#anyway it's nearly 1 am for me and I lost momentum toward a point I was trying to make whoops

[tleeaves]

Okay, but can we talk about this? There was a moment in the movie that I don't remember being in the books where someone basically said, "look at you, how eagerly you become an audience to a spectacle no matter how horrifying, how you contribute to it just by watching" and I thought that applied to the audience in the theatre too (if I could remember the exact quote, I could explain it better because I remember the smile being wiped off my face in the cinema) and we ways we consume dramatised rebellions and wars, demand more entertainment, are excited about this new movie "because OMG The Hunger Games!" when this film is actively filling pockets and people are profiting from the drama and excitement OF THE HUNGER GAMES. Of course, this ignores the nuance of the underlying themes being very anti-authoritarian and the way the movie generally - ugh, I've forgotten the exact word, but it plays upon the things the audience knows exists in our very real lives to wake us up to the powers and influences that be. The television, the news, sensationalisation, inability to take certain topics seriously, indoctrination, our own damn governments. People will say "fuck the Hunger Games, that's so messed up" and don't bat an eye at the news of war, watch their reality TV full of people behaving strangely, and don't get mad enough at what they are being fed by their own systems to say hey, this isn't right and I want to do something about it.

It's so fun and silly to attend the cinema "dressed like Capitol citizens" and not realising they ARE this world's Capitol citizens. (I do understand this is in good fun and some might be partaking ironically and whatnot).

I know The Hunger Games renaissance is because The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is coming out this year and the marketing machine is working. And I'm going to enjoy every minute of it because it's one of my special interests and I never really left it and now there's more content and more posts and I'm happy. The Capitol would so easily manipulate me, bread and circuses really are enough

[danwhobrowses]

General Discussions: All Elite Wrestling (AEW)

So with All Out happening tonight (or well, tomorrow morning for me) I’m in the mood to get a lot of AEW talk off my chest. The difference between this and previous talks ‘In (Slight) Defense of AEW’s Women’s Division’ and ‘Are AEW Planning a Second Show?’ - the latter of which seems to have been confirmed - I don’t want to talk about one sole thing, I have multiple things I wanna talk about: Criticisms, Hindsight, Signing Suggestions, Predictions and whatnot. I’m also gonna split this into two at least, we’re gonna start with some critiques (positive and negative criticism) and some hindsight talk.

Critiques So AEW has been running officially since May 2019. Meaning that half of their lifespan has happened during COVID 19′s pandemic, before I go into positive and negative criticisms I’d like this point to at least commend AEW on their action and sustainability during this time; several other brands have had to sadly close or cease programming for a long time, with ROH only just returning. AEW has done a stellar job being safe as well, only one confirmed case in QT Marshall (Moxley quarantining because of Renee’s positive case), frequent tests and having small amount of fans in the arena, this is on top of the fact that Jacksonville is also a hotspot, so currently well done on that. But AEW is far from a perfect company, no company can be. However, not all criticism is fair and I wanna vent some of that. Fair Criticism towards AEW First I wanna point out that there are things even I don’t like about AEW, because I know people will paint me as an apologist, I’d also wanna preface that there are parts of WWE I like too, and parts I don’t like. On AEW’s part though I think the fairest criticism for it is that a lot of talent slip through the cracks, COVID doesn’t help of course but talent had been kept away from the main show or not getting their due; Santana and Ortiz and the Lucha Bros should be tag champions by now, Scorpio Sky would’ve been a great TNT champion, Jurassic Express despite their popularity often seem to be on the losing end of feuds, Private Party have fell into the undercard of the tag division, Joey Janela and Sonny Kiss are sadly purposeless and Lance Archer is just floating around, Nyla and Vickie’s partnership hasn’t really gone anywhere either as of yet and Abadon has been kept from the title picture. There’s also the flip-flop booking of Shawn Spears, Jake Hager, Mel, Luther, Penelope Ford, TH2 and others. While I am gonna track back on the Women’s Division complaint it would bode better for AEW if they had more storylines, and their title was better. I mean the design is fine, it just needs to be bigger. The Picture with Shida and Cody swapping belts really sells that. Belt designs have been very up and down too, the TNT title is not good, the FTW title is a bit iffy but even that is a better design. So far only ‘Big Platinum’ and the Tag Titles are original designs without complaints. Unfair Criticism towards AEW Since a lot of people compare AEW to WWE, there will be times where people will treat them as the same, and that’s not really too fair. Case in point, big one out of the way, The Women’s Division. Wanting more from the women is fair but as I detailed they are pretty handicapped right now since many of their wrestlers are overseas, but when they make moves in a positive light they’re still criticised. Thunder Rosa (fka Kobra Moon of Lucha Underground) is great and we have a much hyped match for that. The criticisms reared its head more with the Deadly Draw and the Tooth and Nail match being in the Buy In. I’ve already discussed the benefits of the Deadly Draw in a prior post so I’m gonna focus on Swole/Baker. Now on the Main Card anyway thanks to fan response, it shouldn’t have been treated like AEW pre-shows are like WWE’s, there’s a Number 1 Contendership Battle Royale on that same Buy In, Khan has been clear that he wants people invested enough to ‘Buy in to the PPV’ so it shouldn’t be treated as a disservice.

I’d also like to segue this into a WWE comparison, because whenever AEW is on you have people tracking how many women’s segments there are. So let me run down WWE for a bit

Smackdown had 3 Women’s Bits last night (4th Sept): the Tag Match that led to FINALLY the Banks/Bayley schism, a cryptic hint towards a woman returning (rumors of Eva Marie I hope are false, maybe it’s Carmella?) and a small backstage segment between Bliss and Bayley

NXT on ‘Super Tuesday Part 1′ had 1 very short match building to the Candice/Tegan feud and a package for Ripley vs Mercedes

Raw had 2 matches and 3 segments which included a Payback rematch

Payback had 2 matches, one on the Pre-Show, both of these matches would later be rematched in the following week

Summerslam had 3 matches, only one of them not a title match and one of them being rematched on the following Raw

NXT TakeOver 30 had 1 match, a title match, including the Pre-Show

For all the criticism AEW gets for having 2-3 bits on Dynamite (which is an hour less than Raw might I add and Dark hosts consistently 3 women’s bits that nobody acknowledges simply because the matches are squashes) I never see WWE criticised in that same vein, and that’s unfair, criticise both. The main difference is that AEW do not have the ‘seasoned big star’ because they’re not that old, Mickie James, Asuka, Bliss and the Four Horsewomen didn’t just get this popular overnight, they spent years honing this craft to this audience. Would it be great for AEW to have a megastar type? Sure but business is not all that easy, who do you take? Tessa’s attitude isn’t exactly positive for business, time is what they need and it’s something people are not giving. Of the other unfair criticisms the quick and easy one is the ‘AEW is TNA 2.0′ - newsflash, most wrestlers will go through the WWE machine in some shape or form, if you complain that AEW lacks female stars because nobody is well known but criticise the men’s division for using well-known ex-WWE talent then you have to see the contradiction. Moxley has been great, Jericho has been great, Brodie has been great, it’s not like AEW aren’t promoting others either. And also the ‘VP is becoming like the McMahons’ - people think that because a wrestler is a booker that they’ll only book themselves strong, but Cody let himself get squashed by Brodie, Kenny passed out to PAC and lost to Moxley, the Bucks haven’t been tag champions and Brandi hasn’t inserted herself in any title match. Just because we’re burned by WWE doesn’t mean that AEW are the same. I am all for constructive criticism with the brand because there are certainly places where it can improve, but it keeps circling around to the fact that we put WWE as the negative standard we compare AEW to, as if WWE are literally the Simpsons of Wrestling, there’s not gonna be much they haven’t done. Hindsight Talk So with the critiques out of the way now we can talk about some missed opportunities, since it kinda pairs together with that. Nearly a year and a half and AEW is still quite different to how it started, there are some things though we could still look back in regret. The easy one is doing a more thorough background check. The SpeakingOut movement affected all of wrestling and led to the departure of Jimmy Havoc, likewise it also led to the Elite cutting ties with Joey Ryan and distancing from Marty Scurll, of course until people spoke out it would’ve been impossible to know but knowing now does make parts of All In and AEW’s history come with a sense of bitterness. A further stressing of variety would’ve helped AEW, there’s a lot of criticism when people don’t understand that things are different for a reason, comedy has a place in Wrestling, we just need a reminder. The ranking system and tag rules could still be clearer. There’s also the sooner dropping of aspects like the Nightmare Family faction with Mel and Luther with Brandi, as well as some other dropped plots like Brandi’s mental break, Allie’s affiliation with the Butcher and Blade (the latter being her irl husband) as ‘the Bunny’, Christopher Daniels’ feuds with Pentagon and the Dark Order, the initial presentation of the Dark Order, not debuting Sadie Gibbs earlier and maybe pushing Intergender wrestling a bit sooner. AEW were reluctant and a Kip/Penelope vs Kenny/Riho feud was in the works to some solid appeal, but it sadly went nowhere. The Deadly Draw could’ve been longer, but I stand by the decision to put it on Youtube. I think the TNT title tournament could’ve been longer too. The bigger regrets I personally wished from AEW are that the Lucha Bros didn’t win the tag titles first, SCU are great but Lucha Bros are next level wrestlers who are monstrously talented, given Hangman and Kenny’s blockbuster match with the Lucha Bros, it’s a shame that we didn’t have a bigger feud where the Lucha Bros took their Young Bucks feud momentum to win the whole tournament. Not signing Mercedes Martinez, Deonna Purrazo or pushing a Kong vs Kong match would also be a missed opportunity too. Hindsight is of course 2020 so we can’t be too hard on AEW, as we’ll move onto in Part 2, when we’ll talk about All Out Predictions and positive hopes for AEW’s future

[angstymarshmallow]

part six - “deal.” (cal lowell x mc)

[a little note: back at it again with another part in my series! I have abandoned all hope of naming the series and I will keep writing it in infuriating and vague titles instead. I think the next part is actually going to be my cross-over idea, so I’m placing this on a mini-hiatus while I start phase 2 *wiggles eyebrows*. It’s past 1:00 am and I’m being a little weird, but without further ado If you read it - than you! If you leave a comment, bless you!]

[words counted: 8771]

[summary: in the aftermath of their breakup, Wren (MC) is starting to come to the conclusion that a world without Cal, isn’t much of a world she wants to exist in. Coming to terms with her feelings is a battle in itself and what lies next on the horizon may take everything for her and Cal to survive].

[part one, part two, part three, part four, part five]

Wren stumbles to catch her footing, her hands warding off the dent of the blow once he strikes – his fist sailing and making contact, before she backpedals several steps away. It hurts, but it would’ve hurt helluva a lot more if she hadn’t seen it coming at the last possible second.

“You’re distracted.” His words are terse, eyes drawn back as a smirk toys at the corner of his lips.

The ass. He’s enjoying this.

She shouldn’t expect any differently, and for all that he was – Nik Ryder is still one of the most infuriating people she has ever met. But he’s never given up on her and in the short time they’ve known each other, he’s taught her nearly everything he knew about being a nighthunter.

Although, Wren still doesn’t appreciate him pointing out the obvious, because she’s been more than distracted lately, she’s been moody. Angry. Depressed. All of that and more at just the thought of Cal – at what they meant to each other and what they’ve lost in the aftermath of their fight. Before the thought is able take much root, she puts a stop to it and diverts her attention back to the man in front of her – still gauging her reaction.

“Bite my ass, Nik.” There. That’ll teach him.

Snarling, Wren ducks his jab and feints to the left. She thinks she has the upper hand until his leg cuts her off, sweeping into a wide arc to take out both of her knees.

Wren curses as her feet fumble. There’s no stopping herself from toppling over and falling flat on her ass. Her wrist absorbs most of the impact and she hisses as slight twinges of pain shoot up her arm. Getting to her feet, she rubs tiny circles along the surface of her skin, making them gradually wider to cover the inside of her wrist.

“Sloppy.” Nik says, making a slight noise of what Wren can only describe as disappointment. His dark eyes remain impassive despite her own foul attitude at his remark. He circles her. Raising his hands, he clenches them into tight fists. “Sloppy will get you killed.”

He doesn’t need to tell her twice. A year of training ought to have taught her better.

But her mind is far past that point. She isn’t focused on looking for opportunities, cracks in his defense – she’s still too angry, too out of control of her own emotions to care about the consequences of not thinking things through. She doesn’t care if she’s being sloppy, she just wants to hit something.

Without uttering a remark, Wren sets off on her feet again – ducking when he tries to deliver a hook at the side of her head and she throws her hands up to body-tackle him towards the floor. “Rughh!”

At the last second, Nik manages to pivot his feet with enough of a twist to change the angle of his stance. He uses her own momentum against her, throwing her off balance and slightly chuckling as she lands with a hard thud against the floor of his apartment. He whirls back around to face her. “That sounded like it hurt.” He taunts, eyes brightening as she curses.

Grimacing, Wren hauls herself off the floor. “It did. Not that you care.” She fires back, raising her hands up defensively as she gets on the balls of her feet.

“If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here right now – giving you a target to hit.” He counters, ducking at the last second when she throws a quick jab. “I’d be at home with a case of cold beer.”

Wren lets out a cry of triumph as her other hand quickly shoots out, her fist finally connecting to his jaw

He winces, but makes a show of blocking her next attack – preventing any follow-up chance for any kind of onslaught.

“Sloppy,” she mimics, trying her best Nik impression. “Aren’t you the one that said sloppy will get me killed?”

He dodges to the right and grips her briefly by the waist; setting himself up for kneeing her exposed chest.

The impact makes her grunt and fight for her next breath. She staggers back, eyes tearing up as she manages to shoot him a glare.

“And I wasn’t lying when I said it.”  His tone is deadpanned. “You’re angry. Use it but don’t let it control you. Anger is a powerful tool – but letting your emotions get the better of you isn’t only dangerous, it’s stupid.”

Huffing a breath, Wren rushes into him.

Their bodies slam together, but Nik keeps an inch away by using his arms to push against her demanding push and pull. “Control it, Wren.”

She growls low in her throat, increasing the pressure and leaning more of her weight against him. He won’t get the better of her again, she won’t let him.

Nik blinks and adjusts his stance almost instantly to administer more of a defensive posture.

It’s all the opportunity she needs. Loosening her hold, Wren drops her right shoulder a few inches and uses her weight to propel him across her shoulders – heaving his heavier mass over her – despite the racing of her own heart as adrenaline pumps loudly inside her veins.

He lands with an oomph and doesn’t stand right away. Wincing, Nik rubs his left hip then hastily gets to his feet.

“I am controlling it, Nik.” She mutters with a hiss. Trying to anyway – this was the best it’s going to get.

His eyes halt in her direction. His brow creases the moment his hands fly up and suspends in the air – indicating they should place their sparring match on hold. “I thought this was helping, but now I’m not so sure.” He hesitates, frowning. “I’ve never seen you so upset before.”

“Let me stop you right there.” She cracks her knuckles. “If I wanted to talk; I would’ve gone to see Vera.” She should have sparred with Katy; Katy has always been better at reading between the lines – knowing when to push her and when not to. But she’s out of town on nighthunter business and Nik had only returned from another odd job of his own.

Still, Wren hates the idea. She doesn’t want to talk, because talking won’t make anything easier – it’ll make her feel things she’s been staving off since he left. There’s no Cal and her anymore. And the knowledge hurts. It hurts enough for her heart to ache at the thought of another day without him.

She’s afraid that if she starts talking about everything, the tears will start and she’ll never be able to stop.  Taking a step towards him, Wren swallows the lump that’s suddenly formed in her throat and forces her thoughts to the present. Focus. Breathe. Control. “Now are we going to fight or not?”

-

Nearly two hours later Wren is sprawled across Nik’s living room floor, panting and on the brink of exhaustion. In fact, no amount of deep breathing exercises aids her, nor the other nighthuner sprawled several inches beside her – his own breathing embarrassingly loud.

Still, she has to admit it feels good to be exhausted. To be worn-out long enough to enjoy the release of endorphins she’s always had when it comes down to fighting. Slightly opening her eyes, Wren blows a few strands of her hair out the way before Nil makes the decision to stand.

She hears his slight curse before a cool bottle of beer is slipped between her fingers. After a beat of silence, she mutters. “Thanks.”

“I figured you needed one more than I do.”

She sits up, acknowledging his response with a snort as he leans intently closer to crack open her beer. Inclining her head, she waits expectantly for Nik to grab another beer before they clink them together.

She takes the first sip and sighs. It’s blissfully cool. “You’re right, I definitely needed that.” She closes eyes her briefly, “I guess…this is a good time as any to thank you for letting me barge in this morning.”

Suddenly looking a little uncomfortable by her gratitude, Nik shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”

“No really.” Wren insists, “you just got back. You could have turned me away but you didn’t. Instead, you humored me.”

He laughs, eyes flashing in amusement as he raises his beer to his lips. “You gave as good as you got.”

“Still,” she lets out a tired breath. “I don’t say thanks very often, but I appreciate…you being there for me.” She looks away, focusing instead on the redness of her knuckles before rubbing tiny circles across the raw skin.

“What are friends for– if not for beating the shit out of each other when they’re down, right?” A crooked smile flit across his face briefly. “I’m just worried you’re doing it for the wrong reasons.”

Wren shrugs, still avoiding eye contact by hugging her shoulders after getting to her feet. After another hesitant beat, she takes a chug of her beer. “What’s talking about it going to really do for me?” She takes a deep breath, testing his name on her lips for the first time in a week. “Cal is gone. He ended things – we’re…done. He didn’t think we’d work out in the long run and nothing I could say was going to change his mind.”

She can almost feel his glare at the side of her field of vision. “You know it’s never that simple.”

She continues as if he hasn’t spoken, mulling over it. “And maybe he’s right. Maybe I wasn’t really ready to be a part of the pack, to be his mate.” She sighs, stalking across the room. “I mean - who am I even kidding? I’m only twenty-four and I barely know what I want half the time for lunch – so how can I even hope to make a decision like that?” She shakes her head in disbelief.

“Cut the shit, Wren.”

He says the words sharp enough for Wren to pause in mid-pacing, her shoulders stiffening as he shoots her a chilling stare. “What?”

“You heard me, cut the shit.” His tone seems to only emphasize the gravity of his words, as he settles his beer on the coffee table. “You were looking for a way out – so he gave it to you.”

“That’s not –” She frowns and fumbles to find the words she’s looking for.

“You pretty much said it yourself, you don’t think you’re ready for that.” Nik jerks his chin, “and it didn’t matter what he said – you would have taken any out you could.”

Wren bites on her bottom lip, gnawing the soft flesh between her teeth as she mulls over his words. Is that what she did? Had she looked for an out?

“If you wanted to fight for him, it wouldn’t have mattered what he said. You would’ve have let him ended things.” He says the words matter-of-factly, without any antagonism behind it. “You were scared.”  

She turns away, bitter resentment filling the ache in her chest. “I wasn’t –”

“You were scared shitless.” He says harshly, lips pursed.

“You don’t get it!” She glances back and clenches her fists to her sides. “We were never going to work!”

He steps closer, crowding her vision – forcing her not to look away. “And who gets to the decide that?”

“The rest of the world does!” She throws her hands up in frustration, “the pack – ”

“Fuck the pack.” Nik snarls the words, “they aren’t you and Cal!”

“But they’re his responsibility. They’re apart of his world!

“So?”

“So-” she fumbles to respond – finding anything to defend herself from his barrage of questions. “They hate me.”

He jerks his chin, eyes flashing with almost as much rage as Wren feels threatening to boil over. “Since when did you start giving a shit about everyone else’s opinion?”

“Since I couldn’t get away from it,” she retorts, lips quivering. “It’s everywhere, reminders that we don’t belong together, no matter how much –” She sucks a breath, fighting for any shred of calm still remaining. Her eyes are pricking at the sides; “no matter how much I want us to.” There, she’s said it. She’s admitted what she thought she never could. “So yeah, I was scared. I am scared.”

His eyes soften in sympathy. “I get it, I do. Who could blame you for being scared? He’s the alpha, he’s never gonna be able to put you first. Not completely. The pack demands more than that and maybe, maybe it’ll demand his life someday.” His eyes don’t waver, “maybe you couldn’t live with that.” He takes a deep chug of his drink; some of the dark liquid spilling at the side of his mouth as he tips his head back. “But regardless of that – the Wren I know wouldn’t give Cal up without a fight – and even then.” He grabs her shoulders, eyes searching hers.

Wren’s heart races a little faster at the sincerity behind in his words. This isn’t Nik the badass nighthuner taking – this is Nik her friend, her confidant. “Even then I wouldn’t have let go.” She says the word softly, breath catching as something wet touches her cheek.

She’s at war with herself. Like two sides of a coin, there are still parts of her that believe loving someone so completely is impossible – and parts of her that wants to think someone like her could be worthy of a love like Cal. She did give up fighting for him.

“…You’re right.” Wren says the words slowly, blowing out a breath harshly from her lips as she steps back, gathering her willpower to keep talking. “Giving up – that isn’t me.” She blinks past the tears. “That night – when we broke up, Cal said I had one foot in the door and the other trapped in my old world, the world where things always made sense. No matter how dumb and uneventful that life had been – it was safe. It was mine.” She drifts towards Nik’s window, intent on finding space to gather her thoughts. She presses her forehead against the cool glass to help ease some of the tension from her temples. “I was looking for a way out, because everything felt like it was driving us apart.”

Voice shaking, she backs away from the window to resume her restless pacing. “I didn’t know if I could handle it, I pretended I could. I pretended like I understood his responsibilities, that I understood how different our worlds are. I told myself, I could deal with it - Cal cancelling because of pack business – why they always made me feel like an outsider. It all boiled down to that…and I guess, I was upset because he saw right through me. He saw and knew I was like a fish out of water, trying not to die.”

Nik nods in encouragement, remaining silent as Wren feel his gaze on her back.

She clears her throat, hastily wiping the corner of her eyes. “I’ve never had a reason to be scared before – I’ve had friends, they’ve come and gone. I’ve had boyfriends and girlfriends – but it’s never been like this. It’s never felt like – ” she fumbles for the right word, dragging her fingers through her hair in frustration. “It’s never felt like more than just feelings. It’s never felt like love before him.” The words escape before she can take them back, and after she’s said them – she doesn’t want to. It’s as if the burden she’s carried around for months has suddenly been lifted and Wren lets out a strangled gasp of relief, blinking past the sudden urge to cry.

“I’ve never been afraid of losing someone before. But I was afraid of losing him – and what did it matter when I lost him in the end? My own stubborn and stupidity fucked us both over. And shit, it hurts knowing I’ve lost him.” Her eyes are wide and glassy as Nik stands, crossing the room to embrace her. “It just hurts so fucking much.”

The tears aren’t gradual, like they’ve always seemed to be in movies Wren used to make fun of. It’s all at once – like a dam that’s been blocked for so long, only to suddenly burst open. They fall freely across Nik’s bare shoulder as Wren buries her face there, shuddering when he hums nonsensical noises under his breath.

He doesn’t speak and she’s grateful for it. His arms merely keep her cradled against his chest, while her tear soak his shirt. Fuck, why can’t she stop crying?

Several minutes later, Wren is finally able to pull herself together. She steps back, still rubbing the corner of her eyes while Nik offers her an uncharacteristically tender smile.

“Doesn’t it feel better? Letting it all out?”

Her voice is still raw when she speaks, but thankfully there aren’t any more godawful tears to shed. It seems, for the moment she’s all cried out. “Big talk for someone that doesn’t have the full spectrum of human emotions,” she firest back, still not looking at him completely.

“There she is.”

Hiding a smile, Wren takes a deep breath. She feels a little more of herself again and straightens her shoulders to incline her head at him.

“Good thing this isn’t about me lacking the full range of humans emotions, then huh?” He tries and fails to crack a smile when she manages to finally meet his gaze again. “He still loves you Wren.”

“…Does he?” The words slip from her lips before she’s able to rethink it.

“No shit, he does.” Nik rolls his eyes, “you won’t believe how miserable he’s been without you. I’m talking like stay-at-home-ignoring-everyone level of miserable.” He snorts derisively.

Biting her lower lip, she draws another shaky breath. “Is it bad that a small part of me is happy about that?” While the rest of her feels just as miserable at the thought. She doesn’t want Cal to suffer, not really. She spent a lot of time thinking she would have, but truthfully all she wanted to do was run to him, but after that text he sent her last week – she’s been back to avoiding nearly everyone. Without nighthunter duties keeping her tied to NOLA presently, she’d have probably skipped town up until this point.

“Yeah, really.” Nik chuckles, drawing her out of her thoughts. “Rook, believe me when I say this – it doesn’t make sense for two people that are obviously miserable without each other, to take so long to realize it.”

“Give me a break,” Wren rubs her eyes hastily again, laughing with something akin to only relief. Shit, it feels good to laugh again. “I’ve never been in love before…and it’s…weird. But a good weird.” She pauses to think, gnawing at her lower lip. “I should have said something earlier.”

He gives her a droll stare. “Well, what’re you standing around talking to me for? Go tell the wolf yourself.”

A wave of affection fills her throat, momentarily making it difficult for Wren to muster any form of gratitude she can. She hesitates for a split second, and then she closes the distance to quickly hug him. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Nik pats her back for a moment before swiftly letting her go. “Seriously, don’t. I want to sweep this whole letting our feelings get the better of us right under the rug.”

“Yup, already done.” Laughing, she echoes his sentiments entirely. Her eyes skim the room for her shoes. “Breakdown? I don’t know what those are.” As she spots them, she wades over and quickly hauls them to her feet.

Nik grunts in response.

Her hand pauses by the door handle as she glances back to meet his questioning stare. It’s the first sign of a smile she’s seen from him all day.

“I’m happy for you both.”

She returns the smile, as fleeting as it is until she remembers how they’ve left things. She can’t just sit around waiting for him to say anything again. She has to fight for him too. Shooting him a parting wave, Wren opens his front door – only to freeze in place as her heart suddenly spikes several notches at the familiar figure standing in front of her. “Christ, kid!” She winces, fighting the urge to clutch her chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry!” Donny has the good senses to at least look sheepish as he apologizes. He’s standing a few inches away, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that had too many holes to be some kind of a style.

He stuffs his hands inside his pockets and as she jerks her chin at him, he rocks back on his heels. “What’re you doing here?”

His mouth snaps shut for a moment as they slid behind her. Then his jaw tenses as their eyes connected again. “I didn’t mean to – I just didn’t know where else to look for you and once I picked up your scent, I just followed it here.” He seems on edge; eyes shifting warily from her and a frowning Nik whose presence is still close behind her.

“Why do you need to find me?” Her surprise quickly recedes into apprehension. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?” Without thinking her hands and eyes skim the entire length of his six feet. No obvious wound….maybe it’s internal?

Donny waves off her concern, “I’m fine. It’s not me that needs help.” As she motions him inside, he takes a ragged breath – staring between Nik and Wren uncertainly until she quirks an eyebrow.

“Are you comin’ in or what?” She notes another strange look passing between them before her irritation snaps. “If you even think –”

He holds up his hands. “I don’t wanna know.”

“Well, there isn’t anything to know.” She says curtly, staring indignantly at hi. “I love your brother –” there she goes dropping that word again. Although it almost seems to fall off the tongue effortlessly the more, she says it.

Donny blinks up her as a flurry of emotions swiftly flit across his youthful face.

“Really? You aren’t going to say anything?” She goads, gesturing to herself. “Not even to gloat?” The fact that he hasn’t said anything is already not a good sign. “Okay kid, c’mon you’re scaring me.” Wren swallows. She’s almost too afraid to ask. “Where’s Cal? What’s going on?”

“It’s my brother,” his lower lip quivers and his shoulders suddenly hunch. “He’s gone Wren.”

He’s gone.

He’s gone.

He’s gone.

His words play on loop as panic engulfs her chest. It’s suddenly hard to breathe and Wren staggers back as if he’d struck her. Without thinking, she grabs him and shake his shoulders hard enough for his teeth to slightly rattle. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Donny doesn’t flinch, despite her fingers digging into his skin. His expression mirrors her own trepidation. His lips quiver and as his chocolate eyes widen in fear, she feels her own resolve crumbling. “I need your help.”

-

“…and that’s the last time you heard from him?”

Several minutes after Donny’s ambiguous explanation, both Wren and Nik pace the living room, while he stretches and sits with his arms folded cross the couch. “He said he’d be back on Monday.” He buries his face into his hands, muffling his next words. “I know Cal, he wouldn’t break his promise like that. Not for anything.”

Wren runs her fingers through her hair, mind racing with worry at the thought of something happening to him. It would be her luck that the only person she’s ever fallen completely for is in mortal peril. Just her damn rotten luck.

Nik breaks the silence first; his lower octave filling the sudden gap left behind from silence, as Wren feels Donny’s questioning stare from the corner of her eyes shift towards him. “And he didn’t mention where he went – at all?”

Donny shakes his head. “He didn’t know where he was meeting Mr. Kavinsky, he changed it like at the last second. Cal was texting me it wouldn’t take long, but I knew from his message that he was weirded out by the whole thing. Mr. Kavinsky whole vibe didn’t exactly scream ‘trust me.’”

“Changing the meeting place last second is definitely strange.” Nik agrees, scratching his chin. “But, unfortunately that still doesn’t prove anything.”

“What about the pack?” Wren interrupts. Her voice is still a little hoarse from crying earlier and she clears her throat in an attempt to smoothen it out. It’s the first thing she can think of, shouldn’t the pack care that their alpha has been MIA for the past couple days? “Isn’t this pack business?”

Donny flinches slightly from the flatness of her tone.

She’s thrown more accusation than she meant, but the idea of them not doing anything about Cal being across country lines is damn right infuriating. “Shouldn’t they be sending someone to New York to help figure out where he is?”

His expression falters until his stare drops to the floor. “That’s the thing, Cal doesn’t want anyone to go after him. It was his orders.”

That self-sacrificing idiot. She’s furious at the idea of him going alone, even worse that he’s ordered no one else to come after him. But that’s the type of person he is, he wants to fix everything himself – regardless of people wanting to help him or not. If he only told me. I could have been there. I could have done something.

“The pack’s been in total chaos since he left. Without our alpha, we’re all on edge.” Donny stands, his eyes glimmering faint amber as if he’s growing angrier by the minute at the thought. “Half of them want to throw those kids back on the street for Shaw.”

Wren’s entire body goes stiff. “That can’t happen.”

“And the other half wants to go after him.”

“No good either, Shaw would have the advantage. New York’s apart of his territory.” Nik frowns, and curses under his breath. “This is a mess.”

“This isn’t just a mess Nik, it’s a whole shitshow.” Wren blows out an irritated breath.

“Jayde’s keeping everyone on a tight leash for now, but there’s no telling how long that’ll last. The longer Cal is gone, the worse this’ll get Wren.” Donny returns his gaze back to her, his eyes almost pleading – his tone insistent. “We have to find him.”

“I’m right with you kid.” She pats his arm in reassurance. “There’s no way I’m going to sit around and do nothing while Cal is out there.” She promises him with a determined smile. Although, that’s easier said than done. If they’ve got no leads as to where he went –

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Nik interrupts, glaring at the two of them disdainfully. “I think we’re missing the obvious here. Neither of you know where he is. New York is a big enough city and unless he appears out of thin air – there’s no way you’re getting into their territory to poke your head without Shaw’s pack or one of Kavinsky’s men spotting you.”

“But –” They both yell at the same time.

“Remember what we talked about earlier, Wren?” He frowns, eyebrows narrowing in obvious disapproval. “Dangerous and stupid? This is definitely the definition of dangerous and stupid.”

“What else are we supposed to do?” Wren throws her hands up in the air, frustrated. “I’m all for ideas, but if you think I’ll sit around and just wait for one to fall in our laps –” she snorts, “then I guess I’ll just have to settle for being stupid.” Driving her point home, she splays her hands across her sternum, “it’s served me a lot of times when I’ve needed it to.”

“Unbelievable.” Nik mutters.

“We should start by talking with the pack.” As much as she hates to say it, they’re still their best bet in finding Cal. “Maybe Jayde knows something, she is his Beta after all. I’m sure he shared something with her.” She waits expectantly for Donny to echo her sentiment.

He shrugs, “I tried talking to her about it, but I didn’t get anywhere.”

“Then, I’ll talk to her.”

He seems to hesitate and at the quirk of her eyebrows, he quickly fumbles to continue. “She’s at Wolf’s Den with most of the pack.”

“Well, shit.” Of course, this wasn’t going to be easy. Why should it be? The idea of walking in there with every pair of wolf eyes on her is terrifying but Wren swallows back her fear and ruffles the top of Donny’s head. She can’t think of just herself anymore – there’s Donny to worry about and Cal. “Then that’s where we’ll go.” She turns to Nik, who’s been lost in thought until she clears her throat and gestures to him. “Is there anyone in New York that could help narrow down the search?”

Nik hesitates, brow furrowing at the request.

“Anyone?” She presses on, narrowing her eyes a little at his silence.

“Yeah.” He sighs, “someone owes me a favor. I could talk to him, see what he knows.”

“Someone?” When Nik doesn’t respond right away, Wren folds her arms. “Okay, spill. Which big, bad and all powerful supernatural do you know?” With Nik, Wren’s come to the realization that nothing is out of his realm of possibility. The man knows pretty much everyone.

“Adrian Raines.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets.

Wren’s jaw nearly hits the floor. “Multibillionaire and philanthropist Adrian Raines?” She prompts him. “The same man that spent more than a decade of his life funding cancer research and space travel? That Adrian Raines?”

“The one and the same.”

How the hell did Nik manage to meet him? “Wait, don’t tell me –”

“He’s a vampire.” His tone is deadpanned. “He sits at the head of the vampire council–” before she’s able to ask for more information, he quickly holds up a finger. “- but I can’t tell you about that, we don’t have the time. I can tell you that I could probably reach his assistant, she usually helps in handling his…..other business.”

When she tries to peek at his phone, Nik shoots her a scowl and hides the object into the crook of his shoulder.

But she does manage to catch a name; Harlow Daniels from underneath the long list of his contacts. “So, you’ll think they’ll be able to help?”

“I’m not sure. But like I said Adrian owes me a favor.” He pockets his phone.

“Is there anyone that doesn’t owe you a favor?”

“Nope,” he responds without missing a beat, grinning down at her. “You meet all sorts of people in this line of work and Adrian’s no exception to the rule.”

“Right.” Rolling her eyes, Wren mumbles. “Maybe I should get out of NOLA more.” She’s barely been out of the city since the fated day they met a year ago. Sometimes, she wonders if Kristin still misses her. “Well then, we have a plan.”

“Not really,” Nik’s face twists into a humorless smile. “But it’s better than no plan.”

Wren turns to Donny whose attention has been fixated his phone during their entire exchange. “You ready kid?”

“Yeah,” he frowns.

That doesn’t look good. “You frown long enough; you’ll end up with permanent wrinkles. What’s up?”

Donny glances up at her, his eyes clouded with worry. “It’s Jayde. Apparently, a fight broke out at Wolf’s Den.”

Wren curses. “Is it Derek –” the last thing they need is another all-out brawl.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s just the pack.”

-

Half an hour later after exchanging goodbyes with Nik, Wren and Donny arrive at the porch of Wolf’s Den. The sun is at its lowest point and makes their shadows appear oversized as they board the steps of the giant, and looming house.

Before they head inside, Donny’s hand shoots out to grip Wren’s forearm. “Wait.”

She stops inside her tracks and turns to quirk an eyebrow questioningly at him.

His stance has changed. It’s no longer lax as their gazes return to the house. He seems to adjusts his height and his nostrils flare. When she sneaks a glance at him, his eyes have that familiar and faint amber-glow to them. It makes something in her gut twist with the unwavering certainty that she won’t like whatever it is, he has to say. “What?”

“Nothing it’s just…” His eyes skim the entire length of the house, tilting his chin to the side as he frowns. “Something’s not right.” He sniffs the air, his shoulders tensing. “Just be on your guard.”

“Right.” Under any other circumstances, she can think of – she wouldn’t have allowed a chance at poking fun of him to pass, but now isn’t the time. Checking the harness of her weapon, Wren takes a protective step in front of him. “Let me go in first. You follow after I give the okay.”

He rolls his eyes. “You sound just like Cal.” He doesn’t say the words with any malice, it feels more genuine than that as he glances away with a spot of color across his cheeks. “I can take care of myself.”

“Uh-huh.” Brandishing her weapon, Wren checks the parameter of the house. When nothing in particular jumps out at her, she heads inside with Donny ignoring her request to stay put by sticking close to her side.

From the moment she’s steps foot inside the Wolf’s Den, Wren is almost nauseated by the smell. It reeks of beer, blood and other substances she isn’t quite ready to think about in her half-anxious state. She maneuvers tentatively between two unconscious men fashioning the pack’s familiar insignia.

Everything is askew, pieces of furniture have been flipped and destroyed, while the rest of the house seem to echo the same pattern – broken glasses, upturned tables and blood. Small litters of people are everywhere Wren looks, but thankfully - they seem to be blissfully knocked out, despite how beaten-up and well bloodied they appear.

The hand on her arm tightens and Wren glances back just as Donny begins to make a gesture pointing upwards to further investigate the house upstairs. She nods in agreement, shifting ever so slightly to switch directions of their inspection.

They take to the stairs, only pausing once they’ve heard the sound of movement in the hall. They both seem to freeze at the same time, before Wren recovers first – reaching for her gun and aiming it at the figure down the hall. “Alright, whoever’s still awake – is about to get the beat down of their life.”

Donny snarls behind her, changing his stance until he takes a good whiff of the air. He relaxes almost immediately, holding up a hand to caution Wren to drop her gun.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Jayde calls, emerging from out of the dimly lit hall. Hair dishelmed, her clothes are also torn and her spots along her sides and legs are exposed. From one good look, Wren is able to discern that she’s bruised from head to toe; the stain of dried blood across her temple and the slight limp to her walk are definitely all the indications that Wren needs to displace her earlier worry.

“You look like shit.” Wren hooks her weapon back into her harness.

Jayde barks out a laugh, and then winces. “I feel like shit.” Leaning heavily against the wall, she slides to the floor.

Donny scrambles to her side in nearly an instant, squatting down to check her pulse.

“I’m alright Donny, I just need a minute.”

“What the hell happened?” Wren cautiously checks the worst of Jayde’s injuries on approach. There’s still blood dripping onto the floor from the side of her ribs marks the worst of her wounds, but she’s somehow still conscious. At least, there’s that to be thankful for. Although for how long, Wren can’t be sure.

“What’re you doing here?” Jayde counters, wincing again when Wren tears off a piece of her shirt to press against her bare skin.

The cloth is soaked with her blood within seconds. Shit.

“This pack business.” She turns to Donny, even manages a solid glare. “You shouldn’t have brought her.”

“I didn’t have a choice – no one was that at least listening to me!” Donny’s brows knit in obvious concern, “and I was scared something was going to happen.”

“And obviously something did,” Wren interjects thinly, loosening her hold to drop the measly piece of cloth to the floor. “Besides, now I’m here and I can help.”

”I’ll be fine,” Jayde says brusquely. “I’ll…heal in no time.” She tries to bat Wren’s hand away feebly, but her strength is so depleted that a fly would have done a better job at moving it.

“Not unless you don’t bleed to death first.” She counters. Ignoring her comment, Wren tears another piece of her tank top to press into the woman’s side. Then she takes one of Jayde’s hands to rest where her hand had been moments ago. “Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” Turning to Donny, Wren gestures for him to grab Jayde’s arm. “I’ll need help moving her in the other room.”

“You got it.”

Together they manage to rise, the taller woman unsteadily getting her feet. Jayde titters forward for a moment, her balance painstakingly unstable before her eyes seem to snap at attention. Together, all three of them make their way past the long hallway until they’re able to find the study.

Wren shoulders the door open and within seconds they’ve gently laid Jayde across the sofa, who pants and glances down at the slight discoloration of her skin.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything? There’s gotta be a medkit around here somewhere.” When Wren turns to leave and venture down the hall, Jayde stops her by calling out her name.

“I’ll be fine, Wren.” Jayde mutters through bared teeth. Donny whines from behind her, his shoulders hunched over and his expression sullen until she reaches up to pat him. Mid-way, she drops her hand and winces.

“Nope. That’s it. I’ll be right back.” Ignoring her protests, Wren searches the cabinets of their bathroom and lets out a triumphant cry when she finds it – an entire box, seemingly untouched and tucked away in the corner of their medicine cabinet. She wipes the dust that’s on top before washing away the dirt off her hands.

By the time she heads back, Jayde looks marginally better – some of the colour returning back to her cheeks but the wound by her side keeps Wren’s attention. Slightly frowning, Wren fishes through the box until she’s able to find what she’s looking for. “So, are you going to continue being a pain in the ass – or are you gonna tell me what happened?”

“Like I said, it’s pack business.”

“So, a pain in the ass then?” Wren takes a cotton and drenches it in rubbing alcohol before administering it across her skin.

Jayde hisses then snarls in frustration. Her snarl turns into a sharp yelp after Wren increases the pressure.

“Sorry.”

“Pff.” Jaydge manages some semblance of a laugh, until the effort makes her groan in pain. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m not gonna lie, I kinda am.” She removes the cotton, relieved to see the worst part of her bruise have stopped bleeding. “No offense.”

“None taken.” When Jayde tries to touch the spot she’s cleaned, Wren slaps her hand away.

“Don’t touch it.”

“Yes doctor.” She smirks. Her smile falters as another surge of pain has her jolting up; the distinct sound of cracking as her bone began remaking themselves increases Wren’s worry. “Where did you learn to do this anyway? Med school?”

Wren pulls back to give her a droll stare. “You think if I went to med school I’d end up here – as a nighthunter?”

“It’s just a question.” Jayde grunts, her tone defensive.

“A dumb one.” She snorts. Placing a gauze on top – she jerks her chin towards Donny, whose been struck staring this entire time. “Can you help me wrap this up?”

Nodding, he takes one end of the long piece of cloth and helps to gingerly wrap it around her until Jayde’s entire stomach is covered.

“And to answer your question, you kinda have to pick up a few things when you’ve got no one else to looking out for you –except yourself.” Wren takes a step back to admire her handiwork. It’s not the best, but it’ll do. “I’ve had my fair share of injuries – nothing too serious, but I had to learn to patch myself up when I couldn’t pay any hospital bills.”

Jayde mutters a soft thank you, her forest green eyes staring up at her as if seeing her for the first time. “This’ll help.”

“You’re welcome.” Standing upright again, Wren folds her arms. “Now I told you a secret, you owe me an explanation in return. A favor for a favor, right?”

She seems to hesitate. “I –”

“I know you’re Cal’s beta and all, but I’m his mate.” Wren says the words sharper than she intended, but the message is clear all the same. She won’t abandon him – or her. “And whatever affects him – or the pack, is my business too.”

From across the room, Donny whistles and seems to be fighting a smile. Even Jayde, albeit taken aback seems pleased with Wren’s disposition.

“Alright then, Cal’s mate.” She sits a little straighter, and braces one arm across her stomach. “Tensions have been high here – really high since Cal’s been gone. Some of Shaw’s wolves have been stirring up trouble and blaming it on us.” Her nose flared and her jaw clenches before she adds. “I’ve tried to do what I can, but I don’t have the same pull an alpha does. I can’t exert my will over them like Cal can.” She rubs her eyes, “I’m only trying my damndest to keep the peace – the last thing this town needs is a bunch of pissed off and over masculine wolves ripping into each other.”

“Tonight, didn’t seem very peaceful.”

Jayde gives her a sharp stare and even Donny appears a little annoyed and taken aback by her jab; from the appearance of a slight frown.

Wren tries to apologize, “sorry, you were saying?”

“Almost half of the pack was threatening to leave if Nick, Theo and Saline weren’t gone by tomorrow.” Her lips form a small sneer.  “I told them I would toss their asses out myself if they thought I was gonna leave a bunch of kids defenseless. Whether they like it or not – they’re pack too.”

“Smart woman.”

“Not smart enough. My threat fell on deaf ears. Instead of being scared, one of them demanded to challenge my rank.”

“I can’t imagine you taking that well.”

Jayde throws her a droll stare. “Yeah no shit. I tore that pup into shreds before he could touch me. Too bad it didn’t end there, the place erupted into chaos as soon as it was over. One of our own stabbed me right in the fucking stomach with a fork.” Jayde hisses, “too much fucking testosterone will apparently do that to you.”

“I…really missed a lot huh.” Donny blinks, his eyes widening in surprise.

“It sure sounds like it.” Wren adds shortly, a little stunned by the lengths the pack is willing to go. “But where are the kids now? I didn’t see them on my way up here.”

“Gone. As soon as they fight broke out, I knew it was dangerous to have them here, so I had Pete take them home. I should actually go check on them,” Jayde winces again as she tries to stand. “There’s no telling what will happen if anyone else realizes they’re alone.”

“Especially Shaw’s pack.” Wren mumbles in agreement. If anything, this shows they’ve been underestimating him this entire time. “But you shouldn’t go. You can barely stand as it is.”

As if driving her point home, Jayde tries to sit up but almost yelps before seemingly abandoning the idea to foul curses and squeezing a sofa pillow with enough pressure for it to pop open.

“You need to stay here and rest. We can check on them.”

Her entire body seems to go ramrod stiff. She clenches her jaw as she meets Wren’s stare. “But as Beta –”

“You can’t very well protect anybody when you look like this, can you?” Wren gestures at her. “You’ll get yourself hurt even worse. So, let us do the heavy lifting - we can take it from here, right Donny?”

Donny nods eagerly. His eyes suddenly shine a lot brighter with something akin to determination. “We won’t let anything happen to them.”

Seconds pass until Jayde nods. “Alright. I know you’re right. I’m no good to anyone like this.” She closes her eyes briefly, allowing her head to loll to one side.

“But before we go – there’s something we need to ask you.” Wren begins, placing more emphasis on her words as she continues talking, “I need to know find Cal.”

“I’ve already told Donny all I know.” Jayde replies; her eyes flickering back to her. “He was going to New York to meet with Kavinsky. It’s pointless sharing where they were supposed to meet – because it changed as soon as he got there.”

“I’d like to know just the same, maybe it’ll help in figuring something out.” Wren exchanges a glance with Donny, “at least until Nik’s lead pans out.”

“Grab me a pen and paper will you?”

“No need,” Wren withdraws her phone and hands the smart device to the woman. “Wherever they went couldn’t have been too far from their original meeting place.” She gnaws on her lower lip, apprehension filling her chest at the thought of Cal being ambushed. “If worse comes to worse, we could try checking a couple places around the surrounding area.”

“That’s a stretch and you know it.” Jayde hands her back the phone, her expression softening a little. “But if anyone can find him – it’s you. You two…have a bond,” she says the words slowly, as though realizing it suddenly herself. “It’s going to lead you back to each other.”

“Wow, I –” Wren swallows back an abrupt lump in her throat. Jayde has never said anything with such sincerity to her before. “Thanks Jayde.”

The wolf inclines her head. “Just bring him home, won’t you?”

“I will.”

A look passes between them and Wren thinks for the first time since the start of their rocky relationship – Jayde and her could become friends. Well, almost. There’s still a lot of things they don’t agree on but one thing they certainly had in common was Cal. And for her, that’s more than enough.

With a parting nod, Wren motions Donny for follow her as she crosses the room.

Donny rushes to embrace Jayde before dutifully taking to the halls and maintaining a few inches behind her. “So, what’s the plan?”

“We check on the kids first. With everyone else being here – it’s vulnerable for them to be alone. Then we check in with Nik –” But it appears Nik beats her to it. He’s sent her a series of messages detailing where he thinks Cal’s location is.

According to Harlow and Adrian at least; they’ve scheduled a meeting with Kavinsky that isn’t too far from Cal’s original meeting place. It has to be it. There’s no other explanation for the size and distance. “This has got to be it,” Wren hasn’t realized she’s even spoke aloud until she feels Donny’s chin resting across her shoulder to peek at her phone.

“That’s where he is?” He grumbles, “Then what are we waiting for?! We need to go!”

“Woah, slow down.”

The fresh air is a welcoming smell as Donny closes the entrance doors behind them. She inhales deeply, letting it almost engulf her lungs before she returns her attention to him. God, she’ll never taken fresh air for granted ever again. “We still have to check on Nick and the others.”

“But Pete’s there.”

“Something might have happened; we have to at least make sure.” One of them has to be adult in this scenario – it might as well be her. As eager as she is to get on the first place to New York, she made a promise to Jayde and she intends on keeping it. Although, she hands her phone off to Donny as soon as they’re inside her truck; ordering him to find her one before they left.

“Just one ticket?”

From the corner of her eyes, he’s staring at her in disbelief. “Yup.” She answers without missing a beat. The truck revs to life before she backpedals out of the parking lot.

“You’re joking right?” He bares teeth at her. “After everything that’s happened today, you can’t just leave me behind! That’s total bull!”

“It’s precisely because of what’s happened today why I’m leaving you behind kid.” She glances at him for a moment, she hopes the look in her eyes is enough to implore him to understand. “Cal would never forgive me if something happened to you – and I’m a little too fond of you myself.”

“Bullshit. There’s no way I’m staying here when my gut’s telling me Cal needs my help.”

Her hands around the wheel tighten. Her gut is telling her that too.“I know you’re angry Donny,” she uses his first name and his eyes widen in surprise. That’s how serious she is about this. “But you’re not thinking straight and I can’t make sure you’re safe – and fight the asshole that’s taken Cal at the same time.”

“I can take care of myself.” He says defensively.

“Have you ever killed someone before?” Her voice is flat and cool, but she has to drive her point home for him to realize the extent of how far she’s willing to go. As much of him as a wolf – there’s just as much that’s still a kid. “A ghoul? A vampire? Another wolf – anyone?”

He hesitates. “No.”

“Have you fought anything with that intent? It’s either you or them – there’s no middle ground and I’m not just talking about a bunch of wolves sparring – no kid, I’m talking about the real deal. I’m talking about blood and entrails, and skin tearing -”

“Oh god, gross! No way.”

“That’s exactly why I can’t bring you with me. Who knows what’ll happen once I get there? I need to be prepared. I need to be focused, and having you with me is too much of liability.” She glances at him then, her eyes unblinking as she waits for his response.

“I thought you said we’re in this together.” His shoulders sag and his eyes flit to the floor.

Without thinking, she reaches over with her free hand to find his and gives it a comforting squeeze. “We are, but right now – I need you to be a team player, to help hold down the fort until we get back.” She manages a timid smile. “Nick, Theo and Saline – they all need you to help keep them safe.”

“You said something earlier that I didn’t really…” He trails off for a moment, brows creasing together when she glances at him. “You love my brother?”

Yes.

Every fiber of her being resonates with that one simple fact. It’s not just an idea now, it’s something she believes with every part of her body. It’s still exhilarating but she doesn’t feel as scared as she had been before – admitting it was the first step. And now all she wants to do is tell him herself, to hold him in her arms and say the words that he’s waited forever to hear.

“Yes, apparently those strong feelings I have for him does actually have a word.” She tries to make a joke that ends up falling flat at the thought of losing him. She can’t lose him when she’s only just found him. “I love Cal.” Her throat goes a little hoarse, “he means the world to me and I won’t let you down. I’ll bring him back Donny, I promise.”

When she spares another glimpse at him - his eyes bore into hers with such sincerity that Wren thinks he isn’t just some kid anymore. He’s more than that – he’s finally coming into his own and his dark yet solemn eyes are almost glassy as he nods and lets out a strangled breath. “Thank god. Then I’ll keep them safe, and you bring back Cal.”

They shake on it. “It’s a deal.”

-

[merlinficreview]

Accidental Memory in Case of Death Review Part 1!

Accidental Memory in the Case of Death by derryere

Word Count 74987

 So I know it’s been forever but working night shift really does fuck normal basic human functions all over the place and that’s why I haven’t been so on top of my shit here.

This fic is my favorite fic ever. Seriously. It’s even a reincarnation fic which I normally hate. I was scrolling through the Merlin tag the other day and noticed that this had just recently been posted on AO3 so what better time to review it? There aren’t any chapters so I’ll just have to break this up some other way.

As always italics represent direct quotes from the fic and bold represents italicized writing within the fic.

Let’s do this!

“He takes whatever sleep he can get.” That’s our opener. Not looking good for this kid here. Mystery character is sleeping on a train bench. Like a hobo. Smells like fic!Merlin to me!

“The compartments' low windows angle the morning sun, letting the light through and colouring it a shade of brown in even, rectangular shapes on the platform floor. He blinks and numbly takes notice, wading through the brightness of it, not quite sure what day it is or how to differentiate this morning from any given morning of the past three years.” Well that’s a sort of depressing outlook. I’ve been there before though.

Mystery character makes it to campus and goes to class to sleep, just to be woken up by a friend named “Art” who appears to still be high from the previous night. Sometimes he and Art sleep through their classes, “On days like that, they quarantine the back of the hall, splaying themselves over the chairs that weren't made for sleep at all, dozing off to the sound of lectures they'd attended before in previous years but in which they—every time again—had forgotten to pay attention.”

What is going on that this character needs so much sleep? Why is he not sleeping at home? Does he have narcolepsy? I am concerned. Also, pay the fuck attention. College is way too expensive to be failing multiple classes multiple times. P.S. and spoiler alert: “Art” is not Arthur which took me a ridiculously long time to realize the first time I read this. You’re welcome.

Mr. Narcolepsy observes his fellow classmates and this is where, though we don’t know it yet, we get the introduction to the second half of our pair: “Then that particular group of girls who always sit together—and out of all there's only one he thinks is hot but she never looks up at the right time—sitting next to Heineken, a broody kid who takes his skateboard to class, and whose real name is forever lost due to a supposed incident during first year introduction that involved a beer bottle, an unsavoury way of putting it to use and a partner too drunk to care.” Ok then.

“Someone calls him, a mate or someone's mate, a sharp, ‘Oi, Tony,’ usually toward the end of the lecture or maybe even after it, as they saunter their way towards the cafeteria. ‘You up for it, tonight?’” Tony? What the hell?

Ok, yes I’ve read this before so I already knew this but the first time I read this I was hella confused.

Anyways, Tony goes home and tells his mother he is going out. He parties all night, which we don’t see and this is actually fine because the way it’s written, it doesn’t feel like an eye roll worthy, SHOW US, DON’T TELL US moment. Nothing feels missed by us not being at this party.

So then Tony goes home and awkwardly goes to his mother’s room, loudly eating cereal, sitting at her “bedside.” He wakes her up and they have a conversation which is written kind of oddly because we only get his side of the conversation. I originally read this as he was talking to her on the phone and was confused as to why he went to her room to call her, and also a little concerned. Tony tells her to go back to sleep. Why are you being so weird about your mother, Tony?

Magical Paragraph Break with: “(day one)”

Arthur and Merlin are having a conversation about being king. Merlin asks Arthur what the one thing he would do for himself would be. Arthur’s response is, “’I don't know,’ he says. ‘Allow sparring indoors? Always wanted to do that. Like a sparring room, where you can, sort of—jump on the tables, and all, with the swords and . . . I don't know. I'll cut down on the dances, probably.’ He thinks about this for a moment, and then, ‘I hate dancing.’” Merlin makes fun of him but I think it’s kind of cute that Arthur wants to spar indoors. It would be dangerous so they’d have to make up some rules so no random castle worker doesn’t accidentally walk in on the middle of a sparring match and get hurt. Anyways, what I like about Arthur’s response is that it’s 100 percent something for him and wouldn’t negatively impact anyone (unless there were no rules) and Arthur probably so rarely just got to have fun growing up so this could be the one thing he can do for enjoyment. Merlin says the one thing he would do is paint the castle green. I also approve of this.

Merlin then changes the subject and asks about Arthur’s future in terms of getting married. He gets really upset during the conversation, you know because he’s in love with Arthur. Merlin asks Arthur if he’s even been in love and Arthur says he has. Then there’s awkward silence until Arthur asks Merlin the same question. Merlin asks how one knows when they are in love and Arthur says Merlin would know. Then Arthur kisses him and they race to the castle which of course ends up with Merlin straddling Arthur, as you do, “Merlin doesn't feel the gifted victory is any less of a victory when he rolls them over in a bit of a scuffle and ends up on top—straddling Arthur, holding his hands to the ground over his head. Arthur is beaming up at him, eyes bright with the playfulness of the game, and he wordlessly laces his fingers with Merlin's—sending both their hearts skidding and sliding and falling all over themselves within their chests. Merlin fills up and then runs over with it, with the goofy grins and wide eyes, and leans down in a brief, quick movement—lightly kissing Arthur, for just a moment.” What I like about this is that it’s kind of sweet? Like even though it includes the annoying cliché of boys being boys playing and oops, now one is on top of the other trope, it’s kind of adorable.

Back to Tony: Tony is once again sleeping in a public place. I don’t understand this. Why doesn’t he sleep at home like a normal person? Quit bothering your mother and go to your room and sleep, dude.

Tony recognizes someone and thinks about how he occasionally sees people from high school on the train on Fridays going back home. “Usually, Anthony has no one's company to resent but his own.” Damn, Tony.

The person he recognizes is Heineken, whose actual name we don’t know yet. They make awkward eye contact and the train comes to an abrupt unscheduled stop. Heineken lights a cigarette to which Tony tells him he can’t, so Heineken leaves the train. Fair enough.

Tony gives him an annoying party pooper lecture about how the train could leave ASAP and Heineken is just 2Kool4Skool so he points out that the situation is sketch anyways because the doors to the train shouldn’t be unlocked. P.S. spellcheck doesn’t highlight 2Kool4Skool.

Anyways, Tony gives in to peer pressure and follows Heineken. Heineken finds some ruined stone structure.

Tony makes super awkward conversation, “’You're a second year, aren't you.’ Anthony strolls after as the guy skips over the wall, following its inclining path—up a slight hilling easily mistaken for higher grasses. ‘What of it,’ he says, flicking what's left of his smoke to the ground, stepping on it as he goes. Anthony shrugs. ‘Nothing. Just . . . ‘ He pushes himself off on his knee, climbing up the ascend. ‘We have some classes together, don't we?’ ‘Do we?’ A quick, wry glance. ‘Never noticed.’ Noting the thick sarcasm to that, Anthony nods while pursing his lips into a thin line. He looks down and pretends he and his friends haven't—once or twice in a distant past—on seeing this guy skate across the campus path, shouted something ugly in his direction for the sake of a laugh.” Yikes. Be more of an asshole, Tony. It’s also super weird that he’s hanging out with Heineken like this after he’s been so horrible to him.

Heineken continues on even though Tony suggests they go back, “The momentum gives him a bit too much movement and he nearly runs the last few steps, jogging into the field before setting in a slow walk toward the single boulder placed—quite randomly—in its middle.” Sword in the Stone boulder maybe?

As they approach the boulder, Anthony asks Heineken what his name is and Heineken refuses to tell him, pointing out the nickname Tony and his stupid friends gave him. Then, “’Look at this,’ he says, tentatively pulling at something sticking out of the veined, grey surface. Anthony turns, comes to stand closer and feels a cackle of his own escape his lips at the sight of eroded metal—a distinct hilt of some sort—peeking out of the stone.” Heineken tries to pull it out; he fails so Anthony gives it a try. For a second, it seems like it’s going to work but then there’s a magical gust of wind and the next thing we know, Tony is being woken up by the train conductor and told to get off the train. Heineken isn’t there.

Tony walks him and when he gets in, he wakes up his poor mother. He tells her he fell asleep on the train, “’Yes, well, that wouldn't happen,’ she tells him as he makes for the open kitchen, rifling through the cabinets, ‘if you went to sleep at decent hours. Like the normal human being I raised you to be, yes. Not a hamster.’” She knows what’s up.

Tony goes to bed and has some weirdass dreams about going into the woods and killing boars with spears. Gee, I wonder what that’s all about?

“It stays strange when he looks at the microwave and marvels at it, thinks: how peculiar. It is strange when he scours the room for a pendant he forgot somewhere before realising that What, and What? And that he doesn't have a pendant, hasn't ever been given one by a great-uncle because he doesn't have a great-uncle and it stays strange throughout the day—giving him headaches, confusion thumping at his temples, and he thinks it's perhaps really gone on for too long, he's gone without regular sleep for too many years and that's it, he's gone mad, he's gone off his rocker and this is how— “ So... Tony’s having a bit of an off day.

Tony’s weird friend Art calls and asks him to hang out. “He goes out that night. He goes, Fuck the exams, and changes his shirt, ruffles his hair and—looking in the bathroom mirror—hollows his cheeks, slaps the sides of his face to a quick rhythm. He listens for the telltale honking of the small car when it stops out in the street, and when it comes he jogs down the stairs, keys in hand. I'm going, he calls out to the rooms of the house. Be back later.” Well that’s an interesting way to get ready.

“’Wait, Anthony, come here for a second,’ his mother replies from her bedroom behind the kitchen, and he goes—smiles in the doorway as she makes a vague gesture for him to come near, help her out without actually saying it. He crouches by her side, then, lets her hold on to his neck as he lifts her out of the chair and sets her down on the bed.”

I don’t understand the relationship Tony has with his mother. Is she an invalid? Why is he lifting her out of chairs and tucking her into bed? She was perfectly capable of walking over to him the night before.

At the party, Tony and Art and another friend of theirs get into a fight. Tony hits his head. “It could be his addled brain reacting to the blow that confuses him for a moment with a rushing flash of things he doesn't remember ever happening but that are still in his head.” Ominous.

Tony says to Art that they’ll have a story to tell people about the party. “’Not much of a story, though, issit?’ Art says. ‘Some tosser shoved at you and you bravely retaliated by fainting the fuck all over yourself. Well done, Tones. Well done.’” Ahahah nice one, Art. That actually made me laugh.

Tony not at all subtlety brings up Heineken to Art and asks what his real name is. Art says his last name is Hawk, so we finally realize Heineken is supposed to be Merlin, what with the name connection. Tony gets super defensive about the rumors surrounding Hawk and the beer bottle. Art says the other person involved in the incident tried to sue Hawk. “’He's supposedly really filthy rich, you know,’ Art cuts in. ‘The Hawk bloke. So, yeah, all I'm saying is—you never know what his family did to keep it all hush hush. You know how they are, old money and all. Don't take very kindly to bottles up the arse.’ ‘This is bullshit,’ Anthony says, deadpan, adding a small laugh. ‘Seriously, Arthur. This is complete bullshit.’” See here’s where my confusion is, I don’t understand why the author decided to call Tony’s friend Arthur. It just makes everything so much more confusing which is why it took me forever to decipher who was supposed to be whom.

After the party, Art and Tony get something to eat and Art tells Tony there is something different about him, cue flashback annnnnnd scene.

Magical Paragraph Break: “(day two)”

Arthur decides that he and Merlin should take a little trip and Merlin is beautifully sarcastic about it. Arthur teases Merlin that he’s going to take someone else, which of course Merlin can’t have.

So they go on their trip, which is on foot for some reason. “Halfway up the incline, Merlin gives up and collapses on the dusty road, all sweat and heaving breaths, one arm slung over his face. He hears Arthur come to stop a while ahead and chuckles, breathlessly, as he yells, ‘Don't worry about me, Arthur!’ He vaguely waves his free hand in the air, dismissing the approaching man. ‘You just keep on keeping on. Really. I'll be fine. Here. Dying. You just—just save yourself, go, don't look back.’” Merlin is me any time I’m required to do anything physical.

Arthur offers Merlin a piggyback ride and it’s adorable even though Arthur is sweaty and gross. “’You are a very sweaty man,’ Merlin tells Arthur a while later, cheek resting on his shoulder.  Arthur, a bit breathless with exertion, tries for a sarcastic laugh but gets as far as a puff of breath. ‘I am carrying you up a hill,’ he says on an exhale. ‘You might want—to show—a bit more—‘ The gravelly stones crumble under them, and Arthur steadies his footing. ‘—Gratitude.’ Merlin smiles into his neck, holds on a bit tighter and says, ‘You are soooo strong.’ And, ‘The power of your arms is enough to render us mortals speechless.’ Arthur grumbles and Merlin moves his lips close to his ear, adding a quiet, ‘My Arthur. So chivalrous.’ ‘Shut up,’ Arthur says, but strokes his thumb along the side of Merlin's knee all the same—small, continuous rhythms all the way to the top.”

They look over the hill at the kingdom and makeout a bit. End flashback.

Meanwhile, Tony is losing his shit. He’s sitting in the classroom the day of an exam and waits for Hawk to show up. “Anthony is walking before managing to register the way his heartbeat picks up, the way his nerves—already frazzled and out of sorts all weekend—jolt to attention like a warning as he approaches the boy. ‘We need to talk,’ is how he starts, standing closer than strictly necessary—angry for no good reason.” Be creepier, Tony.

Tony is super confrontational about the train situation which I had honestly forgotten about for some reason. He asks Hawk if they were on the train together and Hawk gives a nonanswer. Serves Tony right. “With huffed breath, Anthony lets his hand drop. ‘What do you mean what if—what does that even mean? Jesus, I—was there a crash? I mean . . . ‘ He runs his tongue over his lip, nervously, blinking rapidly. ‘Something's wrong. In my—‘ In a shaky pause, he briefly touches his forehead. "I can't—think right. We . . . got off the train, right? That wasn't—I didn't dream that we . . . ‘ At this the boy's bravado slips a little, and there's a bit of an edge to his voice when he replies, ‘I don't know.’” Tony gets kind of mean and blames it all on Hawk. Hawk rightfully tells him to fuck right off. Then Hawk just awesomely just skateboards away, ignoring the fact that they have a test.  Tony thinks about following him. “He curves the board as he reaches the double doors, pushing them open without even stopping, and Anthony is going to shout something—something insulting, loud, anything, but the intention gets stuck in his throat at the familiar yet impossibly alien idea of something like this, of him and the boy and a fight, a market and—oh, don't walk away!—the stumbling, the laughter, like nothing that had ever happened before and yet—“ Awww, memories!

Tony goes back to the room for the exam and continues to have a fractured reality, getting confused about the scene in episode four of Merlin with the golden chalice. Damn straight, I knew the episode number right off the top of my head, in case you were wondering.

Anthony leaves the exam hall and catches up to Hawk, grabbing his arm. This next whole scene is so good, you’re getting it all.

“The boy's arm tenses under his grip. The movement of muscles shifts against his palm, through the fabric of his plaid shirt, and Anthony's heart is sent racing. The inexplicable reaction of recognition has him fixing his jaw, clenching it, trying to hold it down—keep at bay the dozens of ideas, thoughts and pleas that push at his mind, clearly not his, never his, yet somehow there, like a noise that's been turned up.  The boy doesn't move. He stares at Anthony with a furious lack of understanding, a tenseness, a sense of suspense in those expressive, wide-set eyes. It is such an odd face, such a peculiar sharpness and build, but he feels no need to look at any particular part of it—the image so easily detailed in his mind already—thinking of a birthmark on the side of the boy's neck before his gaze flitters down to see it.  His breath leaves him as his hand slips down the boy's arm, holding on still but now to his wrist. Swallowing, he runs his thumb over the edge of the sleeve—then tugs under it, brushing over the warm skin, back and forth on the inside of his wrist.  ‘Merlin,’ he says, croakily, not sure what it means but feeling it all the way to the pit of his stomach.  The boy takes in a shaky breath. ‘Fuck,’ he whispers on the exhale, and his fingers curl down—briefly touching Anthony's before he snatches back his hand, fisting it at his side. He glances around quickly, as though wary of anyone having seen them, and on finding the quad as good as deserted save for distanced voices—a faraway visitor taking a picture of old corridor arches—turns back to Anthony, licking his lips as he says,

‘Not here.’ And, ‘Come on.’”

How good is that? I like the, “noise that’s been turned up,” description. And Anthony calling him, “Merlin.” Hawk realizing that he’s not the only one with these visions and giving in for a second. My heart, guys.

So then they introduce themselves. Hawk’s first name is Emory and he tells Anthony they are going to his house.

They get to Emory’s apartment and there’s some awkward frantic frottage. The part I want to point out is this,  “’Fuck.’ Emory tightens his hold, the rolling, upward movements of his hips losing accuracy as he gasps out, ‘Arthur, god, Arthur, don't—‘ All Anthony can do is reply with a low, ‘Merlin,’ and, ‘Merlin, Merlin, Mer—‘ as he kisses his way down his jaw, tilting up to get his teeth on those lips--Christ, those lips—but Emory turns his head with strained certainty, muscles moving as he clenches his jaw. Anthony tries to follow it, but Emory stops him with a forced, ‘Don't.’” Emory’s reaction to Anthony calling him Merlin is important later. For Reasons. Afterwards, Anthony just leaves without a word.

Magical Paragraph Break: “(day three)”

Merlin is super busy doing the work of a bunch of other servants because Arthur has given him nothing to do for two days. Arthur finds him working and says they should go for a ride. Merlin tells him he can’t. “Arthur wants to know why. Why, why must Merlin ruin all the fun, must insist on getting himself absolutely filthy doing a job that isn't even his to begin with rather than have mad fun with Arthur—which is, theoretically speaking, more or less his job. ‘Because,’ Merlin explains quietly, ‘the rest of the household dislikes me enough as it is.’ Arthur gives him a disbelieving look. He pushes off the table, flopping onto the bench next to Merlin without much grace. ‘Why would they dislike you?’ Merlin pauses for a moment. ‘Do you know of any other servant who gets time off to laze about with his master because it's too hot to work?’” I can’t say I blame the other servants. I’d be so pissed if I was working my ass off and there was one coworker who I looked over at and was doing nothing. Oh hey…

Arthur then proceeds to follow Merlin around bothering him when he’s working. It’s cute but oh man I would be so pissed if I was Merlin. Arthur spends his time making sexual comments and asking stupid questions, “Arthur flitters behind him as he works, following him around with that stupid grin, chewing on the fruit and asking what's that (‘A spatula.’ ‘Oh, right.’), what was that? (‘Dunno.’ ‘Felt like—the ground was, uh, shaking.’ ‘They're probably just taking down the chandelier upstairs.’), and once, when they're alone, sliding close with a hey, hey, what're you doing? ‘Washing the cutlery, Arthur.’ ‘Is the cutlery dirty, then?’ ‘What?’ ‘Is it very, very dirty, Merlin?’ ‘What?’ ‘Is it very, very—‘” 

HAHA Four for you, Arthur, that made me laugh. I’ll even forgive the mess that is the structure of that paragraph.

Merlin throws dirty dishwater at Arthur, they play fight and then Arthur decides to help Merlin wash dishes. “Merlin raises his eyebrows at it, but doesn't look up—doesn't say a thing. Arthur, all nonchalance and soapy clumsiness, starts to idly chatter about the feast. The new servant maid who set fire to the tapestry. The tapestry they used to have in the east wing with the weird imagery that made no sense until someone hung it upside down one day, and once it did make sense it had to be taken down altogether.” This is hilarious. I could totally see something like that happening.

Afterwards, they make out a little in a corridor. I feel like they could have easily been caught but what do I know. End Scene!

Anthony is still having a meltdown. He googles “King Arthur” and “Merlin”, learning nothing, then for extra funsies googles “gay.” He starts watching gay porn but can’t get into it. Then he has a little flashback of Arthur and Merlin and has a big gay crisis about it after he gets turned on.

Anthony spends the next few days hiding out in his room with all these new memories. His mother reminds him he’s missing another exam. Damn, how long has Anthony been locked up in his room? How many exams does this class have?

Anyways, Anthony misses the exam but hangs outside the room looking through the doors to see if he can find Emory. Like a total fucking weirdo. Art comes out of the classroom and Anthony asks him if Emory is in there. “’I don't know?’ Art says by way of a question, looking puzzled, as if unsure of the funny in the joke. ‘I don't give a shit? Look, Anthony, are you—‘ ‘You were just in there, what d'you mean you don't know? I mean, for fuck's sake, the guy has a skateboard with him, how fucking hard is it to miss someone walking around with a—‘” Calm down, Anthony. Damn. Not everyone is obsessed with Emory like you are.

Anthony then stalks his way over to Emory’s apartment and bangs on his door so much a neighbor comes out and tells him to leave since Emory isn’t there. Anthony just goes back the next day. Damn, dude. 

He ends up buzzing the neighbor’s apartment and the neighbor tells him Emory is at work at the supermarket nearby. Anthony then stalks Emory at his place of work. Not. Fucking. Cool. He demands that they talk. “’It's . . . ‘ He sighs, rubs a hand to his brow. ‘It's getting worse. I don't know. I keep on—remembering. You. And, well, these things that we—‘”  Emory isn’t a fan of having this conversation at work, you know, with coworkers around. So they go into the alley behind the store. Which wasn’t a very good idea because then Anthony shoves him up against the wall and the start more awkward frotting. They continue calling each other Arthur and Merlin.

When it’s over, Emory attempts to go back to work and they have a little fight because Anthony doesn’t want him to leave. “Emory, going from wary to a kind of angry in a flash, lashes out in a hissed, ‘Listen, you're having your weird, quarter-life gay—crisis of—whatever. I don't care. And somehow, ironically, you've decided to take it out on me. So excuse me if I'm not thrilled to—‘ ‘Do not,’ Anthony interrupts with another half-aborted step. ‘Do not make me out to be the crazy one. Don't even—You were there. On that train. Out there. You were there. You—when I touch you, you call me—‘ ‘Shut up.’ Emory says it with a threatening finger in Anthony's direction, then again, ‘Shut up. Stop.’” What I like about this is that we get another subtle hint that Emory isn’t 100% cool with all of this.

Emory ditches work and they go back to the train to find the field again. It’s not there so they decide to drive up the next day. Emory tells Anthony to pick him up at his parents’ house.

The next day Anthony discovers that Emory lives in a massive house. Anthony runs into Emory’s brother who knows exactly who he is since they attended the same school. Emory finds them and they leave on Anthony’s motorcycle.

They reach the field and the big boulder isn’t there. After looking around they sit down in the grass and Anthony asks Emory about the big house. “He turns away with a scowl. ‘Don't talk to me like you know me.’ Anthony stares at the back of his head. He frowns, notes the tense set of his shoulders under his worn shirt—the taut lines of his back. Reaching out, soothingly stroking the small, exposed stretch of skin along the side of his lower back, Anthony quietly says, ‘I do know you.’” Poor Emory. Anthony needs to fucking chill.

Anthony asks Emory if he remembers other people from back then. “’They're not my memories.’ Looking at Anthony, then, serious and nothing like the short glances from before, Emory says, ‘We're not them, you know.’ ‘We look the same,’ Anthony replies, feeling weirdly defensive of this point. ‘Yeah, but that's a part of the mindfuck. And that's what it is.’ He keeps his gaze level, earnest. ‘A mindfuck.’”

Emory mentions how confusing the whole thing is, “’I know. Me too.’ Anthony tries to catch his eye. ‘But I remember him, though. All of it. It's like . . . at least it feels like I'm remembering you.’ ‘I am not him. I'm not.’” So again, we get the hint that Emory is super uncomfortable with all of this and Anthony is oblivious.

When they get to Emory’s apartment, Anthony asks him to go get a drink with him and Emory tells him he wants to ignore whatever’s been going on and that he and Tony aren’t friends. Anthony is upset by this but he doesn’t really argue. After Emory goes inside, Anthony calls up his friend Art to hang out. He and Art go to a club where he hooks up with a guy who looks like Merlin/Emory. Art catches him and asks him about it. Anthony gets super defensive and then leaves.

That’s it for this part. Off to an interesting start. I like how Anthony and Emory have different names and personalities from their previous incarnations. I also like how much the flashbacks/memories negatively affect them. Often times when you read a reincarnation fic, Arthur and Merlin just kind of are like, “huh. Ok then!” and it’s all easy peasy. This feels like something much more organic to what would happen if this was a real situation and I like that. It also like Emory’s constant insistence that he isn’t Merlin, something Anthony isn’t quite willing to grasp, which will end up causing a bunch of problems later on. My only criticism would be that the structure of some of the paragraphs is odd but whatever. It’s not so bad that it distracts too much from the story.

Until Next Time:

[noroark]

Actions and Words

Pairing: Jean Pierre Polnareff x Muhammad Avdol

Rating: T (Language)

Summary: Polnareff and Avdol share a hotel room. It's early in the morning—much too early to get up and start the day—and they're both wide awake. Since neither of them can go back to sleep, they pass the time by having a talk. It starts out as idle conversation, but it quickly takes a different direction. Suddenly, they're in each other's arms. It was inevitable. They both know how it happened, and yet it still feels like there's something they don't understand.

(Here it is! Hopefully you’ll find it delightfully cheesy rather than awkward, cloying, or annoyingly cliche. According to my sister, it’s “good shit”. I guess that’s all that really matters, since after all, she’s the one who wanted it.)

AO3 - http://archiveofourown.org/works/10475163

FFN - https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12422848/1/

Another night, another hotel.

Polnareff had lost track of how many hotels he had stayed in over the course of his travels. Even though each hotel had varied in its quality and tendency to attract enemy Stands, they had all blended in Polnareff's mind and become indistinguishable from one another. His collective perception of hotels was that they were filthy, dangerous places with bathrooms that were even filthier and five times as dangerous. Hotels should have been a refuge from the trials of his journey, but that was rarely the case. Having a roof over his head protected Polnareff from the elements, but enemy Stands weren't like the weather: no amount of shelter could keep them from getting in. He was never truly safe.

The hotel in Luxor was different. Polnareff wasn't sure if it was a five star hotel, but to him, it was just as good. All in all, it provided a perfectly mundane experience. It was up to Polnareff's standards of cleanliness, and the beds were comfortable enough to afford him a good night's sleep—a sleep that hadn't been interrupted by any enemy Stands. The promise of a complementary breakfast was what had roused him awake at such an early hour.

Polnareff squinted at the clock, trying to make out the position of the hands in the faint light of dawn. It was around 5:15 a.m. Breakfast wouldn't be served until 6:30. There was more than an hour to go. Polnareff rammed the back of his head into his pillow and groaned. He had already committed to being awake, so he had no choice but to wait it out.

He stared at the ceiling, wearily searching for the shapes of animals in the stucco. He lost interest as soon as he remembered that there was an actual animal in his room—it took a couple seconds, at most. Iggy was hard to ignore. In an effort to keep his distance from Polnareff, he had wedged himself into one of the corners of the room. He was fast asleep, and his labored snoring was thunderous. A dog his size shouldn't have been able to make so much noise, but Iggy didn't care. It seemed that nothing could stand in the way of his mission to piss Polnareff off in as many ways possible.

Polnareff resented the fact that Iggy was in his room. It didn't make sense. Jotaro was by himself. Joseph was by himself. Meanwhile, Polnareff had to share his room with both Avdol and the dog. Logically, Iggy should have stayed with one of the others—but Avdol was at the behest of no such logic. He had insisted upon keeping Iggy in their room because he thought it would help Polnareff bond with him. On the contrary, he was only growing more and more fed up with the dog. He glared at Avdol, who lay in the bed next to his, all the while wondering how he was able to sleep through the noise.

It turned out that Avdol wasn't sleeping. The whites of his eyes stood out against the darkness of his face. His pupils were absently wandering the ceiling, much like Polnareff's had been moments before. Avdol didn't look nearly as well rested—perhaps he was wondering how Polnareff had managed to get any sleep at all. The thought of Avdol regretting his decision gratified Polnareff in a vindictive way.

Avdol was easily Polnareff's closest friend. While their relationship had been rocky at first, they became very close following a chain of events that had unfolded over the past week or so. Still, there was something about Avdol that frustrated Polnareff, but he didn't know what it was. This frustration manifested in a variety of ways. For example, Polnareff hadn't fought Avdol's decision to keep Iggy in their room. He hadn't been able to bring himself to argue with him, so he'd kept silent. It wasn't that Avdol had convinced him to change his mind—Polnareff still thought the idea was dumb, and it was. But since he hadn't said anything, he had to deal with the consequences.

What was it, then? Was it because Polnareff didn't want risk upsetting Avdol by turning him down? They had grown so close in such a short period of time that Polnareff didn't know the limits of their friendship, and he was scared to test their boundaries. He was normally an outspoken person, but he had a way of dancing around certain topics when he talked to Avdol—and yet he still found himself blurting out things to which Avdol would certainly take offense if it weren't for his temperate personality. In fact, it seemed like Polnareff went out of his way to offend him at times.

It didn't add up—that was what Polnareff kept telling himself. He told himself a lot of things like that, and jumped through all sorts of mental hoops to maintain the illusion that he didn't know why he was frustrated. There was never any doubt. Polnareff had known what his frustration was from the very moment those feelings had surfaced in his heart. Polnareff wasn't actually frustrated with Avdol—he was just a scapegoat. Polnareff was frustrated with himself. He was frustrated that he had those feelings, and that he couldn't let them out because he knew Avdol didn't feel the same. Because of that, Polnareff often felt like it was Avdol's fault that he was frustrated, and he took it out on him.

Most of the time, he still enjoyed his company, though.

Avdol noticed that Polnareff was staring at him. “You're awake,” he said. It was unlike him to point out something so obvious. He must have been really tired.

“Yup. I sure am.”

Avdol rolled onto his side. He grumbled, “If I'm awake, and you're awake, then I suppose it's only fair that Iggy wakes up too.”

“Can't argue with that.” Polnareff snickered and summoned Silver Chariot. The armored Stand materialized above him, pointing its rapier toward the slumbering Iggy. Polnareff thrust it like a javelin. It shot through the air, piercing the floor inches from Iggy's nose. “Time to get up, Lazybones!” he called, keeping his voice hushed.

Avdol and Polnareff shared a laugh as Iggy yelped and jolted to his feet. He frantically searched for the source of the disturbance, but Polnareff had already withdrawn Silver Chariot. Once he had gotten over his shock, Iggy turned to face the laughing men. The dog failed to see the humor in his rude awakening. He growled, sand pooling under his paws.

Avdol and Polnareff weren't laughing anymore.

“O-oh!” Polnareff cried, unable to keep his voice down. “There's no need for that, r-really!”

Iggy considered for a moment. Much to Avdol and Polnareff's relief, the sand faded away.

Polnareff clapped his hands and chimed, “Good dog! Good b—” Iggy launched himself at him, a flurry of teeth and slobber. Avdol chuckled again as Polnareff fought to tear the dog away.

“Gah!” Polnareff held Iggy, who was still kicking and biting, by the scruff of his neck. He spat out a wad of dog hair. “Avdol! You bastard. You knew this would happen, didn't you?”

Avdol shrugged, sitting up. “I didn't say you had to use Silver Chariot to wake him. That was your own choice.”

Polnareff muttered something unintelligible as he waited for Iggy to calm down. When he stopped fighting, Polnareff carefully placed him on the floor. He braced himself for another attack, but the dog merely flashed him a dirty look and trotted back to his corner. He curled up in a ball and closed his eyes, as if nothing had happened.

“It seems you two are starting to get along swimmingly!” Avdol remarked. “That's the fastest I've seen you settle a disagreement. It looks like Iggy didn't draw blood this time, too. You're getting there. At this rate, the two of you will be best of friends in no time.”

Polnareff rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You'll have to make me.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Man. Anybody who doesn't know you that well would think you're so calm and wise, but it's just an act. You're a big kid inside. You're always cracking jokes, and putting on costumes, and daring people to do weird stuff, and all sorts of crap like that.”

Avdol flashed a mischievous grin, fixating on one part of his accusation in particular. “I still can't believe you fell for my disguise back on the island. Seeing you accept it without question… it was hard to keep myself from laughing. I almost blew my cover then and there.”

“But… I…” Polnareff's face was hot with embarrassment. He whined, “I had no reason to think it was you! They told me you were dead, remember?” He froze, his expression pensive. “How did you pull that disguise off, anyway?”

“I rubbed some ash into my hair,” Avdol said, thoroughly amused, “and wore green robes instead of red.”

“And?”

“That's all.”

“Really? No makeup, no movie magic? I'll be damned if I didn't see a wrinkle or two.”

Avdol ran his fingers across his face. “I wouldn't be surprised if I gained some wrinkles or my hair actually did turn gray, what with all the stress I'd been dealing with.”

Polnareff gave him a light punch. “Stress? What could you possibly have been stressed about? You got to hang out on an island for a couple of weeks! Do you have any idea what the rest of us were up to while you were off on your little vacation? We fought so many Stands without you!” We...” He flailed his arms, perhaps in an effort to give momentum to his stalling train of thought. “We, uh… we fought the sun!”

“The Sun?” Avdol inquired. “What kind of Stand was the one that invoked The Sun?”

“No, no! None of that tarot crap! Only you would assume… well, I mean… it was probably the one representing The Sun card. I don't think it was the Ace of Hearts or whatever the hell. But I'm talking about an actual, literal sun. A big flaming ball of gas! We had to dig a hole in the ground, and there was this mirror, and… and then Jotaro threw a rock and we won. But we almost died! It was pretty funny, though. A mirror! Ha…” His voice trailed off as he realized he had forgotten what point he was trying to make.

Avdol blinked as he tried to piece together Polnareff's hasty retelling. “That, uh. That certainly sounds like it was stressful.” He carried on. “It wasn't all rest and relaxation for me on the island. Rest, yes. I needed to recover from my injuries. I can assure you that I was unable to relax, though.”

“Why's that?” Polnareff asked unthinkingly.

“Would you be able to relax if you were critically wounded?” He didn't wait for a response. “There were many things on my mind as well. I spent a lot of time thinking about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. All of you. Jotaro, Joseph, Kakyoin, you.”

Polnareff's eyelid twitched.

“I was worried. My knowledge of your whereabouts was limited. If one of you were killed, I wouldn't have found out until much later.”

Polnareff snorted. “Yeah, being able to know if someone is alive or not sure is nice!”

“Again, I apologize. Like Kakyoin said, the others and I all reached an agreement that it would be for the best if you didn't know. Your behavior right now leads me to believe it was the right decision.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Polnareff balled his hand into a fist and prepared to give him another punch. Before he could strike, Avdol snagged his arm.

“You are rash. Impulsive. You have a very spur of the moment attitude about a lot of things. One might assume this would make you very unpredictable, but it most cases, the opposite is true. That is why I was able to stop your punch without looking.” He let go of Polnareff. “We knew you would have made a big fuss if we told you I was alive. You wouldn't have been able to keep your mouth shut... and then the enemy would have found out where I was, and then I would have died for real.”

“That's not true!” Polnareff cried. “I'm perfectly capable of keeping my mouth shut!”

Someone pounded on the wall from the next room over. “Hey, Polnareff. Mind keeping it down? It's too early for your crap.” It was Jotaro, his voice even hoarser than usual.

Avdol beamed as Polnareff glanced rapidly around the room. “No way! The timing on that was too perfect. You've gotta be messing with me! Is somebody spying on me with their Stand?” He muttered under his breath, “Though I wouldn't put it past Jotaro to just conveniently show up at a time like that.”

“Forgive him, Jotaro. Go back to sleep,” Avdol called. He faced Polnareff, still smiling. “I don't know what that was about. But I do know that you are very, very loud, and you are not good at subtlety, or keeping things secret. If you try to deny any of those things, you will likely prove yourself wrong again.”

Polnareff was quick to react. “Who says I can't keep a secret? I've got plenty of 'em. You think you know me, Avdol? You think you can predict how I'll act? Well, you don't know shit about me! You wouldn't believe how many secrets I have.”

“And what might those be?”

Polnareff laughed. “C'mon! Do you really think I'm going to fall for that? What do you take me for, Avdol? A fool? That card's already taken.” He dismissively waved his hand at Iggy. The dog's eyes snapped open every time Polnareff raised his voice, and he was growing more agitated by the minute. He was too exhausted to do anything about it, though.

“On second thought, I don't think you need to tell me any of your secrets outright. I believe I have caught onto one of them through observation alone. You've been thinking about it a lot lately. Is that correct?”

“What?” hollered Polnareff, turning bright red. “What are you talking about?”

Avdol nodded. “Yes. I am certainly onto something.” He pointed at Polnareff's face. “You're blushing.”

“I don't know what you mean! Seriously!” Polnareff hid behind his hands, and yet he still tried to defend himself. “If it looks like I'm blushing, well… that doesn't mean a thing! Look at me, Avdol. Look at how white I am. When you're this pasty, anything can turn you red. Hell, maybe it's sunburn, or…”

“Tsk, tsk. Enough with the excuses.” Avdol wagged his finger chidingly. “Do you remember what I said? It is useless to deny what I know to be true. You are very outward with your emotions, Polnareff. Even if you keep your lips sealed, I can count on your actions and body language to convey what's truly on your mind. Actions speak louder than words, after all.” Avdol's lips curled into a tiny smile. “I haven't even told you what I think your secret is. How is it that you are already so flustered?”

“Ghk,” Polnareff choked, dropping his gaze to the ground. His forehead was drenched with sweat, and he wouldn't be surprised if all the heat smoldering on his face was making it boil. Even though he couldn't bear to look Avdol in the eye, he could feel the man's cool confidence filling the air around him. The kind of confidence Avdol possessed was not smug or hostile, and he didn't gain any satisfaction through proving Polnareff wrong. Avdol treated his intuition as fact—but rather than insisting he was right and having that be the end of it, he made sure to be transparent about the logic behind each of his conclusions. His goal was to make Polnareff understand—and even though Polnareff wouldn't admit it, he had succeeded in doing so.

Polnareff wanted a reason to hate Avdol and his intuition, if only because he considered him a threat to his ego. He wanted to find a way to defy what Avdol foretold about him, and to be able to get in his face and brag about proving him wrong. That would show him that Avdol was full of shit, which would justify his hatred. Avdol wasn't full of shit, though, so Polnareff couldn't hate him. He was remarkably wise and perceptive, to the extent that his cognitive abilities could easily be mistaken for mysticism. It was no wonder he had chosen to make a living as a fortuneteller. Even those who didn't believe in divination would find themselves enchanted by Avdol's skill in making connections between his clients and the cards they drew.

Beyond that, there was something Polnareff admired about him: he was everything Polnareff was not. Everything about Avdol was subtle, which contrasted with Polnareff's bombastic personality. The two of them balanced each other. When Polnareff was around, Avdol felt free to let loose and have fun. At the same time, Avdol helped Polnareff slow down and think. Sometimes—oftentimes—Avdol made Polnareff feel inadequate. He wasn't jealous, though. Polnareff needed those contrasting qualities in his life, but they didn't have to be his own. Avdol completed him.

That was why Polnareff was drawn to him. That was why he wanted him; needed him. He didn't know how to tell him that, though. Unlike Avdol, Polnareff didn't really have a way with words. He spoke without thinking, and the tension was turning him into even more of a blithering idiot. The moment was right, but he couldn't find his voice. He didn't want to find his voice. If he spoke up, he'd say the wrong stuff and ruin everything—but if he didn't speak up, the moment would pass, and he'd suffer for his silence once again.

Avdol's voice echoed in Polnareff's head: Actions speak louder than words, after all. It was an old cliché, rather than an original nugget of Avdol's wisdom—and yet it seemed expertly tailored to the occasion. Polnareff didn't need to speak. He needed to act. Still, he couldn't bring himself to face his friend. His emotions were escalating, escaping through his pores and making him quake. He didn't even know what was holding him back anymore; it wasn't like him to keep his feelings restrained. Was he still opposed to proving Avdol right? There was no point in keeping up the charade when he and Avdol both already knew the truth.

Polnareff sputtered and sucked in his lower lip, suppressing tears. One of his arms shot out; then, the other. Even though his eyes were still fixed on the floor, Polnareff's arms naturally found their way around Avdol's form. Seconds inched along agonizingly as he waited for Avdol to reciprocate. Polnareff counted to himself, inebriated from anxiety:One… t-two… thr-tr- trois… quatre… cinq… Avdol didn't move, and neither did Polnareff. He was at a loss for how to recover. How could he have misjudged the situation when everything seemed to have fallen into place?

Then, Polnareff remembered what Avdol had said about him: he was rash by nature. Rather than properly reading the situation, he had acted on impulse. He had been proactive in pursuing the outcome he wanted to see, even though it was circumstantially inappropriate. Polnareff was oblivious; he had no business jumping to conclusions like that. That was Avdol's job.

At last, Avdol stirred. “P-Polnareff...”

Polnareff had never heard Avdol's voice falter like that before, and it worried him.

“… When I said I knew your secret, this was… not what I had in mind. I thought your secret was... that you used to wet the bed when you were a kid.”

The noise that came out of Polnareff's throat startled Iggy, causing him to spring to his feet and fart in terror. Polnareff jerked backwards with enough force to send him flying into his bed, where he collapsed into a despondent pile. If it weren't for the sound of Avdol's boisterous laughter, he would have passed out from humiliation.

“Ha!” Avdol wheezed. “I got you good! I don't think I've even seen Silver Chariot move that fast.”

Slowly, Polnareff sat up. “Got… me?” he uttered, drawing out the words as if he were speaking for the first time. “What do you...” The gears turned in his head and he gasped. “Joke?”

“Yes. I was joking,” Avdol said. He began to approach Polnareff. “I got you. But now...” He wrapped his arms around him and guided him onto his feet. “… I've got you.”

Polnareff didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he did both. “You son of a bitch. Damn you...” His buried his face in Avdol's robes, tears seeping into the fabric. Then, Polnareff lifted his head, his puffy eyes finally meeting Avdol's gaze. “Just… don't fool me like that anymore… please?” he begged in a whisper.

Avdol dipped his head. “That was an insensitive thing for me to have done, considering what I put you through before. I am sorry, Polnareff. It will not happen again.”

Polnareff was shaken both by the sincerity of his tone and by how easy it had been to get an apology out of him. He had accused Avdol of being childish, and yet the degree of maturity he showed was foreign to Polnareff. “I really ought to punch you again.”

“Go ahead, if you like. I deserve it.”

But Polnareff didn't punch him. He couldn't run the risk of spoiling this moment—a moment he never believed would actually come. He exhaled deeply and put his arms over Avdol's, merging their silhouettes. “This is… this is real?”

“You heard me. I said I was done making jokes.”

Avdol's embrace was warm. It was distinct from the hot desert air that lingered in the hotel room, just as the warmth of sitting around a campfire with friends was distinct from the heat of the flames themselves. The warmth was imbued with the essence of their journey—or at least the subtler moments; the brief lapses of time when they knew they were safe from enemy Stands. Such security was growing increasingly scarce as they drew nearer to their destination, and Polnareff knew he wouldn't feel this safe again until their journey had reached its end.

Polnareff held him tighter, sinking deep into his robes. Even beneath the heavy cloth, Polnareff could feel Avdol's pulse. The steady beat of life through his body caused the realization to sink in all over again. He was alive! He was alive, and he was right there with him, cradled in his arms. Polnareff didn't want to let go; he wanted to stay close to his friend's heart and never lose track of its rhythm. That way, he'd always be able to know that Avdol was alive.

Avdol massaged Polnareff's back, sweeping his palm over the contours of his muscles. Polnareff moved his hand to the back of Avdol's head and weaved his fingers between his columns of hair. Their eyes met again and they regarded each other, familiarizing themselves with the other's features in a new, intimate way. Polnareff was drawn closer by the amiable warmth of Avdol's amber gaze. His eyelids fluttered shut and he curved his lips, and he could feel Avdol's heart surge as he planted them on his cheek.

“You've never been this quiet before,” Avdol whispered, “which is good. Now would not be a good time to anger Jotaro. Could you imagine if he made Star Platinum bust in at a time like this?”

Once the words had sunk in, Polnareff gritted his teeth. With his mouth still pressed against Avdol's face, he muttered, “Don't even… God, would you j-just… shut the fuck up?”

“You'll have to make me.”

Polnareff tried his best not to smile, but he couldn't hide it. He tipped Avdol's head, joining his lips with his own. Both sets had been chapped by the desert sun, and their worn surfaces came together like a jigsaw. They held, sharing breaths.

Gradually, Polnareff became aware of another sensation. It was not at all like Avdol's gentle touch or the warmth of his body heat—it was coarse and itchy, and it seemed to spread across his entire body. It scattered upon his skin and into the folds of his clothes, and even worked its way down his throat and into his lungs. Suddenly, Polnareff was gasping for breath. He tried to speak, but instead erupted into a fit of coughing. Polnareff looked to Avdol for help. He was choking as well. Their immersion was shattered, and just like that, the moment that felt like it would go on forever had come to an end. Polnareff and Avdol were sent hurtling back to reality. They let go of each other, ready to fight for their lives.

Polnareff drew a breath, even though he knew it was futile. The air flowed in. It stayed in his chest for a second, and then it flowed out. Cautiously, he took another breath. He inhaled. He exhaled. Nothing stifled the flow. Then, he noticed that the grittiness had subsided as well. It was over so fast that if Avdol hadn't been struck by the same thing, Polnareff would've thought he had hallucinated it. The two of them exchanged bewildered looks.

“You felt that, right?” Polnareff asked.

“I did.”

“So, it really happened? I didn't just imagine it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then. Good to know we're on the same page.” Polnareff inhaled sharply, his composure crumbling. “What the ever-loving fuck was that?”

“Normally, I'd suspect that we were under attack by an enemy Stand. However… you might not agree with me on this, but in this case, I'd hesitate to say it was the work of an enemy Stand.”

“What's that supposed t—” At once, he remembered Iggy. The dog was still sitting in the corner, looking particularly smug. The Fool had all but vanished, leaving only a trace of colored sand behind. “You… you've gotta be kidding me!”

“Well,” Avdol said nonchalantly, “that makes us even, I suppose.”

“Iggy!” Polnareff wailed. “Gah! How did I forget he was here? I'm gonna strangle him, I swear. That damn mutt… he was watching us this whole time! Thank God his stupid animal brain wouldn't be able to comprehend any of what he just saw.”

Iggy laid his ears back and snarled.

“I wouldn't say that,” advised Avdol. “Are you trying to suggest he didn't know what he was doing? Iggy knew exactly what he was doing. He has the capacity to utilize a Stand. I can't imagine that basic displays of affection are beyond his realm of understanding.”

“Shit, you're probably right,” Polnareff cursed. “In that case, I'm glad he can't talk, at least.”

“Among us, Iggy is truly the best at keeping secrets. Not that he has a choice.” Avdol bent down and reached out to pat Iggy on the head, but the little dog stubbornly avoided him. He shrugged and brought his gaze back to Polnareff. “And you, Polnareff… you are, by far, the worst.”

Polnareff stifled a laugh. “Yeah… yeah, you're right. You win, Avdol.”

“That is not a bad thing, though. Not all of the time,” Avdol said. “When your secrets take the form of desires, there is nothing holding you back from pursuing them. Your drive is astonishingly strong. The way you assert yourself allows you to turn your dreams into realities.” He paused. “Me… I could never be so upfront with my feelings. If it had been up to me to make the first move, well… I wouldn't have. My feelings would have remained bottled up.

“When I call upon the cards to reveal one's fate, I am merely reading what has been foretold. It is beyond my ability to alter their fates. The same is true of my own destiny. I walk through life without my own sense of direction, guided only by happenstance. I am a man without resolve.” Avdol took a deep breath, and then resumed. “The cards are not infallible. Some happenings evade the lens of prognostication. Polnareff, I said you were predictable. That is not entirely true. Ever since we met, you have managed to surprise me on a regular basis. When my Magician's Red collided with your Silver Chariot and I got my first sense of who you are… I never would have guessed that our fates would intertwine in this manner.”

If there was one thing Polnareff had trouble expressing, it was his own flaws. Avdol's confession had been spellbinding, and somehow, Polnareff was swayed into following up with a confession of his own. He contemplated for a long moment, which was something he didn't do very often. There was a reason he didn't let himself get lost in thought, and it wasn't because he lacked the capacity.

He thought about all the things that had happened, and how seamlessly everything had fallen into place. He traced the events back to his original inhibitions, recalling that he didn't think his feelings were mutual. It made him realize that nothing made any sense. The feelings shouldn't have been mutual. Everything should have gone wrong. What the hell was Avdol thinking? Polnareff tried to consider Avdol's perspective, but the man's reasoning eluded him. He was forced to confront him.

“I don't get it,” he said. “What would someone like you want with a guy like me? I'm just a burden on everyone. Can't even get myself to save a single person.” His delivery was labored with both reluctance and guilt. Admitting his mistakes aloud wasn't liberating or cathartic. It only made them feel more real to Polnareff. He kept those memories hidden in the back of his mind, and there was usually too much going on for him to be able to think about them for long. Now, they had been dragged out into the center of his brain, and he was left to face all the things he had ever done wrong.

Something wasn't right. The mood had dropped instantly, and Avdol was left clinging to the tattered remains of the moment. Had Polnareff been upset by something he'd said? The taste of his words still lingered on his tongue and he chewed on it, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. He got nowhere and focused on consoling Polnareff instead.

“Fate is unkind to you. Do not put the blame on yourself,” he said. “It would be unfair for me to judge your character based on the circumstance of luck. Rather, your worth lies in your potential. I can see that you want to save people. You want that more than anything. If you had a way to overcome fate, you would see to it that none of the people you care about are wronged in any way. Since you do not, you seek justice. It was your desire for vengeance that compelled you to embark on this journey. Some may question the morality of revenge, but to me, it is a noble cause. Even when fortune does not fall in your favor and you are unable to save your loved ones' lives, you concern yourself with saving their dignity.”

“Sherry…” Polnareff mumbled. “I didn't save her dignity.” His entire demeanor had transformed. The color had drained from his face and his features had hardened. Only his eyes, which were moist and unfocused, remained soft. He had put up a wall, but that wasn't his nature. It wouldn't take much for his facade to be knocked down.

Avdol hesitated. He knew Polnareff's sister was a sensitive topic, so he would have to tread carefully. “I would say you did. I was told you dealt the final blow to her murderer. Now, she rests in peace.”

“But… on the island…”

“That was not your sister. You know that. Sherry is in heaven and has no connection to the effigy that rose from hell. She was watching over you—I'm sure of it—and she understands. You did not seek to tarnish her image. In fact, I am certain she saw it for what it was: a testament to how much you loved her. When you fell for that Stand's trickery, you put aside your own wants and tried to wish her back to life. You have told me little of your relationship with Sherry, but that alone speaks volumes about how good of a brother you were to her.”

“Av… dol…” Polnareff's tears were flowing again. In spite of this, he remained stoic. His expression was unreadable.

He couldn't tell if he had comforted Polnareff, or if he had made things worse. Why couldn't he tell? He needed to steer away from that topic. Avdol backpedaled, simultaneously pushing the narrative forward. “And then, you wished for my return. I did not doubt that you would try to bring back your sister. However, this was something I did not see coming. Up until then, I didn't think you had any respect for me. During our final confrontation, you showed me nothing but contempt. This revelation opened my eyes.”

Polnareff shook his head. “I thought it was my fault that you died, and I was trying to make up for it. It was that vengeance thing. That's all.”

“Are you sure that was all?” His tone was quizzical, and Avdol regretted it instantly. It wasn't like him to blurt things out like that, but he was on edge and he couldn't think straight. Humor wouldn't lighten the mood; most of the time, Polnareff didn't like his jokes.

Polnareff sat down and put his head in his hands. “You know what? I don't even know. I don't know what I'm doing right now, or what I just did. All of this… it's a lot to take in.”

Avdol couldn't keep up. “I understand,” he said, even though he didn't.

“No, I don't think you do. Or maybe it's that you understand too much. I can't make sense of this stuff. Maybe you can, but me? I don't know what the hell's going on.”

Avdol winced. Had he come off as patronizing? He relayed another empty sentence. “I will admit that this was all very sudden.”

Polnareff sighed. “No… no, it's true. What am I saying? Words keep coming out, but they're not the ones I want. Maybe I should just stop talking before I really screw up. But there's one more thing I have to say.” He lifted his head. “It's true. Avdol… I… I love you.”

Avdol studied him, making sure he truly meant what he had said. He did. Every part of his countenance was instilled with sincerity. It was not a superficial type of sincerity, like a mask; Polnareff was capable of no such thing. Rather, this sincerity blossomed from inside of him and spread across his visage, weaving its way into each of his features—the gleam of trust in his eyes, his flushed cheeks, the beads of perspiration on his forehead, and the shape of his lips after those words had fallen out. Even after all the careless things Avdol had said, Polnareff's feelings hadn't changed.

Avdol didn't recite the words back to Polnareff. He moved. He hugged him. It was a quick, simple gesture, and yet it conveyed more than anything he could have said aloud. That gesture hadn't failed him before, and it didn't fail him again. The same couldn't be said of Avdol's voice. He had a thorough manner of speaking, but sometimes he spoke for too long and his points were obscured by his myriads of words. Other times, Polnareff was too dense and Avdol's sense of humor was lost on him. In this occasion, there was no better way for him to reciprocate the thought and ensure that his intentions were clear. The words were silent, but Polnareff heard them: I love you, too. Everything will be all right.

The two of them had been caught up in a kind of dance—a back and forth sashay between movements and talk. Neither of them had ever danced before, though. The rhythm of emotion guided them along, but they moved to the music in different ways. They tried to match each other's steps, but their footwork was sloppy. The dance went on nevertheless. As the curtains began to draw, they moved in synch. They owned it.

They were dancing the same dance, and speaking the same language—a language of compromise; of actions and words. Everything was clear.

Avdol caressed Polnareff's cheeks, wiping away his tears. Polnareff sighed, a smile slowly returning to his face. He felt safe again. His thoughts settled and retreated to the recesses of his mind. Avdol's warmth was numbing, and Polnareff could think of nothing but how close he was to him.

This time, Iggy couldn't bring himself to intervene—or, more likely, he just couldn't be bothered to get up again. Having grown bored with the two, he went back to sleep. Neither Avdol not Polnareff seemed to mind when he started snoring; they were caught up in something much more important.

After they let go, they sat for a while. Nothing else needed to be said, at least for now. They were happy just to be in each other's company. With Iggy snoring, the room was far from silent—but it was probably as quiet as it would ever get, so they savored it.

At last, Avdol spoke. “Polnareff, are you hungry?”

“Eh?”

“Look at the time,” said Avdol. “They'll start serving breakfast soon.”

Polnareff checked the clock and almost gasped out loud. It was almost 6:30. How had more than an hour gone by already? He shrugged to himself, accepting it. As much as Polnareff would have liked to idle in the moment, he couldn't ignore his hunger. “Hell yeah, I'm starving. I wonder what they cooked up. Whatever it is, I bet it can't hold a candle to the food from my homeland. When it comes to cooking, no one beats the French!”

There was a twinkle in Avdol's eye. “You've never tried a full Egyptian breakfast. Flat bread with bean dip, eggs, fresh fruit and vegetables, tea, pastries sweetened with rosewater…”

“That's nothing.” Polnareff waved him off. “Hey, listen. When all of this is over, you've gotta come with me to France. The food will blow your mind.”

Avdol nodded. “Yes. I'd like that.”

“Très bien!”

This was only the beginning, Polnareff realized. Thinking about what the future held filled him with renewed energy. Now, he had something else to fight for, and he was ready to keep fighting and keep bringing that future closer.

Of course, he couldn't do any of that on an empty stomach.

“Whatever, though. At this point, I'd eat pretty much anything. C'mon, let's get ready.” Polnareff paused when he passed by Iggy. He turned to Avdol. “Should we wake him up? I bet he's hungry, too.”

“I think we've learned our lesson,” Avdol said. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

They both laughed.

As they walked down the hall, Polnareff couldn't contain his excitement. “There's this place a few blocks from where I live… they make the best sole meunière in the world. The fish is so fresh, and it just falls apart in your mouth. You always order seafood, so I know you'd love it.

“France has a really rich history, too. The pyramids are cool and all, but they're a little too dusty and old for my liking. Everybody's gotta see the Eiffel Tower before they die. It's a marvel of architecture! Oh, and I've got to get you to the Louvre, too. We've got a pyramid of our own there, but it's made of glass instead of sand. Did you know that, Avdol?”

As Polnareff prattled on, Avdol couldn't help but smile. It was hard for him to follow the way he jumped from one thought to the next, but Polnareff's zeal made for easy listening nonetheless. Most of all, Avdol was just happy to see him rebound from his despair.

Polnareff stopped to catch his breath. He could tell Avdol was only sort of paying attention to him. That was fair, he thought—he didn't always listen to Avdol, either. He smiled back at him, even though he was pretty sure he wasn't looking.

Eventually, Polnareff realized that he had found refuge at last. He had found it inside of a hotel, but it had nothing to do with the hotel itself. It turned out that he'd been looking in all the wrong places. He knew exactly where to look now. Refuge didn't have to be bound to a shelter. Sometimes, it took the form of a person—and Polnareff was lucky enough to have that person standing next to him.

As long as Avdol was by his side, he would always feel safe.