#anyway this was very hot and I look forward to these two force skyping each other

[bluetiefling]

That is why I will never be at your side.

[julemmaes]

Cry

Lorcan Salvaterre and Elide Lochan modern au

A/N: Alrighty alrighty I’M SORRY. I’m not posting anything lately cause I’ve been busy (very fucking much) and I just want to let you all know that I’ll write every single day of MOF even when October is finished (even if that’s not the point of those challenged but still) 

I was on tiktok the other day and I saw this video of a couple in a long distance relationship where she surprised him and he CRIED. A LOT. It’s become one of my favourite things in the world to be honest. He really seemed exhausted coming in his room and he literally SNIFFED the air, cause he could SMELL her and I D I E D.

Anyway, this is basically the plot. Enjoy!

Word count: 1,948

Lorcan would rather shoot himself in the head than listen to Rowan talk about contemporary history for another hour.

He promised him that he would help him prepare one of the billions of exams he seemed to have every month because his girlfriend, Aelin, had abandoned him at the last minute, leaving him alone. Knowing the type, Lorcan would have bet the house that she had told him a lie not to have another long and boring talk about the Cold War.

As much as he loved his best friend, just the idea of what Rowan was studying made his eyelids close faster than any sleeping pill he had ever taken. And Lorcan had taken a lot of medication to help him sleep in his life.

Things had not gone very well lately. With Elide on the other side of the world and their schedules that fit perfectly so that they never got to see each other on skype, he hadn't seen his girlfriend for almost five days. Lorcan had never been an excessively soft guy, who felt the need to talk twenty-four hours a day just to tell others that his relationship was perfect, but the distance was playing tricks on him and the fact that he couldn't sleep well only added stress and nervousness.

There was also the small detail that his father - or rather, his sperm donor - had died a few weeks before and his mother, who had always been the only parental figure in his life, really wanted to give him the letter that the man had written to him only a few days before his death.

Lorcan had tried to read it, several times, even on a call with Elide, but every time he read the first lines, where the man expressed his sincerest apologies for never having been part of his life, attributing part of those faults to his mother too, he could never bring himself to finish it.

"...can you at least pretend to be listening?" Rowan asked exasperatedly, running his hand over his face.

Lorcan closed his eyes sighing, opening them a few moments later. Rowan was staring at him slightly pissed off. He could perfectly understand that talking to someone who didn't even seem to be in the same room as you could be irritating.

"Sorry Ro, I know I told you I'd stay until seven, but I can't do it." he got up, without looking Rowan in the face, but he saw him stiffening, "If I hear you say Gorbachev one more time, I might throw up."

"Are you okay?" he asked him in a lower tone of voice. Two girls sitting at the table next to them turned around, immediately bringing their attention back to their books when Lorcan gave them a hard look.

He tightened his jaw, putting his stuff in his backpack, "Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry about it."

"I wouldn't have started to worry if you'd just told me you were fine," Rowan pointed out, leaning against the table with his elbows and pushing towards him. Lorcan put on his jacket, puffing.

"Well, I'm actually fine," he said, finally looking him in the eye. He felt his breath hitch when he saw that Rowan seemed genuinely concerned about what was surely disturbing his friend and had to turn around so he wouldn't let him see how bad he really was.

"I know you don't do these..." he paused, frowning, "things. But if you need to talk to someone -"

Lorcan interrupted him by putting one hand forward, "Rowan, listen," he laughed dryly, "You're right, I don't do these things and you're starting to sound like Fenrys," his friend made a disgusted grimace, "Exactly, so cut the bullshit and don't ever try to be all mama hen on me again, okay?"

Rowan nodded bitterly, "It's just that Aelin told me that you and Elide," a hint of pain shot through his chest at the girl's name, "haven't talked for a few days and I just wanted to know if things were going well?" he asked hesitantly.

Lorcan pinched the bridge of his nose, "What exactly don't you understand about the sentence 'I'm fine'?"

"I'm just checking on a friend who won't stop bullshitting me," Rowan pointed out abruptly.

"I don't need you to check up on me."

Rowan's face softened so much that Lorcan knew that anything he would say in a few seconds would make him lose every ounce of patience.

"Is this about your father's letter?" he looked him in the face, reducing his lips to a thin line, then Lorcan turned around, without even saying goodbye, and walked out of the library.

It was not because of the letter.

It was the fact that his mother had felt the need to give it to him. It was the fact that the woman who knew him better than anyone else in the world, the woman who had seen him in the most vulnerable moments of his life and who had raised him alone, breaking her back day and night to make sure he had a future, had accepted the words written on that letter to be the truth.

Your mother prevented me from seeing you. Don't be angry at me, but at her. It wasn't me who decided to abandon you. Agnes told me that I could not see you until you were sixteen years old. It is not my fault that you did not have enough during your childhood.

A lot of bullshit if you asked Lorcan.

His father had left the second he found out that his mother had gotten pregnant and took every penny he could find in their house to buy another dose or bottle of alcohol.

Lorcan knew that his mother had read it because when she gave it to him, the envelope had been torn. And he knew that she hadn't done it with the intention of violating his privacy, but rather to protect him. He certainly wouldn't blame the mother if she still cared about her baby when it came to the man who got her pregnant and then ran away.

He did not realize that he had stopped in the middle of the university garden, his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on the ground until a drop hit his forehead. He looked up and the sky split in two.

All the students who were lying on the lawn stood up screaming, putting away their notes and books as quickly as possible. Some laughed as they ran for shelter from that sudden thunderstorm, but Lorcan resumed walking normally, reaching his dorm canopy in a few minutes.

Walking up the stairs as slowly as he had never done before, he found himself thinking about his mother yet again.

Perhaps he should have called her.

They had spent hours on the phone after she had given him the letter. Lorcan yelling at her because the man's words had certainly struck Agnes in the heart - so much so that she handed the letter to her son, without warning him that it was all crap - and she apologized to him for something she had thought right almost twenty years earlier.

Lorcan had reassured her that he had never missed a father figure. He had never had the need to go fishing with his "old man" or "play catch".

He ran his hand over his face for the millionth time, sighing and trying to keep his emotions at bay until he reached his room where he would decide what to do. Whether to take a sleeping pill and try to rest or go to the gym and punch something. Or someone, if he found one of the guys willing to get it.

He arrived in front of the door and saw that it was slightly open, the corridor light on. He swelled his chest holding his breath and praying to every god on the face of the earth that Connal or Vaughan were not home, he pushed the door, entering the small apartment.

He heard no noises of any kind and frowned. If one of his roommates had been in the house there would have been at least the sound of pots being thrown into the kitchen or the springs of their beds moving under the weight of both.

Relieved that he had not entered the house in one of their usual hot moments, he made to move and then sensed it.

He smelled the air, stopping in his footsteps.

Lemon and cinnamon.

He would have recognized that scent everywhere.

He turned around, closing the door and expecting to see her hidden back there.

When he couldn't find her, he sprang towards his room, opening that door and throwing his head back laughing when he saw Elide sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Don' t believe it." Lorcan whispered without looking at her.

He turned back into the living room, taking two steps towards the couch before turning around again and putting his hands in his hair.

Elide was smiling at him with her hands clutched between her legs. She got up, going towards him, slowly, "Believe it.”

"You're here," Lorcan told her, with a shocked expression on his face. He couldn't move, the emotion too great to be contained and in a second everything he had taken so long to shove down and not to process reappeared on the surface, hitting him with such force as to take his breath away. Elide smiled at him more widely with bright eyes and threw herself at him.

Lorcan wrapped her in his arms and held her so tightly that she laughed and then stuck his head in the space between her shoulder and neck and breathed deeply.

Without his consent, a sob slipped from his lips.

He felt Elide stiffen, "Lor..."

He knew that if he spoke, he would not be able to recognize his voice as broken it would be.

"You're crying." Elide tried to tear herself away to look him in the face, but Lorcan prevented her, holding her tighter and letting go of more sobs. He was leaning completely against her and when she moved again, to get the backpack off his shoulders, he let her do it, taking her back in his arms immediately afterwards.

One of her hands rubbed his back, "It's alright." she whispered to him, kissing his cheek. "Everything is all right."

"Why are you crying?" her voice was so small, so weak compared to what she normally had. He let go of a trembling breath, taking a step back, and rubbing the palms of his hands over his eyes to wipe away the tears.

Elide was holding her hands on his arms and stroking him to calm him down. He bent forward, extending one hand towards her neck and passed a thumb over her jaw. She half-closed her eyes, looking at his face. Lorcan looked back, with watery eyes.

He hugged her again with a surge, kissing her forehead and sighing with relief, "I missed you so fucking much."

Elide replied in a muffled voice, "So did I."

They lingered a few more minutes, Elide caressing every part of his body she could reach with her short arms, without worrying that he was completely soaked, and Lorcan relaxing under that familiar touch so strong that he could drive out every demon that had dug his way under his skin during those months without her. And even if things hadn't worked out just because Elide had come back for what would surely have been two days, at least he could talk to someone who knew would understand.

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[saxxxology]

What Lurks Beneath the Surface - 1

After Sam’s ultimate sacrifice, you struggle to cope. When he shows up after months of being gone, you’re happier than ever to see him. That is, until you realize that the love of your life is much different than you remember. 

PAIRING: Soulless!Sam x Reader WARNINGS: canon divergence (season 6), angst, suspense, violence, smut, minor dub-con, and more. NOTE: Some elements of this series are a little darker than what I usually write. Warnings are sporadic to avoid spoilers - send me an ask if you have any concerns!

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Series Masterlist

Every night after Sam’s death you drink to him. there’s always a bottle of something in your apartment, and you don’t touch it other than to drink in Sam’s memory. Each day his absence hurts just a little more, and on some days it aches so bad you can barely make it out of bed to go to work.

One morning you call in sick and spend the day crying in your bedroom, hugging your pillow and sobbing into the stained pillowcase. You whisper I miss you one second and then curse him the next. Damn you, Sam, you think. Damn you for giving up like that.

And then you wonder if Sam even wanted to make it out alive. Maybe he wanted to die.

For weeks, you try calling Castiel. All you want is a friend, and you’ll take the socially awkward angel as a goddamn roommate if it gets you somebody to talk to.

Castiel doesn’t answer. 

Halloween is the first holiday to pass. Sam never liked Halloween, so you don’t dress up or decorate your apartment or go outside to hand out candy. You don’t even watch a horror movie; Sam was always there to protect you when the fake ghosts or monsters got too scary when you were little. Again, while tiny fists knock on your door, high-pitched voices yelling “trick or treat,” you repeat your ritual of drinking to him, making your count rise to exactly eighty.

Eighty days without your best friend.

Next comes Thanksgiving, and you make the long, cold drive to see Dean and Lisa. You spend three days with them, staying up late baking cornbread and cookies with Lisa, letting Ben teach you how to play video games, and the night before you leave, you and Dean go out to a bar and have a drink for Sam. 

It feels good to drink with someone else for once.

A few days after you get back home, you’re out getting groceries, and out of the corner of your eye, you think you see him. There’s the blur of a dark gray jacket and brown hair, and the height makes it all the more realistic, but by the time you look up, the blur is gone, replaced by a white-haired old lady who’s easily a foot and a half shorter.

You shake it off, thinking it’s just your overactive imagination.

On Christmas Eve, you’re sadder than usual. Christmas was your favorite holiday to celebrate with Sam, and now that he isn’t here, it seems pointless to do anything related to it. But your apartment is so dark and dreary that you finally decide that wallowing in sadness is getting unhealthy. You spend the morning cleaning up, throwing out empty cans and bottles and you actually decide to test out your dishwasher for the first time since you moved in.

After cleaning and plugging in an apple-scented air freshener, you go out and get a small tree and set it up on your coffee table. A string of little white lights and golden ornaments light up the dark green branches, and when you finally turn them on, they light up your entire living room. It makes you smile, and you go to your room, dig out your brand new Polaroid camera, and snap a picture. The flash goes off, and within seconds the little rectangle of paper falls into your lap.

You hold it up, examining the picture. It’s still not completely focused, so you decide to let it set and grab your phone. You take a quick picture of your tree and send it to Dean.

    < Merry Christmas! :)

A few minutes later, your phone chimes, and Dean’s caller ID pops up on your screen.

“Hey.” You answer the phone with the hint of a smile on your face.

“Hey, kiddo, how are you?” Dean’s voice is rough, but quiet, like it usually is after he’s had a couple drinks.

“I’m holding up,” you reply, “what about you?”

Dean exhales heavily, and you wonder if he’s alone and drinking his feelings away. “I’m… not okay, but I’m not going downhill either.” He clears his throat. “It’s just different.”

“Yeah, I know…” you swallow and look at the setting ink on your photo. “I miss him.”

“I miss him too,” Dean says quietly. “Lisa took one of the pictures I have of him and got it printed on a Christmas ornament, it’s hanging on our tree.”

“That’s sweet of her.” You smile. “Maybe I’ll come out for New Year’s Day, we can light fireworks with Ben.”

“Yeah.” Dean replies. The sound of a door closing echoes in the background, and Dean inhales. “Hey, I’ll call you tomorrow morning, maybe we can Skype or something.”

“All right,” you whisper. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Sure thing, kiddo. Merry Christmas.”

The line goes dead, and you toss your phone onto the table. The Polaroid still isn’t ready, so you reach under the couch and pull out the box of photos that you’ve collected over the years. You’re searching for one in particular, your all-time favorite out of over a hundred.

It’s an old polaroid of you and Sam on one of the few good days you had when you were younger; John had left the two of you at a mall while he took Dean to an indoor firing range, and the two of you had saved up enough for a Polaroid camera and some slides. In the photo, it’s Sam’s seventeenth birthday, and you’re holed up with the boys in a motel room with a ten-dollar cake and a bundle of multicolored balloons. Dean had taken the photo of the two of you right before Sam blew out the candles, and for once, the smiles you have in the picture aren’t faked.

You set the picture back in the box and reach over to reexamine your brand new photo. It’s a little blurry from the flash, but you reach over to grab a Sharpie and title it anyway.

You’re about to tuck the photo into the box next to the birthday one when you see something.

There’s a shadow in the section of the window that’s included in the photograph. A very human-like shadow.

You examine it closer, leaning forward so that the picture is illuminated by the Christmas lights. The shadow is clearly human, and it’s right outside your window, like someone is walking up the stairs to get to your apartment.

Mail deliveries don’t run this late, and you doubt anyone other than Dean has your address.

You rush into your bedroom and grab a magnifying glass from your desk. Flicking on your lamplight, you lean in to examine the shadow in detail.

The person’s clearly tall, from their position on the stairs and the height of your window. You move the magnifying glass a little to the left and freeze.

That profile… you’d know that damn nose anywhere.

You run out of your bedroom, down the short hall into your living room, to the front door. You wrench it open step out into the cold air, not caring that your bare feet are immediately freezing on the light covering of snow.

The only cars in the parking lot belong to the people who live there. There aren’t any fresh tire marks in the snow. You turn on the light outside your door and feel a hot rush of adrenaline flood your body.

Coming up the stairs and stopping right in front of you are boot prints, made by someone heavy enough to pack an inch of snow down and reveal the cement landing. You rub your eyes, thinking your imagination must be running wild, but when you open them, the prints are still there. You bend down and brush your fingers over the edge of the snow, examining the tracks carefully.

Sam’s boots. You know the indentations like the back of your hand, well over ten years of watching Sam walk through mud or through an old rain puddle had forced the pattern into your brain.

He can’t be alive… he died, he’s been dead for almost five months…

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of windows banging open, and you look up to see old Mrs. Alderman peering at you. She’s dressed in a pale pink robe and has her white hair up in curlers.

“Y/N, honey, get inside, you’ll catch your death,” she chides.

“I will…” you offer a smile and stand up. “Did you... did you see anyone just now?”

Mrs. Alderman tilts her head. “Out where, honey?”

“Here, by my door.” Your heart thuds wildly in your chest as you watch the old woman carefully.

She nods. “I did, tall guy, long hair, didn’t get a good look at his face.” She motions down the stairs. “He left a good minute before you opened the door. Looked like somethin’ spooked him.” She giggles raspily. “Thought you might have a boyfriend or somethin’ coming over.”

You nod and step back inside your apartment before she can say anything else. You don’t have anything of Sam’s that he could be attached to. Dean had taken his laptop and stash of books with him, leaving you with only the box of photos, but Sam didn’t know that half of them existed, and the others probably not enough to have a memory to hang on to. And Sam would never let himself stay on earth like that, as a ghost or spirit.

You go to the window and slide your curtains closed, blocking any view from outside before doing the same to every other window in the house. You grab the canister of salt from the top shelf in the kitchen and draw a thick line in front of the door, then over all the windowsills in the apartment. It seems stupid, but for the first time in five months, you feel like you’re in danger.

Sam had a lot of weight on his shoulders when he died, and you’ve seen the damage vengeful spirits can do, to both inanimate objects and people.

Finally, when you come back to look at the photograph, you collapse on your bed, holding the paper close to the lamplight.

The silhouette of the face, the height, the description Mrs. Alderman gave you… it terrifies you. There’s no possible way Sam could be alive, or that his spirit could make it to Earth. From the time he was six months old, Sam was damned to hell and nothing he could do could alter it. Demons are probably getting a kick out of knowing he’s down there, battling it out with Lucifer for the rest of time. Tears sting your eyes, and with a glance at the clock you realize it’s time for your nightly ritual. 

Slowly, like there’s a weight pulling you down, you rise from the bed and stumble into the kitchen. You pull a brand new bottle of whiskey off of the counter and wrench the top out.

“Miss you, Sammy.” You whisper, and then you tilt the bottle back and take a long, burning swallow.

You feel like you’re falling and you land on something cold and soft and wet. Your fingers tangle in what feels like long blades of grass, and when you open your eyes, the sky is white above you.

There’s a grunt, the THWACK! of a fist connecting with flesh and bone, and the sound of a body falling to the ground.

Turning your head to the source of the sound, you realize you’re in Stull Cemetery, lying not twenty feet from where Sam was standing over his brother, the fingers of one hand curled into a fist, the other hand holding Dean’s shirt with an iron grip.

Bobby’s lying a few feet away from you, his neck turned at an awkward angle. You remember now; Lucifer had snapped his neck before throwing you over the hood of the Impala, the force of your flight enough to stun you on impact.

“Bobby…” You reach out for him, touching his shoulder in a vain attempt to wake him, but he doesn’t move. You hear Sam’s fist connect with Dean’s face again, and Dean’s pleading with him to stop… 

Lucifer lets Dean drop to the ground, blood flowing freely from his nose and several cuts across his face. He turns away from you, looking out beyond the tall, black gates of the cemetery. You crawl backwards behind a tall headstone, cowering as Lucifer forced Sam’s body to revolve, his back ramrod straight, eyes narrowed, searching for any living thing in a place of death.

“Y/N…” Lucifer calls your name, taunting you. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Dean groans from his position on the ground and looks up at the imposing figure above him. “Don’t you dare hurt her!”

Lucifer stops, and from around the headstone you can see the hint of a smirk playing on Sam’s fine features. You hide your face as he turns, and you hear Dean shout in pain as his head snaps back, slamming against the side of the Impala hard enough to knock him out.

“Now…” 

You cower in fear as Lucifer strides closer to where you’re hiding, his steps even and heavy on the damp earth, and fallen leaves crunch eerily under his boots. 

“You can come out and give yourself up, by choice, or…” he stops a few feet away from the headstone, and you hear him take a deep breath, “you can make me come and get you myself. Cas is gone, Bobby’s gone, Dean’ll be out for a while, and Sam...” he scoffs, “Sam’s screaming in here, screaming your name…”

You whimper and cover your mouth, tucking your legs up underneath you. You hear Lucifer pacing away, and you sign in relief.

“I could let him out, you know?” Lucifer says. “I could let you hear the agony he’s in, let you know how bad he wants you to save him. Probably because he’s too weak to save himself.”

Those words make you feel rage over fear, and you stand up from your hiding spot, run around the headstone, and charge the devil.

“You bastard!” you scream, and you raise your fists as your body collides with Sam’s and you strike at his face, kicking and slapping at him even as he grabs hold of your wrists and holds you still. You’re forced to look into his face as he raises a hand to grip your throat, and those dark, glittering eyes are the last thing you see before he flicks his wrist, and your vision goes dark.

You jerk awake, still screaming and crying. Your body is drenched in sweat and there are tears streaming down your face.

“It was a dream,” you tell yourself. “It was just a dream, it wasn’t real…”

Sinking back against the twisted sheets, you feel the darkness return, that cold weight that presses you down into the mattress and stops you from moving.

Sam needed you in that cemetery. Lucifer had said so. Sam needed you and you hadn’t done jack to save him. 

What kind of friend were you?

SIX MONTHS LATER...

You’re feeling good for the first time in a while, and when you get yet another sizable paycheck (you’ve been working extra shifts to avoid your apartment since Christmas), you take the opportunity to take a road trip and visit Dean, Lisa, and Ben at their new house. You stay for a weekend, reconnecting with Dean and poring over old memories of growing up with the Winchesters.

When you get back to the apartment on Monday afternoon, however, you have a bit of trouble parking.

Some asshole’s parked a shiny black Dodge Charger in your spot.

“Are you serious?!” You pull into the spot across from Asshole Number One and grab your bags. “What the hell is wrong with people...”

That night you take a long bubble bath to relax from the stress of travel. When you finally drain the water and slip on your brand new robe, you feel completely relaxed for the first time in months. Hell, you might even get more than five hours of sleep tonight. You towel your hair almost dry and toss the towel into a hamper before slipping on pajama shorts and a baggy shirt and pacing into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. You’re back in your bedroom when you get the scare of a lifetime.

Two large, strong arms wrap around you from behind, and one hand comes up to cover your mouth. You scream, but the sound is muffled and when you try to open your mouth to bite, you find that your jaw can barely move under the force.

Kicking wildly, you manage to land your heel just below your assailant’s knee, but their hold doesn’t loosen. You flail your arms above your head, searching out eyes to scratch or a nose to break. Your attacker pushes you towards the bed, and your legs go out from under you as they shove you down, hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. Gasping for air, your screams are half-silenced when they roll you onto your back, using their entire body to hold down your writhing form.

The gun, you think, get to the gun in the nightstand!

You manage to get your legs up and kick, hard. The person on top of you, now evidently male, grunts with pain and stumbles back as you crawl backwards on the bed, reaching for the only weapon in the room.

He’s back on top of you before you know it, dragging you underneath him and pinning you down. Again, he covers your mouth with his hand, muffling your groans and screams of fear.

No, no, please no…

Your lungs burn for oxygen, tears of fear streaming from your eyes and dripping down your face. You thrash around harder, hitting the body above you with fists that grow weaker with every second.

I’m gonna die… I’m gonna die tonight.

You let out one more gasping cry before you succumb to the darkness.

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[something-tofightfor]

Tipping Point - 5

Pairing: Benjamin Greene x Julia Day … Benjamin Greene x Reader (friendship)

Word Count: 7463

Rating: M (language, marital issues)

Summary: Benjamin and Julia continue to navigate toward the end of their relationship, and Benjamin takes friendship with you to the next level... from thousands of miles away.

Author’s Note: So there’s a little more of the actual GD storyline in here, but I was able to keep it vague. I’m actually about half done with chapter 10 of this already... so I’m VERY far ahead of what I’m posting. Expect the remaining pieces of this to come a little more frequently moving forward... MAYBE with some good old Ryan Brenner or Logan smut thrown in to break it up. (I know that it’s a lot of angst but that’s what this story calls for SO FAR. That changes, I swear). Thank you for reading!!! 

There was a knock on his door, and Benjamin cleared his throat before answering. “Yeah?” He heard the sound of the knob turning and then a few seconds later, Eric poked his head into the room, one eyebrow raised. 

 “You alright, Greene?” Am I? Benjamin put his book down, sitting up on the mattress and crossing his legs. 

 “Better than last week.” He furrowed his brow. “Sorry you had to see that, I wasn’t… it wasn’t what I intended.” Eric stepped fully into the room, taking a seat on the single bed that remained separate, head moving back and forth. 

 “Scared me, man.You walked in and just collapsed.” Benjamin sighed, agreeing. “Didn’t know why then, you know? But when you managed to get it out?” Eric shrugged. “Wish there was more I could have done for you, I -”

 “You did enough.” Benjamin ran a hand through his hair, taking his glasses off and dropping them onto the bed next to him. “It didn’t hit me, not really, not until I got back here and looked down, and… she didn’t even fight for me. I thought that talking about it would make her realize how serious this is, but she just...agreed.” Because she won’t look bad. She might love me, but not as much as she loves the idea of looking good in everyone’s eyes. “I appreciate what you did, Eric. Getting me off of the floor and onto the couch, and…” Benjamin met the other man’s eyes, hoping that Eric could see how thankful he was. “Just sitting with me. I haven’t been like that in a long time.” 

 Both were silent until Eric rubbed one hand over his face, letting out a breath and saying your name. “My sister, she used to… they weren’t panic attacks, but she used to get real quiet when she was a kid, and she’d cry. Wouldn’t talk to anyone, would just sit by herself when she was upset, and I got… used to being there for her.” Really? “I’m sure she still has her moments, but it’s been better since she was in high school, but you … you looked a lot like she did, Greene. Lost and upset, and I couldn’t just let you stay on the ground.” Benjamin thought for a few moments, and then Eric interjected again, tone lighter. “Plus you were dripping all over the floor.”  Benjamin felt himself laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners even though what Eric said wasn’t that funny. I needed that. Needed to laugh. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I’m going out, and I might … end up bringing someone back here.” 

 “Oh yeah?” Benjamin grinned. “Well don’t let me ruin that for you, I’ve got headphones and I know how to use them.” It was Eric’s turn to laugh, the man standing up and heading back toward the door. He paused with one hand on the knob, turning the top half of his body back toward Benjamin. 

 “I know I don’t know you that well, Benjamin, but what I do know? You’re a good guy. It sucks that you’re that upset, and that it sounds like your wife won’t work with you on this.” You have no idea. “Don’t give in.” Benjamin’s eyes widened and then narrowed, head cocked to the side. What? “It’s not my place to say anything, but… this shit can’t be one-sided. If you give in on this, go back and try to work it out on your own?” Eric rolled his eyes and held one hand up in front of him, slashing through the air with it. “I watched my parents fight all the time, Benjamin. Back and forth, one giving in to the other. It never works out, and everyone just ends up worse than they started.” This isn’t like that, we wouldn’t… Julia wouldn’t… But even as Benjamin nodded in thanks, he realized that Eric’s assessment of the situation was spot on. 

 He’d spent much of his relationship with Julia appeasing her, and throughout, the only thing that he hadn’t been willing to compromise on was his academic career. And look at me now. He glanced over at the nightstand, where his Master’s certificate was sitting, newly framed. He’d gone to the graduation ceremony - telling Julia when it was being held in case she wanted to show up to support him, but after the ceremony, when he reached out to ask where she was, he’d received a single line of text in reply. Couldn’t make it, but congratulations, Benjamin. That had almost hurt worse than the words they’d said to each other in the hotel room, but to Benjamin, it was just another thing in the long list of disappointments he’d experienced. 

 Eric had left him alone for much of the week following his return from meeting with his wife, and Benjamin had the suspicion that if he’d told the man - or his friends - when his graduation was, they would have shown up to celebrate him. But it wasn’t them I wanted there, it was her. Despite them agreeing to tentatively move forward with an annulment, Benjamin’s mindset was still that he loved Julia, and wanted to include her in the important parts of his life. But she doesn’t want that. She only wants what she can control. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, sighing deeply. And that’s not me. 

 After calming himself down and getting changed, Benjamin had thought carefully about the conversation they’d had. While he understood that he’d shocked her with his announcement that he’d willingly take all of the blame for the relationship ending, he was concerned with her lack of response. He’d expected the meeting to end with Julia in tears, yelling at him, and when it hadn’t, he’d been stunned. He knew his wife well enough to understand that the calm demeanor was likely hiding much stronger emotions. I’ll hear about it soon enough. Sending over the short list of legal options he’d come across the following morning, Benjamin hadn’t expected to hear back from her as quickly as he had, but Julia’s response had been brief; telling him she would look into it. 

 Will you, though? He climbed out of his bed, heading to his computer and turning it on. How long do I wait for you to reach back out? He waited daily for her to message him back with a choice, but after a week had passed, he still hadn’t heard anything. I’ll reach out tomorrow. The longer this goes on, the more… the worse it is. A small part of him still hoped that actually looking into the information would make Julia realize she wanted to save the marriage, but that bit of him grew smaller each day. He questioned his own motivations, wondering if it was selfish of him to expect her to give in and seek help when he was unwilling to compromise and work on it without outside help, but the more he considered it, he realized  that he’d already been doing that. 

 They’d had conversations about his unhappiness, about the things that he - and they - felt that they should work on, and nothing had changed. Sure, things had improved for a day or two here, a weekend there, but they always slid backward, Benjamin feeling pushed to the side and Julia feeling as if he was treating her differently. It’s the only solution. It’s the only thing that would help. He firmly believed that - and if she didn’t, there was nothing that he could do to change her mind. Doesn’t matter how much I want it.  

 He’d started removing his wedding ring for short periods; an hour at home, a full day, while at work… and each time he took it off, it was more difficult to put it back on. He’d felt many things in the small metal band, but the comfort and security it had given him at first was nonexistent, and the more he wore it, the heavier it became. But I can’t take it off for good, not yet. Even the inscription on the inside - for my love - seemed to burn white hot against the skin of his finger on the worst days. 

 Benjamin wasn’t one to give up on anything, which had played a part in how steadfast he’d been in his belief that Kieran had made something for himself in the years that Benjamin had spent apart from him. But this isn’t giving up. This is… admitting the truth. He’d always love Julia; some small part of him would always care for the woman, but as each day passed, he realized that it wasn’t enough. Not enough to endure this. Not enough to… force it. He shut his computer down, deciding to go and enjoy the emptiness of the flat at least long enough to watch a movie while stretched out on the couch. 

 Twenty five minutes later, Benjamin was dozing off, the cool air from the cracked door flowing through the room when he was startled into a sitting position by the sound of an incoming Skype call. What? Blinking rapidly, he stood and looked around the room, his eyes landing on Eric’s laptop, which was open on the table. I didn’t even see that. Taking a breath, Benjamin sat back down, rubbing at his eyes as the sound stopped. Must’ve left it unlocked. He blinked again as he realized what that fact meant: that Eric trusted him with his personal life and the information contained on his computer. But he doesn’t know anything about me, I could… Benjamin lowered his head. Why wouldn’t he trust me? 

 The sound went off again, and this time Benjamin stood, intending to simply close the laptop, disconnecting the device from the Internet and letting whoever was calling know that Eric wasn’t available. But when he reached the computer, he saw your picture on the screen and paused. Oh. The call ended, Benjamin with one hand at the top of the screen, a frown on his face. She’s called twice, I wonder if it’s important. Beginning to lower the lid, Benjamin stopped as another call came through. I’ll answer and tell her that Eric’s out, that she should just text him. 

 Leaning in, he pressed the button to answer the call, taking a deep breath. “Eric? You asshole, why aren’t yo- oh. Benjamin? Why are you answering on Eric’s laptop?” You were seated at a different table, and Benjamin bit back a smile at the annoyed tone of your voice. “Is he not…”

 “He’s out on a date.” Still leaning in, Benjamin gritted his teeth, wrinkling his nose. “Left his laptop open on the table.” You swore under your breath, closing your eyes. “I was watching a movie and your call actually woke me up.” You eyed him carefully, waiting. “I was just going to close the screen, but you’ve called a few times, and I wanted to make sure everything was alright.” He watched shock cross your features, but you quickly recovered. 

 “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine, I just…” You looked away and then back at the screen. “Just needed to ask him something, and he wasn’t answering his phone, so I thought I’d try to call.” She’s lying. He watched as you carefully chose  your words, but you couldn’t hide the tightness of your jaw,  or the way the fingers of one hand drummed atop the table. 

 “Do you need me to call him? Maybe if I reach out, since he just saw me…” You shook your head, waving your hand. 

 “Not a big deal, it can wait.” Can it? Three Skype calls and at least one phone call doesn’t seem like it’s not a big deal. “How’s it going Benjamin?” You changed the subject, clearing your throat and tilting your head to the side. “I don’t want to pry, but… the last time Eric mentioned you, you weren’t…”

 “That’s a long story.” He sighed. “And not one that I feel comfortable having over your brother’s Skype account.” He felt himself smiling, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I appreciate you asking, though.” He glanced down, looking at the clock. “It’s what, nearly half three there?” It took you a second, but you told him he was right. 

 ‘You know the time difference between London and Chicago, Benjamin?” There was curiosity in your tone, but it wasn’t an accusation. “Why?” He thought for a moment and then decided to go with the truth. 

 “I looked it up when Eric was home for Christmas. He added me on Facebook, and whenever I’d see his updates, they were at strange times.” Benjamin paused. “Sorry if it’s odd, I -”

 “No.” You shook your head. “Not strange. That makes sense. You don’t have many American friends do you?” I don’t. “He told me he added you.” You shifted in your chair. “A day or so after that party.” You went quiet, and he watched you, eyes on your posture, which was more relaxed than it had been, the look in your eyes less wild. “I would have added you too, Benjamin, but…” You trailed off. I figured. “Look, I’ll let you get back to your movie, but if you’re still awake when Eric gets home, can you… can you tell him to call me? It doesn’t matter how late.” He was startled at the rapid change in your demeanor, but Benjamin agreed. “Thank you.” 

 “You know…” He spoke quickly, not taking the time to second guess his words. “I …” He glanced down, eyes landing on the bare skin of his left ring finger. I’m not doing anything wrong. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.” He gestured at the empty flat. “I’ve got no plans, and I can give you my account, you can Skype with me.” Did I overstep? Benjamin watched your reaction, surprised to see that there wasn’t much of one, though your eyes widened slightly.  “I’m not your brother, but I’ve been told that I -”

 “I don’t want to intrude, Benjamin.” You chewed on your lower lip. “You’re still married, and I don’t want anyone to think…” He laughed at that, his hand combing through his hair. “Looks like we both have some things to talk about.” 

 --- 

 Fifteen minutes later, Benjamin was back in his room, sitting at the small table that doubled as his desk and waiting for your call. He’d given you his email address and then hung up, closing Eric’s computer before he straightened, popping his back. That was a surprise. Even though it had been a short conversation, he’d enjoyed talking to you - but the fact that he’d been quick to offer a listening ear had come as a shock to him. As he waited for you, he thought about what Julia would think, and guilt crept in. She’d be jealous. Suspicious. She wouldn’t care that it’s only because I could tell she needs to talk about something. He stared at the screen, eyes on his profile picture. Is that it? 

 Benjamin’s first conversation with you in the very bedroom he now lived in had been a welcome change of pace from his previous interactions with women - Bianca excluded. You were interested, polite, and you let him speak without cutting him off. She listened to me. She was curious. He’d never intended to form any sort of friendship with you; how could he, when you were thousands of miles away for the majority of the time? That trip had been your first to London, even though Eric had already been in the country for eight months - and there were no more plans for you to come back. Julia wouldn’t have cared, she would have seen it as a breach of trust. 

 Benjamin scrubbed at his face, debating over whether or not to put his glasses on in order to take the call when the screen changed, an incoming call alert pinging. Doesn’t matter now. He answered after only a few seconds, taking another deep breath. “Hi.” You’d moved too, back into the room that he’d first seen you in onscreen, and you’d thrown your hair back, securing it loosely. She changed her shirt. “Comfortable?” 

 “I should be asking you that, Benjamin.” You paused. “I slept on all three of those beds when I was there, trying to find the most comfortable one, and -”

 “It’s definitely not the one closest to the closet.” He rolled his eyes. “I actually pushed the other two together to give me more space, and it’s worked out so far.” You put your face in your hands, laughing and telling him that you hadn’t thought of that. “Well you were only here for a week, I’ve been here for a few months, so I had to do something.” Peeking back up at him, you agreed, taking a deep breath. 

 “How are you adjusting to being back in London full time?” He scratched the side of his head. Guess I’m going first. 

 “It’s been easier than I thought, actually.” He spoke about what he’d been up to, telling you about his job and Zac and Bianca’s engagement, about the other new friends he’d made through work. “I miss Devon, but it’s been… it hasn’t been bad here.” 

 “What about Julia?” The curiosity was back. “You’ve seen her a few times since you’ve been in London, has she… has anything changed?” A lot. Benjamin weighed his options. How much do I tell her? How much does she want to hear? 

 “We met last week - the night you were talking to Eric when I came home?” You nodded, eyes focused on Benjamin’s face. “We… well, I…” He swallowed. “She’s still refusing to see someone, and I refused to just go back to the way things were.” You frowned, telling him that you were sorry. “I am, too. I really thought we’d…” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now. She used the word divorce for the first time, and I… I gave her another option, one where she could save face and it would look like I…”

 “Is that what’s best, Benjamin?” Your chin was propped up on your knuckles. “For you, I mean?” Does it matter? He didn’t answer right away and you continued. “It’s none of my business, but I… from what you said that first night we met, this is what you’ve done for the past few years.” You rubbed at the back of your neck. “You shouldn’t have to -”

 “It’s what’s best, yeah. I think so anyway.” His heartbeat quickened. “Julia’s… she’s stubborn, but when I told her what I was thinking, it caught her off guard.” Very off guard. “I think she’s still expecting me to change my mind, but I won’t compromise on this, because it’s important to me.” You replied softly, the word “good” barely audible. “I haven’t spoken to her in a while, but I’ll need to reach out, because I can’t… can’t leave this to her.” The words spilled out, Benjamin grateful that someone was taking the time to listen to him. I told her some of this already, I shouldn’t rehash it, she doesn’t… “If it’s just going to end, I don’t want to draw it out.” He glanced up at the ceiling, trying to steady himself. “That’s not good for either of us.”

 “No.” You scoffed, closing your eyes and going silent. “It’s not.” He watched you for a few seconds and then said your name, waiting until you opened your eyes again to speak. 

 “Your turn.” You forced a smile. “What was so important that you called your brother so many times on a Friday night?” Keep it friendly. Don’t make it serious. He didn’t know what was wrong, but didn’t want you to feel like you were on the spot. 

 “Benjamin… would you ever …. Date a friend of your brother’s?” You knew about Kieran in vague terms, and Benjamin didn’t want to give anything else away. Keeping a straight face he thought it over. 

 “Well, that depends.” He leaned back in his chair, keeping his eyes on your face. “Are they a new friend, or someone he’s known for a while?” 

 “Known a while. A really good friend that you know, too.” Well I certainly wouldn’t date any of Kieran’s friends. “A good guy. Smart, has a good job.” You were frowning as you spoke.

 “It doesn’t seem like you…” He tapped his fingers against his lips. “I’m going to skip the rubbish, if you don’t mind.” You inhaled sharply, waiting. “Tell me why you don’t seem to think that it’s a good idea.” 

 “Oh, I…” You straightened your shoulders. “It’s not that I don’t think that it’s a good idea, I just… I never considered it before, you know?” You glanced off to the side. “So one of Eric’s friends just asked…” You explained your situation to him, and Benjamin listened without interrupting. One of Eric’s childhood best friends had seen you leaving work the previous day, and the two of you had spoken at length in a parking lot before exchanging numbers, since you’d lost touch over the years. He’d called earlier that day, asking if you wanted to go out on a date with him. “He said he’d wanted to ask for a while, but always felt strange about it since we basically grew up together.” You shrugged. “I said yes, but I’m thinking I shouldn’t have.”

 “Why?” It was his turn to be curious. “Are you single?” You nodded. “Are you attracted to him?” You didn’t nod. 

 “I’ve never thought about him that way before.” You pressed your lips together. “He’s smart, like I said, and he’s … not into drugs or anything like that. And he’s not bad looking, but he’s Eric’s friend, you know? I just…” Benjamin waited. “It’s just weird to think about, Benjamin. He’s seen me in my awkward teenage years, before I knew how to dress or do my makeup, or …” He was listening, but Benjamin found himself wondering what you’d been like as a teenager, what you and Eric had gotten into as kids. Stop. “I don’t want to screw anything up - between him and Eric, I mean.” You covered your face with your hands. “Like what if we end up dating, and then Eric has to think about me with his -”

 “He’s an adult.” Benjamin blinked quickly. “Just like you are. Were you calling to ask… ask Eric if he’d mind if you went out with his friend?” You peeked through your fingers, telling Benjamin he was correct. “If I were you?” You lowered your hands. “And take this with a grain of salt, because you’ve seen how my latest relationship played out… but I’d go out with him. See if you’re… compatible, and then go from there.”

 “You would?” Benjamin repeated himself. “But what if -”

 “It’s easier to do it and then say something than tell him and then worry about what he’s thinking.” He winked at you. “Though you’ve tried to call him a few times, and he’ll wonder what it was about, so you might have to tell him what’s going on.” Swearing loudly, you started laughing, hanging your head and Benjamin followed suit, feeling lighter than he had in a week. “Really, though, if he’s what you say he is, there’s no harm in going out with him, at least once.” Benjamin heard the sound of you sighing. Did she want me to tell her not to do it? “You’ll know quickly if you’re into him.” Benjamin said your name again, this time more gently. “And he’s obviously into you… what’s one date going to hurt?” 

 ---

 Benjamin kept in contact with you throughout the next week, a few messages sent back and forth. You’d decided to go out with Noah, and you’d told Eric that that was the plan. He’s alright with it, so that’s a surprise. Benjamin laughed as he replied back with a thumbs up, tucking his phone back into his pocket. Good. I hope it goes well. 

 He’d also spoken to Julia - both on the phone and over messages - the woman coldly telling him that she still hadn’t made a decision about which firm to go with on a Tuesday, and then reaching out again on Friday to let him know that she’d narrowed it down, and it was up to Benjamin to choose between the final two. He’d done so quickly, but held off on sending his response back until the following morning, not wanting it to seem as if he’d rushed it. But this isn’t rushing. It’s been weeks. Months. He felt the device vibrating against his leg and Benjamin reached for it, seeing Julia’s image on the screen. Here we go. 

 “Benjamin?” Her tone was clipped. “They can see us next week to get things started.” They can? “We’ll need to go in and meet with them and see how we move forward.” She’s … taking this seriously. “That means from now until Wednesday is all the time you’ll have.” To what? “This is your last chance. Come home, and deal with this like a m-”

 “Like a man, Julia? Is that what you’re going to say?” He felt himself getting angry. “I’d think that me being willing to take all the blame for this even though my reason is something you’ve known for years is man enough.” His breath was coming quickly, one knee bouncing. “I’ve tried to deal with this. I’ve tried to make you understand, but this is what it’s come to.” He looked down, finger once again bare. As it will be. “Giving you the option to find yourself some happiness wherever you can instead of being weighted down by me is me being a man isn’t it?” She was quiet on the other end of the line. “I tried to do this the right way, Julia. Being honest and open and trying to work with you, but you still don’t get it.” 

 “Oh I get it, Benjamin.” She forced a laugh out. “I understand completely.” Do you? “I’ll see you Wednesday. Half past twelve, don’t be late.” She hung up before he could say another word, and Benjamin stared at his phone’s screen for long moments, trying to process things. This is happening. It’s… only a few days, and everything starts. He tightened his hold on the device, ready to put it away when another message from you came through. Got plans tomorrow, Benjamin? I’m going to tell you all about this date you suggested I go on after it’s over. 

 He swallowed. I definitely shouldn’t be giving relationship advice. But he unlocked his phone, hesitating before he typed. None of the gritty details, please. 

 --- 

 You Skyped him late Sunday afternoon, and Benjamin realized with a start that it was before noon for you. She just woke up. He looked you over, noticing the t-shirt that you’d likely slept in, along with your lack of makeup. She’s comfortable with me seeing her like this. His lips twitched. Interesting. “Well, how’d it go?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re in your room, and it looks like you’re alone, so-”

 “You said you didn’t want the details, Benjamin Greene.” Your mouth dropped open in mock surprise. “I’m kidding. We went to dinner and then saw a movie. It was a … a basic date.” You licked your lips. “It wasn’t bad.” That doesn’t sound promising. “I think it was a little weird for both of us, just because of Eric, but…” You rubbed your eyes. “I was home around eleven, and he didn’t even ask to come in or anything.” A gentleman. 

 “I’m not sure what I should say here.” He watched you shifting on the chair you sat in, drawing a knee up, your foot resting on the edge of the chair. Bare legs? Hmm. “Are you -”

 “I said we should go out again, this time when it’s still daylight, so we can do something that’s outside, not just a restaurant and a movie theater.” Smart. “It’s weird, though, he didn’t even try to kiss me, just hugged me goodnight and left.” What? That’s… 

 “That’s odd.” He spoke without thinking. “I would hav-” Benjamin cut himself off. I would have what? He saw the confusion on your face. “If I’d gone out with someone and had a good date,” he recovered, trying to keep his expression even. “I would have kissed them at the end of the night.” He held up a hand as you opened your mouth. “But. He might just be taking it slow because there is a history between you, and he doesn’t want to make it awkward.” You agreed with him, and Benjamin felt himself relaxing. But what was I tense about? He decided he’d consider that later, refocusing his attention on on you.

 “Why are first kisses so awkward, Benjamin?” You were playing with your hair. “It’s been so long since I’ve had to be nervous about something like that, and it’s not like Noah’s a total stranger, but I was still… nervous thinking it would happen, which is weird.” He thought back to his first kiss with Julia - the surprise that had been written on her face when he pulled away. It surprised me, too. 

 “You were thinking of it, so that must mean it’s something that you wanted.” He leaned in, staring at you through the screen. “That’s a good sign, right?” 

 “Yeah, I guess so.” You talked for a few more minutes, and just after you’d told him you were going to go and make something for breakfast, Benjamin interjected. 

 “Julia and I are seeing lawyers on Wednesday. We’re stating the…” He swallowed, trying to work up the courage to use the words. “The annulment process.” 

 “An annulment? Don’t you have to meet certain requirements for that? Not consummating the marriage or someone lying about something or being forced to…” Yes. He nodded slowly. “Well she would have been crazy not to sleep with you for two years, so I know that’s not it.” You spoke quickly, and Benjamin heard your words but didn’t focus on them, instead trying to calm his own heartbeat. You just basically told her there’s a secret. “If… if you ever want to get it off your chest, Benjamin, I’m… I’ll listen.” You smiled at him, but it wasn’t one of pity, nor was it one that gave him any indication that you were insincere. “I mean it. But I’m starving, so Im going to go eat. Have a good … afternoon?” He grinned. I’ll try. 

 Throughout the rest of that night and the following day, Benjamin mulled over your words. Crazy not to sleep with me? What does that mean? When he wasn’t thinking about that, he worried about his appointment with Julia and the lawyers, trying to prepare himself for whatever was to come. 

 He took a half day Wednesday, heading home at 11 to change and then catching a taxi to the office, arriving a few minutes early. He checked with the receptionist, but Julia wasn’t there yet, and so he sat down to wait, pulling his phone out to silence it when a message popped up on the screen. I set my alarm for 6:15 am for this, Benjamin. Good luck today. 

 He stared at the words for long moments, but before he could reply and thank you, he heard Julia’s voice saying his name. Here we go. “Afternoon, Julia.” He stood, walking over to her. “They’re not ready for us, but now that you’re here, we can -”

 “Let’s get this over with, Benjamin.” She met his eyes, and he saw a look in them that he hadn’t seen since their wedding day, as they came face to face on the beach at the base of the cliffs. She hates me. I’m doing this for her and she hates me. “The sooner we start, the better, right?” 

 An hour and a half later, Benjamin and Julia stepped out of the office, and he was more overwhelmed then he’d ever been in his entire life. After quickly explaining their situation to the legal team, Benjamin and Julia had taken turns telling their respective sides of the story - Julia reiterating that she’d known something was amiss before their marriage, but that Benjamin had been convincing, telling her that there was nothing to worry about, that he’d been truthful. She sounds like she believes it. Is this what… is this going to become truth? 

 He’d replied by telling everyone in the room that almost no one knew what the truth was, that since he’d been a child when he’d confessed, it had been stricken from his official record, and since he’d changed his name, it was difficult to connect him to Sean White and Kieran. “I didn’t do it out of spite,” he explained, turning in his chair to face Julia, ignoring the lawyers. “It was never out of spite, not for a second.” She met his gaze, but her eyes were cold. “I wanted to see someone, to talk through all of this, to explain fully, but … but Julia won’t, and so… so here we are.” 

 “Well, Ms. Day, the fact that you never took Mr. Greene’s last name strengthens the case.” The female lawyer that sat across the table from them was scribbling on a pad of paper, shoulders set. “This typically takes months to finalize, but if you’re both in agreement, and the decree will be uncontested -”

 “It will be.” Her voice sharp, Julia spoke again. “I’m tired. I’m tired of trying to make him understand how much this has all hurt me. How much it’s damaged my relationship with my children… how much it’s changed me.” He could hear the hurt in her voice, and Benjamin felt his heart twisting in his chest. This hurts me too. 

 “I’ve got nothing to contest. I just want what’s best for her.” Benjamin reached out to take Julia’s hand, but she pulled it away quickly, tucking it onto her lap. “It’s been… we’ve tried to come to a different agreement, but there’s… there’s nothing else we can do.” There really isn’t. This is it. 

 They both paused outside of the building, people bustling by them on the sidewalk. The air was warm - early April had been unseasonably nice - and Benjamin watched as a slight breeze ruffled Julia’s hair. The woman stared at him, and though her eyes had softened, she was still looking at him with contempt. “I hope you’re happy, Benjamin.” She spat the words out. “That was humiliating, me having to tell them that I was a fool for three years, the entire time I knew -”

 “Yeah? How about how humiliating it was for me to pretend that I married you and deceived you for two years? About having to tell these people that you couldn’t even find it in your heart to take my last name because you didn’t trust me, even though that wasn’t it?” He paused. Or was it? Was that it the whole time? That you didn’t want the stain of my name legally tied to ... “I’m going to have to tell that story again and again in front of countless people, and you get to sit back and play th-” He cut himself off. Too far. ‘And pretend that it’s the truth.” But the damage was done and she lifted her hand as if she was going to slap him. Benjamin held his ground, staring her in the eye. Do it. If it makes you feel better, do it. 

 “You know, Benjamin…” She laughed, raising one hand to run her fingers through her hair, pulling it away from her face. “I thought, up until I walked into that office this afternoon, that you wouldn’t go through with this.” She shook her head. “Alexia was right - I shouldn’t have even tried so hard to save this. Is it really that bad being married to me? That bad that you won’t come home? That you won’t try?” She lowered her hand, sliding it into her pocket. “I gave you everything, Benjamin. A house, a car, money, anything you wanted.” He felt tears welling up in his eyes. This is you trying hard?

 “None of it mattered if you didn’t love me, Julia. And you didn’t trust me, not fully. Not… not ever. And without that?” He wiped at his eyes. “It’s all worthless.” She stared at him for a few seconds and then turned away, heading down the sidewalk and away from him. I need a drink. 

--- 

 Benjamin checked his email and the mail slot nearly constantly for the next few weeks, waiting for correspondence from the legal team. They’d filled out relevant paperwork the first appointment, but he knew there was more to come. When he received anything, he was quick to open it and read through it, filling things out and returning them without delay. He always texted Julia to keep her updated, and hoped that she was doing the same, not waiting until the last minute to return documents. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can be done with it. It upset him - the fact that he was essentially counting down the days until his marriage was erased from the records - but he knew that it was what was best. There’s no coming back from this. 

 Julia changed her Facebook status but didn’t defriend him, and while it hurt him to see her answering questions publicly, he read them every now and then, wanting to see what she was saying so that he could be prepared. What surprised him the most was that she didn’t elaborate on what he’d lied to her about, aside from saying that he’d kept parts of his past from her, that she couldn’t forgive him for keeping who he truly was and where he was from a secret.

 Roughly three weeks after they’d signed the initial petition, Benjamin got a text from Leo, and though it was short, it was encouraging. I know it’s hard, mate, but you know the truth. You always will. And so will she, even if she doesn’t admit it. He replied back, thanking Leo, and even though Benjamin didn’t want to admit it, there was a small sense of satisfaction in knowing that no matter how hard she pretended otherwise, Julia would always have to live with the fact that though she treated him terribly, Benjamin had taken the fall for her shortcomings. Leo’s answering text had actually made him laugh - When this is all over, let’s meet for a pint, you can tell me what really happened  - and Benjamin sent back one word - definitely - a small smile on his face. 

 He kept Eric updated on the most important details of what was happening, letting him know to listen for parcel deliveries on the days that he was home, since some of the documents were brought by a courier. He’d also routinely talk about it with Zac and Bianca, but the person he spoke to the most about his situation was you. Sometimes, you’d talk over Skype, other times you’d use your phones and FaceTime. Benjamin was surprised with how patient you were, listening to his complaints and his questions, answering them to the best of your ability. She doesn’t even know me, and she’s trying harder than Julia did. 

 He enjoyed talking with you - the conversations often serving as the best parts of his day, and he told you time and time again that he was thankful you’d spoken to him on the balcony, opening up the potential to make a new friend in a time when he wouldn’t have thought twice about talking to another woman. “I didn’t want anything from you, Benjamin.” You laughed, the sound quiet in his ear. “You just looked like you needed someone to talk to.” Does she mean that? “I mean it.” Both of you were quiet on the line, and then you spoke again. “I’ve got to go, though, I’m meeting Noah and his brother, we’re going to a baseball game, even though it’s still freezing outside.” 

 “Baseball’s always fascinated me.” He stared up at his ceiling. “Hopefully if I ever get over to the States, I’ll be able to catch a game or two.” You laughed again. “What?”

 “You made a baseball pun, and you probably don’t even realize it.” He closed his eyes. I didn’t. “But I’m already late, I’ve really got to go. Get some sleep, alright? I know it’s late over there.” It was - it was nearly midnight, and he had work the following morning. “Sorry to keep you up.” Don’t apologize, I’m the one that answered. You hung up soon after that, and thought he fell asleep quickly, Benjamin found himself opening your Facebook page when he woke up, clicking through the images you’d uploaded overnight.

 He’d added you a couple weeks after your first Skype conversation, not caring what Julia thought, since you were just his roommate’s sister, and it was clear that you were seeing someone. Would it matter if she wasn’t? Benjamin swiped through pictures until he got to one of you and Noah from the night before, the two of you sitting in hard plastic seats, a plain baseball cap atop your head, and the man’s arm around your shoulders. She looks happy. You did - you had a wide smile in all of the pictures that you posted both with and without Noah in them, but he noticed that you weren’t leaning into the man next to you; there was a space between you. Maybe it’s the seats. 

 But he kept swiping, and the others of you and the man - taller than you and with medium brown hair and green eyes - were the same, even from other days. She’s smiling, but… He didn’t want to read into anything, and knew that pictures weren’t always the best indication of the truth, but Benjamin knew faking happiness better than most. But she’s never said anything to make me think… Double tapping on one of the pictures of the two of you,  Benjamin glanced once more at the expression on your face and then closed out of the app, setting his phone down. Let it go. Go to work. 

 By the end of May, Benjamin had filled out just about every form he could think of that had to do with ending his marriage, and there was still no date set for court, where he and Julia would have to speak in front of a judge. He’d spent hours looking into the process, and could pinpoint the exact place on the timeline where it felt as if they were stuck. This can’t move forward without that court date. I’m not sure what we’re waiting for. He was frustrated, but even the man hired to represent him couldn’t give him any additional information, and Julia had taken to ignoring his calls, though she had no issue talking about him with her friends online. Thought she wanted to keep this private. Based on comments, he was simply another person in Julia’s life that had wronged her. Even though that’s not at all what happened.

 The first week of June, Benjamin got a phone call in the middle of work, answering it on the second ring. “Benjamin.” The voice that he’d grown to love sounded cold and distant in his ear, and he grimaced, pushing his glasses atop his head. 

 “I’m at work, Julia, what’s going on?” There was silence on the other end of the line, and then she spoke. 

 “I just got word from the law office. We … we don’t have to go to court. The judge accepted the petition, and all we’ll have to do is meet to sign the final decree.” He felt his eyes widen, and Benjamin sat up straight. “They can fit us in tomorrow or Monday, either day is…” She trailed off, and he heard the slightest bit of warmth creeping back into her tone. “We can still call this off. We don’t have to sign.” He considered her words briefly, and then thought of the things he’d read on her page, the way she’d spoken about him to her friends and family, everyone but Leo seeming to take her side. There’s no coming back from this. They all know… they all think I lied. It would be horrible. 

 “We can’t do that, Julia. Not anymore. Too much… too much has been said. Too much has been talked about with people that shouldn’t have been involved in this.” You’d talk to your friends about me, telling lies, but you didn’t want to get help.  He swallowed, closing his eyes. “I can meet tomorrow. Any time.” I need to be done with this. 

---

If you want to be added or removed (I can start a Benjamin tag list too) … please let me know.

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Tipping Point: 

@fairywriter-oracle

[miximax-hell]

As always, it’s been a hot minute. But, uh, hey! I hope you’ve all been fine!

Can you believe that this is actually my 20th reference sheet? That’s crazy. I am hecking slow, but I honestly thought I’d have stopped doing this (way) before I reached the double digits. But, hey, I’m still kicking!

And, to honour such a number, it was about time to add another Raimon baby to this blog, so I’ve gone for one of my very favourites. Shishido is very dear to my heart for a variety of reasons (that I will make sure to explain thoroughly when the time for it comes) and I’ve had this miximax in mind for a very long time. In fact, I’ve been ruminating on it since @raynef-art (btw, today’s Raynef’s birthday, so go and wish her a happy birthday if you can!!) and I talked about Shishido on Skype years ago. When was that, even? 2016? 2017, perhaps? In any case, it sure has been extremely long. But, thankfully, all of that ruminating led to one of my favourite pairs in this whole project! Katrielle Layton is a fantastic fit for Shishido, and I will do my very best to explain why this is the case in this post.

So, for more on ShishiKat, please check under the cut!

As always, I like to use this first paragraph to talk a bit about random stuff, so feel free to skip it if you want. Long story short, I’ve spent the last few months (since mid-May or so) job hunting like a beast. Big ol’ companies from all around the world, like Rockstar, Revolution, The Creative Assembly/Sega or Build A Rocket Boy have shown interest in me, but it’s led nowhere so far, which is extremely frustrating. Heck, there’s a company who contacted me first and they still didn’t give me the job in the end. >:| But I did an interview last Thursday and I should get an answer soon, so let’s hope that goes well...! It’s an awesome job, close to where I live (so I wouldn’t have to move), the company is super successful and two friends are already working there. It’d be incredible to join them and keep progressing in my career. And, well, money doesn’t hurt at all either. Gotta get into the wheel of capitalism. Anyway, job matters aside, I’ve recently finished some games that have become personal favourites of mine, like Valkyria Chronicles and Hatoful Boyfriend: Holiday Star (even if the first one was arguably better), but the one that undoubtedly takes the crown is Marvel’s Spider-Man, which shaped up to be a game as brilliant as Insomniac’s previous titles, if not even more so, and has become one of my favourite games of all time. Sadly, Spider-Man isn’t originally a videogame character, so I won’t be including him in this project (as much as that pains me). So we’ll have to take other routes if we want to have a Marvel miximax here... I’m on it, but suggestions are still accepted.

So, Shishido! Who doesn’t love Shishido? He’s just so lovely. Look at him! Look at him right now! How can someone without visible eyes be so PRECIOUS? Don’t you just want to channel the annoying aunt within you and pinch his cheeks and nose? Well, we still can’t do that, but we can try and do him justice by giving him a truly awesome miximax. (The quality of the art that accompanies said miximax may vary in quality, but that’s not Shishido’s nor Katrielle’s fault--it’s entirely mine for not being better.)

So, friends who have been here for a while and have a good memory may be thinking, “Hold on a minute, you! The Professor Layton franchise has already been represented within this blog--you miximaxed Fudou with Hershel Layton himself!” And you’d be right. You might even be thinking I’m betraying my own rules by using two characters from the same franchise. Well, that isn’t the case, as PL is a Level-5 franchise and I may (and tend to) use up to two characters from each franchise made by L5. It’s all here. But, even with all of that, there’s still a question that remains and that I figure many people might have in their heads: if Fudou is already miximaxed with Hershel, isn’t Shishido basically a copy? Does Katrielle really add anything to the table?

I’m glad you asked. Well, I’m glad I asked, because that’s what led to all of this. ww And, thankfully, yes. Yes, she does. But before answering that question, we have a much more important question to ask:

Who is Shishido Sakichi?

Hino, that lovely piece of work, is actually really fricking good (when he actually tries) at something I’m unable to name, hence why I will refer to it as “scattered storytelling.” It’s similar to environmental storytelling in the sense that we’re never directly told many things, but we can still figure them out thanks to the looks of a character, the scenarios we see, audio queues, etc. Video games offer many resources to build up rich environmental storytelling, but what Hino (and probably many others--it’s not like he invented the wheel!) does is give us hints scattered across different pieces of media to try and figure out what some of his undeveloped characters are all about. And let’s be real: original Raimon is a lovely collection of undeveloped characters. So let’s check out a few things about Shishido and see where they take us.

Shishido was one of the first members of Raimon, being one of the 7 players the team had before they were forced to look for more people to have a match against Teikoku. He was, however, replaced by Kidou when he joined the team, and he stayed as a benchwarmer until he got injured by Gemini Storm. Then, as he joined the Dark Emperors, if you talk to him in the game before the match, he mentions how he’s been pushing himself past his limit for a long time, only to keep feeling like he’s mediocre. Finally, during the match between Raimon’s older and newer members, he is shown facing Kidou and getting past him despite how afraid he was of engaging directly with such a big rival.

On top of that, his in-game descriptions go like this: “He is becoming the team’s key-man by developing his own pace,” (IE1) “His laid-back personality can make him the butt of his team-mates' jokes“ (IE2) and “The Aliea crystal has given him an invincible self-belief“ (IE2 DE). Let’s admit that it’s not a lot to go by, but maybe we can get something out of all of this.

As usual, I explain this better in the heat of the moment while talking to someone who’s ready to listen, so Raynef or my girlfriend probably got the better version of what I’ll be trying to explain now. However, those conversations are so old that I'm having trouble retrieving them, so... welp. ww Let me try anyway.

Judging by what we know about Shishido, we can try to figure out what his character development has been like. We get his first in-game description as soon as we can see him in our in-game menu; that is, before the first Teikoku match even takes place. At this point, aka at the very beginning of the game, Shishido is a player that is “becoming the team’s key-man.” Slowly, perhaps, but he is on his way. However, this process is halted abruptly when Kidou joins the team, as he replaces him as a regular first-team player. Now, a valid question would be, “why did Kidou replace Shishido and not any other midfielder?”

It would make no sense to get rid of Someoka or Kurimatsu to let Kidou in the pitch, as he’s not a forward nor a defender. But, among all the midfielders in the team, why Shishido? Why not Handa, Shourin or even Max (who is technically a forward, but has been playing as a midfielder, so it’d make a lot more sense to bench him)? The most obvious answer would be that everyone else has abilities that Kidou can’t properly replace/mimic/make up for; or, in other words, that Kidou is like an upgraded version of Shishido more than he is an upgraded version of any of the other characters. And what is Kidou, exactly? A brilliant midfielder with incredible control over the ball and a great strategist overall. It’s this last part that we’re most interested in: he’s a strategist. A game-maker, that is. What one could easily call a vital part of a team or, even, in more poetic words, a key-man. What Shishido used to be, or was going to become, before Kidou showed up to steal his spotlight. Not to mention the incredible pain one must feel upon being replaced like that... (This was best explained by @mimiflieder on her fic, Change of pace--it’s about Handa and Ichinose, but the same thing applies. I totally recommend checking it out!)

This theory is further supported (in sad ways) by his in-game description in IE2. His personality remains the same (laid-back and doing his at his own pace), but he has gone from being a key-man WIP to the butt of his teammates’ jokes. Sure, the jokes are blamed on this laid-back personality, but something doesn’t quite add up. Check out his quote while he’s a Dark Emperor: he’s been pushing himself too hard to achieve nothing. Is that really what you’d call ‘laid-back’?

In the best case scenario, everyone sees him as being laid-back and chill to the point of being funny: he’s not making a fuss about being replaced in front of his teammates. However, he’s been trying as hard as possible in secret to become the best he can possibly be... only to still be eclipsed by Kidou and the other talented members of the team in every sense.

In the worst case scenario, his attempts to improve are very much obvious to his team, and the lack of results or the gap between the two key-men not becoming any smaller is what makes him the butt of jokes (but I hate this scenario because Raimon babies are all sweet and supportive boys who’d never do this. I DON’T CARE IF TEENAGERS ARE CRUEL AND STUPID BY NATURE. RAIMON BABIES ARE BETTER THAN ACTUAL TEENAGERS, OKAY, AND THEY’D NEVER DO THIS. THEY ARE PRECIOUS LITTLE ANGELS.)

In either case, he was destined to be--heck, he might have already been in non-spoken parts of the game--Raimon’s game-maker, but when Kidou came around with his superior skills, Shishido became, simply put, obsolete. That made his self-esteem sink and eventually threw him in the arms of Aliea in a desperate attempt to finally be better and stand up to Kidou. That’s why his in-game description as a DE talks about his boosted self-esteem, much like Handa’s talks about how that jack-of-all trades is using the meteorite to become master of all.

And, of course, this makes that scene during that final match ALL the more relevant: not only does it signify the triumph of hard work and resolution over sheer talent, fleeting as it might be, but it’s also the end of a long, long journey of self-deprecation, self-improvement, guts and sheer fear. Shishido was literally SHAKING when he saw Kidou running towards him, but he pulled himself together and won. He was no longer the inferior one, the replaceable one, the laughing stock. Little and unexplained as it may be, it’s a truly emotional finale to his personal and unspoken journey.

(Another and more positive way to look at it is that Shishido is meant to become Raimon’s game-maker and key-man AFTER KIDOU LEAVES, so all this time by his side has been a massive training camp of two years to learn his ways and then add his own twist to everything he’s learnt. This leaves some issues hanging, but it will at least let me sleep tonight.)

What we have here is a pretty solid theory pointing at Shishido having what it takes to become a game-maker. But, hey, that’s just a theory! A GAME THEORY! ...And what this means is that there’s evidence supporting it, but we have no way to confirm it unless one of you guys can go and casually interrogateview Hino (and if you do, that’d kind of come in handy, actually). However, the pieces fall together a bit too well to be just a coincidence, right? At least, I think so. And even if they don’t, we don’t have much more to go by, so... it’ll have to do.

Anyway, we’ve (somewhat) answered the question about who Shishido is. It is, therefore, about time to answer the main question this post laid on the table: is Katrielle a good aura to use when her father is already part of this project? And, even if she is, why would Katrielle be the best match for Shishido? Let’s start by explaining what makes Katrielle non-redundant despite bearing her father’s surname and being very similar conceptually.

In essence, Katrielle and Hershel fulfill very similar roles: a smart person who likes puzzles and is hired to solve mysteries no one else can solve. But anyone who knows anything about these characters will know that, really, they are absolutely nothing alike.

Hershel is the perfect gentleman: well-behaved, modest, calm and cold-headed regardless of the situation, polite to a fault, boasts perfect manners, and he manages to get along with even the most unfriendly people in the world thanks to his infinite patience, unwavering kindness and the smile he has on his face whenever he greets someone. Not to mention that his investigation process is long-winded and meticulous, and keeps telling Luke to not make quick assumptions when he jumps into conclusions ahead of time.

Meanwhile, Katrielle is pretty much the polar opposite: proud (heck, the first episode of the anime has her saying her skills are better than her father’s!), funny, dramatic to a fault, jumps to crazy conclusions so fast that everyone around her is always surprised by it and doubts she even put any thought into them, has a quick temper sometimes, she works as a detective just for funsies (and glory, to some extent, as she’s constantly struggling to be taken seriously by people who’d rather talk to her dad), she’s easily swayed by yummy food, instinct and imagination move her much more than hard evidence... This alone is enough to make the personalities of ShishiKat and FudoLay totally different, but, of course, this train doesn’t run on personalities, but on powers and skills. So let’s discuss not what Kat offers, but what Shishido needs.

We’ve established that Shishido was a game-maker in progress. Now, let’s keep in mind that this project includes all of the main characters from IE, IEGO, IECS and IEGalaxy, and they could all potentially be sharing a side of the field with Shishido, so let’s see whom he is competing against.

Of course, we have Kidou, the genius game-maker, the absolute commander of the pitch and, well, a living legend trained by another living legend: Kageyama. He has a miximax too, but you guys have not seen it yet. In due time.

We have Fudou, whose natural intelligence is (arguably) on par with Kidou’s and has received some training by Kageyama as well, even if he didn’t reach the same level of legend nor acted as a game-maker nearly as much as Kidou did. Fudou is, however, enhanced by Hershel Layton, whose influence upon mixitransing helps Fudou stop being such a little shit. That allows him to focus enough on the game and on his teammates to surpass Kidou as a serious and cold-headed strategist who is able to treat every situation as a puzzle and find the precise moves needed to solve it. Not to mention that, of course, Layton boosts Fudou’s intelligence as well.

Shindou has his miximax, which turns him into a "gamemaker of truth who can appraise people and the general situation, while combining both stillness and motion." Pretty self-explanatory.

Taiyou and Hakuryuu, upon mixitransing, become "midfielders of unparalleled accuracy, who can see into the future and attack the enemy's weak spots with their analytical reasoning." These two aren't technically game-makers in Chrono Storm, but Zhuge Liang was a frigging strategist and these two are given analytical reasoning through their miximax. Not to mention they were probably game-makers when they were part of their original teams.

The way the canon tried to keep Shindou and Taiyou/Hakuryuu from overlapping was by casually disregarding Zhuge Liang’s strategist side and focusing on her Keshin and ability to see the future/what no one else can see, so we can scratch Taiyou and Hakuryuu, as they won’t easily be taking the role of game-makers anymore. We can also discard Kidou, as FudoLay completely outclasses him for the time being. (Look at me, I sound like I’m writing an article on Electrode for Smogon--) So, ShishiKat’s only real challengers are FudoLay and, uh... does Shindou’s miximax have any kind of fandom name? I heard people refering to Kirino’s miximax as Kirino d’Arc, but that’s about it. Anyway, to keep it simple, I’ll call it ShinOda until someone brings up something better.

So, yeah, ShishiKat is competing against ShinOda and FudoLay. ShinOda focuses on a complete control over when to move and when not to move, arguably to preserve his teammates’ and his own stamina and maximise what everyone can do with their natural reserves of energy. FudoLay, on the other hand, uses analytical thinking to find the most efficient moves in any given situation. As I mentioned, he treats every situation as a puzzle, and, as Layton would say, “every puzzle has an answer.” One specific and perfect answer that FudoLay excels at finding, using the minimum number of steps necessary and turning the solution into pure art. He is, however, still Fudou, so he’d probably push his teammates to the limit in rough ways in order to achieve that perfection he is aiming for. And it’s still Layton, so we can expect some long-winded thought processes that take long to pay off--but when they finally do, HOO BOY.

It's good being analytical and smart, but perhaps, just perhaps, Shishido could use a little something to make him different and stick out among his peers. Something that is a bit more... proactive. Unpredictable. Slightly impulsive. But still as witty as one can ever be. He needs to combine the brains with the brawn, and blend it all together with much-needed cheerfulness, since all the game-makers we’re dealing with here are cold or outright pricks.

Shishido needs to improvise to the point of making things up for no reason and eventually making them work in almost miraculous ways. Focus less on what’s in front of his eyes and more on what other possibilities could be there. Act more on instinct than on careful observation. Give commands that are a lot more roundabout that those of Shindou, Kidou or Fudou, but end up paying off in ways that not even he could always predict. Jump into the problem head-first and solve it in-situ instead of looking at it from afar and pondering for long periods of time. And, of course, among all of that, he needs an enormous self-confidence to pull it all off, as his premises may seem utterly ridiculous and he must believe in them whole-heartedly to convince everyone else.

Katrielle Layton checks every single one of these boxes. It’s Katrielle, and Katrielle alone, who can turn Shishido not just into a replacement for the times when Kidou and Fudou aren’t around, but into a true force of nature that can assist the team at all times. It makes Shishido useful and non-redundant--which is, of course, much more than the anime did for him. Let alone the manga, where Shishido didn’t even appear. (I mean, the manga gave us Tamano bby, but still--)

And the best part is that they don’t step on each other. ShinOda is fantastic (and I won’t comment on my own ideas), but no one is objectively better at being a game-maker than the rest. Different situations will call for different approaches, so their relevance will shift as the rivals change or as the rivals adapt to one style or the other. Or, heck, they can simply all work together to keep their rivals guessing and come up with even greater strategies that combine everyone’s fortes.

Also, I’m watching Katrielle’s anime with my girlfriend and that is what made me consider her for this project in the first place, so props to her! (But sorry for butchering the design, dear ww)

[knifeshoeoreofight]

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6   Part 7  Part 8  Part 9

(Disclaimer: many wild liberties taken with the academic hiring process, North Atlantic sailing, etc. etc.) 

My writing music for this section: X

Bringing Vero and Cath in on the entire thing proves to be a godsend, and Cath makes it her mission to help Zhenya prepare to try and find work in the Maritimes. She sits down with Zhenya and spends hours helping him translate some of his more celebrated papers and articles into English. He does the basic translation and she refines the grammar and the syntax.

“I’m learning so much about marine mammal behavior,” she laughs. When he tries to thank her she waves it off. “I’m supposed to be taking it really easy, with the baby coming so soon. This is keeping me from losing my mind out of boredom, frankly.”

She’s late in her last trimester, belly swollen and heavy. Zhenya knows she’s probably incredibly uncomfortable most of the time. “You saint, too good for Kris,” he only half-jokes, much as he likes Kris.

“Oh, and doesn’t he know it,” she twinkles, and grins cheekily at her husband as he comes in carefully balancing a plate of doctor-approved snacks.

“Don’t I know what” Kris asks, leaning down to kiss her bright hair.

“Don’t know anything,” Zhenya grumbles, to cover up how much their devoted rapport affects him.

Fuck, he misses Sid.

***

By the time his CV is ready to start sending out, Magda and Sid are somewhere off the coast of Virginia.

The closer they get the more Zhenya’s restlessness sharpens. He buries himself in his research, but Vero seems to know just when he’s ready to tear his hair out.

“Take a baby,” she tells him, and hands Scarlett or Estelle off to him. He’s happy to babysit, after all she and her husband are doing for him. And the kids are sweethearts.

Somehow, time passes and Magda and Sid draw ever nearer.

***

A cold call to the Memorial University of Newfoundland miraculously leads to him being invited to speak to the biology department chair via Skype.

“Your credentials are impressive, Dr. Malkin,” he says. “But I’m told you held a secure position in a prestigious university in Russia. Why here, and why now?”

Zhenya answers as best as he can. “Focus for last couple years has been Atlantic humpback population. This area one of the best places to study. Was here last summer, tagging whales for research study. But that’s not biggest reason.” He pauses, and gathers his words.

“Political climate in Russia is… difficult. There are laws about what they call, ‘propaganda.’ And this winter, I meet someone who live in this area. Someone that is not safe to be with in Russia.”

“Ah,” the man says, understanding dawning in his face. “Well, you know as well as I that the university hiring process works in cycles, and that it’s not the time of year we’re looking to hire new faculty.”

“I know,” Zhenya says, heart sinking.

“But,” the man continues. “I’ve looked over your body of work. It’s extremely impressive. We host a lot of different visiting researchers at the Ocean Sciences Center. I’d like to work something out with you. And in terms of next year, I’m very interested in expanding our course offerings regarding marine mammal studies, if the university can be made to agree.”

Zhenya ends the meeting elated and grateful.

***

They have a celebratory dinner after that.

“And another thing,” Marc-Andre says as they discuss Zhenya’s work opportunities. “If Sid says yes to making this public, you could probably have any position or facilities you wanted, anywhere.”

“If,” Zhenya stresses. “Up to Sid. And I’m think about this a lot. If this doesn’t work out, can just work on fishing boat or some other job like that. Anything, so I’m close.” Cath smiles and pats his hand.

“Explain it to me again,” Vero asks. “Why tell anyone, ever? Wouldn’t they just, I don’t know, put him a lab somewhere?”

Zhenya feels a wave of revulsion shudder through him. “No. Never. Die before I let happen.”

“Yeah,” Marc-Andre says, jaw set, his normally impish expression serious and set like iron. “But it might… change things. Force the hands of organizations like the U.N. Create a global movement towards conservation. Wake people up.”

They’re all silent for a moment. They all have the images to draw on, the dire statistics and the horrifying data that keep them up at night. But Sid didn’t ask to be an ambassador for his species. The decision has to be his.

***

Kris’s in-laws own a sailboat. She sails best with a crew of three, so Zhenya, Marc-Andre, and Vero start taking her out on shakedown voyages into the Bay of Fundy while Kris stays behind with Cath, whose due date is approaching rapidly. 

They figure the boat’s the best way to find Sid once Magda reaches her feeding grounds. Her top speed is about eight knots, or fifteen miles per hour. Just fast enough to catch up with Magda if she isn’t moving at her full traveling speed.

They take a longer trip all the way around the southern end of Nova Scotia, to Halifax. The open water of the Atlantic is rough, nothing like the tropics. But they work together well, and start making plans for the long sail up the coast followed by the more than sixteen hour crossing to Newfoundland. 

They spend late nights with charts all over the table, laptops spilling pools of blue light. Every night, Zhenya checks the data to watch Sid’s progress. 

Closer and closer.

***

Zhenya nearly loses his mind when Magda lingers near Cape Cod. Then, before he knows it, the tags ping within a day’s sail of Cape Sable Island, right off the southern tip of Nova Scotia. He wants to take the boat out right away to chase them, but he knows it’s foolishness, putting them all at risk.

But they start packing, and prepare to follow, up past Cape Breton and into the Gulf of St. Lawrence.

***

Two days before they set sail, Cath delivers a baby girl. She and Kris name her Victoria. Zhenya goes with Marc-Andre and his family to visit, bringing along a little stuffed whale, because, why not.

Cath is exhausted but radiant, and Zhenya almost can’t look at Kris’s face as he watches his son kiss his new little sister’s downy head.

“I can’t help but feel that it’s...not good luck, exactly,” Cath says, when Zhenya is given the chance to hold Victoria. She’s so tiny and so light in his arms. “But just… it’s significant somehow. Her coming now.”

“Life,” Zhenya says, staring down as the baby blinks hazy blue eyes and yawns a miniature, perfect yawn. “New things starting.”

Cath smiles at him. “Exactly.”

Zhenya takes a dozen pictures for Sid.

***

The Atlantic feels like it wants to fight them,  either to cast them right out of its storm-shattered currents again or drag them down in pieces. But Vero and Marc-Andre have been raised on the water, and Zhenya’s learned fast. Magda’s slowing, moving less linearly each day. She’s stopping to feed in the rich waters, replenishing the weight she lost nursing Pasha in the Caribbean.  

***

The day they come within a mile of the last satellite ping, the sky is gray but calm. Zhenya stays topside, binoculars trained on the horizon, watching for spouts. They put a speaker into the water, playing a looped tape of Zhenya’s voice. When they made the recording, Zhenya was too embarrassed to speak in English, so it’s in Russian. He talks to Sid, telling him how much he misses him, how the months without him dragged.

And then they wait.

***

There’s a thud on the hull. Splashing at the waterline. Zhenya’s binoculars clatter to the deck, he lurches for the rail, and Marc-Andre has to haul on the back of his jacket so that he doesn’t slip and go overboard.

Sid.

There he is, reaching his hands out so Zhenya and Marc-Andre can haul him up. There’s ice-cold water streaming off him but Zhenya kneels on the deck and wraps him in his arms anyway, buries his face in Sid’s neck, can’t stop the hot tears coursing down his face.

Until this very moment, a small, deep part of him had been certain that they’d never find him.

Sid’s making a low keening sound deep in his chest, and his hands are clutching at Zhenya’s jacket like he’s afraid he’s going to disappear. They move to the back of Zhenya’s head, to his waist, back to clutching at his jacket. He wrenches loose, but it’s only so he can take Zhenya’s face in his hands and kiss him, little biting kisses all over his face, followed by a deep press of his lips to Zhenya’s.

“Sid,” Zhenya says brokenly. Sid murmurs back the sound he makes for Zhenya’s name. His eyes are dark and wild. He leans forward and sets his teeth to the base of Zhenya’s throat, holding him in place.

When he pulls back there’s blood on his lips. His sharp canines scraped Zhenya’s skin.

Sorry sorry sorry, he signs wildly, but Zhenya shakes his head. He leans forward, and kisses Sid in the same place, right above the shine of his gold chain. He bites down too, and Sid jerks against him.

Mine yes mine Sid declares more than asks. Mine.

Yes, Zhenya says, and rests his forehead against Sid’s. Yes.

[almostafantasia]

the wedding night

Summary: A tale of dancing, vodka sodas, and the frustrating presence of a toddler when all Waverly really wants to do is get off with the hot redhead she meets at her sister’s wedding.

(Consider this my contribution for the final day of Wynonna Earp Appreciation Week!)

Read on AO3.

“Another, please!”

Draining the last of her vodka soda, Waverly places the empty glass down on the bar and flags down the bartender. It’ll be her third of the night but she isn’t feeling the effects yet, and probably won’t until the fourth or fifth. The wedding reception featured a three course meal from the best catering company within fifty miles of Purgatory (Waverly would know, being the one who booked them because Wynonna’s response to planning her own wedding was to make a very thorough inspection of the liquor cabinet at the homestead) and Waverly’s stomach is lined with enough good food to soak up the alcohol.

Waverly isn’t drinking to get drunk, anyway. It’s just that when the other option is to watch Wynonna and her new husband dance happily together while everybody coos over the happy couple, making use of the open bar seems like the better idea.

She is an Earp, after all.

Today is a day that Waverly never thought would come; the day that Wynonna, a notorious commitment-phobe, is choosing to settle down and take a husband. It’s a big shock to anybody who knows Wynonna even the slightest, but it’s hitting Waverly particularly hard.

Waverly always thought that it would be the other way around, that she would be the one in the huge white dress publically declaring her love for her soulmate in front of all of her loved ones, while Wynonna sat alone at the bar finding solace in the bottom of a glass and making cynical comments about the impermanence of love.

Waverly is happy for Wynonna, of course she is. But that doesn’t mean that she can’t also be sad for herself.

“So, what is the maid of honor doing drinking alone at the bar?”

Waverly looks up from the drink she’s been swirling around its glass with a straw as an unknown redhead slides onto the stool next to hers. The woman flags down the bartender, ordering herself a martini, then turns her attention to Waverly with her eyebrows raised and the barest hint of a smile teasing at her pink lips as she waits for an answer.

“And you are…?”

Waverly recognises the woman from earlier in the day – she remembers setting eyes on her during the ceremony and being a little envious of how good the dark blue dress that clings to her curves looks on her – but they’ve never actually met before and Waverly thinks that it’s good manners to at least get a stranger’s name before spilling her deepest secrets to them.

“I’m Nicole,” the woman replies, holding out a hand, which Waverly tentatively shakes. “Nicole Haught.” Nicole leans forward slightly, a knowing look in her eyes, as she says, “And you are Waverly Earp. Sister of the bride, maid of honor and, in my humble opinion, the prettiest girl in the room.”

“Are you always this forward?” Waverly asks shyly, her cheeks blushing delicately as she flusters under Nicole’s gaze. She has to admit though, after a whole day of listening to everybody fuss over Wynonna (and rightfully so, Wynonna looks gorgeous in her wedding dress) it’s quite nice to be the object of somebody’s flattery.

“Only when I see something that I like,” Nicole replies, as smoothly as if she has practiced these lines one hundred times before approaching Waverly. “So, you never did tell me why you’re drinking alone at your sister’s wedding.”

“I usually love weddings,” Waverly begins to explain. She gestures around the room, to where everybody is dancing and smiling, to where the drinks are flowing and the music is pumping out from the heavy speaker system on either side of the DJ, before continuing, “I mean, why wouldn’t I? They’re a celebration of love, two people coming together and promising to stick by each other’s side for the rest of eternity.” Waverly raises a single eyebrow and adds, slightly as an afterthought, “Of course, around forty percent of marriages end in divorce but at a wedding everybody ignores that and believes that this marriage is going to be one of the sixty percent that doesn’t.”

“If you love weddings, what’s different about this one?” Nicole takes a sip of her martini, before placing the glass down on the bar and holding up a hand to stop Waverly from answering, before she continues, “Wait, don’t tell me. You’re in love with Dolls.”

“God, no!” Waverly shakes her head with a laugh. “I’m not that much of a cliché!”

Waverly pauses for a few seconds to take a drink, before she grimaces and decides to finish her explanation.

“I was engaged,” she tells Nicole. “To a man. Perry. Rich, handsome, kind, the whole deal really.” Waverly pauses to contemplate how life used to be with Perry, how he provided her with stability and a moderate amount of happiness. “But somehow he wasn’t enough and I ended it. That was just over a week ago. Seeing two other people who are happily in love with each other promising to spend the rest of their lives together is pretty much the last thing I want to be doing right now. But I can’t miss my own sister’s wedding!”

Nicole reaches out with one of her hands and places it over Waverly’s, a welcome warmth that bring her a little bit of comfort.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nicole tells her honestly. “Sometimes you can have the greatest person in the world by your side but if there isn’t that spark, then it’s never going to be perfect. And it sucks, but if that person just isn’t right for you, then you can’t force it.” Nicole leans a little closer, then adds, “I say that as part of the forty percent.”

Her eyes widening as she realises what Nicole is telling her, Waverly asks, “You were married?”

“It was a shotgun wedding in Vegas,” Nicole nods with a laugh, shaking her own head and the incredulity of the situation. “She was a great woman – she still is – and for that one night, and the two and a half months after we got married, we both thought it would work. But it didn’t, and so we split. Very amicably, I might add. We still Skype each other every weekend and she tells me about her new girlfriend and her job at the hospital while I complain about the single life and how frustrating it is to be the only woman at the station.”

“The station?” Waverly queries confusedly.

“Oh, sorry,” says Nicole. “I’m a cop.”

Waverly’s eyes nearly pop out of her head as she processes this new piece of information, and before she knows what is happening, she finds herself mentally replacing Nicole’s dress with the uniform of a police officer. The dark blue dress is gorgeous, but there’s just something about the visual of Nicole in a pristine uniform with a gun in her hand and a pair of handcuffs dangling from her belt that has Waverly’s mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry.

“Oh, wow!” Waverly chokes, taking a quick sip of her drink to sooth her dry mouth, though it is a different kind of thirst that she’s suffering from. “So you’re a friend of Dolls then?”

“Xavier and I trained together at the police academy,” answers Nicole, with a nod. “Then he went off to do whatever mysterious Special Forces thing it is that he does, while I became a local flatfoot. We don’t see each other often but we exchange Christmas cards. I have to admit, I was surprised when I received the wedding invitation and I just had to come to see what kind of woman could tie down a guy like Dolls!”

“Wynonna is quite something,” Waverly grins.

“Can I let you in on a secret?” asks Nicole. Waverly’s face sobers and she nods, which Nicole takes as an invitation to lean closer, before whispering, “So is her sister.”

Waverly glances away, blushing at the compliment, but she can’t help the smile that passes her lips. Nicole, though just a stranger until not too long ago, seems to know exactly what to say to lift Waverly’s mood. Before Nicole’s arrival at the bar, Waverly has been counting down the minutes until it would be acceptable for the maid of honor to leave the wedding reception and retire to her hotel room upstairs. But now, Waverly finds herself wanting to stay here in the company of this charming police officer for a little bit longer.

Waverly picks her glass up off the bar, draining the last few dregs through the straw before putting it back down and pushing herself off the bar stool that has been her home for a good portion of this evening. Gesturing with a nod of her head towards the crowded dance floor, Waverly looks up at Nicole with a hopeful smile on her face.

“Dance with me?”

Nicole’s face cracks open into a wide smile and she finishes her own drink quickly, before taking Waverly’s outstretched hand.

“Well how can I say no to an offer like that?”

With Nicole’s hand in her own, Waverly leads the way to the dance floor, a winding path past the large circular tables and abandoned chairs, until they are on the edge of the crowd dancing merrily in the centre of the reception room. Not too far away, Wynonna is quite the sight, headbanging with a couple of the friends she met on her European travels a few years ago, a glass of whiskey in one hand and her fourteen month old daughter held against her side with the other arm.

But Waverly doesn’t want to pay attention to Wynonna. Not when there’s a gorgeous redhead in front of her, eyes lit up like it’s Christmas morning, waiting to dance with her.

It takes them a few songs to get fully comfortable dancing with each other. They start off holding hands as they nervously move their bodies to the music, then Waverly gets a little bolder and drapes her arms around Nicole’s neck, to which Nicole responds by placing each hand in a respectful position on Waverly’s waist. Their new positioning means that they’re a lot closer, bodies flush against each other. Waverly can feel every movement of Nicole’s hips, can smell Nicole’s musk each time she inhales, can see the tiny flecks of gold in the thin ring of dark brown that surrounds Nicole’s blown pupils.

Waverly wants to kiss Nicole. That much becomes apparent alarmingly soon after Nicole’s hands find their way to Waverly’s waist. She wants nothing more than to bury her hand in those short red curls and bring Nicole’s mouth to hers.

But then Nicole’s eyes darken almost imperceptibly, as if she knows the exact direction that Waverly’s thoughts have just taken, and Waverly realises that actually, she wants quite a lot more than that.

Waverly has a very nice hotel room all to herself three floors up from where they are now, with a mini-bar and a lovely king-sized bed that would be ideal for an assortment of very appealing activities, but most of all the hotel room has privacy. The wedding guests are all having a great time and Waverly doubts that anybody would pay too much attention to the maid of honor slipping out of the party slightly early with her hand clasped firmly with the hand of an attractive redhead.

There’s just one fundamental flaw in the plan.

“Nicole, I have to tell you…”

Waverly doesn’t have the chance to get all her words out. Before she can finish, she’s being pulled out of Nicole’s embrace and the writhing body of her baby niece is being transferred into her arms.

“It’s Auntie Waverly’s turn!” Wynonna grins, as she transfers custody of little Alice over to Waverly, oblivious to the moment that she’s interrupted between the two women who, up until mere seconds ago, had been locked in each other’s arms on a night that seemed destined to continue getting steamier.

All prospects of intimacy of any kind with Nicole have been shattered by the toddler that tries to wriggle out of Waverly’s arms as Waverly adjusts her grip on Alice to a more comfortable position against her side.

“I think it’s about time the wedding night kicked off,” Wynonna tells Waverly, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Wynonna’s eyes flit across to where Dolls stands a few feet away, engaged in a polite conversation with a distant Earp uncle, before she adds, “I mean, have you seen how hot he looks in a tux?”

“Go,” Waverly insists, hoping that by hurrying her sister up to the honeymoon suite, she can avoid any further details about the activities that will be taking place inside it tonight. “Enjoy yourself. Alice will be fine with me.”

“You know where I am if there’s an emergency but I swear to god,” Wynonna raises a threatening finger at Waverly and continues in a growl through clenched teeth, “if you disturb me for anything less than my daughter actually dying, then…”

“Wynonna,” Waverly interrupts, using the hand that isn’t supporting Alice to touch her sister’s shoulder in a silent reassurance. “I think you underestimate how unappealing the prospect of interrupting your wedding night is to me. Go and have fun. And for the love of god, please use protection if you don’t want another one of these running around in nine months.”

Wynonna pulls a face, rolling her eyes at Waverly, before disappearing back into the crowd on the dancefloor and taking her husband’s hand as they start to make their goodbyes.

“Hey there, munchkin!” says Waverly, turning her attention to the toddler in her arms. “Are you ready to spend the night with Auntie Wa-wa?”

“Wa-wa?” Nicole asks with a laugh, raising an eyebrow that has Waverly blushing shyly.

“Waverly is a little hard for a fourteen month old to say,” explains Waverly. She looks at Alice, who has her fingers wrapped around a chunk of Waverly’s hair and is trying to bring it to her mouth, then back at Nicole as she says, “I’m so sorry. I’m having such a good time with you, but I agreed to babysit Alice so that Wynonna and Dolls can … you know. It’s probably time for me to get her ready for bed.”

“It’s okay,” nods Nicole. “I understand.”

Waverly can see the disappointment flash across Nicole’s face, but it’s only momentary, because Nicole regains her composure so quickly that Waverly wonders if she even saw it at all. She hopes desperately that her own reluctance to part ways with her new acquaintance is mirrored in Nicole, and with that in mind, she comes up with an idea.

“Unless you want to … I don’t know, would you be interested in helping me babysit?” Waverly asks hopefully, gesturing to her niece. “You can say no, of course, but in that case I’ll have to insist on giving you my number because I’d really like to see you again.”

“I’m really not ready for tonight to end,” admits Nicole, a nervous little smile decorating her pretty lips. “You’re a really special woman, Waverly Earp. And as long as it’s okay with your sister, I’d love to help you look after Alice tonight.”

“I don’t think asking if I can co-babysit with a hot cop ranks high enough on Wynonna’s scale of emergency to warrant disturbing her,” Waverly laughs. “But she’ll be fine with it. You’re an officer of the law, after all! That makes you twice as responsible as the rest of us!”

There’s a twinkle in Nicole’s eye as she replies, “Let’s see about that.”

It takes them a few minutes to gather up their belongings ready to leave the reception, mostly because Alice, perhaps sensing that they are about to leave the party full of people who have been fussing over her and giving her attention all day, chooses that exact moment to throw a bit of a tantrum. Waverly is grateful for Nicole’s presence at her side, as Nicole holds both of their purses in her arms and has Waverly’s discarded heels hooked over two of her fingers, while Waverly concentrates on keeping Alice in a good mood until they can get her into bed.

“Just to be clear,” says Waverly, as they make their way out of the crowded reception room and into the much quieter hotel foyer, towards the elevators that will take them upstairs to Waverly’s room. “I’m not inviting you up for any funny business.”

“Oh god, I know,” Nicole replies hastily, eyes wide at the suggestion. “I never thought that you were…”

“Not that I wouldn’t want to because, well – hello.” Waverly emphasises her point by gesturing down Nicole’s body and hoping that it conveys her point. “If Alice wasn’t in the equation, I’m not sure I’d be able to stop myself, but we can’t. Not with a toddler in the room.”

“Waverly, it’s fine,” assures Nicole, resting her hand on Waverly’s arm as they step into the elevator, before allowing Waverly to press the button for her floor. “I’m not agreeing to help babysit because I think it’ll get me laid, I’m agreeing because I want to spend more time with you.” Nicole attention shifts to Alice, grinning at the toddler as she starts speaking in more of a sing-song voice, “And because you are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Aren’t you?”

Nicole pulls a series of faces at the toddler in Waverly’s arms and Alice babbles happily in response, waving a chubby fist in Nicole’s direction.

“She seems to like you,” Waverly muses aloud. “Do you spend much time with children? Any nieces or nephews of your own?”

“No,” Nicole shakes her head. “I guess it comes naturally. Well, I’ve been trained to make people feel at ease in tricky situations, and perhaps babies are no different.”

“Hmm,” Waverly agrees. “There is something about you.”

Nicole’s head flicks up and she looks at Waverly, letting out a confused laugh, as she asks, “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” explains Waverly, “from the moment you joined me at the bar, I felt oddly comforted by your presence, even before I learned that you’re a police officer. You made me feel important, like you really cared about what I had to say. I liked it.”

Before Nicole can respond, the elevator pings and the doors slide open as a tinny female voice speaks through the tannoy system and announces that they have reached Waverly’s floor.

“The key is in my purse,” Waverly says to Nicole, as they stop outside her hotel room.

Nicole fumbles with the catch before delving around inside the small bag and pulling out the little plastic card that will unlock the room. She holds it against the card reader on the door and the light blinks green as the door clicks open, allowing them inside.

Nicole hesitates on the threshold, even after Waverly has carried Alice inside and placed the toddler on the carpeted floor.

“I think I might pop back to my own room for a moment,” says Nicole. When Waverly’s eyes widen in panic, worried that she’s acted rashly by inviting Nicole to help look after Alice after barely knowing each other, Nicole is quick to continue, “Just to get changed into something more comfortable. Then I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Waverly sighs in relief.

“That sounds like a good idea. I need to run Alice a bath anyway.”

By the time Nicole returns, the blue dress that Waverly appreciated so much replaced with grey sweatpants and a baggy police academy t-shirt that Waverly decides looks just as good on the redhead, the bathtub is filled with warm soapy water and Alice is splashing around happily.

Nicole pokes her head around the bathroom door when she returns, greeting Waverly with a smile, before disappearing back into the bedroom. Waverly hears the sound of the other woman flopping down on the bed, before Nicole’s voice calls out from the other room.

“Correct me if I’m being ignorant, but something tells me that Alice isn’t Dolls’ biological daughter.”

“Nope,” answers Waverly with a laugh, as she uses a warm washcloth to wipe at the bubbles covering Alice’s torso, a task that is much harder than it should be because of the way that Alice refuses to sit still. “Alice is the accidental product of a one night stand that Wynonna had with Doc Holliday just before she started seeing Dolls.”

“Doc Hol-?” starts Nicole confusedly. “Wait, wasn’t he the best man?”

“Yeah. It’s complicated. But Alice has two daddies who love her very much.” Waverly wipes at the suds that have made their way to Alice’s cheek, before grinning at her niece and continuing, “Almost as much as Auntie Waverly loves her.”

As if she understands exactly what Waverly is saying, Alice thrashes around happily in the bathwater, sending a few splashes of soapy water over the side of the tub and onto Waverly’s dress. Waverly wishes that she’d had the foresight to change out of her dress and into some pyjamas before giving Alice her bath.

“She’s a very lucky girl,” Nicole says form the bedroom.

“She is,” agrees Waverly.

Getting Alice into bed is a relatively easy task, particularly with two of them there. Waverly gets Alice out of the bath and dries her off with a fluffy hotel-issue towel and changes her into her pyjamas. Nicole is on hand to help with the bedtime story, reading each of the characters with a different voice and even using a couple of Alice’s stuffed animals to help act out the story, and it’s such a shame that Alice, tired from a long day at her mother’s wedding, doesn’t stay awake long enough to listen to the whole story, because Waverly thinks that Nicole’s storytelling is one of the cutest darn things she’s ever seen.

“This is the weirdest first date ever,” Nicole laughs quietly, once Waverly has carried Alice’s sleeping form over to the second bed and tucked her in beneath the soft comforter.

“You mean you haven’t babysat your date’s niece before?” asks Waverly, arching an eyebrow at Nicole as she crosses the room to switch off the main light, leaving the room bathed only in the dim orange glow of the lamp on the nightstand. “At least tonight will be memorable.”

“Tonight was already memorable.”

Waverly blushes, avoiding looking at Nicole by using the excuse of fumbling in her suitcase for a pair of pyjamas.

“You’re such a smooth talker,” she responds shyly.

“Is it working?”

When Waverly glances up, a pair of soft cotton pyjamas clutched in her hands, she finds Nicole looking at her with intrigue, a single eyebrow raised as she waits for an answer to her question.

“Maybe,” Waverly answers, before dashing into the bathroom with her pyjamas to get changed.

Waverly emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, her faced wiped clean of makeup and her breath minty fresh.

“Wow,” Nicole says from the bed, lifting her gaze from her phone to look at Waverly. “I wish I’d worn something a bit nicer.”

Waverly blushes slightly embarrassed by her attire. The pyjamas are skimpy, just a thin camisole and a pair of cotton shorts that probably show way too much skin to be deemed acceptable, but in Waverly’s defence, she hadn’t known that she would have nocturnal company when she packed her bag for Wynonna’s wedding.

But, if the appreciative expression on Nicole’s face is anything to go by, the lack of coverage her pyjamas offer is not necessarily a bad thing.

Waverly clambers onto her side of the bed, slipping beneath the comforter and feeling a lot less self-conscious about what she is wearing now that most of her body is hidden by the covers.

“Right,” she says, eager to change the topic of conversation. “So where were we before we got interrupted by Wynonna?”

Nicole puts her phone down on the nightstand, and then says confidently, “I believe you were about to kiss me.”

Waverly’s eyes bulge out of her head at Nicole’s words, and she splutters, “What?”

“Oh sorry, my bad,” says Nicole, raising her hand to her face as if she has made a genuine mistake. The only indication that her words are deliberate is the look she shoots Waverly next, eyes dark and lips curling into a seductive smile, before she corrects herself, “I was about to kiss you.”

Waverly’s mouth goes dry. She can’t deny that she was definitely thinking about kissing Nicole when Wynonna so rudely interrupted them during the wedding reception (kissing Nicole, and a whole lot more), but now that she knows Nicole has been thinking about it too, Waverly suddenly loses the ability to function like a normal human. Her brain shuts off, her mouth forgets how to form words, and she can do nothing but stare at Nicole dumbly.

Of course, Waverly already knew that Nicole is attracted to her. Nicole has made no secret of that since the moment she approached Waverly at the bar and introduced herself, and her attentions have been far from unwelcome. But there’s something about hearing Nicole confess outright that she actually wants Waverly, even after their strange adventures into childcare, that leaves Waverly feeling surprised.

“Really?” Waverly manages to choke out.

“Would you be okay with that?”

Waverly suppresses a snort. She doesn’t understand how there can be any doubt in Nicole’s mind about whether she would be okay with being kissed, but she gives Nicole the verbal clarification that she needs regardless.

“I would.”

And then Nicole is leaning in, shifting the position of her body on the bed so that she’s almost sitting on her side, even as she moves her face closer to Waverly’s. One of Nicole’s hands, the one that isn’t propping up most of her bodyweight, rises to cup Waverly’s cheek, her skin soft against Waverly’s, and the touch causes Waverly’s breath to hitch in her throat.

Waverly doesn’t know what to do with her own hand, doesn’t know whether to reciprocate Nicole’s movements or to bury them in Nicole’s short hair or to seek out Nicole’s waist and rest one there, and her indecisiveness means that they remain limp in her own lap.

But soon Waverly has bigger problems, as Nicole’s mouth nears her own and her lungs forget how to work and she finds herself unable to breathe.

The solution to that problem is a simple one. Nicole’s lips touch her own and suddenly oxygen doesn’t matter, not when Nicole’s kiss is providing all the fuel that Waverly needs to live. It’s infinitely softer than Waverly imagined it to be, but there’s something behind the slow press of lips, perhaps a fire waiting to be stoked, that has Waverly’s entire body thrumming with electricity.

Waverly gasps, and one of the hands that she didn’t know what to do with instinctively finds its way to the back of Nicole’s neck, where she tangles the fingers in soft curls and pulls ever so slightly. Nicole gasps, her mouth opening against Waverly’s, and Waverly takes it as an invitation to dart her tongue out, swiping it against Nicole’s lower lip.

Nicole lets out an incoherent noise and the mood of the kiss changes. Her tongue responds in sorts, while the hand on Waverly’s cheek moves down, stroking the column of pale skin before skirting around the outer swell of Waverly’s breast through the thin cotton barrier of Waverly’s pyjamas until it rests on Waverly’s waist. Nicole’s fingers dig in, and her mouth urges Waverly’s on, deepening the kiss as it becomes messier and more insistent.

The hand on Waverly’s waist changes something, the utmost care that Nicole has to not push past any of Waverly’s boundaries when all Waverly wants is for them to be knocked down over and over again, and Waverly feels her entire body humming with need. She kisses Nicole more forcefully, rolling the redhead over until she’s lying flat on her back on the mattress and then taking the opportunity to swing one of her legs over Nicole’s hips until she is straddling her in a messy tangle of limbs and bedsheets. The suddenness of the gesture forces their mouths apart and Waverly takes a moment to appreciate the vision before her, Nicole’s red hair splayed across her pillow, her eyes dark and hazy with arousal, and her lips parted in a silent gasp.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Waverly verbalises her thoughts, brushing loose strands of Nicole’s hair out of the way, before she dives back in for another kiss.

Now that she is familiar with the feeling of Nicole’s mouth on her own, Waverly sets out to explore even more, testing out what Nicole likes and how she responds to each action. They both laugh as the long curtain of Waverly’s hair gets in the way, and Nicole uses one of her hands to sweep it out of the way, then lets out a soft moan as Waverly’s way of thanking her is to take Nicole’s lower lip between her teeth and pull.

The noise stirs something deep within Waverly, a spark of something shooting from deep within her gut right between her legs, and the position that they are currently in, with Waverly’s legs either side of Nicole’s hips, does nothing but heighten her arousal. Nicole’s hands seek out Waverly’s waist, before slipping under the hem of Waverly’s pyjama top and threatening to move higher.

And Waverly wants her to. God, Waverly wants Nicole’s hands on her. Beneath her top, under her shorts, everywhere. The pyjamas that seemed to skimpy earlier are now far too much of a barrier for what Waverly has in mind.

But…

(Oh, why does there have to be a but?)

But little Alice is sleeping only feet away, and Waverly can make no promises to remain quiet if they continue down this path. And Waverly has no intention of having to explain to her sister how the girl, who is spending the night with her Auntie Waverly to avoid this exact scenario, has ended up being scarred for life by the naked romp of an entirely different couple.

“Nicole,” Waverly gasps, pulling away from the kiss with reluctance, though every bone on her body still feels as though it is a blazing inferno.

“I know,” agrees Nicole, her breath laboured as she removes her hands from beneath Waverly’s pyjama top and lets them fall down to her sides. “Alice.”

Her niece’s name is a real mood-killer, but it is exactly what Waverly needs to remind her that this can’t happen.

Not yet, anyway.

“Ugh,” groans Waverly, rolling to the side and lying a respectable distance away from Nicole on the mattress. “You have no idea how much I hate my sister right now. She’s getting some and I’m not, because of her daughter. I knew I should have let Doc take Alice for the night.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” says Nicole, reaching out and tangling the fingers of her hand with Waverly’s. Waverly likes the way that their hands fit together, like two connecting pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. “I’m kind of really hoping that you’ll let me take you out some time.”

“Really?” Waverly asks hopefully. “You’d want that?”

“Of course I would,” nods Nicole. She raises an eyebrow, then adds, “There’s some other things that I want too, but I’m willing to wait for those.”

“How chivalrous,” teases Waverly, before she leans across Nicole’s body to flick the switch on the lamp still glowing on the nightstand. As the room plunges into darkness, Waverly asks, “Cuddle me?”

Nicole obeys wordlessly, diminishing the gap between them on the bed until one of her arms is draped across Waverly’s waist, the other one brushing Waverly’s long hair out of the way of her face.

“I know there’s a stereotype that lesbians move in with each other within about five minutes of dating each other,” Nicole says through the darkness, “but we’ve taken it to a new level. Look at us. Spending a chaste night in bed beside each other while a child in our care sleeps in the same room.”

“There was nothing chaste about the way you kissed me,” Waverly points out with a snort.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I liked it.”

“Yeah?”

Though the room is dark, Waverly’s eyes are rapidly adjusting to the dark and she can see the way that Nicole is looking at her, like she is a treat waiting to be devoured, and she can feel Nicole’s warm breath on her face, a reminder of the fact that their faces are close enough for their lips to meet again.

“Nicole,” Waverly whines, the voice of reason winning out in her mind as she reminds the redhead of her niece’s presence. “Alice.”

“Right,” agrees Nicole, moving her head so that they are not quite so face to face, though her arm tightens around Waverly’s waist. “Night, Waverly.”

Waverly mumbles a goodnight in response, and it is not long before she drifts off into a peaceful slumber with Nicole’s arms around her.

Waverly is woken by a series of loud raps on the door to her hotel room.

She’s aware of a warm mass behind her, as well as a pair of strong arms around her waist, and the events of the previous night come flooding back, of drinking, of dancing, of struggling to keep her hands to herself despite the gorgeous woman in her bed. Nicole nuzzles sleepily into the back of Waverly’s neck, her arms only tightening around Waverly as the knocking on the door rouses her into consciousness too.

“Babygirl, open this damn door. I want to see my daughter.”

It’s most unlike Wynonna to be awake this early in the morning, particularly after she has presumably been awake for most of the night getting up to god knows what with her new husband, and despite her irritation at having to leave the warm cocoon of Nicole’s arms to let her sister inside, Waverly feels her heart soften at the knowledge that Wynonna’s maternal love is clearly strong enough to justify getting out of bed so early.

“Coming,” mumbles Waverly, carefully extracting herself from Nicole’s embrace and padding across the room to the door, rubbing at her bleary eyes as she goes.

As she flings the door open, Wynonna choose to forgo a greeting, instead pushing her way inside the hotel room and making a beeline for where Alice still sleeps soundly in the other bed.

“Hey there, baby,” Wynonna coos, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, apparently oblivious to the fourth person in the room, as she strokes her fingers through Alice’s wispy hair and gently wakes her daughter up. “Mommy missed you so much last night. Have you been a good girl for Auntie Waverly?”

“She was the best,” Waverly tells Wynonna. “She fell asleep before we finished reading her bedtime story to her.”

“’We’?” queries Wynonna, looking up at Waverly in confusion, before her eyes fall to the tuft of red hair peeking out from under the covers on Waverly’s bed. Her face contorting into an expression of horror as her mind starts to piece together what this means, Wynonna continues, “Oh god, please tell me that you didn’t … not in front of my daughter…”

“No,” confirms Waverly. “We didn’t. You owe me, by the way. Big time. You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands to myself last night.”

Wynonna grimaces and mimes being sick. Meanwhile, behind Waverly, Nicole begins to stir and lifts her tousled head from the pillow as she blinks blearily at her surroundings.

“Morning,” she says to the two women, her throat husky from sleep in a way that has Waverly clenching her thighs together in a memory of the last time Nicole’s voice sounded like that and, more importantly, why.

“Hi, Nicole,” Wynonna says, her voice uncertain as her eyes flit between the two women. Picking up a whining Alice in her arms, Wynonna nods towards the door, and then says, “Well, I should get going. And then you two can … do whatever it is that lesbians do.”

Wynonna pulls another face and starts gathering Alice’s things up with her free hand, shoving them haphazardly into the overnight bag that she prepared for her daughter’s night away from her.

Waverly tries not to seem too eager to usher her sister out of the room, but there’s really only one thing on her mind. With Nicole, her hair a tousled mess and her eyes groggy from being woken up so abruptly, looking impossibly more attractive than she did last night, Waverly can’t help but want Wynonna and Alice out of the room as soon as possible so that she can have Nicole all to herself.

When Wynonna finally leaves, only after pulling at least half a dozen more faces at the fact that there is a woman in her sister’s bed, Waverly closes the door behind her with a sense of finality, a smile on her face at the fact that she finally has the privacy to do to Nicole what she’s been wanting to do since last night.

“I never did say thank you for helping me to look after Alice,” says Waverly, climbing onto the bed at its foot and crawling up Nicole’s body like a predator stalking her prey, until she is in a position that feels very familiar from last night, with her thighs straddling Nicole’s hips. “Is there any way I can pay you back?”

Nicole’s eyes darken and her mouth turns up into a wicked smile, before she flips their positions suddenly and leans in so that her warm breath tickles Waverly’s face, as she answers, “I’m sure we can come up with something.”

[greenishbucket]

Autumn Serenade

Ford, summer, and hockey. 1.8k, also on ao3.

For Day 1 of OMGCheckPlease! Women Week 2017

Here’s the thing: Ford loves playing hockey.

Her brothers had balked when she’d told them happily over Skype that she’d joined up for the local rec league, no real training but enough vague knowledge and passion to power through. She’s hardly expecting to be on the first line or anything, it’s just fun and exciting and a way to get to know people. Ford’s been involved in local theatre for as long as she can remember – and it’d been the first place she’d looked at when she moved into the area – but stage managing is her forte and it’s a lonely task, the gratitude and respect warming but the responsibilities endless.

Ford can let go in hockey. It’s no contact but there’s the same satisfaction in using careful moves to snatch the puck from the opposition as there is in watching the curtain fall on a perfect show. Only the satisfaction is several times a game rather than a few nights preceded by weeks of organisation and she has a whole team to burn with the satisfaction in time with her.

Her parents had been worried about injury but were easily comforted by the assurance she’d have a full face cage and enough ragtag gear to keep her safe (though she didn’t share how the league had probably had since forever the way it stank). Both her brothers played football well into their college days; her parents are no strangers to accepting their kids playing dangerous sports.

She’s under no misapprehensions about the level of acceptance in the league compared to her usual theatre crowd as her mother suggested, either. Ford knows how hockey is. Besides, theatre kids are so, so far from perfect and Ford’s been black and a lesbian her entire life; she’s not going to let some jackasses stop her from expanding her horizons, especially since she seems to have lucked out massively with her teammates. Lardo, as both her team captain and one of the founders of the league, is both one of the coolest, chillest and one of the most unflinchingly assertive people Ford has ever met.

Ford wouldn’t have let her parents stop her anyway. She’s an adult now, free from college and just about managing to live away from home by sharing her apartment with a squirrely PhD student and a midwife-in-training and carefully budgeting every penny. So what if she wants to portion some of the careful budgeting to the rec league fees, to going out for drinks with the girls after a game? It’s fun, it’s new, it’s giving her thighs to die for.

Here’s the other thing: so far she hasn’t actually played in a real game.

Ford signed up as part of the rec league after coming to watch their final two games before the long summer break. Rec league never really breaks –  or so Lardo and Farms both remind anyone who dare use the term ‘break’, five timetabling spreadsheet tabs open and four group chats pinging continuously on three laptops between them – but summer means people vacationing with family and wanting to be outside in the sun rather than holed up in a scruffy ice rink no matter how hockey-loving Ford knows the girls to be.

There are a couple of games for fun over the months and plenty of street hockey and people can practice as often as they like in twos or threes – plus Heaven knows Ford is busy enough with the local theatre summer production, she couldn’t resist – but their first real league game isn’t until the very end of September. Ford has it circled in red marker on the calendar in the kitchen and every morning she looks at it with a mix of burning hot excitement and sick trepidation.

Until now, Ford has always been a summer girl. Every year as school or college started the transition ached, the first few days spent forcing herself to look away from the windows and focus on work again instead of grabbing hold of the last stretches of real warmth, the sunlight golden and the leaves just beginning to turn brown. She always feels weird and mismatched pulling on her jeans and socks and fall sweaters again, the layers and weight a trap compared to her light summer dresses and skirts and shorts, the ease of simple flats or sandals. Ford loves summer. Everything feels possible and endless on a bright summer’s day stretching out into a warm summer’s night and it revitalises every part of her that gets worn down and exhausted in the decay of fall and the long, cold winter. Spring is a start but nothing gives to Ford like summer does.

This year Ford feels like summer has passed at half the speed it usually does, even now in mid-September the weather reflecting a September dragging its feet on leaving summer behind, and she’s impatient with it. The rush of playing what few games ran during the summer was a wonder but Ford can’t help but think what it could be like in a real game, in something that doesn’t count in the grand scheme of things but counts to her and her teammates in this rec league among rec leagues. She can’t help but see her experiences now as a pale imitation.

Ford is already half in love with hockey and now she wants to play it.

This year each browning leaf and pumpkin-themed Pintrest board and knitted scarf means moving closer to the rec league getting under way for the season. Fprd finds herself watching the transitions with anticipation rather than her usual sadness and the thought of her summer clothes being replaced by the weight of her gear, disgusting though the pads may be, doesn’t have the usual quasi-claustrophobic panic.

“Last day of summer today,” her brother says, eye on his own calendar as they try and figure out a time to meet up over FaceTime. “Always makes me think of you.”

Once when Ford was seven she’d cried inconsolably on the last day of summer even though the weather hadn’t been truly summery in weeks, confusing and worrying both her teacher and parents. It had just been the finality of it, the confirmation that all the opportunities of the summer really were passed. This morning she’d spotted the tiny note in the day’s square and felt a twinge of something, a sadness that it was over for another year and a weariness at the prospect of the aches and pains and boredom of winter, but nothing like when she was seven. Ford’s pretty sure she’d even been a lot more upset the year before, too, wearing summer clothes in protest even when it was cold enough that she was shivering all day.

“I know, I saw,” she says, “and like it sucks, my God fall is boring and winter sucks, but I’ve got my first hockey game tomorrow. Which is pretty cool.”

Her brother is silent for long enough that she looks over at the screen to make sure he hasn’t been cut off. He’s still there, face up close to the camera like he’s trying to get a better look at her.

“Who even are you?” he asks, phone so close all Ford can see is one eye.

“Quit it, your eye is freaking me out.”

“You’re freaking me out. What happened to ‘summer is all that matters, all other seasons are a capitalist cage, I want ice cream but I’m too cold, football can kiss my ass, all my theatre nerds are sick with flu’ blah blah whatever the fuck?”

“I never said any of that!”

“You know what I mean,” her brother finally pulls his phone back a little but the look he’s giving her is still alarmed. “You’re always complaining that summer is over until, like, April. It’s part of my routine.”

Ford shrugs. “I don't know. I guess the game is taking precedence over mourning summer. Fall is so depressing and winter is so cold I can’t go anywhere – I’m looking forward to having enough to do that I'm too tired to miss the sun but also, like, getting to actually hang out with people instead of just bossing them around.”

Her brother considers this then laughs. “Well, shit, if you say so. Maybe we should have tried to get you into hockey when you were younger if it was gonna make you this okay with seasons passing. Remember that time you cried all day? How old were you, twelve?”

“I was seven, you asshole.”

His voice goes high pitched and whiney, a horrible impression of seven-year-old Ford: “Summer’s gone and I don’t want to learn more math I want to go swimming and eat bugs and I hate school and–”

She hangs up on him. A minute later he texts a suitable time to meet up and good luck for the game tomorrow. Seconds later her other brother, probably prompted to do so, texts a reminder to keep her teeth intact if possible. Ford sends both of them back a heart, smiling and genuinely touched in spite of herself, then sets her phone aside to make dinner.

Outside, there’s rain lashing against the windows and the weather report last night had confirmed it was unlikely the weather would pick up again before temperatures started sliding for real. Ford listens to her phone buzzing while she cooks and knows it’s probably one of the girls getting chirped to hell and back in the group chat, checks neither of her flatmates have disturbed the gear bag she’s left by the door for tomorrow.

Spring and summer have always been Ford’s time, the pressure pleasantly on with shows to polish up and perform and the long days to fill, with fall and winter at a pace too slow and unfocused to be satisfying. Ford knows herself and she knows needs to be challenged and kept driven, anything else feels draining. Hockey is giving her direction, not to mention friends she so desperately needed in a new place, and Ford thinks she could love it for that alone.

Luckily, she doesn’t have to. The next night she gets a messy assist and even their team losing in the final minutes after a close three periods doesn’t soften any of the thrumming delight under her skin, doesn’t stop the helmet-taps she receives for getting an assist in her first game (her first game!) or the exclamation marks her family text in response to the news. Not even the cold wind that’s icy against her neck as she stands outside the rink and answers three separate emails on set production can ruin her mood. It's fall and she's still busy enough with things that excite her that she feels the pressure of it, feels the tiredness in her muscles. It's amazing.

Ford loves playing hockey.

Feeling charitable, she gets herself a pumpkin spice latte on the way home. It’s not quite her usual cold vanilla sweet cream, a flavour that’s like a mouthful of summer to her, but Ford thinks perhaps it’s something she could learn to like.