#but do you think maybe the master ever put susan on his shoulders so she could see the enclosure of. whatever beasties they have on

[quietwingsinthesky]

there so much mundanity to the fact that they were friends once. easily to sweep over now that their relationship is so much more complicated but like. there was a point. a long time ago. where they probably organized playdates for their kids together. and if i think about that too long, i'm going to pass out.

[goalieprotectionsquad]

so i’ve watched like three straight days of maine cabin masters and my idiot ass is thinking of the harringtons having a cute little cabin on a lake in maine where they went every summer as a family before his dad started making bank and didn’t have the time anymore.

it’s been seventeen years since steve’s been up there. he doesn’t live at home anymore. he has a job that doesn’t really make him happy, but doesn’t really make him miserable, either. he has plenty of savings from the government coverup but doesn’t have anywhere to go with it. nothing to spend it on. the kids get older. they leave for college. he’s in his mid-twenties and complacent and isn’t all that motivated to change anything.

he gets dinner with his parents when they’re in town in the spring. his mom is talking about a lodge they stayed in when they visited basque country over christmas and he suddenly remembers the cabin. he waits until his mom is done relaying unimportant details like the color of the drape tassels to ask his dad if they still have the cabin in maine, and it’s evident on his face that he’d forgotten about it, too. he looks sort of wistful for a moment but it passes quickly. yeah, they still own it. no, nobody’s been up there in a while. steve doesn’t really think before he’s saying, “can I take a trip up there?”

his parents stare at him for a second like they’re surprised he’s actually interested in doing something, which. not unfair. his dad can’t remember where he put the keys but gives steve the address and tells him to find a locksmith who can get him inside. (steve plans on elbowing through a window or something to save on time and the hassle).

he subleases his apartment and leaves. everyone he likes is either away at school or just. away. moving on with their lives. he doesn’t have anyone to say goodbye to beyond telling his boss he’s quitting.

it takes a while to get up there, but he does, eventually. the cabin is hard to find and it looks so bad on the outside that steve has to triple check the address on the adjacent cabins to make sure it’s the right place. he thinks it’s maybe not just him who hasn’t been here in almost twenty years.

he stays in a hotel and gets up early to meet the contractor. she looks like she’s holding in a laugh when she introduces herself as kali. “look,” she says. “I’m going to be straight with you. this place is literally falling apart.”

steve doesn’t know what to say so he says, “yeah.”

“we can do a walkthrough,” she continues, “but I guarantee that this is going to make your budget look like pocket change.”

steve doesn’t really want to say it’s his dad’s money, so he shrugs and says, “let’s do it,” and watches her pick the lock.

the foundation is rotted out. the floor is rotted out. the porch is rotted out. she points at things and says any variety of that has to go or we’d start by taking that out or when was the last time you were up here again? they need to hire a plumber and a landscaper and an electrician and probably an exterminator, too, and kali doesn’t say anything when she watches him write a check for half the amount she quotes. she gives him a calculating look with kohl-rimmed eyes and says, “all right. we’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

steve shows up at seven because he doesn’t have anything better to do and there’s already a truck parked outside. a tall guy with a beanie shoved low over his forehead is tearing the porch off the front of the house and steve goes over to him and tries not to get hit with any falling debris.

“hi,” he says and has to stand there a minute before the guy looks at him. “I’m steve. is kali around?”

she’s inside the cabin and is leaning over the sink when steve walks in. she yells no. no. no. out the open window to her right as the water continues to run and then yes that’s it we got it as it cuts off abruptly. she looks unsurprised when she turns around and sees him standing in the doorway.

“hi,” he says again. “I’m here to help.”

“you’re paying us to do this for you, you know,” she says, but something in her face makes steve feel like she gets it.

a guy with his hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of his neck hoists himself through the front door from where the porch used to be. “hey,” he says, all silk, when he sees steve.

“billy, this is steve harrington. the homeowner.” she stresses the word enough that steve literally cannot not notice the emphasis. billy rolls his eyes and shakes steve’s hand. it’s rough with calluses and steve would be stupid not to think about what that would feel like on his skin.

“billy hargrove,” he says. “head carpenter.”

“steve’s here to help with demo,” kali says. 

“well,” billy says. he gives steve one of the most obvious once-overs he’s ever seen. “welcome aboard. you’re gonna help me knock down these interior walls, pretty boy. heads up, though. you might break a nail.”

billy shows him how to use a stud finder and how to cut into the walls to make sure there aren’t any loose wires running through it and then he fucking kicks the wall in and gives steve a wild grin as the drywall dust settles into his blond hair.

steve comes back every day to see billy. he doesn’t even bother lying to himself. billy is funny and sharp and always seems to have a comeback for anything anyone ever says. he shows steve how to build things. stands at his shoulder and watches him use the staple gun on the trim. brings him lunch when he goes out to get food for the rest of the crew.

he tells steve that his mom sent him to live with a friend who had moved from san diego to bangor a few years before. his parents split and she didn’t want him living with his dad. he says susan is a little ditzy but she means well, and she didn’t give up on him during his rougher years in high school even though he isn’t even her kid. he calls her daughter my sister and gets a pinched expression on his face when he talks about how she’s been going through her teenage angst since she was eight and how they’re still figuring out how to not always be at each other’s throats.

it takes a month for them to take out the rotted lumber and to fix the foundation and floor and porch and roof. billy shows steve the crumbly mess in the insulation that means he has an ant infestation. steve helps make the framing for the bathroom and bedroom walls and helps lay the stones for the walkway down to the lake. he spends all day at the work site, then he goes back to the hotel, has dinner, crashes. rinse and repeat. he spends the days the crew isn’t working exploring sort of idly and missing the smell of sawdust. 

when kali declares the place habitable, he buys a mattress and drops it onto the floor of the master bedroom, which is still missing its walls. he checks out of the hotel and buys some groceries and spends his evenings down at the lake, his own private little waterfront. he tries reading but the only salvageable book in the cabin is walden and he can’t make it past the first page.

he hears axel and mick talking about a meteor shower one night. once the crew is gone and the sky is turning purple-navy, he goes down to the lake and lays back to look at the stars. they’re brighter out here, brighter than hawkins, somehow, and the sky feels endless.

he turns to look over his shoulder when he hears footsteps crunching through the undergrowth in his direction. “just me,” billy calls through the dark. he drops down heavily next to steve and passes over a beer and a hamburger wrapped in greasy foil. casual, like they do this all the time. his hair is down and curly and he’s wearing a red shirt unbuttoned to his navel, where it’s tucked into his jeans. he’s wearing cologne, too, and billy smiles when he sees it get steve’s attention.

they talk and they sit in comfortable silence and then they talk again. billy seems to be getting closer and closer until their shoulders and thighs are pressed together and their elbows are knocking. when billy turns to look at him, their noses almost brush, and steve knows billy doesn’t miss the way his eyes drop to his mouth.

“have you swam in the lake yet?” he asks instead and gives steve a wicked smile when he shakes his head, and then he’s up and stripping down and is in the water, wet hair slicked back over his head, before steve’s brain has even puttered beyond looking at billy’s mouth. “come on it, pretty boy! water’s fine.”

he unabashedly watches steve undress and reaches for him immediately once he’s in the water. no preamble. just. puts a hand on his hip. when steve doesn’t move back, he slips an arm around steve’s waist, and then the other. their knees bump under the water and billy noses at steve’s cheek. kisses him on the chin and the corner of his mouth before he kisses his bottom lip. they kiss and kiss, the water not even up to their collarbones, and steve has never been so aware of the night noises around them. cicadas in the trees. a loon some ways away. something shrieks in the distance and it startles steve enough that he stumbles in billy’s grip, and billy tightens his hold and tilts his chin closer again and whispers, “it’s just a fisher cat,” into the crease of his lips.

they start heading back to the cabin before billy makes them double back for the food wrappers and beer bottles and steve grabs their clothes so he has something to do with his hands. he’s never run naked through the trees before but there’s something freeing about it. for some reason, the trees out here don’t look as threatening as the ones in hawkins. maybe they’re older, wiser. maybe they’ve seen more and know how to protect him and billy from whatever else is out there.

steve clears away the painting tarp over the bed and barely has it on the ground before billy is crowding against him, skin dry but hair dripping at the ends over his freckled shoulders. they lose track of time in a cabin they rebuilt together.

billy’s hand on his chest is what wakes him up. the sun is filtering in through the windows and billy is trying to press a mug of coffee into his hands. steve doesn’t own mugs or coffee or a coffee maker out here. steve sits up and leans against the wall, right where they’ve sketched out the custom headboard billy’s going to help him carve, and lets the blanket pool around him in a way that has billy’s gaze dropping, the apples of his cheeks going a little pink. he looks good in the morning sun, in the little bits of dust floating through the air. 

“where’d you find the coffee maker?” steve asks. “and the change of clothes?”

billy gives him a big shark smile but sounds a little sheepish when he says, “I was hedging my bets on needing morning provisions.”

steve makes them eggs and bacon and toast and they sit out on the new front porch to eat and wait for the rest of the team to show up. billy keeps leaning in to kiss his ear, the hinge of his jaw, the side of his neck. just pecks. they still set steve on fire.

billy stays that night, and the next, and the next, and the next. they go swimming for real, eventually, and play cards, and fall asleep outside in the grass with their fingers twisted together. out in the open as much as in their own little world.

kali knows something is going on between them, even if steve doesn’t know if billy told her or she figured it out herself. when it’s just the three of them in a room, billy likes to pitch his voice down, low enough to be husky, but loud enough to be overheard, and gives steve directions more gutturally than usual. pull out a little, he’ll say, all breathless, when they’re fitting the doorframes. now push it back in. harder. mm, yeah, steve. right there. steve doesn’t know if it’s meant to be embarrassing or not but he laughs himself red in the face anyway.

they finish the cabin over the next six weeks. if steve hadn’t been there every day for almost three months, he might have thought he’d gotten the address wrong. it looks like a house, first of all. the outside is a soft brown to blend into the trees. there’s a little living room with a couch and a little table with two artfully mismatched chairs in the kitchen. there’s a huge window in the master bedroom overlooking the lake. steve has never really felt drawn to the water as a non-great-lakes-midwestern kid, but every time he looks out over the lake, he wonders if he even wants to go back to hawkins.

it feels weird giving kali the second half of the payment, knowing he won’t see her again. he hugs her and she pats him awkwardly on the elbows until he lets go. one by one, the rest of the team leaves, and it’s not until steve’s standing alone in the fading sunlight that he realizes that billy’s gone, too.

it’s the first time billy’s just left without saying anything about where he was going and when he was coming back. that deep, dark part of steve says they were just fooling around during the job, but he drinks a beer and talks himself out of panicking. he makes himself a sandwich. lays in the bed. showers. doesn’t really know what to do with himself now that the job is done and billy is gone.

he’s laying on the couch and staring up at the ceiling when the sound of a key scraping in the lock has him on his feet on instinct to do -- something, he didn’t really think that far ahead -- but then the door wedges open and billy’s head appears around it.

“sorry,” he says when he sees steve still gaping. “didn’t mean to scare you. we just -- kali forgot to give you back your spare.”

steve watches him reach out and hang the key ring around the hook next to the door. it overlaps steve’s set.

“oh,” steve says. “thanks.”

billy gives him a little smile and looks like he’s going to leave, but then they’re both saying wait in the same moment and billy’s smile reappears around the door, wide but shy.

“stay,” steve says.

billy slides the rest of the way past the door. he has a small duffle thrown over the shoulder steve couldn’t see behind the door and he’s holding a bottle of cheap grocery store champagne.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” billy says. now that steve’s shown his hand, it’s  like billy’s found his footing again. he drops his bag and goes over to the cabinet to pull out two mugs, sets them on the counter. he wraps an arm around steve where’s he’s drifted over without really meaning to. billy kisses the corner of his mouth and presses the bottle into his hands. the foil is already peeled off the cork. “I heard you’re celebrating a housewarming. you wanna do the honors?”

[theawkwardterrier]

Though It's Called Dancing (to me it's romancing)

A Steggy Secret Santa gift for @plumandfinch​! Here’s some WWII Steggy for you - hope you enjoy, and have a very happy holiday and a great year ahead. 😁✨🎁

Summary: Five times Steve and Peggy almost danced, and one time they did.

AO3 link here.

i.

The girls trust Steve to hold them up for the finale and he hasn’t let them down yet, but after three shows where he either almost gives a showstopping topple tripping on his own feet or steps on one of theirs, they tell Martin the show manager that they’re quitting unless Steve gets some help.

“You have anything to say about this?” Martin grumbles incredulously to Steve, who just shrugs and replies, “Hey, if they listened to me, you’d already be dealing with a union.”

He’s actually glad that someone’s mentioned his clumsiness, his lack of coordination, and come up with a suggestion for how to help him: he came to the theater today with his shoes flopping on his feet because he tore out another pair of laces while trying to tie them. The serum might have fixed a lot of things for him, but it’s changed them as well, and in some alarming ways. It isn’t too likely that he could have been involved in the dance number even before his body got expanded to its new awkward, confusing size, but at least then he knew how much space he was taking up, how much force to exert for simple tasks. He should have just asked the girls for help sooner, but he’s still shy with them.

They don’t let that stop them from putting together a curriculum to help him ease into the new body. Soon he’s stopped having to sew the buttons back onto his shirts, and he doesn’t keep stabbing his fingers with the needle if he does. He can help with the hair before shows if the dressing room doesn’t have a mirror and the others are rushing around worrying about their own costumes (well, he doesn’t expect to be the first choice, at least not yet).

One night after they’ve just arrived in Chicago, Steve and a group of the dancers go out to a late dinner in Chinatown. Steve shows off his use of chopsticks, something that he didn’t even know how to do before the serum.

Sheila, who’s been working on her education degree by correspondence, says thoughtfully, “I just worry that we’ve focused too much on your fine motor skills—”

“I’m happy to focus on any of Steve’s fine skills,” Erin cracks, and Steve, immune to such remarks at this point, just rolls his eyes at her.

“—and we’ve neglected the gross motor skills,” Sheila finishes, glaring at Erin across the table.

“So what does that mean, She?” asks Jackie, leaning her head against Sheila’s shoulder.

Sheila rests her head atop Jackie’s for a moment then sits up straight and grins. “I think it means dance lessons.”

Steve turns down the suggestion that they find a nightclub (he doesn’t particularly feel like showing off his lack of skill in public) and they all turn down Erin’s suggestion that Steve prove he’s truly mastered his fine motor skills by picking the lock on the theater. But the next night, they simply don’t leave after their evening performance, sitting around smoking cigarettes and chatting as the stagehands take down the trappings of the Star Spangled Show. Martin sticks around to confirm that the props and costumes are boxed up for tomorrow’s drive to Cincinnati (or is it Columbus? Or maybe Cleveland). As soon as the last crate is checked off of his list, he gets his hat and coat and heads back to their hotel with an admonishment that they’ll be leaving at 8 AM sharp, which he seems not to care to really enforce.

Susie has already snuck into the theater manager’s office and brought back a portable record player. Steve isn’t sure what they would have done if the man hadn’t had one around; danced to a faraway radio, or someone humming probably.

Jackie takes Steve’s hands in hers and leads him out of the wings toward the stage. Susan puts on a Benny Goodman record at full volume, shimmying her hips a little as the drums and horns start up. Steve suddenly feels nervous, a little wrong, and he isn’t sure that it’s only because the song is faster than he expected, or because the others have started dancing and even without choreography they’re much better than he could ever hope to be. He just...these are his friends, but this isn’t how he imagined going dancing for the first time.

“I don’t know that I—” he starts, but then he hears a throat clear behind him.

“Well, this isn’t precisely what I expected to find, Private Rogers.”

He turns. “Agent Carter,” he says stupidly. He forgets to salute or even stand particularly straight; it’s as if his brief stint of doing something actually military had never even happened. She smiles at him anyway.

“I was taking meetings at Camp Atterbury,” she says, as if he’s done the normal, conversational thing and actually remembered to ask what she’s doing around here. “And I heard that there was quite the entertainment to be had in town. Unfortunately, we were delayed, so I wasn’t quite able to catch the show.”

“Good thing you’re catching us now,” Erin cracks as she dances past. “I think this is actually our best side.” She’s kicked off her shoes, and spins away barefoot, skirt ballooning wide, with what Steve can only describe as joy.

“We’re trying to teach Steve some rhythm,” Jackie explains quietly. “And how to move those big feet of his.”

Steve adds sheepishly, “I’ve told them I’m perfectly happy just tapping my toes on the sidelines. Even I can manage that.”

Agent Carter tilts her head. “I think you can aspire to a little more than that.” Steve suddenly remembers her standing with Erskine on the field at Camp Lehigh, the two of them walking to the mess beside each other. He’s felt a lot of different things since he was declared a failure and sent here, anger and regret and shame at once again not being fit to serve, able to help, but now he feels guilt: Erskine gave his life for Steve to be what he is, and he’s wasting it.

The relentless beat of the song dies off, and Martha trades out the record because she’s the closest. Despite the brassy blare of the opening, the music is slower this time. Steve thinks he recognizes the melody vaguely from some picture show years back.

He clears his throat. “I can probably manage this one,” he tells Jackie, but even as he says it, he notices the way she’s glancing over at Sheila, who’s still twirling by herself in a more sedate solo dance rather than pairing up like some of the others. “Unless you’d rather—”

“I could step in if you—” Agent Carter says at the same time, clearly having noticed as well.

Jackie flashes a smile at the two of them. “Thank awfully,” she says quickly before she twists between the dancers and slides her arms around Sheila.

Steve watches them for a moment before he turns back. “We don’t have to,” he says. “I mean, I think this was more about letting everyone blow off some steam, maybe have a bit of fun. Being on the road all together can be sort of rough - working all the time, and under each other’s feet. Not that there aren’t good parts, and of course we don’t have it as bad as some, obviously, not nearly, but this is just—” Agent Carter is staring at him with a bit of a smile, but Steve assumes that it must just be a politely automatic sort of thing at this point; for all he knows she’s wishing she’d missed not just the show but all of this too. He takes in a breath. “Anyway, we don’t have to dance if you don’t want to.”

“And if I did?”

The simple question stuns him. He almost doesn’t know what to say. Then: “Would you join me, Agent Carter?” It’s a little startled, not particularly suave, but he knows that it’s sincere. He holds out a hand.

When she smiles at him, it is like a secret. “It’s certainly been some time since I had a little fun, so I thank you for the invitation, Private Rogers.” She places her fingers in his.

“You can...You can call me Steve,” he says as they walk over to join the others swaying dreamily. “If you want.”

“Hmm. I well might.” She places a hand on his shoulder. He knows he’s meant to wrap his arm around her waist - he’s watched enough dancing for that - but it takes him a moment to decide exactly where to slide his hand, a moment to gauge the correct angle and force, a moment to actually begin what he came here tonight to do...and in that moment, there’s a familiar whistle followed by the inevitable shout.

“Alright, break it up, there.” The police sergeant here looks nearly the same as his Brooklyn counterparts with whom Steve is familiar: not just the uniform, really, but that bit of smug power to his face. “We’ve had a call from the church about noise coming from in here far too late at night, so break it up, ladies—oh, sorry, didn’t see you there, sir.” There’s a bit of a mocking edge to the tone; Steve is wearing civilian clothes instead of the getup he’s usually forced into onstage, but these days a seemingly able-bodied man still hanging around is something to comment on, especially one who doesn’t seem to be doing much good.

Steve would stand up to him (probably more easily now that they can actually stand nose to nose) but the part about them being here when they aren’t meant to be isn’t wrong. Still, he can’t help but feel the sting of disappointment. Agent Carter is still planted firm and warm beside him. What if things had been allowed to continue, at least a few moments longer?

“Alright, we’re going, keep your socks on,” Erin yells back as Agnes takes the needle off the record. Susan runs it back to the office it came from while the rest of them scramble around, finding shoes and jackets and hair ribbons. The officer seems content to keep an eye until they’re all safely gone.

Steve stands on the side with Peggy. Her uniform is still perfectly put together; there’s nothing for her to gather. The two of them don’t speak until the whole group is ready to go. They allow themselves to be swept out of the building, watching as the cop locks up the theater and stands in front of the doors as if they might try something with him. Instead, they all turn and begin walking in the crisp midnight air.

Steve puts his hands in his pockets. The others around them are walking arm in arm or twirling gently through the streets, taking one night where they aren’t worried about whether the touring company will decide to close up shop or if they’ll hear something terrible from their brothers and beaux overseas. They hum their way along, still lit up from an evening of dancing not for work but only for themselves, and it gives sanctuary for Steve to speak. He doesn’t quite look up at the woman walking next to him, more over to the side of her, when he offers, “We’re on to Ohio next. If you want to see the show there.”

She laughs gently. “I’m afraid that my engagement here isn’t much longer either. I’m expected elsewhere tomorrow evening.”

“Of course.” That’s honest - he isn’t surprised, of course she has bigger, better things to be doing. He does his best not to sound disappointed, though. Then he remembers that he fumbled two of his lines in yesterday’s matinee (when they’re written right there in front of him, for Pete’s sake) and - despite the best efforts of his teachers and his own improvements - nearly pulled the curtain down early when he overbalanced coming in on his cue, and is a bit glad that she won’t be sticking around.

The streetlight where she’s stopped throws her face partway into shadow. “I do have to thank you for the opportunity to dance. It’s been quite a long time for me, and even if it was interrupted, it was—Thank you, Steve.”

“Of course,” he says again, and that’s honest too.

“Next time, I do hope that there won’t be any members of law enforcement to interrupt,” she says, and disappears around a corner before he can ask, with hope or astonishment or both, “Next time?”

ii.

They’ve moved most of the paintings from the National Gallery, but Steve doesn’t know when he’ll have another free day in London so he goes to see what he can see.

When he’d manage to scrape together entry fare (or sneak in) to one of the museums in New York, he’d always get disapproving stares from docents and other visitors for his fraying clothing and aching cough, the generally held knowledge that he did not belong here. And he would manage to put it out of his mind by focusing on the vivid detail on a Japanese drum or how Monet made blurriness into beauty.

Today, people stare at him for a different reason and he ignores them all the same, eyes focused forward to the canvases displayed. So much of it is about the war, ruined buildings and bomb shelters, and Steve concentrates on the brush strokes or crosshatching instead, the clever use of shadow.

He has managed this so successfully that he doesn’t even notice the line forming nearby until it is a dozen or so people deep. When he asks one of them what they’re waiting for, they look at him not with pity for his not knowing but with delight that he will now learn: “It is nearly time for today’s concert.”

Luckily, he has British coins in his pocket, so he pays his shilling and walks in with the rest. The program advertises some Chopin piece. He doesn’t recognize what it is or the player - according to the others around him, Dame Myra Hess, who began organizing these lunchtime concerts at the outset of the war, has herself played here over one hundred times but not today - and he’s never considered himself a musical expert of any means. But he finds that he is drawn in by the tired ripple of excitement that hovers over the crowd as they file in.

And then Peggy Carter seats herself at the end of his row.

He tries to focus on the playing as the concert itself begins, on the slow, spare beginning and all its promises, but he can’t keep himself from glancing toward the last seat on the row.

Ten minutes in, she starts to cry.

Since he arrived, he’s seen other Londoners shedding occasional tears on the buses and street corners (and no wonder, with their city destroyed, so many loved ones dead and the country still soldiering wearily on) and he doubts anyone would judge her for it. But she stands from her aisle seat and sees herself out anyway, quietly, her tears silent and even the click of her heels barely audible over the music

He follows her. (It is much more noticeable.)

Outside, she is leaning against a wall, her hands covering her face. He waits for a moment before actually approaching: though he followed her, had to follow her, he isn’t sure whether she will be exasperated that he has done so, embarrassed that she was even seen by anyone more than strangers. But he can’t just stay frozen watching her forever (surely that must be worse?) so he takes a step forward.

“Agent Carter,” he says softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

She sobs aloud, once, uncovering her face to wipe at her tears with her fingertips. It’s a bit beyond that. He digs around in his pocket to find a thankfully clean handkerchief (you were right, Ma). She accepts it and dabs at her eyes again, glancing up at him only briefly.

“If you’re going to see me in this state,” she says, “you should probably call me Peggy.” She takes in one last decisive sniff, crumpling the handkerchief in her hand.

“Peggy, then.” He tries to say it like any other name instead of with the softness that is his instinct. “Can I help?”

“It isn’t anything—” She smiles but it breaks in a moment. “It isn’t anything that can really be helped.” A sigh. She looks down at her hands. “I had a brother. His name was Michael.”

“I’m sorry,” says Steve, because he doesn’t know what else to tell her. “I’m sorry that you lost him.”

I understand, he could add, or I know it’s hard, it always is but he thinks about whether he would have liked to hear someone say such things to him, and he keeps his mouth shut. She looks at him with care, and he can’t help but admire the way she can evaluate him even through the remains of her tears.

Apparently she makes a decision, because she says, “It happened several years ago now. And it isn’t any sort of anniversary, I was just listening to the piano and...He played. Michael did. Just a bit, when he was young. And he never played that particular piece, but just listening to it, I had the most sudden memory of his picking out carols on our aunt Hester’s piano, making faces at me all the time. Now I know that he was mostly mucking about with it all - he certainly never could have pulled off Chopin - but back then he was the most talented player in the world. I was always following him about and for years he acted as older brothers tend to toward younger sisters. But when it counted, I was able to depend on him. There was a time when he saw me clearly when no one else did, myself included.”

“And now he’s gone.” Steve tries to say it gently, a fact laid before them, but he knows she might hear the words as cruel, regardless of his intentions.

She does, in fact, begin crying again, but more quietly. “Now he’s gone,” she agrees, once again attempting to mop up her tears. “But I know myself again, and I have him to thank for it.”

“Then I’d like to thank him too.”

She regards him with something bordering on caution, not because she is a fearful person but because she is a sharp one and because she recognizes, as clearly as he does, that whatever tender thing is growing unspoken in the silence between them, it will be ill-regarded in the middle of war, in the middle of the work they are meant to be doing together.

“Is he bothering you, dear?” The woman’s voice - pointed and piercing - startles him. He turns to find a glaring, gray-haired lady behind his shoulder. Her stout form is wrapped in a plum wool suit and she grasps a black umbrella with which it seems she would happily stab him. Instead, when he brings his eyes to meet hers, she asks, “Are you bothering her, young man?” drawing herself up as much as she can and glaring imperiously.

“No, ma’am,” he manages. “We were just—” He flounders there: talking about her dead brother, or having another one of these moments that we try to pretend away won’t work very well.

“Going to dance,” Peggy inserts smartly.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, yes.” Peggy speaks as if this is the most natural response in the world, as if she isn’t even now tucking a damp handkerchief into her pocket. “Captain Rogers saw how lovely I found the music, and as we aren’t able to see the concert ourselves, he wondered if we might take advantage another way.”

“Really.” The woman watches Steve suspiciously, as if he might be controlling Peggy through marionette strings or a gun pressed to her back. If only you knew, he thinks wryly as Peggy brushes her hair behind her ear and subtly elbows him in the process.

“May I?” he says in hasty reaction, holding out a hand. She puts hers into it graciously.

“I do wish the piece were a bit better for dancing,” Peggy says as they step away to a free space farther from the wall, though they are still being observed. More quietly she adds, “And I do wish we’d perhaps had time at least to practice before we were put under the microscope, as it were.”

He certainly wishes for that practice too, or even that they didn’t have to be in this situation at all. But there is also...if he’s going to be forced to dance, he would like it to be with Peggy.

And then with a few last flourishes, the music draws to a close. There are applause from within the hall. Steve doesn’t quite let go of Peggy’s hand.

“Well,” says their overseer, giving a couple firm taps of her umbrella against the floor, “it seems that you will have to return for tomorrow’s concert. Or perhaps find a more appropriate venue for dancing than a national museum.”

Peggy says magisterially, “Of course. Thank you for that advice. For next time.”

Next time. Steve knows that she’s just making the next move in the charade, but as she gestures for Steve to join her for the walk back to headquarters, the words play over in his head: next time.

iii.

“Non!”

This is why, Steve reflects, shaking his head, they had not allowed Dernier to have a baton to use while directing his lessons: he would have certainly used it to literally smack Dugan into shape by now.

“Never mind about all this,” Dugan growls, picking up the hat that had fallen on the ground when he had been too ambitious with a turn in his last attempt. “The ladies will just have to accept that not every man can waltz and satisfy themselves with all my other talents.”

Morita holds out his hands again, palms up. “Come on, you haven’t even really tried.” He wiggles his fingers enticingly. “Dance with me, Dugan.”

“I’d do it,” advises Gabe. “No lady should have to...satisfy herself with a badly brewed cup of coffee or the same six Irish songs performed off-key. Good to have at least one usable skill in the pocket.”

“I’ll have you know,” Dugan says, drawing himself up, “that those are ancient family ballads.”

“I’d have brought up a few positive reviews of past performance rather than defending the Irish songs,” Monty says mildly. “But that could perhaps be just me.”

Bucky, chewing on a blade of grass, eyes closed as he lies on his back facing the sky, says with drowsy vehemence, “Well, you are an English bastard.”

Steve, sitting with his back against a tree, laughs at them all. They’ll be moving out soon - they know that there are enemy troops in the area and Peggy had arrived just after dawn with more precise new target coordinates for them - but they can’t go until she’s had at least a couple of hours rest, so in the meantime: dance lessons.

Morita attempts a bit of a tap pattern in the grass and says, “How’m I going to learn now if my partner’s decided to retire?”

“Don’t look at me,” says Gabe. “My dancing talents would only embarrass you in comparison.”

“And while Jones here might take the prize in more modern dances, I was taught to waltz before I could grow chin hairs,” Monty adds.

But Dernier is already charging forward in a spew of delighted rapid-fire French, of which Steve understands perhaps one word in ten, though there’s only one that’s important anyway: “Capitaine!”

“I don’t—” Steve starts, except Dernier’s already hauling Steve to his feet, continuing his flurry of instructions? advice? as he positions Steve’s hands around Morita. Bucky must actually have truly nodded off after his night on watch, or else his radar for teasing Steve would be on alert. (Steve can't help but be grateful, both that he isn't watching, and that he's apparently finally been able to sleep.)

“Well,” Jim says, snickering, “I guess you’re leading.” Steve shakes his head, trying to puzzle out any of what Dernier’s telling him; if he’s going to do this, he doesn’t want to look like a complete fool.

“He says that you should loosen up your hips. You’re holding yourself too stiffly.”

Steve wants to cover his eyes. He’s managed to have several months of entirely normal conversations with Peggy, and now he’s back to embarrassing himself in front of her.

He looks over to where she’s standing to the side, her uniform and hair only slightly mussed (an accomplishment considering she’s had three hours’ rest on the bare ground, and a pup tent isn’t exactly anyone’s idea of luxurious accommodations). “I guess we might be making a habit of this,” he says ruefully and she smiles at him. “And somehow I still haven’t turned into a dancer.”

“Listen to Dernier and perhaps he’ll succeed with you yet.”

“Maybe,” Morita says, teasingly dubious. “So far, no offense, Cap, it’s like holding hands with a concrete pillar.”

“Perhaps I could take a turn trying,” she says, holding out her own hands in offer. She meets Steve’s eyes, but only briefly, turning her gaze over to Monty and saying archly, “Some of us who were taught early are generous enough to want to help others.”

Falsworth waves a hand toward her - go on - and she steps forward to take Morita’s place.

“You really do need to relax a bit,” she says. Even if it's the same sentiment as earlier, now that she’s close to him, it is different. One of her hands rests, ever so lightly, on his shoulder, and he feels as if he can recall the echo of it from months ago and months before that.

“It’s a little hard,” he says. “To relax.”

“Oh?” Those red lips, upturned at the very corners.

“Well, it’s—”

“Shit!”

In the moment of the first gunshot, a million things happen at once: Dugan dives to the side, cursing alternately at the hole in his hat and the fact that they’re being shot at in the first place; Bucky wakes and jumps immediately into a crouch, icy calm instead of frantic; Monty scrambles for his rifle, Morita for Steve’s shield; Gabe scopes out cover; Dernier, bent low, moves toward his explosives.

“Over there,” Peggy says. Her hands are out of Steve’s, pointing, finding her own pistol. He is beside her, focusing on the spot she’s indicated, nodding firmly once.

“Guess we’ll have to write off the lessons,” he says.

“Perhaps,” she offers, “just a postponement.”

“Alright,” Steve says to his own surprise, and he catches the shield Morita tosses him, and puts dancing out of his mind, for now.

iv.

Steve really only shows up at Rainbow Corner looking for a haircut and, if he’s being honest, a doughnut. He gets the first and is headed to the basement cafe for the second, an ASE novel in his pocket, when a hand shoots out of the dance hall and pulls him in.

“Dance with me,” Peggy says, a hiss that he somehow hears over the booming music, the rhythmic stomping of feet, the chatter of the other dancers .

He takes her hands automatically, but before moving further onto the floor he focuses on her face. She’s flushed and looks...perhaps not panicked, but aggravated.

“Can I get you something to drink first?” he asks. “It’s hot in here.”

Something flashes across her face and he thinks for a moment that she will snap a no at him and find someone else who will just dance with her like she asked with no questions asked, but instead she nods. “Only briefly.”

He starts leading her over to the corner where the bar is. It’s slow going through the crowd, and he stays close so they don’t lose each other. She isn’t wearing her uniform tonight, instead in a green dress with a swinging, silky skirt for dancing; the fabric brushes his legs as they walk. “Am I allowed to ask what you’re doing here? Or at least why it was so important that we finally have that dance?”

“Two questions with one answer, actually.” They join the back of the line. Peggy turns her back to the bar, scanning the dancers instead. He bends toward her, both for privacy and so he can even hear her over the band. “We’ve received reports of a GI who might be a spy," she says against his ear, "reporting to the Germans and perhaps even to Schmidt himself. According to our information, he’s come here tonight, and I’ve been trying for the better part of an hour to spot him and cut into his dancing. I’d like to apprehend him quietly before anyone tips him off or he’s able to do the same for anyone he might be in touch with.”

Steve nods. “And you stick out less when you actually have someone to dance with.”

“I haven’t had much luck thus far, trying to crane my neck around everyone without seeming too suspicious. It is helpful to find a partner who won’t storm off when he doesn’t receive my undivided attention.”

For a moment he wonders if he should be insulted, but then he hears the real sentiment, the trust in him, something more than a partner for a single dance would ever get. He ducks his head against a smile.

They have reached the front of the line and she orders a mineral water despite the lengthy menu.

“I’m absolutely longing for something with a little more flavor, but I am still working after all,” she says once she has drained half her glass. “Though it was kind of you to remind me to refresh myself a little, considering how beastly hot it is in here.”

“Why I don’t usually find myself in this part of the building,” he nods.

“Is that the only reason?” She tilts her head. In the dimmed lights, he watches a tiny trickle of sweat makes its way down to her collarbone.

He clears his throat as she takes another sip of water. “The kind of partner that I’m looking for isn’t usually around here.”

“Oh? I see a variety of lovely ladies here tonight, and I’m sure that any number of them would be interested in dancing with you.” She gestures around, drawing his eye for just a moment to all of the beautiful women in their careful hairstyles and pretty dresses, their smiles bright and delighted. Then he turns back to her.

“I think I need a particular teacher,” he says. “You’d know that better than most.”

But she hasn’t turned back to face him, caught instead with her eyes gleaming predatorily on a man laughing as he twirls a tall brunette into the song’s finale. Steve thinks he might recognize him from the hallways of SSR headquarters, but really he looks as if he could be one of a thousand soldiers.

Peggy turns quickly to Steve. “I apologize for dragging you in here and leaving you standing, but—”

“Go. Do what you do.”

She leaves him with a fleeting smile and her empty glass. He watches as she cuts in with a neat gesture, a nod, a flourish of skirts, then sets the glass onto the bar and, sliding his hands into his pockets, goes to finally track down his doughnut.

She’ll be busy for the rest of the night, no need for him to hang around bothering her. And they’ll have other opportunities to actually get that dance, he’s sure of it.

v.

Peggy can so clearly picture how it would all have gone. There would have been preparation first, powder and cream, holding dress options up before herself in the mirror to choose between the red or the blue, no, perhaps the green, and then landing back on the red. Tracing her lipstick on last, just before she went out the door, sliding the tube into her clutch for touch-ups, just in case.

She would likely have arrived before he did. Imagine the debrief he would have had to go through - it would be a wonder if he had a chance for a shower and shave. But somehow he would have made time, his hair still a little damp, the scent of soap on his skin. He would arrive wearing his dress uniform, and it would have made her realize that he hadn’t been home since the serum and likely didn’t own much else that would fit his changed form. She might have even had the urge to offer her services in a shopping expedition (the uniform fit him quite well indeed, but couldn’t be worn at all times, and certainly not once the war was truly over).

He would have taken her hand with care, and she would have held fast to him. It would have been new, the two of them touching like that without worry of being seen or commented upon, no one teasing around them, and there hadn’t been years of official courtship to accustom them to it besides. But that time had instead been for them to learn each other, time for things to flower quietly between them, and it would have given some familiarity. She wouldn’t have felt apprehensive about allowing herself that flashing vulnerability.

Supper first, most likely. They both enjoyed good food - he especially - and the military didn’t quite match up to a professional kitchen, but the meal itself wouldn’t have been of real importance. This would have instead been a chance for sharing stories without the threat of gunfire or Colonel Phillips interrupting, for finding new shades in her hair revealed by the candlelight, for learning what his laughter sounded like pitched soft and close above a white tablecloth.

One of them would suggest dessert, but the other would say to wait. The band would be playing something slow, and he would nod toward the dance floor. (“Sounds like our song,” he would say, or maybe, “I’ll try not to step on your toes,” or maybe nothing at all.)

They would stand among the other couples, and it probably wouldn’t be dancing as much as swaying, but that wouldn’t matter. Fancy maneuvers or fast footwork, showing off, that wouldn’t be the point at all. The dancing itself wasn’t what was important; it was about the chance for renewal and discovery, a moment to reflect on all the pain and lessons on the path here and the possibilities for the future, a time to ask all the questions and have them answered yes and yes and yes, always yes.

But no matter how clearly she can picture it, none of that happened, hadn’t and can’t and won’t. And so Peggy sighs and straightens her shoulders and walks herself onward.

+1

It’s not every night, or even every other. They are busy people, she especially, and don’t always have the time or the energy. Sometimes they have had an argument, or one of them wants to finish a book, or it's been a long day, or they aren’t quite in the mood. Those are all gifts too, in their way, the opportunity not to have to grasp every moment, to have a life sprawling out before them, to appreciate even the mundane bits of it all.

But once a week, or maybe more, they find themselves like this. In the sitting room just after she’s come home from work, or after supper, or before bed, on a Saturday morning in the kitchen surrounded by the scene of bacon and pancakes from the stove, in the midnight dark of their bedroom with the baby cradled whimpering between them. The radio, or a record, or no music at all. The specifics don’t matter and matter so entirely that they will be remembered for the rest of their lives.

Palm against palm, fingers interlocked, an easy rhythm to their steps.

“I should probably go take in the laundry. I think it’s dry enough, and it might rain tonight,” he says, and she replies, “Hmm,” but neither of them break apart.

“We have a surveillance team in the field and I should check in soon,” she remarks, knowing that he recognizes and respects the importance of her work, but they just continue to make their slow rotations.

They take these moments just for themselves, a reminder of where they’ve been and what they’ve lost, where they are and all they’ve managed to find. A moment to think of the dances that they didn’t quite get, the ones that brought them here, and to be grateful for the ones they have: this dance and all the others, a lifetime of the two of them wrapped up in each other, dancing all the while.

[saxonspud]

Bloody Outlaws - Part 7

[Katie’s P.O.V.]

I finally feel safe. I don't know why, but I do. He has his arms wrapped around me tightly. I don't struggle or squirm. He has said he won’t punish me, despite me trying to kick the vampire called Arthur, and throwing the food at the vampire called Mr Bell.

My Master makes me feel safe, because he always manages to dull my pain. My physical pain that is.

I have managed to cope with my new master, holding me, and stroking my skin. But when Arthur went close to my bottom, I panicked.

My Master saw what Master Colm had done to me, but there are some things he doesn't know. Some things that I have pushed to the back of my mind.

I worry that Mr Bell was right. Maybe I am worthless, maybe that's why my previous Master gave me away, maybe this Master will do the same. I am half blind after all.

The Spanish man has gone now, Javier. He called me something in Spanish. I wonder if he called me worthless too.

I glance at Arthur, he healed me, but he’s seen what Master Colm did to me. I don't want anyone to know. I can hardly look at him, so instead I bury my face in my Masters chest.

He walks towards me, I really don't want to look at him.

“Hey little one!” Arthur says.

I don't lift my head, I just bury it further into Masters chest.

My Master, puts his fingers under my chin, and tilts my head up, so I’m looking at him.

“I know you’ve had a rough day, kitten, but there's no need to be rude. Arthur's talking to you!” he scolds me.

“Sorry Master,” I whisper.

I look towards Arthur, but look at his feet.

“Yes, sir,” I whisper.

He steps closer, and bends low until his face is level with mine.

“Look at me, little one.” he demands.

I lift my head to look at him, but keep my eyes lowered.

He puts his fingers under my chin, and tilts it upwards. I have to look him in the eye.

I feel a tear, fall from my eye. I don't know why, I can’t help it.

“It’s not your fault little one,” he soothes, and wipes my tear away with his thumb.

I take a deep breath, “Sorry, sir,” I whisper, I feel bad for kicking him.

Arthur smiles, “You can call me Arthur, little one, and there's no need to apologise.”

Master interrupts, “I think you should call him Mr Morgan, and maybe thank him for healing you.” he whispers in my ear.

You swallow, “Thank you, Mr Morgan, for healing me.”

He smiles again, “You’re more than welcome, little one.”

I watch as he glances at my Master, a smile still on his face.

My master rubs my back, it helps to calm me, for now.

[Dutch’s P.O.V.]

My poor little kitten. She has been through so much, at the hands of that bastard, Colm, and then with Micah today. I really thought he was better than this.

Still, she has to be respectful. I think Arthur is warming to her, and maybe her to him. I’m glad. I trust Arthur with her, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.

I gently rub her back, I need to do something to make her feel better, I have the perfect solution.

I look over at Arthur, who’s smiling after his little interaction with kitten.

“Son, can you ask Susan to prepare a bath?”

Arthur nods, still smiling, “Sure, I’ll get on it straight away.”

I watch as he leaves the room, glancing over his shoulder at my little one, and smiling. She has this effect on nearly everyone. I hope we can do the same for her at some point. For now, I think she trusts me, and I think she trusts Arthur. I need to introduce her properly to the rest of the gang, especially the girls. I hope they love her just as much as I do.

I gently place her on the bed, but she looks at me, fear on her face. I wonder what she is afraid of. Is she worried I’ll hurt her? I really hope that isn’t the case.

I walk to the dresser, and grab another shirt, then walk back to the bed.

“Come, lets put this on you. I didn't quite make it to St. Denis to get your new clothes.

She looks up at me, her eyes are full of tears, “I… I’m sorry, Master.”

I cup her cheek in my hand, “Why are you sorry, kitten, its not your fault.”

“I lost the shirt you gave me,” she whispers, as a tear trickles down her cheek.

I wipe it away with my thumb, before sitting down next to her. I lay the shirt on the bed, then pull her onto my lap. She doesn’t resist at all.

I hold her tightly and gently rub her thigh, she lays her head on my chest.

“Now listen carefully, kitten. Nothing that happened today was your fault. Besides, I have plenty of shirts. Tomorrow, I’ll send the girls out to get you some clothes of your own.”

“Thank you, Master.” she whispers.

I sit her up straight on my lap, “now arms up, lets put this on.”

I slide the shirt over her head, and she puts her arms into the sleeves.

I look at her, and can’t help but chuckle at her, in the oversized shirt.

“You roll the sleeves up this time, kitten.” I say.

She nods and carefully folds them over, until they sit by her wrists.

“Now little one, I have a surprise for you!”

I pick her up, and sit her on my hip. She is so small, compared to me. I know vampires are well built, but this little human is tiny, even compared to other humans.

She wraps her arm around my neck, loosely. Maybe she thinks I will drop her, but I won’t. My arm is wrapped tightly around her waist, my hand resting on her thigh.

I carry her out of the bedroom.

“Where are we going, Master?” she asks.

I smile, I love how inquisitive she is.

“Now if I told you that, kitten, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it.” I reply laughing.

I walk through the sitting room, and head out onto the landing. As we go down the stairs, she holds on to me a little tighter. I think nothing of it. Once we reach the ground floor, I head down the corridor. The bathroom is located at the end.

Suddenly she starts to sob.

“Please Master, I’ll be good, I promise,” she cries.

I immediately stop. I put my hand on her cheek and gently stroke it.

“Whatever is the matter, kitten. Nothing bad is going to happen. Where do you think I’m taking you?” I ask.

“I… I thought...” she stutters, “the dungeon.”

I hold her a little more tightly, and press her head to my chest.

“No, kitten. You’re never going anywhere like that again,” I soothe.

I carry on walking, she doesn't ask where we’re going. When we reach the end of the corridor, she glances fearfully to the left, but relaxes when she sees the door to the basement boarded up. I open the door in front of us.

The bath is full of steaming water, and fresh towels lay on the chair.

I put her down, and she just stares at the bath.

I gently remove the shirt that she is wearing. She blushes. I’m not sure why, I have seen her, held her naked, many times.

I start to remove my own clothes, and chuckle, as she covers her eyes. I wonder if she has even seen a man naked before.

[Katie’s P.O.V]

I was so frightened, when Master carried me down the corridor. I know he said I was safe, and no one was going to hurt me, but he said that before. I know it wasn't his fault that the other vampire whipped me, but still.

I hope I can believe him.

Then he takes me into the room, and there's a bath. I can’t remember the last time I had a hot bath.

I’m not sure why I felt embarrassed, when he took off the shirt I was wearing. I didn't even try and cover myself, I just felt my face heating up. Then he started to undress. I’ve seen men with no shirt on. My Master has held me, when he had no shirt on. I’ve never seen him completely naked. I’ve seen the bulge in his trousers though.

I decided to cover my eyes, I don't really want to see. The next thing I know, he comes over and picks me up. He’s laughing. I keep my hands over my eyes, not only so that I can’t see, but so he can’t see me blushing.

But then he gently lowers me into the tub of hot water, it feels so nice, I forget about him being naked. That's until he climbs in too. I can’t believe I’m in the bath with him.

“Just relax little one,” he says, as he sits behind me.

He starts to bathe me. I’m used to him touching my skin with his hands, so I don't mind too much.

As he lathers the soap on my body, I must have sighed. He gently kisses, my shoulder.

“Does that feel good, kitten?” he asks, his voice is low and deep.

That's one thing I like about my Master, his voice is so deep and soothing.

“Yes, thank you, Master.” I respond.

I feel him gently push me backwards against him, and I lean back against his chest. I’m feeling so relaxed. Before I realise it, he is washing between my legs, but he is gentle, and doesn’t take advantage. Not that I could do anything if he did, but he doesn't, which makes me trust him.

I wonder though if that trust is misplaced.

He gently kisses my shoulder.

“Now my little one, you have to be very brave.” he whispers.

I tense. Wondering what he will do next.

He takes the wash cloth, and before I have a chance to think about it, wipes it through the crack of my bottom. I whimper, as I realise what he is doing. Before I have a chance to panic, its done. He wraps his arms around me, and kisses the top of my head.

“There little one, all done. Now that wasn't so bad, was it?” he questions.

My breath hitches in my throat.

“N..No M...Master!” I stutter.

“Now lets wash your hair,” he adds.

He pours warm water over my head, and he massages the shampoo into my scalp. I lean into his chest. No one has looked after me like this before, not even my parents.

He rinses my hair, then kisses the top of my head, before he gets out of the bath, then lifts me out.

He wraps a towel around himself, then wraps a towel around me. Sitting on a chair, he pulls me onto his lap, and starts to dry me.

“Now little one,” he starts, “I have new rule for you,” he hesitates, “I have decided to give you a name. You should forget the name you had before. From today you will be called, Kitten.” He states.

I know I wanted a name, but I was hoping I would have my own name. I guess I don't have a lot of choice. So I nod.

“Yes Master,” I say, it makes me feel even more like his pet, but I guess it could be worse.

He wraps his arms around me, and whispers in my ear, softly.

“Your name is Kitten now, if you ever mention the name Katie, I will have to punish you.”

I swallow hard, not because of my change of name, but because he knows my name. I wonder how. It makes me a little nervous. I’m sure he can sense it. He either knew me from before, or he can read my mind. I know he can tell if I’m lying, but to know my innermost thoughts. Surely there must be away of blocking him.

For now I just reply.

“Yes Master, my name is Kitten.”

[emeraldbirdcollector]

More flower language

Someone suggested that Neville would be the sort of person to declare his love entirely through Victorian flower language. I thought about it, and figured out why that would be necessary…

She hadn’t gone to the lake hoping to see him there. Of course she hadn’t. Ever since Hannah had come back to Hogwarts, everything had been upside down, wrong, and horrible, and the worst part had been the way he’d been avoiding her, cold and distant. So cold, after…she closed her eyes and nearly cried, remembering the way he’d hugged her the day they’d said goodbye, the day the horrible news came about her mother, the way he’d held on to her just a little too long, the way she’d treasured the memory of the way his arms had felt around her all year until she’d finally been able to come back….only to find that he’d seemed to have forgotten even that they were friends, let alone teetering on the verge of more. So she hadn’t expected him to be there in their safe, quiet place, where they’d spent so much time talking about everything and nothing.

But there he was, kneeling by the water, his attention focused intently on something in his hands. He put whatever it was down, softly, and lifted his hands, murmuring, in a voice Hannah could barely hear, “Go on, little guy. Be free. You’ll be safer here.”

The shape moved, in one great hop reaching the water and swimming away, and with a shock, Hannah recognized it. “You’re letting Trevor go?” she asked, horrified, forgetting the distance between them.

Neville’s head jerked around to see her, startled. He looked at her for a minute, a stunned expression on his face, and then gathered himself together and stood up, brushing the mud off of his robes. “Yeah. I had to.”

“But you love that toad! How can you…?” She broke off. “I’m sorry, Neville, that’s none of my business, I didn’t mean…”

“No. I mean, it’s all right.” He bit his lip and looked down for a moment, then looked back at her, straight into her eyes, as he had not done since she came back. “You should know this. Hannah, you know what the Carrows are like, you’ve seen them in action, right?”

She nodded, shuddering a bit. She was one of their favorite targets in her classes with them, thanks to her Muggle mother (oh, Mum, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, they killed you because of me), and she was desperately afraid for her Muggleborn friend Justin, somewhere out there in hiding with his family.

“They’re awful, they’re monsters, and we’ve got to stop them, keep them from doing any more damage than we can prevent until…well, until either Harry comes back or Voldemort comes for us or this whole thing comes to a head one way or another. And I’m a pureblood, I’m safer from them than most, so I’ve got to be one of the people standing up most visibly against them. They won’t hurt me so much - they know pure blood is rare, and they want to preserve as much of it as they can.”

“So you’re just going to throw yourself into danger based on that?” She felt her heart twist inside her, thinking of all the things they could do to him without outright killing him.

“Someone has to,” he said quietly, and at that moment she knew that the Hat had made no mistake, whatsoever, by placing him in Gryffindor.

He went on, his eyes firmly, intently on hers. “Trevor doesn’t have that protection, Hannah. And if the Carrows get the idea that they can use him to make me behave - if they get the idea there’s anyone I…really care about who doesn’t have that pureblood protection - they won’t hesitate to torture, even to break someone. Believe me, I know what Death Eaters are capable of, that way.” The corners of his lips quirked up in a bitter, humorless flash of a smile. “I can’t let them see that there’s anyone I…” he swallowed hard, “anyone I love who isn’t a pureblood, isn’t safe from them. Do you understand, Han?”

His voice was tender, soft, and she knew that they were no longer talking about Trevor. There was no way she could push out words past the choking lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat, but she nodded. She did understand. She wanted to throw herself at him, scream at him to stop this all now, keep himself safe, or at least let her fight at his side, not push her back into safety and make her watch them hurt him…but she nodded, hating herself for it.

He reached into the pocket of his robes, and pulled out a much-folded piece of parchment, which he handed to her. “Here. I was hoping I’d be able to give this to you discreetly at some point, and this seems to be as good a time as any. If the Carrows find it, it’s a bit of Herbology drawing practice. I…Hannah, please stay safe, please stay behind the scenes. I know you’ve got as much to fight for as anyone, I remember what they did to your Mum, and I know you’re as brave and capable as anyone in Dumbledore’s Army - but I also know that you’re better than any of us in Potions, and I know you’ve been taking informal lessons from Madame Pomfrey since Justin got Petrified second year, and that makes you invaluable as more than a fighter. We’re all going to get hurt at some point or another - we need you intact to help put us back together. We need you safe…I need you safe. Please, Han, stay safe.”

“We need you, too, you know.” Tears were welling in her eyes, she knew it, but she refused to let them fall in front of him.

“Not in the same way. I’ve got to be on the front lines. But Hannah, if I fall, if they get to me, I just wanted you to know…” He gestured at the parchment she was holding in her hands. “Remember that book Professor Sprout gave you before you went home last year. I’ll see you around.” And he slipped past her and darted off before she had a chance to register that he was leaving.

She looked after him, biting her lip. Damn it. He has to be the Merlin-cursed hero. Why couldn’t I have fallen for some nice, peaceful, unheroic Hufflepuff boy? And then she remembered Cedric, dead too soon precisely because he had been Hufflepuff’s champion, and Ernie, who had been practically spoiling for a fight in Justin’s defense the previous day in “Muggle Studies” class. It’s wartime. A peaceful, unheroic life is far too much to ask, even in Hufflepuff. Best go and borrow some more books from Madame Pomfrey. If I can’t keep them all out of danger, my friends and my family and my…Neville, I can damned well work on learning how to mend them when they get hurt.

She tucked the piece of parchment in the breast pocket of her robes, and headed back to the school. It wasn’t until later, after dinner, with Susan, Ernie and Megan engaged in a vigorous game of Exploding Snap in the Common Room, that she managed to get some time alone in the dormitory to open and read it. The page was full of flower drawings, in his usual meticulously-detailed style, and she puzzled over it for a moment before recalling the book Professor Sprout had given her. Finding its familiar white-and-lavender cover among the books in her trunk, she pulled out Flowers and Flirtations - A Look At Muggle Floral Language and began looking through it.

Let’s see, the first one’s a red tulip, that means…oh. She was glad no one was around, because she was certain she was blushing fiercely. Declaration of love. Her heart was threatening to hammer its way out of her chest, but it calmed down when she found the meaning of the next flower, a striped carnation. “I can’t be with you.” And the dead leaves mean something too, if I’m remembering right - yes, there it is, “sorrow.” Begonia and monkshood…here we are, begonia is “beware” and monkshood is, let’s see,  "a deadly foe is near.“ White heather around a pear branch - that’s “protection,” and the pear branch is my wand wood, so it’s me. And purple hyacinth - “forgive me.” The cherry branch is his wand wood - his signature, I guess.

Here, in private, she could let the tears fall, and they did. Oh, my heart, what if we never get a chance at this? What if they kill you before I can…oh, Merlin, Godric, Helga, whoever’s listening, please keep him safe!

But for now, her more practical self reminded her, better reply, so he knows how you feel, at least.

She didn’t notice the Fat Friar hovering over her shoulder, nor, wrapped up in her drawing as she was, did she feel it when he raised his hands in benediction over her and slipped away, smiling to himself.

“Neville Longbottom, stop that pacing this instant. You’re driving me nuts.” Ginny Weasley scolded, pointing her quill at him in a threatening manner. “Sorry, Gin.” He ran his hands through his hair and flopped down in an armchair next to hers, looking moodily at the fire.

“What’s eating you, anyway?” she asked curiously.

“I’ve done something ridiculously stupid, that’s all, and I’m afraid it was all for nothing.”

“Stupid as in, ‘liable to get my older brothers to laugh at you,’ or stupid as in ‘liable to get us all killed by the Carrows?’”

“Liable to get Hannah in danger, if any of the Carrows can read Muggle flower language.”

Ginny leaned forward conspiratorily, her eyes sparkling. “You sent her a love letter, didn’t you.” His blush was all the confirmation she needed. “So spill. What did she say?”

“I haven’t heard back from her yet. For all I know, she’s struggling to find a way to let me down gently. She should, anyway. If the Carrows ever find out…oh, Ginny, I’m an idiot, and a selfish idiot to boot. They’ll hurt her.”

“They’re not going to find out. They don’t deign to interest themselves in anything Muggleish, you know. And you know we’re all at risk, every day, and the likelihood that any of us are going to survive this year is…well, smaller than we’d all like it to be. If you end up dead, and you’ve never told her…”

“Maybe it would have been better that way. I don’t know, Gin, I don’t. Nothing’s clear anymore.”

She put a sympathetic hand on his arm. “Don’t I know it.”

Just then, Dobby came through, on his usual evening rounds, duster in hand. He approached Neville and said, in a conspiratorial whisper, “Good evening, Master Longbottom, Mistress Weasley. Dobby has a note for Master Longbottom, from Nibsy, who says it is from Mistress Abbott, but not to tell the Carrows. Dobby has not. Dobby will not.” He held out a folded square of parchment, and then went on his way, humming cheerfully as he went.

Ginny raised her eyebrows teasingly at Neville, who was blushing again as he opened the parchment. There were fewer pictures on this one than on the one he had sent her, but the first flower of all made him breathe a sigh of deep relief. Ambrosia. Your love is returned. Whatever else happens, I have that.

Ginny saw the sigh, and grinned at him. “It’s all right, then? All right, I’ll leave you alone to get all sentimental over it, while I go pretend I can write to Harry.” The last sentence came out with more bitterness than she had intended, because she tried to soften it with a smile, but couldn’t quite manage it.

“He’s out there, Gin. He’s out there, and safe, and he’ll come back. I know it.”

“I hope so. Because otherwise I’m going to have to hunt him down and kill him, and I don’t want that.” She tossed her red hair behind her, and left for the girls’ dorm.

Neville shook his head ruefully at her, then turned back to the note. Ambrosia, then azalea- what’s azalea? He headed into the boys’ dorm, and found the book under his bed. “Look after yourself for me.” I’ll do my best. For you.  You give me something to live for, anyway. And next…garlic and mistletoe, which are…“courage,” and “surmounting difficulties.” And then daisy twined with her wand wood for a signature, that’s “loyal love”, I don’t even have to look that one up. Hannah, love, when this is all over, I swear to you, I’ll be the most devoted sweetheart you could ever want. Just hold out for me, please.

Pomona Sprout settled herself in her office chair, and took a deep breath, inhaling the rich green scent that pervaded her greenhouses, living quarters, and office space alike. Another long day over, and no permanent damage done to any of my children, at least. But I still want the Carrows to writhe in the deepest pits of Hell for all eternity. She shuddered, the taste of swallowed fury burning acid in the back of her throat.

The Fat Friar slipped through the door, a kindly smile on his placid face. “I have done my rounds for the evening - all is as well as can be, and the children are nicely settled in. And there is a bit of gossip that may be a comfort to you, if you like to hear it.”

“At this point, anything that promises a bit of comfort is a godsend, Brother Joseph, and you know it. Tell me.”

“Remember that book you gave to my little Abbott and to Longbottom last year, before little Abbott left to see about her mother’s funeral?”

“Yes, of course. I was rather hoping they’d make use of it while she was gone, but…well, things happened.”

“I rather think they have, actually. At least, I caught her reading a note in what looked to be his drawing style, and made out a red tulip thereon, and the flower she was drawing in response was most decidedly ambrosia.”

Sprout beamed happily. “So love declared, and returned..” She paused a bit, less happily. “Let’s hope they have sense enough to keep it from the Carrows.”

“If they had not, they would have written in plain English. But with luck, when this is all over…”

“When this is all over, we’ll dance at their wedding. If we can ensure the pair of them survive…such a sweet pair they are, too…” She dabbed her eyes, trying to keep the sudden tears from falling.

“Take heart, Pomona, dear, and have faith. We’ll see them through.”

“We had better. He’s like the son I never had, you know, such a talent for Herbology, and the spitting image of poor dear Alice…she would be so proud of him, you know, and Frank too.”

“They would indeed, and if a Friar were permitted to have a daughter, it would be my dear little Abbott. She has just the right sort of heart for him, too, bright and warm and generous with her love as she is. We’ll see them wed one day, I’ll warrant, and when we do, mind you bring extra handkerchiefs, for I suspect you will weep for joy the entire time.”

“That I will, and better tears than I’ve been crying lately, I tell you.” She smiled ruefully at him. “So which of you have been spying on the Carrows this week, and is there any news in that direction?”

“Oh, yes, Sir Nicholas says…” and the conversation drifted quietly to other topics, and to plans to keep their children safe until the war was won.  

[chocolatequeennk]

Forever and Never Apart, 37/42

Summary: After taking a year to recover from the Master, the Doctor and Rose are ready to travel again. But Time keeps pushing them forward, and instead of going back to their old life, they slowly realise that they’re stepping into a new life. Friends new and old are meeting on the TARDIS, and when the stars start going out, the Doctor and Rose face the biggest change of all: the return of Bad Wolf.

Series 4 with Rose, part 7 of Being to Timelessness; sequel to Taking Time (AO3 | FF.NET | TSP)

Betaed by @lastbluetardis, @rudennotgingr, @jabber-who-key, and @pellaaearien. Thank you so much!

This fills several Bad Wolf prompts on @doctorroseprompts

AO3 | FF.NET | TSP

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12 | Ch 13 | Ch 14 | Ch 15 | Ch 16 | Ch 17 | Ch 18 | Ch 19 | Ch 20 | Ch 21 | Ch 22 | Ch 23 | Ch 24 | Ch 25 | Ch 26 | Ch 27 | Ch 28 | Ch 29 | Ch 30 | Ch 31 | Ch 32 | Ch 33 | Ch 34 | Ch 35 | Ch 36

Art of this chapter by @jemsauce

Chapter Thirty-seven: Into the Crucible

The Doctor’s mind spun just as fast as the TARDIS as she moved through the Vortex. Davros. Daleks. Twenty-seven stolen planets, arranged in an optimal configuration… but for what? He tried to catch a glimpse of the timelines, but the gold lines he could usually see dissolved into trails of gold dust that scattered in the wind.

The TARDIS landed with a final, grating thud. Beside him, Jenny wobbled back on her heels, and his arm shot out automatically to catch her.

“Thanks, Dad,” she said as she righted herself. Then she looked from him to the door and back again. “Where are we?”

“London,” the Doctor said. He sniffed and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Occupied London—there are Daleks in the streets.”

Donna had taken a step towards the door, but she stopped at that. “Then… what are we going to do?”

The question hung in the air. The Earth had no defences against a full-scale Dalek invasion. They wouldn’t in one hundred fifty years, and they definitely didn’t now. The Doctor tucked that memory away before he could get lost in the melancholy of missing Susan.

“Come on,” he said briskly, gesturing at the door. “The only way out is through, according to some wise person… Robert Frost, or maybe Alanis Morissette.”

Rose took his hand and walked beside him down the ramp. She nodded encouragingly when he looked at her before opening the door.

It was dark as night outside, even though the TARDIS coordinates had clearly been set for late afternoon. The Doctor glanced up at the sky; the twenty-seven planets were a disaster in the making, but the beauty of it still struck him.

“I’ve never seen London so empty,” Rose whispered. They had landed in the middle of a street, right in front of a church. The street that would normally be busy was littered with abandoned cars, doors left open by owners trying to escape the Daleks.

The door clicked shut behind them, and then Donna said, “Like a ghost town.”

“Sarah Jane said they were taking the people,” the Doctor mused. “What for?” He looked over at Rose. “Did Mickey tell you anything in your dream, Rose?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just… that the stars were going out, and I needed to tell you.”

The Doctor huffed. “What does that even mean? The stars are going out?”

“Well, we were kind of hoping you could tell us,” called out a familiar voice.

Rose and the Doctor whirled around, their mouths gaping open when they saw Mickey leaning against the corner of the church, casual as you please.

“Mickey!” Rose dropped the Doctor’s hand and ran to her friend, letting him sweep her up in a hug.

A laser blast sent them all diving for cover, but when there was no accompanying cry of “Exterminate!” they cautiously looked towards the other end of the street. The silhouette of Jack Harkness was instantly recognisable, standing behind the smoking hulk of a Dalek.

“You know,” Jack remarked casually as he lowered his enormous weapon, “you should really be more careful. There are Daleks around, after all.”

The Doctor looked up and down the street. “Yeah…” he muttered. “Actually, why don’t we take this inside? Bit safer in there.”

Once they were inside with the doors shut, he gave himself a moment to take in how full the console room was. It had been a long time since he’d had this many people inside the TARDIS, and to his surprise, he liked the way it felt.

“So, Boss,” Mickey said. “I think a few introductions might be in order.”

“Right, yes.” The Doctor pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth and nodded once.

Before he could say anything more, Jack turned to Donna and Jenny. “Captain Jack Harkness,” he said, winking at them both. “Pleasure to finally meet you in person, Ginger.”

“Jack…” The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. The whole exchange was just so predictable and boring.

“Oh, Rose has told me about you,” Donna drawled, sidling closer.

“Of course she has,” the Doctor muttered, earning a laugh and a nudge in the ribs from Rose.

Jenny tilted her head and studied him for a moment, then she turned to the Doctor. “I don’t understand. In all the stories, Jack is your friend. So why don’t you sound like you want us to get to know him, Dad?”

“Dad?” Mickey and Jack exclaimed in unison.

Rose laughed harder, then moved over to Jenny, putting her hands on her shoulders. “Mickey, Jack—I’d like you to meet our daughter, Jenny Tyler.”

Mickey’s jaw was almost on the floor. “Blimey, I know this thing is a time machine, but how long has it been for the two of you?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “No, you plum. She was… Well, it’s a long story, but the short version is that she’s only about six months old. She was born a full adult.”

“You know,” Donna said, “the fact that that is not the strangest thing that’s happened in the last year is really saying something.” She looked at Mickey. “And who are you, then? My name’s Donna—Donna Noble.”

Mickey cracked a grin. “Mickey Smith. Rose and me grew up together on the Estate, and I’ve been living for the last five years in a parallel universe. Looking to move back home, though.”

Even though Rose had known Mickey would be coming back, she hadn’t let herself hope it would be permanent. The life she could see in the future was almost too good to be true.

“Are you really?” she asked.

Mickey nodded. “Yeah. So’s your family, if we can get through this day without the universe ending.” He glanced at Jenny. “Promise me you’ll let me watch when you tell Jackie she’s a gran.”

Rose’s smile faltered. She honestly hadn’t considered that aspect of seeing her mother again, and suddenly, some of her excitement faded.

“Maybe we could just—”

Before she could suggest they not tell Jackie the full truth, an electrical pulse hummed around the TARDIS and the power went out, plunging them into darkness.

oOoOoOoOo

“Hang on,” Sarah Jane said, stepping back from Jackie Tyler. She’d seen enough in the last year to not just trust something with a familiar face—especially when it wasn’t where it belonged. “Rose said you’d been taken to a parallel universe.”

Jackie held up a yellow disk. “We came back with these things, to help Rose and the Doctor.”

The muscle in Pete’s jaw tightened, and Sarah Jane had a feeling it hadn’t been his idea for Jackie to join him. She bit back a smile; it seemed Rose had a lot in common with her mother.

“The walls between the worlds are supposed to be closed,” he explained quickly. “But whatever is happening here has caused them to break down—and it’s been rippling forward in time. We’ve been able to jump back and forth for almost a year now.”

Sarah Jane looked at Jackie and Pete Tyler. That made as much sense as anything ever did when the Doctor was involved.

“Right. Thank you for the rescue, but we don’t have time to stand here talking,” she said briskly. “According to Mr. Smith, the TARDIS should be just around the corner. Come on.”

Pete and Jackie slid their teleports into their pockets, then Pete slung his weapons over his shoulder. The three of them jogged quietly down the street, carefully hiding behind trees and vehicles to stay out of sight of any patrolling Daleks.

When they reached the corner, they concealed themselves behind a van and slowly crept forward. Sarah Jane’s stomach clenched when she saw four Daleks watching as the TARDIS, wrapped in a column of blue light, was pulled off the ground.

“Transferring TARDIS to the Crucible,” intoned one of the Daleks.

“Those teleport things,” Sarah Jane hissed. “Can we use them? If they’ve taken the Doctor to the Dalek spaceship, then that’s where we need to be.”

“Thing is,” Pete said, “they aren’t just teleports. They’re dimension hoppers, and they rip a hole in the fabric of space every time we use them.”

Sarah Jane rolled her eyes. The last bit of her doubts regarding the couple were gone; she’d been around long enough to recognise when someone was parroting what the Doctor had told them.

“But can we use them?” she pressed. If the Daleks won and the universe ended, would it matter if the fabric of space got a little buggered up in the process?

“Not yet,” Pete answered. “It burns up energy. Needs half an hour between jumps.”

Sarah Jane nodded once. There was only one thing left to do then. “Then put down your guns.”

“Excuse me?” Pete asked indignantly.

“If you’re carrying a gun, they’ll shoot you dead.” She stepped out of the safety of their hiding spot and held up her hands. “Daleks, I surrender.”

Four eyestalks swivelled to look at her. “All humans in this sector will be taken to the Crucible,” a Dalek announced.

Sarah Jane tensed as she waited to see what the Tylers would do. She could hear lowered voices arguing behind her, then Jackie spoke up.

“And us. We surrender.”

Sarah Jane watched Jackie step out of the shadows, her hands held up. She held her breath, waiting for Pete Tyler. He couldn’t stay hidden—Jackie had given him away by using a plural.

A moment later, Pete groaned and said, “Yeah, all right. We surrender.”  

“You will all be taken to the Crucible!”

The Daleks herded them into a group with other humans, all wide-eyed and shaking in terror. They stood in a huddle in the middle of the street with their arms over their heads, waiting for what came next.

Then the same blue light that had surrounded the TARDIS swirled around them, and within seconds, the London street was replaced by familiar-looking architecture. Sarah Jane looked around at the Crucible and shook her head; apparently, the Daleks hadn’t updated their interior decorating in the years since she’d last encountered them.

oOoOoOoOo

As soon as she got off the phone with Jack, Martha picked up the Project Indigo backpack and shrugged the straps over her shoulders, adjusting and tightening them until they sat right. “Now Jack’s explained the base code, I know how this teleport works,” she told her mum, who stood right behind her. She frowned. “I think.”

She looked at her mum, biting her lip nervously, and tried for a reassuring smile. “But you just stay indoors. There’s no Daleks on this street. You should be all right. Just er, keep quiet,” she mumbled as she walked away from her mother, trying to find a bit of open space.  

“But where are you going?” her mum asked.

Martha heard the panic in her voice and and hated herself for sending her mother right back to her worst nightmare. Francine had never fully accepted her work, always hoping she would find something safe at a civilian hospital instead. Working for UNIT reminded her too much of the year on the Valiant, and she was constantly worried Martha would be killed.

But Martha loved her job. She loved making a difference, and she wouldn’t stop now, not even to make her mother more comfortable. She clenched her fists at her side and set her jaw.

“I’m a member of UNIT, and they gave me the Osterhagen Key. I’ve got to do my job.” Her mum lunged for her, and Martha held up a hand to stop her. “I’m sorry.”

“Martha,” her mum pleaded. “What’s an Osterhagen Key? Tell me. What does it do?”

Martha shuddered at the knowledge. She wouldn’t burden her mum or anyone else with that. “Love you,” she said. Then she pulled the ripcords and gasped as she felt the air squeeze around her.  

Space widened out an interminable amount of time later, and a pinprick of light solidified into a forest. Martha landed hard on her bum, then scrambled to her hands and knees when she heard a harsh, robotic voice only a few dozen yards away.

“Exterminieren! Exterminieren!”

Martha blinked. I made it to Germany, then.

“Halt! Sonst werden wir Sie exterminieren! Sie sind jetzt ein Gefangener der Daleks!”

She jumped up and jogged through the trees until she could look down a small hill and see a formation of four Daleks—standard patrol formation, she remembered from reading UNIT files—floating through the forest.

“Exterminieren. Exterminieren.”

Martha let out a breath when she confirmed they were going the opposite direction of her destination, then she took off running.

oOoOoOoOo

In the eerie glow of the emergency lights, the Doctor and Rose turned to the console. “What’s going on?” Rose whispered as they pulled the monitor around.

But it was blank, which they should have expected given the power loss. While they were still staring at it, the TARDIS shifted beneath their feet.

Rose grabbed the console and looked around the room. “They’ve got us.”

The Doctor nodded, turning to instrument readouts that didn’t depend on primary power. “They’ve caught us up in some kind of chronon loop, which explains why the power is gone, too.”

“But where are they taking us?” Jenny asked.

“There’s a massive Dalek ship at the centre of the planets,” Jack explained. “They’re calling it the Crucible. Guess that’s our destination.”

Donna looked at the Doctor. “You said these planets were like an engine. But what for?”

The Doctor leaned on the console and narrowed his eyes at Mickey. “Mickey, you’ve been in a parallel world. That world’s running ahead of this universe. You’ve seen the future,” he emphasised. “What was it?”

Mickey crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s the darkness.”

“You told me the stars were going out,” Rose agreed.

Mickey frowned at her, and the Doctor shook his head quickly. “Alternate timelines, things that only happened in dreams… it’s a long story, Mickey. But is that true?”

“Well, yeah.” Mickey looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but after a moment, he shrugged and looked at the Doctor. “We looked up at the sky and they were just dying. Going out, one by one. And we met a few trans-dimensional species who told us it wasn’t just our world—it was all of reality.”

The Doctor shoved his hand through his hair. “All of reality,” he muttered. “Blimey.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Mickey agreed. “That’s when we got a team of scientists together to take the old dimension hoppers and turn them into a dimension cannon that could send me back here, to get you and see if you could help. We knew we needed you, but we wanted to make the trip with as little damage to the multiverse as possible.” His lips thinned and the glint in his eyes hardened. “But when I started jumping, I realised it didn’t matter anymore. It was all dying—even the Void.”

The Doctor rubbed his hand over his mouth. If the Void was dying, that explained how travel between the parallel worlds was possible.

Mickey looked over at Rose. “And then it started happening,” he said.

“What?” Rose took a step towards him. “What started happening?”

“The same two words, in every world I landed on.”

Rose tensed.

“Bad Wolf,” she said in unison with Mickey.

Mickey nodded. “Yeah. I figured… I figured it was a message from you to keep going. Like you said before, a message to lead me here. Bad Wolf here, Bad Wolf there.” He hesitated. “But if you had a dream about something that didn’t even happen…”

The console beeped, and the Doctor bent over to look at the monitor, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in his stomach at the mention of Bad Wolf. A red dot flashed at the centre of the planetary configuration. “The Dalek Crucible,” he said. “All aboard.”

There was a clang when they landed, as if they were on a metal surface. Everyone on board looked towards the door, and they could all hear the Daleks outside.

“The TARDIS is secured.”

“Doctor, you will step forth or die.”

The Doctor stuck his hands into his pockets, and the tension in his back pulled his suit jacket tight across his shoulders. “We’ll have to go out. Because if we don’t, they’ll get in.”

Rose’s jaw dropped—the TARDIS was supposed to be impregnable! But before she could remind him that he’d once promised the hordes of Genghis Khan couldn’t get through those doors, she understood what he didn’t want to say out loud. These Daleks were strong enough to get in. Their only chance of survival was to obey… for now.

But no one else had that insight. “I thought nothing could get in unless you let them!” Donna argued, her voice going up a few octaves.

“You’ve got extrapolator shielding,” Jack pointed out helpfully.

The Doctor turned slowly and looked at this group, the closest thing he’d had to a family in… in centuries, really. He hated that he had to explain to them why they were no longer safe in the TARDIS, the way he’d always promised they would be.

He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “The Daleks we fought on the Game Station were scavengers and hybrids, and mad. But this is a fully-fledged Dalek Empire, at the height of its power. Experts at fighting TARDISes—they can do anything.” He gestured at the door behind him. “Right now, that wooden door is just wood.”

Rose walked over to the console and pressed her hand to it, and the Doctor could feel them talking. It was something that had been happening more often since the Library. Yes, and that’s not concerning in the slightest, he told himself sarcastically. He still remembered how Rose had looked, facing down the Vashta Nerada. And he had his own suspicions on how the TARDIS had come to them, suspicions he refused to voice.

It was tempting to ask Rose if she could see anything in the timelines that he couldn’t. The tiny motes of golden dust he still saw refused to coalesce into anything solid, but he had a feeling Rose had a clearer picture of what was happening than he did. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure he wanted his suspicions confirmed.

He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to find another way out of the situation. Hang on, how did Jack and Mickey find us in the first place?

“Unless…” he said slowly, looking at his friends. “You both teleported to that street. I don’t suppose either of you could teleport out of here?”

His gaze darted from Jack to Jenny. Despite the disaster in the Library, it was still his fatherly instinct to get his daughter to safety if at all possible.

But Jack and Mickey both shook their heads. “Mine needs another twenty minutes to recharge,” Mickey told him.

“Yeah, and mine went down with the power loss,” Jack added.

Of course it had—because a chronon loop by nature would interfere with the workings of a Vortex Manipulator.

Jenny crossed her arms over her chest. “And besides,” she said, sounding just like Rose, “if you think I’m going to let you send me away again…” She tilted her chin defiantly, and the Doctor gave up.  

Mickey snorted. “You’re Jackie Tyler’s granddaughter, all right.”

Jenny offered him an uncertain smile, then stepped forward and put her hand on the Doctor’s arm. “So, it’s like you said, right Dad? The only way out is through?”

The Doctor swallowed hard. “Yep, exactly.” He bobbed his head, trying to look upbeat. “All of us together.” Everyone nodded, except for Rose, who was still talking to the TARDIS. “Rose?”

She didn’t move, and his concern deepened. He stepped around their friends and carefully put a hand on her shoulder, calming her telepathically when she jumped. “We can’t stay here, love.”

Rose felt the warm pulse of the TARDIS beneath her palm. She knew they didn’t have anywhere to hide, but somehow… she could hardly bear to pull her hand away from the ship. The ship’s song beckoned to her and pulled her in. This was where she needed to be.

But when the Doctor reached for her hand, Rose sighed and lifted it herself, sticking both her hands in her pockets. A frown appeared between his eyebrows, but she knew… holding hands right now would only make everything worse. It was next to impossible to hold any thoughts back from him when they were touching.

Now, if only she knew exactly what she was keeping from him.

The Doctor sighed and rested his hands on her shoulders, brushing his thumbs over the blue leather of her coat. “I don’t want to leave her either,” he whispered. “But there’s nothing else we can do.”

His resignation hurt, and Rose winked and shot him a cheeky smile, hoping to cheer him up. “Guess it’s time for the Stuff of Legend to go to work.”

It worked. The Doctor chuckled at her reference, and when he turned and led the way to the door, there was a slight bounce in his step that had been missing since they’d talked to Davros.

Rose allowed her smile to fade as he walked away. The words of the albino servant echoed in Rose’s mind. It must be you.

The grating voices of the Daleks filled the TARDIS again, shaking her out of her reverie.

“Surrender, Doctor, and face your Dalek masters.”

“Crucible on maximum alert.”

The Doctor turned around at the base of the ramp. Rose leaned against a strut as he looked at all of them, letting his gaze settle on each one of them individually for a few moments. She watched, with a faint sense of detachment, while they all tried to gear themselves up to go out to face the Daleks.

He drew a deep breath and looked at the group of people that had become their family. “Before we go out there, I just wanted to say… You’ve been brilliant, all of you.” His gaze landed on Jenny. “I’m sorry we couldn’t see more planets together, Jenny. And Donna.” He sighed. “I hope you know how brilliant you are.” He nodded at Jack and Mickey. “I’ve teased and heckled you both, but you need to know that there is no one else I’d rather have at my side as we face an army of Daleks.”

He looked up at Rose, and the wistful smile on his face made her throat tight. “Rose Tyler.” You, love… Whatever happens today, whether our forever ends, or if we somehow manage to save the day, don’t forget that I will never regret a single thing about our life together.

Rose nodded. I love you, Doctor. For as long as our forever lasts.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Blimey,” he muttered, then he turned around sharply and pulled the door open.

Rose watched as he exited the TARDIS, Jenny right behind him. Normally, it would feel wrong to let him go off to face the Daleks without her at his side, but today, the song of the TARDIS soothed her concerns. She felt her lips curl in a small smile as she leaned on the railing at the base of the ramp.

Outside the ship, the Daleks started chanting again, sensing victory at hand. “Daleks reign supreme. All hail the Daleks!”

The grating cheer woke Rose up from the daze the song had lulled her in to, and she pushed off from the railing, intent on following them. Ahead of her, Donna and Jack followed the Doctor and Jenny out of the Crucible, and Rose put her left foot on the ramp.

But each step felt like she was walking through treacle, and she stopped only halfway up the ramp. Mickey was at the door now, and he shot Rose a glance over his shoulder before stepping out of the ship. You coming, babe? it said.

When Rose hesitated, the TARDIS song crescendoed in her ears, nearly drowning out the sound of the Daleks claiming they reigned supreme. It was like… like a siren’s song, and even though she knew the myth of the sirens, the call of the music still pulled at her.

Rose shook her head and kept walking. Who knew what the Daleks would do to her if she stayed in the TARDIS? Better to do as they said, for now. And then the Doctor and I can figure out how to stop them, together, she promised herself. The stuff of legend, remember?

The wilder rendition of the TARDIS song that she’d heard at the Shadow Proclamation poured over Rose as she approached the door. A foot away, she finally remembered where she’d heard it before, or more precisely, when.

She stopped and looked back at the console. Maybe today wouldn’t be another saga of the Stuff of Legend. Maybe today another legend would gain a new chapter.

oOoOoOoOo

“Daleks reign supreme. All hail the Daleks!”

In the Crucible, the Doctor stared at the thousands of Daleks swarming above them. He recognised the size and shape of the Dalek holding court—it was the Supreme Dalek. There was no way they were going to get out of this. He had any number of tricks up his sleeve, but as his oldest nemesis, the Daleks knew them all.

“Behold, Doctor,” the Supreme Dalek said. “Behold the might of the true Dalek race.”

And there it was. A shiver in the timelines, the tiniest glimpse of a moment when maybe, not everything was hopeless. The Doctor looked around for Rose, to see if she’d felt it too, and he realised she still hadn’t left the TARDIS.

His empty hand twitched at his side, looking for hers. You need to join us, Rose, he told her. I know you hate to leave her, but you’ll be no safer in there.

In answer, the TARDIS doors slammed shut. If the Doctor hadn’t known their ship would never put Rose in danger, he would have thought she’d closed the doors herself. He pivoted and ran for the ship, determined to force his way back inside. But the doors wouldn’t budge.

A moment later, serene calm brushed against his mind. Don’t, love, she told him. This is where I need to be. She always takes us where we need to go, after all.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he growled at his ship, grabbing the handles and rattling the doors. “You are not going to use a ridiculous line like that to convince Rose to stay in there!”

His TARDIS and his bond mate were both absolutely content with the course of events, but the Doctor refused to accept it. He looked over his shoulder at the Supreme Dalek. If the TARDIS wasn’t behind this, it must have been the Daleks.

“What did you do?!” he yelled.  

“This is not of Dalek origin,” the Supreme Dalek denied indignantly.

The Doctor reached for his sonic screwdriver, then ground his teeth together when he remembered he’d left it in his coat, which was still in the TARDIS.

He wheeled around and glared at the Supreme Dalek. “Stop it! She’s my wife,” he said, knowing he wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t know. Thanks to the path web, every Dalek they met would recognise Rose as his wife. “Now open the door and let her out.”

“This is Time Lord treachery,” the Supreme Dalek intoned.

The Doctor snorted. “Me? Do you think I’d leave Rose behind?” He gestured wildly at the TARDIS. “The door just closed on its own!”

The Supreme Dalek’s eyestalk seemed to flash smugly. “We have the Doctor’s mate trapped in the Doctor’s TARDIS.”

“What are you going to do?” the Doctor demanded, his stomach clenching in knots.

“The TARDIS is a weapon and it will be destroyed.”

A metallic clang echoed in the room, and the Doctor spun and watched in horror as a trapdoor opened beneath the TARDIS. He took a half step towards the ship, but it slid through the opening before he could reach it.

Rose!

oOoOoOoOo

“Behold, Doctor. Behold the might of the true Dalek race.”

The menace in his voice was almost enough to pull Rose outside to stand with the Doctor. And yet… what could she accomplish on the Crucible, surrounded by what sounded like thousands of Daleks?

Thousands of Daleks.

Rose turned away from the door and looked around the console room. She’d stood in this room before, when the Doctor had faced the Daleks and thought he was going to die. Although he hadn’t fully given up today, it was obvious he didn’t have much hope in any of the ideas that were floating around in his head.

The song in her head beckoned her forward, and she took a step towards the console. Maybe…

She hesitated for a moment when the Doctor called for her over the bond. You need to join us, Rose, he told her. I know you hate to leave her, but you’ll be no safer in there.

Even as she considered turning around and leaving the TARDIS, the door swung shut. Anger and panic slammed into her over the bond, and she could hear the Doctor’s footsteps outside the ship as he ran to the doors and started pounding on them.

But the TARDIS song was louder now, and Rose knew this was where she needed to be. She jogged up the ramp and pressed her hand to the door. The blue wood was all that kept their palms from touching.  

Don’t, love, she told the Doctor, projecting the calm that had washed over her the moment the doors shut. This is where I need to be. She always takes us where we need to go, after all.

She heard the handle rattle a moment later, and knew he had not accepted her explanation. “You are not going to use a ridiculous line like that to convince Rose to stay in there!” he shouted at the TARDIS as he pulled on the door.

Rose took a breath, then walked away from the door, ignoring the urge to continue soothing him. She couldn’t stand by the door all day and assure him she was fine.

The Doctor panicked when he sensed her walking away from him. “What did you do?!” he yelled.  

The Supreme Dalek refused to take responsibility. “This is not of Dalek origin.” Rose agreed—the TARDIS had kept her here, so they could save everyone.

Something was coming. There was a charge in the air making the hairs on her arm stand up, and Rose settled onto the jump seat to wait for the signal that it was time to begin.

Outside, the Doctor was still arguing with the Supreme Dalek. Rose wanted to tell him it was pointless—even if she weren’t exactly where Time wanted her, the Daleks would never give in to his sentimental plea to let her go.

A moment later, she felt her stomach lodge itself in her throat when the TARDIS suddenly dropped. Rose! The Doctor cried out, his panic cutting through the vibrating timelines. She could see what had happened in his mind’s eye—a trap door had opened under the ship, sending it plummeting into the heart of the Crucible.

“Allons-y,” she said under her breath. Then she grabbed onto the edge of the seat and held tight.

oOoOoOoOo

The Doctor ran to the edge of the trap door and stared down the empty shaft, straining for a glimpse of the TARDIS. His hearts thumped wildly in his chest as he imagined all kinds of danger that could be waiting for Rose at the end of her fall.

Rose! Can you get to the controls and fly her out of there? I know the Daleks would figure out that you’d escaped, and they’d probably pull you right back to the Crucible, but at least you’d still be alive. He rubbed his hands over his face when she didn’t answer. Please, at least tell me you’re all right.

In response to his panic, he felt a phantom pressure on his hand, and he returned Rose’s embrace desperately. We’re fine, Doctor. Stay calm. I promise, this is not how our forever ends.

The Doctor took a deep breath. He still couldn’t see the timelines, but he could feel them moving close to a temporal tipping moment. Maybe Rose was right. Maybe this was supposed to happen. They’d certainly gotten enough warnings in the last few months that Bad Wolf would be coming back…

That left one thought, crystal clear. If this was all part of a plan, he couldn’t let on—not to anyone. The Daleks had to believe he thought Rose was dead.

He turned back around and ran towards the Supreme Dalek. It wasn’t hard to call upon the anger he knew the Daleks would expect of him. Even if Rose and the TARDIS were right and this had to happen, the Daleks had still tried to kill her.

“What are you doing? Bring her back!” he shouted. The adrenaline left by the close call put an edge in his voice. “What have you done? Where will that take her?” he demanded, gesturing at the empty spot the TARDIS had stood.

“The Crucible has a heart of Z-neutrino energy,” the Supreme Dalek pronounced smugly. “The TARDIS will be deposited into the core.”

The Doctor’s hearts stopped and he stumbled back a few steps. “But you can’t.” He shook his head rapidly. “You’ve taken the defences down. It’ll be torn apart!” Without shields, the TARDIS would disintegrate in those kind of surroundings. It wouldn’t matter that Rose was there to fly her.

Just imagining the excruciating pain gave the Doctor vertigo. His stomach attempted to rebel against the sensation, and even though he managed to not throw up, he still swayed on his feet. The eddy of timelines spinning around them didn’t make it any easier to keep his breakfast down, and he was grateful when Jenny reached for his hand.

“Dad, Mum is still in there,” she whispered. “What will happen if…”

He shook his head, unable to answer, and Jenny stifled a cry.

“Let her go!” Jack growled.

“The female and the TARDIS will perish together. Observe.”

The Supreme Dalek waved his death ray at something behind the Doctor, and as he turned around, letting go of Jenny’s hand in the process, a view screen opened up. The TARDIS was floating in a pool of yellow energy, and even in this pixelated depiction, he could tell the windows had shattered, or would soon. The entire console room would be flooded with Z-neutrino energy. Rose would die.

“The last child of Gallifrey is powerless—as is your mate.”

Rose was fine, but for how much longer? The Doctor turned on the Daleks, his voice tight with fear. “You can’t do this. She’s… I…” He swallowed hard, his chest heaving as he considered the kind of death that awaited Rose if something didn’t happen. “Put me in her place,” he suggested, ignoring the sharp smack of Rose’s anger when she heard that idea. “You can do anything to me. I don’t care—just get my wife out of there!”

oOoOoOoOo

The TARDIS’ downward spiral into wherever they were going was the worst flight Rose had been on since they’d accidentally fallen into a parallel universe. Her pilot’s instincts were screaming at her to get up, to stop her ship from crashing, but the TARDIS hummed a warning when she tried to stand up.

With a sort of detached realisation, Rose saw herself, hands wrapped around the edge of the jump seat, wearing her new blue coat with her hair around her shoulders. The picture unlocked the memory of her earlier visions, and she knew. The moment was almost here. She was right where she needed to be.

She dug her fingers more deeply into the worn suede upholstery.

The Doctor was begging her fly the TARDIS, to forget about subterfuge and get herself to safety. Rose shook her head  and settled in for the ride, then she ran a soothing touch over the bond.

We’re fine, Doctor. Stay calm. Timelines glittered around her, and she loved the variety of lives they could have from this point on. I promise, this is not how our forever ends.

He wavered for a moment, but then his emotions stabilised. His resolve solidified, and she caught a hint of his plan—to feign fear and anger so hopefully, the Daleks wouldn’t catch wind of what she was doing until it was too late.

Rose barely had time to thank him for trusting her when she felt a spike of genuine fear—no, of terror. Seconds later, the rapid descent of the TARDIS stopped, and she suspected that knowledge of their destination had driven the Doctor’s fear this time.

The roundels in the walls burst inward, filling the console room with painfully bright light. Despite her utter confidence in Time, Rose felt a natural surge of fear as their ship started to fall down around her head.

In the midst of the console room on fire, a different kind of golden light rose from one of the console panels. Staring at the light, Rose could almost hear the TARDIS, calling her forward.

She’d seen this in her visions, too. The console room filled with fire, and her own hand reaching for the console. It was all happening exactly as she’d seen. Rose stood slowly and took a step towards the TARDIS, obeying the call she trusted more than anyone but the Doctor.

The TARDIS shifted under her feet and she nearly fell to her knees again. Fear shot through her, the fear that she might be wrong, or that even if she were right and this was what she needed to do, it wouldn’t work.

She took another step and reached for the bond at the same time, wanting a moment with the Doctor just in case this actually was the end for them. But when the connection was made, instead of feeling the Doctor’s warm embrace, she heard him begging the Daleks to be put in the TARDIS in her place.

Her anger was swift and sharp. Being in the TARDIS during whatever was about to happen had been her choice. What was more, it had to be her. He couldn’t handle whatever was coming.

The TARDIS was still pulling her forward, and she decided to ignore his overprotectiveness for now. They could argue about it later, after they were safe and back home.

All thoughts of arguing were driven from her mind when she saw what the TARDIS had been trying to show her. A few feet to her right, a panel on the console glowed with golden light. Rose stared at it. She knew that light, and she knew this part of the ship. Directly below this panel rested the heart of the TARDIS and all the power of the Time Vortex.

The TARDIS rocked violently, and this time, Rose couldn’t maintain her balance. She hit the floor, hard. The grating bit into her palms, and she ducked her head when more roundels shattered, sending glass flying through the air.

Light caught her eyes again. Rose looked up slowly. Wisps of golden light seeped out from the heart of the TARDIS. Her fingers itched, and she yearned to open it up again and stare into Time.

But she’d promised the Doctor after the Valiant that she wouldn’t do that again. It had killed her the first time, and despite her personal confidence that she would regenerate, if there was another route she could take, she didn’t want to put her life at risk.

The song urged her to look up, to stand again. Rose carefully got to her feet, using the console to steady herself. The glowing panel was right there, and she knew what she needed to do. She couldn’t look into the heart, but she could touch the TARDIS’ soul.

She slowly moved her hands towards the panel. The Bad Wolf theme she’d been hearing all day surrounded her, and for a moment, the world narrowed to nothing but herself and the TARDIS.  

She touched the panel, and a second later, her head tipped back as she felt another consciousness merge with her own. Typically, that sensation would be terrifying, but this time, she knew the other mind almost as well as she knew her own and the Doctor’s.  

Rose smiled and welcomed the TARDIS into her mind.

oOoOoOoOo

The Doctor stared at the Supreme Dalek, his chest heaving with the desperate need to do something to save Rose. Before he could lunge across the room at the Dalek and get himself killed, something tickled at his telepathic centre.He brushed it off, but then it grew stronger.

The Doctor had to press his lips together to hold back a gasp when he realised what he was feeling. The bonds connecting him to the TARDIS and to Rose had just twisted themselves into one cord—still two filaments, but for now, at least, they were completely entwined.

The Bad Wolf had created herself once more.

AN: Look for the next chapter on February 13th.

[roses-and-oceans]

Convergence.

A/N: I’d like to thank @ubeshibe @wolfyfloofs @gladiolus-mamacitia for keeping my Twin AU alive with their love. So here’s a fic where all the twins exist in the same universe. This is based off Doodle’s comic ahhhAAHHHHHH.

Also, if you’re not familiar with my Twin AUs, Here are the headcanons; more info and doodles can be found on my masterlist~

also, tagging: @chemicalkiddo, @nemo-ne-impune-lacessit, thank you guys for your support for my au <3

I listened to La Vie en Rose by Pomplamoose over and over while writing this it seemed to fit it somehow lol. 

Caelum Twins | Argentum Twins

Scientia Twins | Amicitia Twins

It all began with a cough from a passing councilman. Or it could have been a sneeze. Aurelio found himself sneezing up a storm as he put books away for that evening; the Citadel library was empty except for his echoing sneeze. With that, he prayed to the stars and Gods above to spare him the from the flu.

The brothers and sister group of the Caelums, Scientias, Amicitias and Argentums were out enjoying a night out together. It was a rarity; Vega was home for the winter break and staying with her brother, Noctis. Aster was back home from guarding the Wall, which was a relief for Gladio and both Ignis and Aurelio were not working late tonight. No doubt, Noctis would have pulled strings to get them all to come out. With the eight of them, they were all able to fill a lazy susan table. As everyone was eating fried rice, noodles, flanks of barbequed pork, sweet and sour chicken, and sauteed veggies (except Noctis), Aurelio felt the beginnings of a headache. Vega was spooning chicken onto her plate in great quantities when she noticed Aurelio massage his forehead, “You alright?”

Aurelio winced at the volume of Aster’s and Gladio’s guffaws and sniffled, “Yes, I think so. Just a headache, I’m afraid.”

Vega gave him a knowing look and said, “I’ve got you covered.”

From her purse, she pulled out a small bottle of naproxen sodium, and shook out two tablets, “That should do it. Let me know if you need more.”

Aurelio thanked her. The pills were like rough stone going down.

The pills weren’t enough; Aurelio woke up the next day with a fever, sore throat and a plugged up nose. He wrapped himself up in his comforter and set himself on the couch. His little black cat Fish hopped up on his lap and started rubbing up against him. He gave her a quick cuddle and set her down on his lap. He reached for his phone and as he clicked the screen to life, he immediately put it back down. The screen was far too bright to handle. Fish purred next to his ear and rubbed against him again purring loudly.

“Can you tell Ignis that I’m sick, Fishie?” He asked pitifully. She gave a little mew and sneezed herself, spraying Aurelio’s ear.

He scribbled note hastily and tucked it into Fish’s collar and let her out onto the fire escape. She climbed up to the floor above and started meowing right at Ignis’s window. She meowed and meowed until Ignis plucked her from the windowsill and plopped her right on the couch, “Alright! I heard you the first few times, whats the matter?”

He saw the note on her collar and he unfurled it.

“Oh, bother, dear brother…”

Ignis sighed and Fish blinked at him with her deep blue eyes. “What a fool, my master is,” her eyes said.

Ignis nodded in agreement. As Ignis gathered his things, Aurelio wailed in his apartment, “Igniiiisss, I’m out of tissues, I can’t breaathee!”

Ignis found Aurelio in his apartment buried deep in his blanket, a bag of used tissues at his side. His cheeks had taken a ruddy hue and he was half asleep.

Ignis touched his twin’s forehead and it was just as he feared; Aurelio’s fever was running high. He sighed and tried shaking Aurelio awake.

Aurelio groaned weakly, “I think I’m a bit ill.”

“A bit ill? I could fry an egg on your forehead.”

Aurelio groaned again and settled back on his couch. His face was just peaking out of the pile of blankets. He looked at Ignis dejectedly and Ignis got up to make a phone call.

“Hello Aster. Might you be able to do me a favor?”

**

Aurelio was still covered in blankets when he and Ignis had arrived at Aster Amicitia’s apartment. Aurelio had started to shake, “W-why can’t you take, take care of me today, Ignis?”

“I’m very sorry, the prince needs me today, I can’t stay with you. And if I remember, we agreed that we would stay away from one another, to isolate the illness.”

Aurelio slumped into Ignis’ shoulder with a whine, “I don't remember such a silly thing. And just call Nooctt, pleaasee.”

Ignis rolled his eyes and sighed; Aurelio always got needy when he was ill. It was worsened with his delirium the fever had brought on.

“No, I can’t. And you promised!”

Aurelio had started kicking up such a fuss that Ignis had to pick him and carry him bridal-style all the way to Aster’s door. By the time Aster had answered the door, Ignis was struggling under the deadweight that Aurelio had set. He practically threw his brother into Aster’s arms with a, “Be strong for mother, Aurelio.”

“Ignis, what the hell?”

“You’ve got this covered right?” Ignis didn’t even wait for Aster to reply, he was practically sprinting out of the apartment complex.

“Hey! IGNIS?! YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE ME WITH YOUR SICK BROTHER!”

Aurelio peered up at Aster with watery eyes, “Gladio?? Aster?? I can’t see, I don’t have my glasses.”

Aurelio decided that maybe he could tell by the scent of his cologne. He sniffed, “… I can’t smell, my nose is too clogged…”

Aster grumbled under his breath and set Aurelio down on his futon and asked, “Have you taken any medicine yet?”

“Cough syrup… Ignis ran out of medicine and I didn’t have any.”

Aster hummed, “I don’t have anything for what you’ve got, bud. I’ll make a quick call, though, don’t you worry.”

“Thank you,” Aurelio said, his voice quivering.

Aster couldn’t help but laugh at his poor friend’s misfortune. Aster reached for his phone and as he unlocked it, his apartment buzzer went off. He went to answer, “Yeah?”

“Aster, dude, open up! Hands are kinda full!”

Aster was taken back, “Cassiel? Don’t you have the key?”

“Like I said hands are full, I’m using my forehead to press the button.”

He buzzed Cassiel in and a minute later, the door burst open. Prompto and Cassiel came in, looking as identical as ever down to the last freckle. They each had bags and bags full of things.

“We heard Aurelio was sick,” they chimed together.

“We brought stuff!” Prompto waved a bag cheerfully.

Aster waved them in, a hand clapping each Argentum on the shoulder, “Great timing! I’ve been gone for months, I don’t have anything in my place.”

Aurelio greeted Prompto and Cassiel as enthusiastically as he could. Cassiel set about making cups of tea, walking around the apartment as if it was his own home.

“How do you like your tea? Sweet, unsweetened?”

Aurelio made to answer, but was overcome with a coughing fit and he retreated into his comforter. He didn’t come out until his face was red and he wiped a bit of spittle from the corner of his mouth.

“Honey, if you please.”

Cassiel nodded and Prompto sat down next to him. He held a thermometer in his hand, “Open the hatch.”

Aurelio held the thermometer under his tongue and winced at the pounding in his head.

“Can I ge-”

“Minutes almost done, hold tight.”

Aster sat down next to Aurelio and the sick man slumped against him. All Aster could do was give him a sympathetic pat.

When the thermometer beeped, announcing Aurelio’s 102°F fever, Aster said, “Wonder what got Ignis so busy today.”

As Aurelio gulped down his tea and cold pills, he rasped, “He’s been working late for the last few weeks. I think it’s in preparation for something in Niflheim. It’s months away from being complete, should be in the summer that it should pop up again.”

Aster nodded, “I would hope it’s something good then.”

**

Vega poured herself a cup of tea while waiting in the Citadel garden for Ignis and Noctis. She picked at her nails, eager and sort of anxious to tell them something that had been troubling her. She wished her hair was longer; she had cut it short to stand in for Noctis at a gala the last time she was on school break. She missed toying with the long strands.

She heard echoing footsteps, so she stood. Noctis came first, followed by Ignis and Gladio. Noctis ruffled her short hair as he sat down, Ignis gave her a little bow and Gladio said, “How are you, Royal Princess?”

“I’m good, nice to be home.”

“Training tomorrow at 7pm, sharp.

Vega rolled her eyes, "Good, I get to kick your ass again.”

Gladio gave a hearty laugh as he stood against the wall and she smiled as she took her seat.

“Thank you for organizing this tea for us, Vega,” Ignis said, “But I’m afraid we might have to cut it shorter than anticipated, I have a meeting and Noctis has his training.”

Noctis sighed and frowned, “Oh, c'mon Specs, Vega’s here, I just wanna relax-”

“Tomorrow, your highness, you should be free.”

Noctis relented with a “bah,” and reached for a slice of cake.

“Cake before training?” Vega tried stealing some off Noctis’ plate, “You’re gonna make yourself sick.”

Vega was successful in taking a piece with her force, much to Noctis’ chagrin. She paused in thought as she licked the frosting off her fork.

“Ah, I suppose you’re old enough, just aim for Gladio when you puke.”

Ignis managed to stop himself from snorting into his tea, “No, I don’t think that’ll be good for either of them. They’ll end up worse than my poor brother.”

Vega had been ready to sip from her tea but she placed the cup back down, saucer and all, “What happened with Aurelio?”

“He’s indisposed, nasty bout of flu.”

Vega raised her eyebrows, “Is he okay?”

“He’s a grown man, he can take care of himself.”

“He’s Aurelio; He’s alot like you but you know how he gets.”

“That’s precisely why I left him with Aster.”

“You left him- you do realize you left him with someone who doesn’t even have crumbs in his fridge? He’s been gone for months!”

Ignis sighed, “I’m not a fool; I sent Cassiel and Prompto with supplies.”

Vega propped her chin in her hand and her elbow against the table, “Lords almighty, Igs. I know things are tough with the councilmen right now- mind you, Noct’s been talking my ear off.”

“Aurelio does get rather difficult when he’s ill,” Ignis had the tiniest bit of grace to look slightly ashamed, “Which is why we agreed on not caring for one another while ill. I’d rather not say something too brash by accident and offend him.”

Vega sighed and nodded. She got up and said, “I’m gonna go check up on him, just in case.”

Noctis tugged at her sleeve, “Hold up, you said you wanted to tell us something.”

She had almost forgotten.

“Ahh, its not that important, it can wait.”

“Nonsense,” Ignis said and he finished his tea, “Pray tell. We might not get a chance to talk later.”

Reluctantly, Vega sat back down. She took a deep breath to calm herself but she felt her heart pound heavier.

“I’m not going back to school after break.”

Ignis dropped his fork, “Y-You’re dropping out? What ever for? Are you failing?”

Vega could feel Noctis’ eyes bore into her and an uncomfortable heat went through her, “It won’t be forever, its just a gap year! I still haven’t chosen my major…”

“Vega, I thought we discussed this-,” Ignis began but Vega interrupted, “You know my heart isn’t in government. You’ve known that! Medicine is good and all, but that’ll take years and I’ll be stuck, an-and I don’t want that.”

“Well, what do you want to do, Vega?”

She hated that question so much. She never had an answer.

“I don’t know…”

Ignis sighed and she could tell he was trying to collect his remaining patience.

“Why don’t you stick out the remainder of the semester? Maybe by then you’ll figure out whatever you want to do?”

“Ignis, I’m going crazy there. I like school enough but I’m not going anywhere with it. It’s like being stuck-”

“Stuck in a cage with no where to go,” Noctis finished for her. She looked at him, and he held a somber look.

“What do you think Dad’ll say?” Her throat had gone dry.

Noctis looked away and his eyes settled on the table, “I dunno… You’re gonna need to talk to him yourself.”

Vega shut her eyes and let out all the air she had been holding in.

She didn’t look at either them for fear of seeing disappointment in their eyes. She got her motorcycle helmet from under her chair and she started walking out.

“Hey, Vey,” Noctis called out. Vega spun just in time to catch his keys. It was a new set of keys. He had talked about driving around with her, to hit up their old haunts, places she hadn’t been to in a while.She

Vega shook her head and tossed his keys back.

**

The ride from the Citadel to Aster’s apartment was enough to relax Vega enough. She was buzzed in with a “Holy Crap...” from Aster and right when she entered the hallway, she smelled burnt rice. She practically sprinted down to Aster's door and started pounding on it.

Cassiel answered the door and the burnt stench followed. Vega covered her nose with her sleeve. He greeted as casually as he could, “Hey Vega! How are you?”

“What in the gods are you guys doing?” She pushed past him and found Prompto opening the window in the kitchen and Aster trying to scrape the rice off the pot. Vega couldn't have come at a better time.

She spotted a very sorry looking Aurelio on the futon, lying back with his eyes half open. Vega shook him gently, “Hey, how are you?”

“Vega? What's that smell?”

“Someone other than your brother trying to cook,” she said with a smile. Aurelio chuckles turned into coughs and she touched his forehead. His fever was still burning on and he said, “Gods above, I feel awful.”

“You don't look too good, either, sorry to say.”

“I just want to go to bed...”

Vega started to kick herself for not taking Noct's car. She said, “Let me see what I can do.”

She went over to Aster, who was soaking the pot in hot water. Prompto and Cassiel were trying to read out a recipe from their phones. They were arguing over whether they could feed it to Aurelio or if they would be able to make it in the first place. She said to the three men, “You guys mind if I take Aurelio back to his place? I think it'll be better...”

“Aww but we wanna help!!” Prompto and Cassiel cried. Aster pouted at them, “Yeah and you guys almost burnt down my kitchen. I was supposed to hang out with Nyx tonight but I gotta stay and clean up.”

Cassiel frowned, “I'm sorry, big guy.”

Vega took out her phone, “Alright, how about a game plan? I'll take Aurelio home, you three clean up, yeah? Team Argentum can take over cleaning when you need to get going, Aster.”

“Will you be okay with Aurelio?” Aster asked as he took out cleaning sprays from under the sink.

“Yeah! I'm in college, I get sick all the time. I can handle it from here. Can you guys watch my bike while I get Aurelio settled?”

Cassiel and Prompto gave salutes.Vega called a taxi.

**

Immediately after arriving (and after Vega had to break in to collect Aurelio's forgotten keys and glasses), Aurelio crashed onto his bed. Vega was able to coax some toast and juice with medicine into him before he passed out. She left a note next to his pillow saying that she would be at the store and called a taxi to take her back to Aster's to pick up her motorcycle.

She picked up a bit of fruit and some chicken to stew, if Aurelio felt he was up to it. She also picked up some tissues, frankincense oil, some honey and lemon. These were her staples for survival back at school when flu season hit the campus. She'd pick up more later if need be.

She was setting a pot to boil and looking for a cutting board when Aurelio shuffled into the kitchen. His hair was mussed up and he rasped out, “I think my head might explode.”

“That's not good,” Vega said as she reached out for a mug, “Want a cup of tea?”

“Yes, please.”

She prepared his tea and he perched himself right at the counter. He was in his scruffiest cardigan and shivering. Vega stuck a thermometer in his mouth before he could take a sip of his tea.

She laughed at his pout and when she finally found the cutting board, the thermometer went off. She plucked it from his mouth.

“Hmn, 101.5. What was it the last time your temp was taken?”

“I dunno, I think I was dead.”

Vega laughed and handed him his mug, “How so do you feel about having a bit of chicken stew?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

Vega sent him to the couch to settle with a movie and set herself to dicing carrots and onion. She set the chicken, veggies and some herbs to boil then simmer. She set a timer to an hour and she sat next to Aurelio. He looked about ready to doze off again. He shifted when she sat and said, “Wont be for another hour, sorry.”

“No hurry, I'm not all that hungry yet.”

She nodded and pulled her knees to her chest. They sat and watched the movie in silence for a minute and Aurelio said, “I can't thank you enough for being here. But why?”

“I'm not up to much most days,” Vega yawned. She looked at him, “Honestly, I don't mind, it gives me something to do.”

“How kind of you. Really, I-”

“Don't mention it, its no big deal.”

Vega turned to watch the movie. Aurelio asked with a light air, “How has school been?”

Vega shook her head, “I'm dropping out. Or well, taking a break for a year.”

“Has it been that tough?”

She sighed, “I'm just tired... I don't know what I'm doing there, to be completely honest.”

Aurelio scooted to face her. She looked at her knees, “My grades are fine... I just don't think I'm all that passionate enough about anything to pursue a degree.”

“Hmn.”

“Ignis wasn't too happy to hear.”

“Well, that's Ignis, dear. He's already got things figured out, he's always finding more things to figure out.” He paused to blow his nose.

Once the trumpeting petered out, he said, “You just focus on what you want to do. You're still young and though you may be royalty, you're human.”

Vega felt her eyes sting slightly and her voice was small, “What if my father is disappointed in me?”

Aurelio took her hand, “Now, I know that to be impossible. He'd want what's best for you. Understand?”

Vega nodded and whispered, “Thanks.”

They continued watching the movie until Vega's timer went off and she went back to fixing up the stew. Aurelio had dozed off while she finished and she brought him a bowl. He downed some medicine and fell asleep again. Vega picked another movie to play and found her thoughts drifting back to this afternoon. She knew Ignis meant well; he'd been a great help though the past few semesters when she felt herself close to losing her mind. They'd all talk about it more later. She'd talk to her father when she got the chance.

For now, she closed her eyes and let the movie lull her to sleep.

[victorluvsalice]

Secundus Sunday: Another Christmas Sneak Preview!

Hey, if I’m showing off a bit of “Fixing You” for Christmas this year, I may as well have equal time for my two biggest AUs and show off some “Secundus 2: Weird Weird West” as well! I’m not doing a full chapter for this one, though, simply because “Secundus 2″ is still in the initial writing stage (unlike “Fixing You,” which is midway through the first round of edits). I’m not even all the way through Chapter 3 yet! There’s a lot more that can change in this story right now, and it’s DEFINITELY going to take longer to put up in full than “Fixing You.”

So, yeah, no AO3 or FF.net links this time. Instead, you get a direct look right here at roughly the first three pages (according to LibreOffice Writer) of Chapter One. For context, it’s been about two years since the events of “Secundus,” it’s currently August 4th, and Victor’s busy in his conservatory lab when:

"Victor! Mail's here!"

"Just a moment!" Victor called back. He squinted through the combination of magnifying lenses in place before his eyes. A little extra nutrient glue here. . .and on the forewing. . .and – in!

He grinned as he sealed the new hindwing into place, then pulled up his goggles. "There we go," he said, releasing the butterfly from its temporary prison. "Wasn't so bad, was it? I'm sorry it's not an exact match for what you had before, but it was the closest I had."

The butterfly fluttered its wings, then took off, sailing easily to a nearby flower. Victor chuckled. "No gratitude," he teased it, standing. "I suppose that's what I get for working with creatures with such primitive brains." He watched as it balanced itself on a petal, and unrolled its proboscis for a drink. "At least it makes it easy to show you all."

"Victor?"

"Coming!" Victor headed for the door of the conservatory, ducking under some heavy leaves and picking his way around the vines creeping across the tiles. "Need to trim those. . . ." He pulled back the net, then slipped through the door as fast as possible, dropping it back into place once he was past. "Sorry, darling," he said, shutting the door behind him before kissing Alice's cheek. "I was in surgery."

"Ah – wouldn't want to interrupt that," Alice agreed, booping his nose. "Sorry to keep calling you, but you've got a letter from Doc and Marty." She held up the envelope with a frown. "Or, well, I think it's a letter. It feels awfully stiff for just paper."

"Maybe they've included a photograph?" Victor mused, accepting the possibly-letter. "Like when I asked what his shop looked like?"

Alice shrugged. "Only one way to find out."

"Mmm." Victor worked a finger under the flap. "You know, I don't mind you opening these," he added as he tore open the top. "They're your friends too."

"I know," Alice said, smiling. "But I like seeing your face light up when you get news from them. Besides, you're the one who was actually living with them for a while. I think that allows you first look at their mail."

Victor chuckled. "Fair enough." He felt around inside the envelope, then frowned. "No, it seems to be a – card?" He pulled it out. "What, did Marty find a funny–"

He stopped, reading the front. His eyes went wide. "Oh. Oh!"

Alice tilted her head. "What is it?"

Victor turned to her with a beaming smile. "He's finally doing it! Marty's getting married!"

"Really?" Alice came to his side for a better look. Victor handed her the card. "'Mr. and Mrs. George McFly and Mr. Robert Parker are pleased to invite you to the wedding of Master Martin McFly and Miss Jennifer Parker – September 7th, 1882, 8:00 A.M., at the Hill Valley First Congregational Church, Hill Valley, California. R.S.V.P. requested.'" She glanced at Victor with a playful smile. "I think he stole the design of this from Aunt Susan."

"Well, she did put together a very nice wedding for us," Victor replied, grinning. "And it's not like I mind." He fished around in the envelope again. "Ah, there's a note too. . . . 'Dear Victor and Alice – Hope you guys are doing well! As you can see, the big news of the month is Jennifer and I are making it official! Which means, hopefully, I finally get to see you guys in person again! Doc and I have really been missing you, and I'm looking forward to introducing you to Jennifer and the rest of the McFly clan. Unfortunately, despite practically begging him on bended knee, the Mayor's still refusing to let Doc fly the train out to get anybody. That guy can hold a grudge. . .Doc was able to track down a fast-travel airship that'll get you to San Francisco, though, and then it's just a day trip down to Hill Valley on the local earthbound rail. He's written down everything you'll need to know on the other side. Soonest one should get you here by September 1st. Let me know if you can make it! It wouldn't be the same without you. Sincerely, Marty.'"

Alice shook her head as Victor flipped over the paper to look at Doc's notes. "You know, they've been back in Hill Valley almost two years now. You'd think the mayor would finally realize they have no intentions of blowing up the place."

"Yes, well, we're long past the second anniversary of my arrival in Secundus, and you don't see my parents trying to make amends, do you?" Victor pointed out, looking up.

Alice's face went dark. "Point. Your mother's probably still convinced you're under mind control, somehow."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she was telling people I'd died," Victor muttered. "Better a deceased son than a Touched one."

Alice wrapped an arm around him. "That's their decision. They made their choice two years ago. Don't spare them another thought."

"I'll try not to." Victor ran his finger over the schedule Doc had laid out. "He's been exceedingly thorough, as usual," he said with a smile. "Times down to the exact minute – he's even estimated how long it should take us to get from the house to the docking station!"

"Would you expect any less from someone who's spent the better part of their life working on a time machine?" Alice replied, chuckling. "But it is handy to know, I suppose." She clapped her hands. "If everything's already in order, I'll go ahead and call them to book the trip. Better earlier than later, right?"

Victor eagerly started to nod – then stopped, frowning. "Ah. . .well. . . ."

Alice arched an eyebrow. "You can't possibly not want to go."

"No, no, I want to," Victor assured her, waving a hand. "I want to almost more than anything in the world! It's just. . . ." His eyes strayed downward, to the swelling bump of her stomach. "You're up for it?"

Alice gave him a Look – the Look, in fact. The Look he'd been getting right from when she'd announced she was with child, and he'd tried to – in her words – imprison her in an armchair. (He hadn't meant to pile so many cushions around her!) "Victor, I'm not a china doll," she said coolly. "I was working right up until last week. I'd still be working if Richard hadn't insisted I take some time off and promised to pay me for it."

"I know, I know," Victor said, rubbing his face. "It's just – it's a long trip. Right across both the Atlantic and the United States."

"And it's on an airship, which is generally noted as one of the nicer ways to fly," Alice responded. "Even a fast-travel one shouldn't be particularly bumpy. And I'll be sitting down for most of it. Given how often you tell me I should be sitting, you should be thrilled about that."

Victor blushed and pulled at his tie. "I don't – w-what if something happens, though?"

"I don't see what could. The doctor says I'm in excellent health, and the baby isn't coming until early November anyway." She grabbed his hands and held them tight. "I know you're a worrier, and I know it's a long trip, but – I'm fine. Really. And I want to go." She jerked slightly, then smiled and pressed one of his hands against her belly. "I think they want to go too."

Right on cue, the baby kicked against his palm. Victor's heart melted at the feel of the little life squirming and growing inside his wife. "Well. . .if all three of us want to go. . .I guess you should book it," he murmured, pulling her close. "I'm sorry, I just–"

"I understand," Alice cut in, voice gentle. "I really do. Why do you think I've been letting Mell Kelly hunt all the monsters in the city since we got the news? But really, I'm not that fragile. I'd hate not to see Marty's wedding. And I'd hate even more keeping you from it." She looked up at him. "I still remember the way your face crumpled when they got the letter saying they could come home."

Victor shook his head. "I – I know I should have been happy for them – and I was, a bit. . .just. . . ." He sighed. "If only it hadn't been so near Christmas. We were all so happy together, and. . . ."

Alice rubbed his hand. "I didn't like seeing them leave either. But you couldn't expect Marty to stay away from his girlfriend forever."

"Of course not," Victor agreed. He looked down at the invitation. "Funny to think he's twenty now. The same age we were when we got married."

"It wasn't that long ago," Alice laughed, poking his shoulder. "You sound like an old man reminiscing about the good old days."

"I can't help it!" Victor laughed along. "A lot has changed since then! When I first arrived in Secundus, I was camping out on Doc's couch!"

"I never got how you managed to live in his sitting room for so long," Alice remarked. "Of course, when we first met, I didn't think you were going to stay. You cut quite the terrified figure in your goggles and tattered coat."

"I was still rather overwhelmed," Victor admitted, smiling. "And it didn't help that I'd just bumped into the prettiest young lady I'd ever met."

Alice went pink. "Flatterer."

"Don't pretend you don't like it."

"Only from you." She looked down at his hand, still resting on her belly. "A lot has changed since that day," she said quietly. "If you'd told me two years ago that I'd be standing inside my own house, trading jokes with my Touched husband and preparing for my first child. . .well, I would have recommended you talk to Dr. Wilson from Rutledge about your overactive imagination."

"If you'd told me that I was going to end up living in the Mad Science Capital Of The World, married to a renowned monster killer, creating all sorts of new butterflies and preparing for fatherhood, I would have thought for sure you'd mistaken me for someone else," Victor agreed. "After all, I had my life all planned out for me before my accidental kidnapping. An arranged marriage to a woman of the nobility. . .following in my father's footsteps with the cannery. . .and never, ever leaving Burtonsville except to check on fish supplies or be dragged to this or that party by Mother."

"Sounds lovely," Alice deadpanned. A little more seriously, she added, "Do you think you could have been happy with that life?"

"I don't know, " Victor admitted. "The arranged marriage probably wouldn't have turned out too badly, since it was with Victoria. . .but. . .I think I would have gotten by, but I would have always felt like there was something missing. Something – better." He winced. "That is – if I didn't go Creative anyway one day from the stress and – I d-don't think it would have turned out well in Burtonsville."

"Probably not," Alice agreed. She snuggled up to him. "I think you ended up exactly where you needed to be, exactly when you needed to be there."

Victor kissed her forehead. "I do too."

Ding-dong! "Arf! Arf! Arf!"

A tan and white blur rocketed past their legs, bee-lining for the front door. "Ooops – looks like we have visitors," Alice commented.

"Hopefully of the sort that like hyperactive corgis," Victor replied, hurrying after the dog. "Lightning! Here boy!"

Lightning turned back to look at him, then hopped up and down in front of the door, barking. "Yes, yes, we know," Victor said, scooping him up. "We can hear the doorbell too, you know. Even without ears as large as yours."

Lightning barked one last time, then busied himself licking Victor's chin, stubby little legs beating the air. "One of these days, I am going to find your off button," Victor declared, laughing. "Silly little dog. . . ." Tucking Lightning firmly under one arm, he opened the door. "Sorry about that – oh, hello Victoria! And Christopher, and Emily."

"Hello," Victoria said, chuckling as Lightning yapped a hello and tried to run on air. "It's all right – you had to stop him running out again, didn't you?"

"He just gets excited when he hears people," Victor replied, looking down at the practically vibrating corgi. "He is doing a lot better at obeying 'sit' and 'stay.'"

"He's like a little perpetual motion machine," Christopher observed. "Your name for him turned out to be very apt, didn't it?"

"He's a cutie," Emily said, leaning down to scratch Lightning under the chin. "Yes you are! Yes you are!"

"Try dealing with him when he decides it's time to run laps in the middle of the night and see if you feel the same way," Alice retorted, waddling up. "I guess it's good practice for dealing with the upcoming bundle of joy, though. . .hello everyone. What brings you all by?"

[notebookqueenofnarnia]

The Just Jedi (Narnian Star Wars Story Part Three)

Part One Part Two 

This ended up much longer than I thought, so I divided it. Part Four will be up very soon. Hope you like it!

Summary: Edmund is having trouble keeping his head straight.  Lord Miraz continues to raise their suspicions, King Caspian is still missing, and a young woman is becoming a great distraction. 

Edmund stepped off the ship into the steaming climate of Telmar.  Narnia’s largest moon was mostly oceans, with only about fifteen percent of it being hospitable land. The humans who arrived here long ago (rumored to have been pirates or smugglers) destroyed the great forests of Telmar to make way for their cities and displace the oceans.  The landing pad where Edmund now stood as he overlooked the Bay of Kings was built upon the rotting corpses of two-hundred foot behemoths.  Edmund realized this was why the Dryads of Narnia always retreated to their homes when any Telmarines visited.

The Just King’s attention was drawn away from the moon’s scenery when he heard (Y/N)’s laughter.  She was disembarking from the Alderannian ship with Lucy at her side.  Lucy had taken an instant liking to the girl from Commenor. The two had been attached at the hip for the past day and a half, even though the Narnian royals still did not know why she had lost her royal status. 

Tumnus appeared at Edmund’s side.  Before he could ask, the fawn answered his question. “Still no word from Captain Elidor,” Tumnus told him. “But, the ship should be arriving at its destination presently.” 

Before dessert had been served last night, Peter and Edmund had sent a rescue ship to that last known location of King Caspian IX’s ship.  Edmund wanted to go with Elidor and his crew, but there were too many unknown factors. The Telmarine ship was attacked, that much was sure, and its distress signal was received by King Lune of Archenland who was traveling nearby.  His crew whisked the king away from the conflict for his safety before he could discover any more, and he sent word only to Narnia.  It was unclear who the aggressors were.  Lord Miraz had already raised their suspicions, but Edmund advised both King Lune and his brother not to jump to conclusions. So, it was agreed that a rescue ship would be sent and Peter and Edmund would discover just what Lord Miraz knows. 

The Narnian and Alderannian parties walked off the landing pad towards Telmar’s capital city. Lord Miraz stood waiting for them. The sneer that flashed across his face did not escape Edmund. 

“Greetings Your Majesties.” He hardly bent over to bow.  “Welcome to Telmar.    We are honored by your presence.”

“We are pleased to be here, Lord Miraz.” Peter said. “Though we must admit to be surprised by King Caspian’s absence. Do you expect him back soon?”

Lord Miraz turned his back on the party and headed towards the castle that rose in the distance, indicating they should follow. “His Majesty has not yet left Naboo.” Peter glanced at his brother, but Edmund’s attention had already drifted towards (Y/N).  Lord Miraz stopped at the city gates where a group of palace guards waited. “Forgive me, Your Majesties, but I must greet our other guests who will be arriving presently.  My guards will escort you to your chambers. Already, I must apologize to Your Majesties, as our resources have been lacking after the Senate ruling the other day.” He nodded at Edmund.  “I’m afraid you may have to share rooms.” He bowed slightly and left them. 

Lucy convinced (Y/N) to stay with her and Susan. Edmund felt uneasy as the guards lead him his siblings up into the sprawling west wing of the castle, but if it was caused by (Y/N)’s presence or Lord Miraz, he didn’t know. Senator Organa and his party had been taken towards the guest chambers, where the Narnian royals usually stayed. The royals were quite far from anyone else in the small, opposing rooms where they were placed. The girls disappeared into their room to freshen up for the evening’s welcoming banquet and ball. Peter closed the door and sat on the bed across from his brother. He spoke in a low whisper. 

“Do you think he knows anything?”

There was an urgent knock on the door. Sallowpad flapped his way in.  “Your Majesties....I come with urgent news.  It’s Mr. Tumnus.” The kings stood instantly, already gripping their weapons. “No, no. He is fine. Tumnus was making inquiries about Lord Bern...he and six other lords, King Caspian’s most loyal friends, have completely disappeared.”

(Y/N) gently ran her fingers across the glittering crown of Queen Lucy. She had removed it so that her sister could style her hair.  (Y/N) sighed. “It’s been so long since I’ve worn jewels.” 

Lucy opened her mouth to question her again, but Susan tugged her hair tightly. “Ow!” Susan gave her sister a pointed look. “I was just going to say that (Y/N) could wear some of ours!”

“Oh, no I couldn’t-”

“Just for tonight! What do you think, Su?”  Susan nodded. “Where are our jewels, anyways?”

“I gave them to Edmund for safe keeping. (Y/N), would you mind asking him for them?”  Susan asked.  The girl nodded and went to knock on the kings’ door.  Her hand shook as she raised it. (Y/N) had seen the fires of war, had seen her own parents taken down in their prime, without batting an eye. A gun had been held to her head more than once, and she did not tremble. But, King Edmund shook her to her core. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

The kings’ agitated voices stopped the moment her hand hit the wooden door. When it swung open, (Y/N) saw the kings surrounded by a throng of Talking Beasts.  King Edmund stood the moment he saw her, nearly tripping over a group of mice. She smiled. 

“Sorry for the interruption, Your Majesties, but Queen Susan wanted-”

“I told Queen Susan that we would inform her the moment we hear anything,” Peter announced. “I know she dotes on young Caspain X more than Prince Corin these days, but she must be patient.”

“Uhh...Queen Susan sent me for her jewels. King Edmund? I believe you have them, Your Highness?”  Edmund’s knees nearly went out from under him when she addressed him for the first time..  He cleared his throat to hide his embarrassment.  

“Yes. I, uhhh...they are...I belive I put them...”

“Your Highness?” Trickfoot the badger badger, said.  “I believe you left placed them in your trunk.” The mice took the liberty of scurrying to the king’s belongings and retrieving Susan’s wooden jewel box. Edmund snatched it from them and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him.  The hallway was hardly five paces across. Edmund and (Y/N) were nearly nose to nose. Edmund cleared his throat again.  “Here’s the...uhh...you needed the....”

“Jewels?” She finished, still smiling. Edmund couldn’t help but notice how beautiful her smile was. 

“Susan has....for the the...it’s locked....she has the...uhh...”

“Key?” Her cheeks were rosy. She placed her hands over his to take the box. Edmund felt his face heating. “Thank you, Your Highness.” 

“Edmund!” He nearly shouted. She looked at him startled. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Please, call me Edmund.” 

“Edmund,” She whispered with a nod. He felt his head spin. 

“I ought too...back...they’re important...” He motioned back towards the door. 

“I’ll see you tonight, Edmund.” 

“Would you-will you, uhh...” He looked at the top of her head to avoid meeting her honest eyes. “At the ball tonight...maybe we could, you know...”

“Dance together?” He nodded, his face feeling hotter than ever. “Well, I already promised the first dance to Lord Tinlaz of Alderann but after-”

“It’s alright, I detest dancing really,” Edmund blurted out without thinking. He wanted to slap himself.  (Y/N) frowned. She opened her mouth to speak, but Edmund interrupted her. “Queen Susan will want those promptly, you better go.”

(Y/N) reentered her room, glancing at him over her shoulder. Edmund felt a force rising inside of him. When she closed the door behind her, he drove his fist towards the stone wall behind him. 

He stopped himself just before his hand made contact. 

He brought the hand to his forehead. His stomach sank. He was entering dangerous territory....feeling so many...too many emotions at once; fear for King Caspain, concern for his siblings, mistrust in Miraz, joy and embarrassment every time he saw (Y/N), constant surprise, anticipation, suspicion, vulnerable, uneasy...

Master Windu’s words during his training flashed through Edmund’s mind, “A Jedi may have emotions, but cannot allow them to overcome him.”  Edmund knew the consequences all too well. That was why Jedi were kept away from their families, to evade emotional attachment. Edmund knew, in the deepest parts of his being, that was why he hadn’t returned to the Jedi Temple until Peter asked him too. He couldn’t leave his family and he didn’t want to face the consequences.   

He had to get his emotions under control. He had to remain calm.  Most of all, he had to avoid (Y/N).  

(No matter how much he didn’t want to leave her side.)

[cowgirlontheloose]

I COME TO MY HORSE SENSES

    I’ve been blessed with many unusual teachers in my life. Most of them were not in a classroom. The most recent was a 2,000 lb. Percheron horse with hooves the size of pizza pans named Major. I met him at a half-day workshop called “Come To Your Senses” held at his home on a rural Ontario farm.

    I was there with 10 other women hoping to learn something useful about ourselves: “…how to connect to our senses with the help of our equine partners.” Sounds pretty New Agey — right? But being a horse lover, I signed up. I knew we would not be riding, but rather working individually on the ground with a horse. This intrigued me. What could I possibly learn this way?

    First, we sat in a circle inside, sipping tea while our facilitator, Susan, explained that in spite of a horses’ intimidating size, they are prey animals. This means they constantly use their senses:  sight, smell, sound, touch — to ensure they are safe. Unlike ego-tormented humans, they never fret about the past or fantasize about the future. They exist totally in the present — their lives depend on it. With such remarkable perceptiveness, they can easily attune themselves to the feelings of others. They react instinctively to how they are approached — either by another animal or a human. In this way, horses can offer valuable feedback and information to us, if we are willing to listen.

    At this point, my jaw hit the floor. From childhood into my mid-20s, I was horse crazy. I showed, jumped, explored dressage, attended Pony Club and galloped across fields after baying hounds. Yes, tally-ho and all that. I even rode for a living for two years on an Alberta cattle ranch.

    Not once in all those years had I been taught what I was hearing from Susan. I had been told how to put on a bridle and saddle, how to mount, dismount and all that necessary stuff. Heads up, heels down. Take charge, you’re the boss. Yet here was Susan telling us that we were missing something key. Something that all horses know.

    I then recalled one long-ago day on the ranch. I was sent to hunt for missing steers. My mount, a sensible bay named Ranger, suddenly refused to take another step at a wide, dried up ditch. I kicked and urged — I was in charge after all. Ranger shivered and snorted. I persisted. Eventually he crouched and leapt, practically holding his nose. To my horror he sank to his belly and floundered, eyes bulging. We had landed in the infamous prairie gumbo:  deep, sticky mud likened to quicksand. Somehow, we struggled to solid ground. When I related this later to my boss, he glared at me. “Ranger has more sense than you do.” I hung my head.

    After workshop introductions, we moved outside. Misty rain fell from a textured grey sky. One-by-one we approached Major. Susan coached us quietly.  Did we feel safe? Did we want to get closer or further away from Major? What were we experiencing? Fear? Calmness, excitement, or something else? Perhaps we yearned for Major to acknowledge us positively. If he turned away or ignored us, did we feel discounted, sad or perhaps curious?

    Earlier, Susan had explained to me that even in such brief encounters between human and horse, participants can experience “what it’s like to be grounded, present, and respectful of how we’re feeling.” As a Buddhist student, I had heard countless teachings on being present. It’s pretty well the bottom line for meditators. How can we learn to be in the present moment?And how on earth could a horse teach me this?

    I watched others approach Major as he nibbled at hay. My mind nattered. Nothing’s happening! This is a waste of time! Okay for beginners maybe, but not me! I know how to approach a horse for cripes sake!  Finally my turn came. “This is weird”, I admitted. “I have no idea how to do this.” Susan suggested approaching Major the way I would a friend. A lightbulb came on! Major was not a creature I needed to “do” something to. We were equals! What a concept. I stood before him, hands behind my back and said hello. I had absolutely no expectations. To my astonishment, he gently raised his huge head, placed his whiskery muzzle against my cheek and stood there, breathing softly.

  I practically levitated with delight. The gesture made me feel so accepted. So one hundred per cent received. And I mean all of me. He moved his horsey head around my face and ears, pouring his warm magic onto me.

    It was as intimate an encounter as I’d ever had. It also explained Susan and Major’s work — Equine Facilitated Wellness — more eloquently than an entire library could. Unlike myself, who is driven by my eggbeater mind, Major exists without shame or embarrassment about his needs. He is tuned to all his body sensations without panicking about, or trying to ignore them. That’s why Major reads and responds to all situations and social dynamics accurately. He accepts whatever happens with grace and ease. Which is more than I can say about me.

    As I headed home, sun beamed through blue sky patches. I was still wrapped in Major’s spell when I had an “aha!” moment. I recalled a Buddhist retreat from some years ago when our teacher, Tarchin, threw us a curve ball. “What if….” he began, gazing around with his blue laser beam eyes. “What if we could all be 100 per cent present to 100 per cent of every being we met, 100 per cent of the time? How would that change the world?”

    I heard his words all right. But they rolled around in my head like marbles, trying to find a way to line up. The notion was too outlandish for me to absorb. For starters, I knew I had probably never been totally present to myself — let alone someone else. I was way too occupied with ignoring or criticizing the abundant icky parts of me. And as for being present to others — well! Just call me a fully automated Judgement Machine, guaranteed to run non-stop.

    When Tarchin’s retreat ended, I signed up for a private interview. I didn’t have anything to ask, and I was shy to meet individually with such an admiral teacher. But some part of me said, “Do it anyway.” We met at the house where he was staying. It was a cool day, but just warm enough to sit on the back deck with jackets and mugs of green tea. I scrambled in my head for an intelligent question — or even a feeble one — feeling sweaty and ridiculous. He, completely at ease, simply turned his head and looked at me. And I? I bust out crying. I mean really big time boohooing. I heaved and sobbed and squirted tears. Somehow I knew I didn’t have to explain or apologize. Eventually I stopped crying and the interview, which I have no further memory of, proceeded. All I recall was his look.

    For the first time in my life, someone had seen all of me. Not just my grey hair or what I was wearing. No, he saw me right down to each follicle, fart, and molecule. And whatever he saw was A-OK. No wonder I bawled like a babe.

    I have recalled that look often. It glows like a comforting wee campfire in my midsection. Someone out there knows me. ALL OF ME! True, I assumed that only incredibly evolved meditation masters could deliver that Deep Space Look. Yet there I was at the workshop, eyeball to eyeball with a horse and being totally received by The Look.

    After the workshop, I climbed into a steaming bath and wallowed there listening to Oscar Peterson music twinkling from the radio. So. How many other deep space looks had I missed because I was too hampered by my insecurities? Surely Tarchin and Major weren’t the only ones out there dispensing this magic.

    I twiddled the hot water tap with my toes. Maybe I could start practicing The Look on others — and myself. I can attest that I am meaner to me, mostly in my thoughts, than to anyone else on this planet. I examined my soapy, saggy body (critically of course) and sighed deeply. This wasn’t going to be easy. Buddhist teachings drone on constantly about compassion for self and others. But very little is said about what it actually is and how to “do” it. This has annoyed me for years. (It’s part of my Someone-tell-me-what-to-do-for-crying-out-loud Syndrome.) But then, that’s the point of Life. I’m supposed to wake up and think for myself. Damn and blast! Concepts like compassion and being present have to be learned, and I am the only one who can figure out how.

    I had a lot to think about. I pulled the plug on the tub. Now Donald Trump was on CBC news saying that the world would be 100 percent better if dictators like Hussein and Gaddafi were still in power. Poor old Trump. Obviously he’s never received the Deep Space Look, otherwise he wouldn’t be so hell bent on proving himself. I arose in a slosh of water and caught sight of my form in the mirror. I saw the thinning hair and drooping body parts, the wrinkles, scars and warty age thing-a-ma-bobs. I squared my scrawny shoulders and gave myself The Look — at least as best I could, and said: “Pretty darn impressive for an old broad.” As I stepped from the tub, the old broad in the mirror smiled back. “Keep up the good work,” she grinned.

[saxonspud]

Vampire - RDR2 AU Part 2

For @red-dead-n-dandy​ thank you for the encouragement, although some might say I don’t need any 🤣  I’m not an artist, but I played about with some screenshots for the cover.

I hope you enjoy it.

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[Katie’s P.O.V.]

When I awake, I’m laying down. No longer thrown over the horse. I’m laying on a mattress, neither my hands or feet are bound. I’m confused. I try to get up, but can’t. Then I realise why not. There is something around my neck, a collar of sorts, although not tight, it is attached to a chain. I can do nothing but lay down where I am. I’m thankful that I’m laying on my front. Although for some reason the pain in my back is less. The same is true of the bite on my neck. It aches less now. I have no idea why. I don't struggle, I know its pointless. I’ll just await my fate, wait for my life force, my blood to be drained little by little. Wait for my torment to continue. I have little choice.

I see a woman approaching, she must see the fear in my eyes. I try to pull away, but chain attached to the collar gives me little room for Manoeuvre.

“Be still, I’m not going to hurt you, the restraint is for your own good, you need to rest,” she soothes.

I tremble, I can’t help myself. At least before I knew what was going to happen. Here is different. I don't speak, for fear of punishment. I squeeze my eyes closed, hoping she isn't planning to feed or beat me. If she does, at least I won’t see.

I feel her hand on my shoulder, I flinch. Her hand is warm though, I open my eyes, and she smiles.

I risk it. “You’re not...” I start.

“No, I’m not a vampire,” she answers quietly.

I try and take a closer look, there are no bite marks, nor is she wearing a collar like mine.

“Are you a slave or a servant then?”

She smiles again, “no, neither of those either.”

“He compels you to stay then,” I decide, but I say it out loud.

She chuckles, “no, I stay because I want to.”

I frown, I don't understand. Why would she stay with a vampire, when she could leave.

“Why?” I ask.

She smiles, “because its safer here, than it is on the outside.”

I shake my head, I don’t believe her.

“Are you hungry?” She asks.

I stare at her, is this a trick. “What?”

“Its not a difficult question, little one, when did you last eat?”

My eyes snap to the doorway, He’s standing there, I quickly lower my gaze.

“Sorry master, I don’t know,” I quickly reply, my voice shaking.

I see him approaching the bed, he walks really slowly. The other one, Colm used to do that, to increase my fear, before he beat me. I soon learned to ask him to feed, that way I didn't always get beaten.

I moved my head, baring my neck. “Please master, feed from me,” I beg, my voice still shaking.

He sits on the edge of the bed. “As tempting as it is, little one, you are far too weak.” he smirks.

He looks at the woman, “go fetch my little one some food, Susan. I doubt that she has eaten for a while!”

The woman, Susan, leaves the room.

I tremble, my only experience with vampires has been pain.

His hand strokes my face, I try not to flinch, but I can’t help it, I shall probably be beaten now. I whimper, I didn't mean to, it just slipped out.

He chuckles, “I won’t beat you little one, its a pointless exercise. I can punish you though, and I can reward you. The human mind is a frail thing. I can make you feel pleasure, and I can make you feel pain.”

I let out a breath, I didn't realise I was holding, my heart is thumping against my chest like a herd of wild horses.

“Do you understand, little one?” he asks sternly.

I swallow down the bile I feel rising in my throat. I’m so scared I feel sick.

“Yes Master,”I croak.

He looks at me and nods.

“You are to stay on this bed, until I give you permission to leave. If you disobey me, you will be punished, is that clear?” he commands.

I don't have much choice at the moment, but I nod my head.

“Yes Master, I understand.”

His fingers touch the back of the collar, and I hear a click. He releases the collar and removes it from my neck.

I lay still, he has told me to stay on the bed, and I don’t want to be punished.

His finger runs down my spine. I expect it to hurt from the beatings, but it doesn’t, which surprises me slightly. It does cause a shiver down my spine, strange that his finger doesn't feel cold.

“You may sit if you wish, but when you lay down, you should lay on your stomach. Just until you are fully healed.” He begins, “Can you read?” he asks.

I sit up, “yes Master,” I nod.

He hands me a piece of paper. “Rules,” he snaps, “break them, and you will be punished, follow them and you will be rewarded.”

He stands up, and stares at me. “I am not Colm O’ Driscoll!” he exclaims, and walks out the room.

I stare after him. I’m confused now. I thought that all vampires were the same.

Colm would punish me for breaking the rules, without telling me what the rules were. He took great pleasure in punishing me. Sometimes I thought he made up new rules, just so he could punish me. When he fed, he took great pleasure, in the pain he inflicted. I sometimes think he fed, not because he needed to, but because of how much pain it caused me.

I look at the sheet of paper, and start to read.

You will call me Master.

You will always look me in the eye when you speak.

You will always speak the truth, I will know if you are lying.

You will always answer me when I ask you a question

You will always obey my commands

You will respect all members of the gang

You are now a member of the Dutch Van Der Linde Gang – I expect loyalty without question.

After I finished reading, I frowned. I didn't ask to be a member of his gang, but now it appears I don't have a choice. What am I a pet? A slave? A servant? How many vampires are there in his gang? Just him, or others? Is that why Susan stays, because he expects loyalty. Maybe once you become a member, you can’t leave.

I glance up from the sheet of paper, to see Susan walking towards the bed, with a bowl of food.

I didn't lie to him when I said I didn't know when I last ate, I really didn't know.

Susan passed me the bowl.

“Thank you,” I thought for a moment, “What should I call you?” I asked.

She thought for a moment. “You may call me Miss Grimshaw, now eat your food, little one,” she replied.

“Miss Grimshaw?” I asked, “why does everyone call me little one?”

She chuckled, “because that is what you are, would you prefer that I called you pet?”

So that was what I was, the pet of a vampire.

“No, Miss Grimshaw, I prefer little one,” I hesitated, “will I ever get a proper name?” I asked.

“Perhaps, one day,” she scoffed, and walked out the room.

I started to eat the food, that she had given me. It was good. But then anything would probably have tasted good after being half starved by Colm O’Driscoll.

I sat there thinking about what my new Master had said. Punishment and Reward. I hoped that my first reward might be some clothes. I probably hadn't worn clothes now for a month, but that didn't mean I was comfortable with my nakedness.

I finished my food, and placed the bowl on the table at the side of the bed.

I felt some pressure in my head, I wasn't surprised, I was probably tired. I lay down again, on my stomach, and closed my eyes. Easily drifting off to sleep.

[Dutch’s P.O.V.]

I stood on the Balcony of Shady Belle. I chuckled. Colm was so stupid, he probably had never bothered probing the little ones mind. It was so open, she may as well have been standing on the roof, yelling her thoughts across the Bayou. She was clever too, all the questions that were rattling around in her brain. I put a little suggestion in her mind, to send her to sleep, her mind was weak that way, all humans were. I could make there bodies feel pleasure or pain, just by manipulating their minds. So she wanted a reward of clothes. She had stayed put on the bed, and been very polite to Susan. Perhaps when she woke up I would allow her some clothes. Then I would mark her, to show that she was mine.

That idiot, O’Driscoll, hadn’t even bothered to do that. Not properly. He’d been to busy feeding off her. Those teeth marks would soon disappear. Once I'd marked her, the mark would stay there, for good.  Then everyone in the five states would know she was mine, including her.

I walked into the bedroom where she lay. She hadn't even realised this was my bed. My little one was clever and so foolish at the same time. I lay on the bed next to her. She looked so peaceful. I ran my hands down her arms, across her back and stomach. Her skin is so soft. I wanted to touch every part of her. She moaned and whimpered  as I touched her. Squirming. But I didn’t allow her to wake, not yet. The sounds she makes are exquisite to my ears. I want to savour them.

I wrapped my arm around her, resting my hand on her stomach, pressing her back into my chest. My other hand gently rests on her thigh, but I can’t resist the urge to caress it gently, then move it around to her perfectly formed behind. I remove all control from her mind, she’s still moaning, and her perfect little body trembles under my touch. I can smell her sweet blood, pumping through her veins. I must resist the temptation, for now. I don’t want to hurt my little pet.