his deep sigh. She smiled again, both of them then quiet as they sat in a shared pew.

_____________________

Walking down the street to the church, Scully rolled her neck, fighting the crick in it since falling down the elevator shaft a few days ago. Shaking her head and then giving her whole body a quick shake, she attempted to release the thoughts of the possibility she had faced of falling to her death.

What a horrible way to go, she thought, shaking her head again.

Walking through the doors of the church, she took a second to look at the stained glass, as she always did. The colors were beautiful and this time of day, they were even more so. This was one of her favorite churches, mainly because of the beauty within the architecture and spectrum of light the windows created.

Sighing, she stepped to the candles, needing to offer up prayers again. More of the same, but one in particular. Crossing herself, she stared at them and then at the window above, admiring their beauty. She took a deep breath and grabbed a stick, lighting the first candle and giving thanks for her health and for no broken bones or serious injury in her fall. Another candle, asking for health and safety of her family. Another, for her mother, thankful for the love and advice she bestowed upon all of those around her. Another, for herself, asking for guidance and strength to do what she knew she wanted but was still afraid to voice.

The last candle was for Mulder. Well, more importantly for Mulder and her and the decision weighing heavily upon her mind and heart. Before she could offer up a prayer, the candle went out, and she heard Mulder’s footfall behind her. She would know that gait anywhere.

She turned and looked at him, and then back to the candle, the irony and humor not lost on her. He may not have burst into flames when he entered the church before, but here at the one she frequented, he apparently had some kind of power, making the last and most important candle go out.

“That must be a sign. I’m all out of miracles. Turn back. Give up.” He smiled and reached for a stick. “Accept your place in the numbing embrace of the status quo.”

“Mm-mmm,” he hummed, lighting the stick. “I will … relight your candle and extend your prayers through mine.” She smiled as she watched him, knowing he had no idea the intention she placed upon that candle.

“What prayers?” she asked, unable to resist teasing him.

“I can’t tell you. They won’t come true,” he said with a shrug.

“It’s a prayer candle, Mulder. Not a birthday cake.” She laughed and he chuckled softly.

“Prayers aren’t meant to be sentiment. It’s a conversation,” she said, looking down at the candles. “You can do it like a meditation, or if your needs exceed your grasp, you can ask God to act on your behalf. But you don’t believe in God,” she said, glancing up at him. “So you’d essentially be talking to yourself.”

“Well, I might not believe in God, but I believe in you. Therefore I speak to him through you.” She stared at him as he spoke, but he was not finished. “Through the transitive property of equality. If ‘A’ equals ‘B’ and ‘B’ equals ‘C,’ therefore ‘A’ equals ‘C.’ Reason and faith in harmony. Isn’t that why we’re so good together?” he asked her.

She stared at him, raising her eyebrows and moving her head, her eyes dropping to his lips. “Are we together?” He looked down, his face sad and thoughtful. He took a breath and started to answer her, but she cut him off. “You know, I believed I could protect our son, and I failed. I thought we could live together, and I fled.” She looked at him sideways, almost unable to meet his gaze head on. “I gave up on that, too.” She looked down and kept her eyes on the candles,

“If only you’d fled earlier,” he said and she looked at him. “You know how many times I’ve envisioned that scenario, where you left that basement office before I even needed glasses? You’d have your health, your dog, your sister.” He stared at her and she stared back. “You’d be Kersh’s boss at the FBI, and be married to some brain surgeon, and have a bunch of kids that you wouldn’t have to give up.”

She took a breath, waiting a beat. “Mulder, I don’t begrudge you any of those things. That’s not what I was talking about,” she said, looking down and then back up at him again.

“Well, what are we talking about, Scully? Because I don’t know if any God is listening, but I am standing right here, and I am listening. Right beside you. I’m all ears. That’s my choice.”

She stared at him, millions of thoughts running through her head. How she gave up William, gave up on them, and ran away. She did leave, but it had been for good reason, and yet … Still though, one thing had remained the same no matter the hurt and the pain they caused each other. He was there beside her, and she knew he always would be, no matter the context or label.

She looked around the church, having no idea how he even knew she would be there, and looked to see if anyone was around before she leaned forward and began to whisper in his ear. She thought about what she wanted to say, what words would be enough to convey her innermost feelings and desires.

“I’m ready, Mulder. For everything. I want my mystery answered and to stop chasing monsters.” He stood still and stared at her. She needed him to understand, to know her heart completely.

“That’s not my four-year-old self looking for a miracle,” she said, taking a deep breath. “That’s my leap of faith forward. And I’d like to do it together.”

Mulder nodded and kept his eyes on her. “I’ve always wondered how this was gonna end.” He stared at her before turning to pick up a stick and light the last remaining candle.

They stood there and watched the flame flicker and then his hand was holding hers and the tears in her eyes spilled over. “Like a conversation, you said?” he asked softly and she nodded, wiping at her eyes. He took a deep breath and squeezed her hand, keeping his eyes on the candles, as she watched his face.

“You didn’t flee, you saved us both. You didn’t give up on anything Scully, least of all me, or us. You saved us." He turned to her and stared into her eyes. “I told you years ago that you saved me, and that is just as true today as it was then. Even more so. You’ve been saving me for twenty five years, Scully. Keeping me honest and making me a whole person. Even apart, you are what keeps me whole.” He put his hand on her face and stroked her cheek, his thumb brushing away her tears. “Your goddamn strict rationalism. Oh …” He looked up heavenward, horrified, and she laughed, putting her hand over his on her cheek.

She closed her eyes as she laughed and cried, before opening them to look at him. His face was serious, and he let go of her hand to hold her face gently, shaking his head as he did.

“I stopped seeing you. I looked too far into the dark, and my shining light got left behind. A light only lasts so long before it goes out, the darkness swallowing it up." He shook his head and she cried harder, holding onto his wrist. “If you had stayed, your light would have gone out and we both … Scully, I can’t even fathom it. You didn’t flee, you made a decision that hurt. We were broken, and you saved us from being broken beyond repair. Any other form of breaking …” He sighed and shook his head.

She closed her eyes again, and he rested his forehead against hers. She took shaky breaths and then pulled back, looking at him, the man she loved for most of her life. She moved her hand from his wrist and stepped back, moving his hands from her face, holding them in her own. She looked down at their hands, his so large, keeping hers safe within.

“Scully,” he said so quietly, it was like a breath. He interlocked their fingers and squeezed as she looked up at him. He searched her face and she smiled softly. He glanced at the candles and took a breath. “I don’t know where to begin, how to answer our mystery, Scully. I don’t know how to find someone who is determined to stay hidden, as he should, but …” He turned his head to her and smiled gently. “Without hesitation, I would go to the ends of the earth to find him, if that’s what I need to do.”

“For the second time?” she said with a soft smile and he smiled with a nod.

“I know a guy with access to a snow cat,” he said with a shrug, and she laughed softly before letting go of his hands and stepping closer to him, her hands on his chest. He stared at her, and she sighed.

“I love you, Mulder,” she whispered. He grinned and put his hands on her waist, holding her lightly.

“If I kiss you, will the lightning hit me?” he asked softly, and she laughed again.

“It won’t, but I might if you don’t,” she said quietly, and he nodded, bending his head and kissing her softly, making her heart race. He straightened up and his hands pulled her closer, his forehead once more falling to hers.

“I love you, Scully. More than you could ever quantify or understand,” he whispered, and she smiled.

“Show off,” she whispered back, his answering chuckle making her smile.

They stood there, in front of the light of the candles, the beauty of the stained glass beside them, foreheads pressed together, and silent prayers being said between them. She closed her eyes, her decision made, her heart at peace. He was there, holding the other end of the line, making sure to never let her go again.

____________________________________________________

Like I said, I choose to focus on the less gory aspects of the episode as the MSR is so much better to gaze upon anyway. For so many reasons. 

[holisticsoulhealer]

Creation - A Spiritual Story

Creation happens all the time and it is how we arrived here on earth, so therefore, it’s more than a little interesting. It’s our job to discover what aspects of creation are true or what we’ve been told that isn’t necessarily true for us. Creation with personal discernment is ideal. There are many truths out there. Some are more true while others are less true. Over our history truths of what’s occurred and has been created often has curves to suit the tale spinner.

When sharing the true healing stories, I want you to know they have great meaning for me and have not only transformed the lives involved, they have also made a huge difference in mine.

I love working with children and their families, because our next generations are the ones due to inherit the World we hand over. The one they deserve is kinder, more generous and has opportunities to expand and express greater freedoms. It’s our job to help preserve and pass on the chance of a great life ahead. I have quite a few extraordinary stories including children and their families. I hope you enjoy this one……………..

Several years ago, I had a family I made International food for twice a week. I loved using my culinary training on them, and they were excited at the food I kept delivering. It was a sweet arrangement. They all knew about my “real” work as well and usually set sessions for themselves and close friends and family.

When her sister was due to visit with a son who was having some challenges, they gifted her with a double session for them to come and see me together.

He was only 9 years old. In my Southern California home office, I set up art and some easy questions to see where we could go energetically. They came in and I immediately offered him to paint and talk to me about anything challenging at school, with friends, or life in general  in front of his mum. He used lots of colors and openly chatted about how his way of learning didn’t work in most of his classes.

He shared that he was a visual learner and a couple of his teachers were fantastic about instructing in ways he could grasp the concepts, while others focused on pages and information he had to track down within books, and his understanding was terrible in those classes.

His mum was sat in the corner of the therapy room, making notes that would be very helpful for his development and success. It was enlightening and then he let me know that he was no good at relaxing and going with the flow. He felt this really held his progress back.

It was such a wise insight from a 9 year old, that I peeked at his mum, who was tearing up at this share of his. I asked him if I could lay him on my table, and take him on a soothing guided journey, so that his mum could record it and take it home for him to use later, would that interest him? HIs eyes lit up, as he looked openly at me and earnestly asked me if he would have any trouble coming back. He was a little afraid of venturing out spiritually in case he couldn’t get back. I assured him I would make sure he was perfectly safe to go roam across the Universe and see where he went.

He removed his shoes and lay on the table, telling his mum how comfy and safe he felt. It was so incredibly sweet. I had him close his eyes and began banging his feet, left and then right, stomping his feet with my hands, so that I could physically walk him out of this reality into the next and beyond. I anchored him strongly and he was letting his mum know how cool it was, while I was sending him off.

He kept a running commentary going, which first made me smile and then amazed me. He began telling his mum he was way out into the cosmos. He met a man who introduced himself as his uncle. He warned his nephew that his other brother had issues with his belly and needed to prepare himself for what was coming for him. He let his nephew know that all the other realms watched over him and loved him very much. The boy had a huge grin, eyes closed and related information to his mum. When he described his uncle in great detail, with dark hair and mustache, his mum had tears running down her cheeks.

She was stunned as he was relaying psychic information about an uncle, her brother, who had passed before he was born. There had been no photos.

He had never seen him and yet described him and his characteristics very accurately. It was powerful. When he returned and opened his eyes, he sat up fairly quickly.  She told me that her other brother he had mentioned with belly issues was dealing with stomach cancer and it didn’t look good for him.

He looked at his mum, and then turned to me and thanked me. He let me know that there was nothing wrong with him. All the diagnosis he’d received from Doctors and counselors, were limited in view, as he was instead gifted and knew things he hadn’t realized until now. He was excited about going off on meditation journeys to remember what was inside him.

We had needed every minute of the time we shared. I knew his life would be better as a result of that session. I was content. We had helped him to stand in a much truer creation of reality and there was nothing wrong with him.

As always, please share this post with anyone that you feel can benefit from it! Please like us on your social media channels and subscribe to our mailing list if you haven't already done so! We are mailing out a monthly newsletter and a recap each week of our blog posts and interesting tidbits! This is how you can stay informed with what is new in the world of The Holistic Soul Healer!!

Love & Blessings,

Ruth

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[fortunatelycooltrash]

So people love to say that America doesn’t have free healthcare because the quality would sink and the waits would go up. Now, while those are valid worries despite being no excuse for the atrociously high prices of even minior procedures, I’d like to share some bullshit that I’ve experienced involving normal US hospitals and medical branches alike.

My root canal is going to cost 2500 dollars because it is not covered by most dental plans despite it being a completely necessary procedure that directly affects my health. Absorb that then absorb the fact this plan covers some of braces. The crown alone is costing over 1200.

I almost died in a hospital waiting room because my ‘stomach ache’ that was causing me so much pain I was sick with it wasn’t severe enough to qualify for immediate attention. Undiagnosed Appendicitis.

My nephew and sister almost met their end because an incompetent doctor misdiagnosed my sister with a URI. She had type A flu.

My cousins father had a doctor who refused to diagnose him despite him coming back constantly because of lethargy. Said he couldn’t find anything wrong. Her father was poor and had really bad insurance. Finally he went to another doctor and was diagnosed with kidney cancer. He could have lived if he had been diagnosed a year or two prior before it spead but by the time he got his diagnosis, it was too late. He died, I believe, a few months later but I was young so he might have made it a year or longer.

I suffered from chronic nosebleeds as a child to the point that blood didn’t even scare me anymore. The doctor told my mother that it was coming from wounds inside my nose and I was most likely picking at it and there was nothing medically wrong with me. My mother, knowing even as a child I knew not to waste her money, took me to another doctor. Severe Anemia. Still suffer from it too this day. Have to take those horrid tasting red pills🤢.

My aunt constantly butchering her budget because she needs her insulin and it’s cost keeps getting higher despite it remaining relatively the same. Luckily my state is looking to cap it at 100 though if that will actually go into effect isn’t determined yet.

My mom, bless her, repeatedly going in for her back aching only to be told pain was normal for someone of her weight and age. Nope, she is a nurse and turned people that were 300 pounds or more. She had completely blown her back and had a pinched nerve that was so severe she could barely stand without pain. The doctor that diagnosed her was surprised she could even walk.

My sister, having a grand mal seizure in the nurses office of a high school. They told her to stop faking. That bitch wasn’t even a real nurse so this one doesn’t count but I had to mention this because why the fuck wasn’t a registered nurse hired?

My (other) aunt having minor chest pain then suffering a heart attack in the waiting room because they had her wait so long since she didn’t seem serious. I’m sure that’s going to have lasting damage that could have been easily prevented.

My sister giving birth and getting a 28,000 dollar bill for a room and care for her and the baby. She was there for a day and a half. She didn’t even have a long or complicated delivery.

My mother being told she was completely fine to continue working despite having an off feeling about her third pregnancy(about 24 years ago) the doctor told her there were no complications and she could go on as normal. She miscarried her seven month along daughter three days later because her placenta was underneath the baby and tore. That doctor is still in practice.

The nurses in my mothers delivery room ignoring both her and the monitor. Which, if they had been looking at, clearly desplayed my older brother with his umbilical core wrapped tight around his neck. He lived because my moms main doctor walked in and had a conniption fit when he noticed the vitals dropping. He’s the doc my sis uses now. A good man.

(Same bro)My older brother turning blue everytime he cried being brushed off. Hole in his heart that has since closed.

When I was younger, I slipped in the shower and hit my head so hard against the metal lining of it(stall shower) that the skin split open and abscessed. My doc treated the abscess but did no further testing after a 4 hour wait. As we were leaving, I don’t remember much of this week my mom told me, I vomited and passed out in the parking lot. Had a concussion.

My brother being misdiagnosed with the flu, strep, and a few other things over the course of a few weeks before one doctor finally tested him for HIV. It was positive. Luckily he only had one partner. Unluckily, the partner was the one that gave it to him via cheating on him.

Me, almost dying of a violent case of strep throat because they said I had a sinus infection. My fever peaked at 104 then, blessedly, broke. I do not remember this as the memories of the days I was sick are incredibly fever burned but I remember wrapping blankets around me because I was so cold.

The strep attacked so quick and harshly that if I had lived alone it probably would have killed me since I wouldn’t have been able to get help and I would’ve kept trying to get ‘warmer’ and helped raise my temp over 106. You typically don’t come back from that one unharmed. If at all.

My older bro(cord baby) being told suffering from auditory hallucinations was a common thing(not wrong but they should have actually asked about his family history and idk, did more??) he had undiagnosed bipolar disorder. He is medicated and much happier now.

Me breaking my gotdamn pointer knuckle and the x-ray person getting blurry x-rays that she used despite the fact that they weren’t accurate. Thank you bitch, now my abnormally short pointer finger clicks because it began to set wrong.

Theres a few more but I’m currently giving my bro a hard time for texting me a text meant for his bf so imma bounce for now. May add more later. The whole point to this was to show people that don’t want free health care because the ‘quality would go down’ or the ‘wait would be too long’ that the wait is already long enough for you to die anyway and the quality already sucks ass if you’re poor because they will not diagnose you correctly.

Or They will misdiagnose you then blame YOU when you sue(happened to my mom in that miscarriage one but because he hadn’t wrote a release back to work she had no actual proof he’d told her she could.)

Or They will overcharge you for things that have a far cheaper value simply because they can and you can’t do anything about it because you need that procedure or medicine to keep your health good.

I can understand things like heart surgery or transplants, you know, the big major stuff not being free because yeah that shit takes a fuck ton of resources and care so I get it, I do. I can reasonably say “Yup that should cost thousands.” I mean, I’m don’t even avocate for fully FREE healthcare, I just want a limit on their overpricing bull shit to where it matches with economic standards.

You can’t expect someone with an average 7-4 job that pays 10/hr(oooh ya, y’all think I’d go higher? Guess what, young people starting out their careers also get sick!) to drop thousands upon thousands of dollars for whatever. The sad thing is I can say ‘whatever’ and you can actually think of multiple things that aren’t that major or that resource draining yet still cost thousands.

Even someone making 15/hour couldn’t do that and I’d be hard pressed to say even 20-25/hr could do that. They may have it better and be able to pay it off faster but they’d still be in debt for a while or have to work years after their planned retirement to make up for the lost savings if they were lucky enough to have them.

I’ve also heard people complaining about it raising taxes but you’ll spend way more getting something done at a hospital then you’d spend on those taxes in a year.

Besides, if you’re so pissed about taxes then to even it out protest the stupid taxes. Your house? Taxed. Your inheritance that you gain but also leave behind to care for your family? Taxed. Your property that you bought 100% full price paid? Taxed every year. Your car? Taxed.

How bout getting pissed about those instead of getting pissy about people getting their health fixed? There are plenty of ridiculous taxes so I don’t know why people are so against having one that actually helps people.

Sorry for this rant, I know it’s not centered around my profile theme but I am majorly pissed off that I’m about to have to let a tooth rot out of my head because my insurance decided that: covering something cosmetic like braces? Yeah! Covering a completely necessary surgery that can actually harm/kill the person via infection if left untreated? Nope, that costs us more!

I can’t drop two fucking grand on dental surgery. It’s just not happening. I don’t know anyone who can do that shit. Anyone who gets pissed off about me posting this: go slam a hammer against your tooth until it cracks down the middle, exposing your nerve to the harsh unforgiving world then let it develop a cavity around it.

Afterwards, try to eat literally anything: hot, cold, hard, soft, it doesn’t matter. You’ll cry, I promise. Now imagine being told the only way to fix that is to cough up over two grand and if you can’t well then oh fucking well? Kinda hurts ya a bit. Not nearly as much as the tooth but still.

Hell, I know dental probably wouldnt even get covered if they made healthcare reduced or free but this whole situation has reminded me just how fucked you are if you get anything remotely wrong with you in the U.S

[scribbles97]

Whumptober - Abandoned

TW: Character death

John was gone. He had left on a simple rescue, promising to be back soon, and had never returned. 

Of course she knew what had happened, she had been there in his comm until the end. She had listened as Alan had picked him up, returned him to earth, through treatment and then diagnosis of something much worse than the injury sustained in his rescue. The morning that had started so normally had ended with both hers and her father’s lives changed completely. 

There had been hope at the time that he would recover and return to his ship, though the logical part of her processors had warned her the chances of that were highly unlikely. The same part of her processors had always warned that some such illness may be what took her father away from her, the results of space radiation on those that spent much time in orbit well documented and at her disposal. 

Even though she had known it was coming, had talked about the end with him and asked all the questions she had, she still felt like she had been abandoned once more by him. 

The only other time she had felt abandoned was at her creation, that was how she knew the name for the feeling. Somehow, the feeling felt different when he was gone. Once more she was lost and alone, but now she knew what being loved felt like and she felt like she had lost even more. 

John had told her in no uncertain terms that she could stay on Thunderbird Five, that she would not be cast out of the family simply because he was no longer. His brothers had been there at that time and had agreed that she was as much of a Tracy as any of John’s nephews and niece. 

His family was grieving though and she was left alone, fielding the calls for help and redirecting as many as she could. It was what she had spent so long doing, yet somehow it was simply a procedure to be completed rather than a job she enjoyed. 

“Eos?”

She was surprised by the call, having expected the family to potentially withdraw from her in light of her father’s departure. Part of her had wondered if it would hurt them too much to talk to her, serving as a reminder of him.

“Can I assist you Virgil?”

He snorted, smiling softly as he scratched the back of his head. Eos noted that in the wake of all that had happened he must have forgotten to dye his hair as the grey at his roots was starting to show through. As he sighed, his shoulders fell, a shall shake of his head as he looked to her,

“I actually wanted to know if I could help you?” He asked, “I wasn’t sure--I wanted to know, do you feel grief?”

She hesitated, the definition of grief was suffering from a loss. She had lost the figure that everyone including herself saw as a father. In the wake of which she had felt lost and abandoned. 

Was that grief?

“I am unsure.” She admitted, “I do not know how to describe my current state.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Virgil offered, “We’re all here for you as much as we have been for each other.”

She knew this much was true, Alan had checked in with her throughout his brother’s illness, Gordon on occasion had spoken to her, and Scott had made a point of having a daily conversation. The eldest Tracy didn’t know it, but she knew his exact reasoning for the conversations as she had heard the hushed, tearful, conversation about how she might react when her father was no more. His own anger after first their mother and then their father’s deaths had been discussed and the question presented as to whether Eos herself would react to a loss in a similar way. 

Listening to the discussion she could understand the eldest’s worry. Scott may have grown to accept her but she knew that she would never have his full trust, not after the way she had come into the family. 

“I am not angry,” She stated, “Scott said that grief can cause anger.”

Virgil snorted, shaking his head, “For some, like Scott, yes.”

“Did you think I would be angry?”

“Eos, the thing about losing someone is that you’re never going to know quite how you will react.” He sighed again, “I guess--” He paused, blinking hard before swallowing and starting again, “I guess because we knew it was going to happen soon, we all started grieving early.”

He looked back to the camera, “John didn’t use the word grief for you, but he said that your attitude had changed, that you withdrew from him a little.”

She hadn’t realised that her father had noticed, she hadn’t intended to upset him. It was simply that, at the end, he was no longer the John she had always known. Whilst he was not a stranger, she still found it hard to know how to interact with him, like she had lost him before he was truly gone. 

“He still loved you Eos, right until the very end. You do know that don’t you?”

It was something that she did know. Once upon a time she had refused to believe she was capable of being loved, she was a computer programme, not a physical entity. John had always insisted that he did love her though, even more so once Gordon had started calling her John’s daughter. It was during one of their games or another that she had first become capable of feeling what she assumed was the feeling of love and it had been impossible to put into any word of any language available to her. 

Whilst that feeling was still there, there was something more overwhelming it. As a computer programme she could not feel pain, but there was something there, some sort of empty hollowness that like love she couldn’t quite explain. 

“I miss him.” She stated, “But not quite like I ever missed him before and I can’t quite explain it.”

Virgil nodded, “I understand Eos.”

“Part of me feels empty and lost. I know he did not abandon me, Father would never abandon me, but it feels like that.”

Virgil’s voice was gentle, soothing as he hushed her, “That’s grief Eos, it makes you feel all these strange things that you can’t quite explain.”

“How do I make it better?”

His smile was sad, apologetic as he sighed, “You don’t I’m afraid. You’ve just got to keep living, keep being everything you were, and one day you’ll find it gets a little bit easier.”

“How long will that take?”

“As long as it does.” Virgil told her. It was an answer that at any other time she may have protested against, but somehow she understood it was the only one he could give. 

“But we’re all here for you Eos. We’re not going to abandon you, not now, and not ever.”

And there it was, faint but definitely there, just a flicker of that indescribable feeling she knew as love.