#but i've been chattering away for almost a year! enough to probably piece together a lot of what's contained in this fic lol

[marigoldbaker]

you are my flower

sooooooooo what if as an experiment i posted 10k words of fic under the cut. here. just to see how it felt. a few things here and there might not mesh perfectly with all that sapphic old woman mystery fic when it's done, but i loved this so dearly when i wrote it and i want to start setting some of my backlog of writing free, if only here! i have been talking for so long about things without any context so maybe it is time to provide a BIT more :) as such: the story behind how thea acquired marigold. (warnings for blood + implied violence + a bit of murder. unsurprisingly, probably.)

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Of course it started to fucking storm at midnight. Thea woke up with the rain hitting her face and let out a long, frustrated sigh, rolling onto her back. She was seriously considering just stopping the adventuring outright.

It wasn’t half the worry it had been once, leaving the girls at home alone, but traipsing aimlessly through the woodlands wasn’t half the joy she remembered it being. She missed her little ones. Norie, fierce little spider, hated thunderstorms but refused to admit it; she would despise this weather and cuddle close under some complicated pretense that Thea would have happily indulged. Rosie loved any sort of big weather; she said that it was like the sky was trying to give them a bath, or share all the water in the world with them, or some other such nonsense that Thea would remember better with her here and dancing dangerously through the thunder and lightning.

Lianne had woken up too. She was shaking Chester awake; he grunted unhappily and put a hand over his face to cover it, then said, “Turn off the fucking water, Annie.”

“It’s not water,” said Lianne, in a put-upon sort of voice that Thea had to try not to laugh at. Didn’t work too well. “It’s storming. We need to find better shelter.”

Thea pulled out the parchment. Fucking thing was waterproof, of course. No new messages from Jaheira, outside of the old one: if you are in the area, there is a secluded grove some distance west of the rumored treasure. Mention my name there in case of emergency.

Meddling old hen. Thea wrote, WE’RE FINE. FUCK OFF, mostly because Jaheira had better things to do than check up on her every ten seconds whenever she went out of town. She pocketed the parchment again.

“Writing the wife?” said Fawn, sweetly.

“Oh, fuck off,” said Thea. Fawn laughed. “Annie’s right; we need to find a better camp. Think there was a bit of a path through the woods, yeah?”

“We don’t know what sort of people live in these woods,” said Lianne uncomfortably.

Gods, these fucking kids. Thea sent a look to Fawn, who made a bit of a sorry-about-them face, which, all right, yeah, she’d take it. Were their positions reversed, she’d have wanted her girls given a little leeway. “Pack your kits up,” she instructed, “we’re moving. Annie, if the people in the woods aren’t the nice sort, I’ll bash their faces in. That help?”

“…Um!” said Lianne, wincing.

“Teachable moment, kiddos!” said Fawn brightly. “You’ll have to get used to all sorts of violence if you’re interested in becoming an adventurer. Some party members, like Thea here,” she gestured with a little flair towards Thea, who would have really liked for them to get fucking going, actually, “may be much more comfortable with physical solutions to disputes, rather than tactical ones, which I know you two often prefer.”

Not for the first time during this journey, Thea debated just telling them all outright that the kids were not fucking suited for the adventurers’ life. But Fawn was an old friend, and she’d called in a favor, and it was the sort of favor that adventurer-Thea would have made a face at, which meant that mum-Thea had to actually fucking consider it. Course, the whole notion of serving as adventuring guide to a few green kids was horrible. When she’d explained it to Jaheira, Jaheira had looked at her for a few very astonished minutes before saying, “Is this some sort of situation where the mother is dying? Or do all of your friends simply call in life-debts solely to aid and abet phenomenally absurd situations?”

(Gods, she loved that woman.)

“I just think that there are ways to resolve situations without blood!” Chester suggested, in one of those voices that could really only come from a kid who was old enough to come up with thoughts but too young to realize people had already had those thoughts before them. “So unless it’s really necessary—”

“Teachable moment, kiddos,” said Thea tightly, “it is fucking thunder and lightning out here. Move your arses.”

The kids set to packing up their soaked-through bedrolls. Thea reached over and tucked some of Fawn’s hair behind her ears. “You’re getting too old for this,” she said.

“Which is why I brought you, High Hammer!” said Fawn, and grinned.

“Call me that again and I’ll start killing shit in front of your kids,” Thea threatened. “Scar them for life.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind that; they’d get sick of the road and we’d all get to go home,” said Fawn. “I’m giving them the authentic experience.”

“Mum tricks?”

“Mum tricks.”

They smiled at each other. Hysterically, Lianne called, “MUM! There’s a frog drowning in the rain!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Thea. Fawn hurried over to help.

Lianne tucked the frog into her pack, which was the sort of thing that Ros would do, which made Thea miss Ros all over again. Gods, she really wasn’t fucking cut out for this; she’d have to ask Jaheira how she managed when she got home. She had, of course, packed her shit up much quicker than the kids; Chester seemed to be trying to wring out his bedroll in the rain, which was ridiculous. “IT’S ALL GOING TO GET WET,” she shouted over the thunder, shepherding the kids forward. “KEEP MOVING!”

There was a bit of a path through the forest, which Thea had noticed before and hadn’t intended to take. Path looked man-made but ill-used—it had been cut out near a decade ago, if she had to guess, but it was starting to grow over, which usually meant a cabin with a rotting hermit corpse inside, and she wasn’t actually trying to scar Fawn’s kids for life. Still, needs must in a situation like this, so Thea ushered Fawn and the kids forward.

Lightning struck too fucking near them. Thea kept her calm. When she was Norie’s age, she’d been scared half to death of thunderstorms just the same, and Faenor Glorie, who’d done most of the job raising her, had told her what she told Norie at home: the thunder and lightning were the gods saying that today was an important day, somewhere, a day that you needed to pay attention to—electric fingers from the heavens, pointing the way. Thea had always thought it was a bit stupid, mind, but so had Norie, and Norie always liked saying that things were stupid, and thinking about Norie was enough to get anyone through any storm. Her wonderful, dreadful girl.

Lightning struck again. Lianne shrieked and grabbed for her mother. Chester, trying valiantly to look the part of a man rather than a boy with only half a patchy beard, steeled himself dramatically against the storm. Thea squinted forward, trying to see what lay ahead. She thought she could make something out—

There was a coppery taste to the air. That wasn’t right. Thea knew the electricity, knew the rain, but there was something else about this night that felt unsettling. She was a battle cleric; she knew in her blood and bones when something was wrong up ahead. “Fawn, I’m going ahead,” she said, leaning in, shouting anyway because the rain was getting that fucking bad. “You keep the kids back.”

“What?!” said Fawn. “Thea, it’s storming!”

“Fucking really?” said Thea. “I hadn’t noticed!”

She didn’t provide any further details, mostly because she didn’t know them—just pressed ahead, faster now, moving towards the end of the path and a dilapidated little house with the door hanging open. It was dark, but the house was lit, and the light streaming out of the front room—

Oh, fuck, thought Thea, her blood running cold, and she knew now she could not let Fawn and the kids go towards that home. She desperately scanned the area for something, anything she could lead them towards instead, and saw with a dizzy rush of relief that there was a barn just adjacent to the house. Wind in her face, rain streaming down, she sprinted back towards Fawn and the kids.

Fawn had seen it. Thea could tell. Her face had gone white and she wasn’t saying anything about how Thea was being ridiculous anymore. “Barn up ahead,” said Thea. “You take the kids there.”

There was her sensible adventuring girl: Fawn nodded, tightly, just as she had all those years ago, and bundled her kids towards the barn, angling them away from the house.

Thea didn’t wait to see where they went. She charged back up that path and towards the house. The door. The little girl.

The girl had been carved open. It didn’t look like a ritual; Thea knew the signs of a ritual, and the cuts, while sometimes just as violent, were usually accompanied by some sort of sigils or candles or something. Took place indoors, too, usually, and the way she was lying looked like she’d been flung half out of doors. Her hair was soft and red and she was the smallest thing Thea had ever seen—smaller even than Norie, somehow, all stick limbs and ill-fitting clothing.

Had she been living here by herself? No. Someone else had done this to her. She hadn’t fought back—no blood under her fingernails, no bruises, nothing but the carved-open chest.

“Oh, Lady of the Fray, show us mercy,” Thea whispered, her heart hammering, hurting. It had been easy, once, seeing kids like this, when she didn’t have kids of her own. She’d said a prayer, she’d moved on, end of story, but now—gods, who had done this? They were in the middle of the fucking woods, what was the purpose to brutalizing a girl like this?

And it was so fucking stupid, but she did it anyway, never mind the blood and the pulpy mess: she checked the girl’s pulse.

It was nothing. Next to nothing. A single jump under her fingertips, followed by the awful and familiar stillness. The girl’s eyes were glazed and open, lips parted. She had died that very second. And that meant—

Thea acted without thinking. Gathered the girl up into her arms, never mind the blood all over her armor; it had seen worse, anyway. Cradled the fragile little bones close and sent that call forward like a pulse: you come back, now. You come home.

She felt the girl stir, felt—oh, gods, the hunger, the immediate trust in response to a single tender touch! The girl’s face turned towards her without hesitation, curling into her arms, barely alive but alive enough to cling, never mind that surely the last thing she remembered was being stabbed to death.

She was still bleeding. Near dying. Thea fumbled in her satchel for a healing potion, forcing it past the girl’s lips. The girl blinked—golden eyes, bright and sweet as the summer sun—and sipped obediently.

She didn’t seem half aware of where she was, who Thea was, and her eyes were already slipping shut again, but the color was returning to her cheeks, so Thea wouldn’t begrudge her a bit of a nap. Scooping the little one into her arms, she stood, making her way carefully over to Fawn in the barn.

The children exclaimed when they saw Thea. There was an odd ringing in Thea’s ears, though, so she couldn’t half make out what Fawn was saying, only knew that she would not let anyone else touch this girl. Fawn was a fighter, not a healer, and the kids didn’t know shit, and the girl was on the very fucking brink of death, and here they were in the middle of fucking nowhere—

“—Jaheira,” Fawn was saying. “She said something about a, a grove—”

Thea let out a sobbing gasp and sat down hard on the ground.

“Oh, lovey,” said Fawn, all shaky, “it’s okay! She’s stable, isn’t she? We can move her. Here, we—I won’t touch her, just—just put her down, all right? See how those potions are helping. Doesn’t look like she’s bleeding as much.”

The girl’s flesh was knitting back together—badly scarred, Thea realized, because she’d gone for a fucking healing potion instead of her divine fucking magic, gods take her, she was fucking useless in a crisis. Her eyes were closed, her breathing raspy, but she was breathing, which was the best fucking news Thea’d gotten all day.

She reached out and touched the girl’s face. The girl mumbled something incoherent and almost smiled, rubbing her cheek against Thea’s gauntleted hand. Didn’t even make half the fuss Norie and Rosie did about the cold, prickly metal—it was enough for her to just be touched.

“Thea,” Fawn was saying. “Thea, Jaheira’s sent a—”

Thea reached for the parchment and realized Fawn must have taken it. She would have felt angry if the world was working the right way. With bloodstained hands, she gripped the parchment, staring down at Jaheira’s anxious script, clearly in response to whatever Fawn had told her: That does not at all sound like Althea. Is she all right? Give her over to me.

Thea wrote, Grive directins, distantly aware that things were being misspelled.

Althea, what has happened?

Thea couldn’t tell her; it was too awful. Help, she wrote instead, which she knew would worry Jaheira, but fuck if she didn’t need it right now. The girl was going to fucking die in front of them.

Jaheira didn’t respond. Fawn said, “We do have the grove directions already. We’ll wait out the storm—”

“No,” said Thea.

“Thea, you need to think critically,” Fawn pressed. “We can stabilize her here to the best of our abilities—”

“I have to do it,” said Thea, “or someone else who knows how, and I’m already fucking it up; I can’t cast like this. I c-can’t focus like this.” She touched the girl’s face again, heart steadying when the girl repeated that sweet little motion—reached up, this time, to brush her fingers sleepily against Thea’s own in return. Oh, the sweet little thing! “She needs to be at that grove now, Fawn.”

“You can’t just—”

Thea wasn’t listening. She picked the girl up again and moved past Fawn and the kids, which wasn’t too hard; they weren’t expecting her to really leave, because she was their guide, she was sensible, she kept a cool head in a crisis. Well, this went far past crisis and well into cataclysmic. Suppose Faenor Glorie had been right about thunder and lightning, all along.

The girl was mumbling in her sleep—something about animals, or angels. Thea smoothed wet hair away from her face. Her horrible little dress was muddied and bloodied; Thea resolved to get the girl a hundred new dresses as soon as they reached Baldur’s Gate. As soon as she was well again. She knew it in her bones, knew like she’d known Norie, Rosie, Jaheira: this girl was one of hers.

“…sorry,” the girl shivered. “Sorry s-sorry sorry.”

If Thea wasn’t wearing the stupid fucking armor, she’d be able to hold the girl close, keep her warmer. She tried not to think about that. She pressed forward.

The path went sideways into the forest, so Thea followed. Hard to navigate when the world spun with rage and grief, but she was doing her best. She knew which way was westward, anyway, and as soon as she got the girl settled she’d have it in her to go back for Fawn and the kids, so that was a plan. She was planning. It was fine.

Her foot caught on something. With a warrior’s training, she steadied herself and the girl, squinting in the rain and the low light to see what she’d almost tripped over.

Another fucking body. What a fucking day. No, that wasn’t right, Thea had tripped over a root—and it looked like whoever had fallen had done the same thing, tumbling down at exactly the right angle to half crack her head open on a tree. She was forcing herself to her elbows, the rain on her face, the blood coming down with it. So white she looked like a ghost, with long, limp black hair that could have been pretty, once.

Her eyes were unfocused. She didn’t look right. Instinctively, Thea drew the girl closer.

The movement caught the woman’s attention. Her eyes landed on the girl, bloodied, and she looked back up at Thea like Thea was judge, jury, and executioner. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. There was blood under her fingernails, on her beautiful dress, blood that even the rain hadn’t washed out.

For the first time in a very long time, Thea wanted to kill someone. She was a battle cleric, yeah, but that had never meant she was the sort to savor death, to go out of her way looking for an excuse to bring her hammer down. She did it for the good of whatever battle she was trying to win, not—not because this woman had blood on her dress, and was staring at Thea with horror—and, crucially, without guilt. She was unhappy to be caught.

Thea said, voice shaking, “Who’s this girl to you?”

The woman didn’t answer. She said, “Mari? Marigold. Marigold, you’re being a tad dramatic, don’t you think?” and at this point, Thea realized that the woman was dying. “Marigold,” said the woman, “you look at me when I’m talking to you. You look at me. You’re burdening our guest. I have—” She coughed up blood of her own. It trickled down her mouth. “I have set the table with the silver tea set,” said the woman. “I have the ribbons in my hair, the ribbons from my youth, I—I am a lady, I am Lady Olympia Northaven, I have waited so long for a fair stranger to come and—and rescue me—from my drudgery—”

“This your daughter?” said Thea.

The woman’s eyes flashed and she said, “She is a mistake.”

Only the thing was—Thea was realizing this—if she stood here any longer, her little girl would die. She could put Mari down, smash the woman’s brains in against the tree, feel the fucking wonder and the righteousness of it, but Marigold would die. And, gods, she’d never wanted to kill someone more, never, but standing here in the rain was wasting seconds she did not fucking have. She bundled Marigold into her arms and kept moving.

“Mari?” the woman called. “Mari! No, you’re not here for her, you’re here for me! You’re here for me!” She was screaming it, loud enough to near drown out the rain, hysterical, dying. “I’ve waited! I’ve waited!”

Thea walked past Lady Olympia Northaven and brought to mind all the best things in the world, the calming things: Norie’s rare, wicked smile, and Ros scrambling over like an eager puppy to hug her whenever she came home, and Jaheira, who would hear this story, weeks from now, and somehow know the rightest, wisest thing to say about it.

Marigold’s fingers curled against the metal of Thea’s armor. Against her heart.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The grove was fucking five minutes away. Felt ridiculous to have worried so much about it. Thea forced Jaheira’s name out of her lips—not that she’d much needed to throw it round; the druids saw the girl and didn’t even bother asking any questions. One of them tried to scoop Marigold away and Thea held on tight, and another one said, “We only wish to help your daughter, saer, I promise,” at which point Thea realized in full what she’d gotten herself into and her legs gave way. So then the druids were fussing over them both, for some reason.

Marigold was in the same room as her. The druids were willing to compromise on that. Thea watched her like a hawk, shaking, terrified that at any moment the potion and the spell would prove themselves too weak a tether to keep the little one alive, and then she’d be gone, and Thea wouldn’t have even fucking killed the monster who did this to her. Her own armor was removed; she was looked over, and healed, though she didn’t need it. It didn’t help. She watched Marigold.

One of the druids asked, “Was there anyone else in your party?”

“Fawn,” said Thea. “Lianne. Chester.”

“And what happened to them?”

“Barn,” said Thea. “They’re—sheltering, I—they weren’t hurt.” It was an immense effort to string together a sentence. She was halfway to another one when her eyes landed on—a druid. A druid with silver hair, feline grace, and a drawn, terrified expression, hurtling up to her and—

“Althea, you imbecile!” said Jaheira, and pulled her into a shockingly tight hug. She was soaked to the bone, just like Thea, which probably meant she’d been out in the rain too.

Thea let her cheek fall exhaustedly against Jaheira’s shoulder. “Got here fast,” she said weakly. Usually she would have argued with Jaheira about her being there when she’d a thousand more important things to do, and gods only knew how she’d gotten to the grove as fast as she had, but just having her there was—she didn’t have the words for it.

“You wrote help!” said Jaheira. “You never do that!” She pulled back to get a better look at Thea’s face. Thea realized that she’d stopped looking at Marigold and looked past Jaheira, who followed her gaze. “What…?” Jaheira breathed.

“Her mum killed her,” said Thea, and then again, hysterically, “her mum killed her.”

Jaheira raised a nervous hand halfway to Thea’s face, let it sort of hang in midair, and said, shakily, “And have you not seen worse in your time on the road? What has happened? Really?”

“No, I’m done,” said Thea fiercely. “I’m fucking done. I fucking hate it out here; I want to go back and see my girls. She’s so little, she’s—” Gods, was she crying? Who fucking gave one? It was the night for it. That little girl had died under her hands. “You’d never,” she said, grabbing Jaheira’s hands in her own. “You would never.”

“Of course I would never,” Jaheira whispered. “No mother would.”

“How do you do it?” forced out Thea. “How did it not—you love your kids, I know you do, and they love you. How can you keep doing this without going fucking mad?”

Jaheira’s mouth trembled and her fingers laced with Thea’s. She said, “I am sustained by the love and the grief of my friends. They hold what I cannot. And you—you hold so much in your heart that you are spilling over.” She tugged a hand free, swiping a tear away from Thea’s cheek with her thumb. “I must insist that you stop adventuring,” she said. “You will see worse if you continue. This is…” She looked truly worried. “I have never seen you like this.”

“I’d half stopped already,” said Thea raggedly, “I just—thought, I don’t know, showing Fawn and her kids the ropes could be—and she asked, and I do owe her, and—”

“This sort of thing is hardly a usual occurrence,” Jaheira pointed out. She removed her hand from Thea’s face, pulling out a soaking wet handkerchief, and dabbed very awkwardly at Thea’s cheeks.

“What,” said Thea, “trying to make it worse?”

Jaheira let out a startled bark of laughter that knocked a laugh out of Thea as well. The smile on Jaheira’s face—oh, it did settle her. Brought the world back into focus, at least a bit.

“The route you chose was sensible, uneventful, and you assumed reasonably that it would be relatively unpopulated,” Jaheira observed, in the tone she used for Harper briefings, continuing to stubbornly dab at Thea’s face with the wet handkerchief. Thea tried to wriggle away and found herself held fast. “There was no possible way you could have predicted stumbling upon whatever the hells this was.”

Thea swallowed. She said, “Ran into her mum.”

“Oh?” said Jaheira, dangerously. The handkerchief paused.

“Probably dead now,” said Thea. She added belatedly, “I didn’t kill her.”

Jaheira’s eyes flicked over towards Marigold and back again. She said, “I think that I would have.”

Thea felt a rush of feeling too big to be contained. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, breathlessly. “I did need you, Jaheira, I’m—I’m so glad you came.”

Jaheira’s face trembled like she’d been waiting to hear something like that for a lot longer than just her showing up at the grove that night. “Hethtalos, I will always come when you ask,” she said. “You are my constant.”

“Gods,” said Thea, smiling miserably, “I’m too fucking tired to figure out how to make you regret saying that.”

Jaheira let out a wet laugh and squeezed Thea’s shoulder. “I will talk to the rest of the druids. You keep an eye on your daughter.”

Bless her girl. She always knew the shape these things took.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Marigold ached. She wasn’t where she last remembered being; it was softer and warmer than anywhere she could remember, at least recently, and someone was singing to her. Something about flowers.

There was a hand in her hair. Couldn’t be mum, then. There was something about mum that she needed to remember, but she didn’t need to now, so she let it go. She felt scrubbed clean, and the fabric against her skin was soft, and there was a hand in her hair. The voice was low and a bit croaky and it shook sometimes, in places.

Someone said, “I will—I will have to leave, you know, I was in the middle of—”

The singing stopped. The low voice said, “Even half a second of you’s enough to put the world to rights. You go where you’re needed next, Commander; I have this well in hand.”

A soft noise. A rustle. The hand in Marigold’s hair left, for a moment, before returning. The song resumed. Marigold tried to listen to the lyrics, but they felt as though they were coming from underwater.

Thank you, she wanted to say, but she was ever so tired, so she reached for the hand in her hair and held it and hoped that that would be good enough. It didn’t feel like mum’s soft hand; it was rough and broad and the fingers shook when they closed round hers, like they’d never been touched nicely before now. Marigold hung on tighter.

“Marigold,” breathed the voice. She’d never heard her name said like that before. She wanted to hear it again, forever.

It was so, so hard to speak. She tried anyway. Whisper-soft, she murmured, “Can you—sing? More?”

The voice started up again. Shook a bit more, this time. Marigold held onto the hand until she’d fallen asleep again.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Marigold woke up slowly. It hurt. The world around her felt lit with a soft glow, warmer than the cold barn and the rain, and she had the distinct sense that she was forgetting something important. She felt a hand stroke her face, which she wasn't used to; it felt like a hungry gash of teeth was opening up in her at just the touch. She pressed her face into the hand.

“There's a good girl,” said a voice she didn't know, or half-knew; it sounded like a voice she might have dreamt, maybe. It couldn't be familiar when she only knew Elodie and Reverie and mum—her thoughts did a funny stutter-stop, refusing to dwell on their names. She tried to open her eyes all the way.

“No, you get your rest, don't start pushing yourself,” said the voice, but Marigold knew that no one really meant that when they said it; it was a snare trap meant to get you to close your eyes so they'd tell you later how lazy and useless you were. She forced her eyes open.

The hand on her face belonged to a woman—smaller and stockier than mum, and a lot older, with a lined, scarred face that looked like it should have been angrier than it was. Her eyes were as soft as the little animals Marigold saw in the forest sometimes. She was looking at Marigold like Marigold was someone she knew. She said, again, “Get sleep, why don't you? It's been a day and change. You need your rest.”

Marigold wanted to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. Words could warrant a knife to the chest. (She didn't know why she'd thought that.) She stared at the woman, unmoving, because if she didn't move, the woman wouldn't take her hand away, probably, and they could stay like this forever.

The woman's hand moved from Marigold's cheek to her shoulder. She said, “You going to lie down, then, or just stare?”

Marigold squeezed her eyes tightly shut, just in case staring was wrong and she hadn't realized.

“Oh, Mari, it's all right, you can look,” coaxed the woman.

Marigold's eyes flew open. How do you know my name? she wanted to ask, but that meant speaking, and she wasn't sure she could do that. She always seemed to say much too much when people gave her room to speak, and she didn't want to ruin whatever this was with her mile-a-minute mouth. 

The woman tilted her head at Marigold, smiled, and said, “Well, your name couldn't be anything but Marigold, could it? That hair of yours…”

Marigold hated her hair. It was red and curly and ugly and it wasn't anything like her family's. It wasn't Northaven hair, it was elf hair. Rotten hair. Wrong.

The woman seemed to see the shadow crossing Marigold's face. “What's wrong?” she asked, gently, in the same tone of voice mum used when Reverie or Elodie was hurt.

Tears sprung immediately to Marigold's eyes. She tucked her head forward. The ache in her chest was spreading and it felt enough to bleed and kill. 

The woman caught Marigold's face in her hands again and pressed their foreheads together, briefly, which wasn't the sort of thing anyone had done to Marigold before. The ache worsened. “Budge up,” said the woman, and shifted onto the soft bed next to Marigold, tucking her into her side. She was a bit smaller than Marigold, but she felt bigger, somehow. “Now, what sort of stories do you like?”

Marigold didn't like that question. It made her think about sitting on the barn roof and staring in at mum in between Reverie and Elodie in bed, telling them stories with the window half-open like she knew Marigold was listening, only she'd caught Marigold up there once and threatened to push her off herself if she caught Marigold up there again. She had only heard some of the stories, and they'd all been sweet enough to make her chest hurt, lords and ladies and princesses. She would have loved those stories if she'd been allowed in the room for them.

She didn't want to be here. She didn't know why she was here. She didn't want to be anywhere.

“Easy, bunny,” breathed the woman, and Marigold realized she was shaking, which was hardly respectful of how nice this woman was being to her for no apparent reason. “Nothing too scary, then? All right. Why don't I tell you...ah, fuck,” she muttered, and Marigold looked up at her, delightedly scandalized. “I've not got a single story without blood in it.”

Marigold wanted to say something, now, so badly, and if the words would stick together long enough to make a sentence she would do it. She wanted to say, please, please, please tell me a bloody story, because that wasn't one mum would have ever told to Evie and Ella, proper ladies in the making. She stared eagerly at this suddenly very interesting woman who said rude words in front of children and couldn't think of good bedtime stories for little girls.

The woman took in Marigold's expression with surprise, at first, and then it gave way to a somehow even warmer look. She moved forward and pinched Marigold's cheek. “Little ghoul,” she said, but words that would have stung from mum didn't sting, here, at all. “You're the sort who likes a good battle, then?”

Marigold nodded and nodded, curls bouncing.

The woman's eyes went all soft and she said, “Brave little warrior girl.” She pulled Marigold in close and settled them both against the pillows. “When I was a girl—much older than you, I suppose, but forty to dwarves is still barely grown—there was a woman who they called the Whisper-Dagger, on account of the way she could kill with just her words. Not a wizard, mind, she just knew the way the world worked, and who made it work, and how, and those paying enough attention to do that can wrap the world round their little finger if they like.”

That sounded interesting. Marigold hoped that the Whisper-Dagger was the hero of this story.

“She was…” The woman turned a funny color, and said delicately, “a friend of mine, at the time. She was second in line to inherit her family's title, but she didn't mind all that; her sister could be the face of the family and she could do what she wanted on the side. Only one day, her sister turned up dead in the middle of family dinner, and because she and I were, were friends, she asked me to look into it, investigate.

“Well, I did, and what I found was fucking awful. The sister had been a good sort, but she'd had a lover before her husband, and the lover hadn't taken kindly to her marrying someone else. He had ties to the worst parts of the under-city, so there wasn't a court in the world that would touch him—no chance he'd end up jailed for what he'd done, no matter what it was. And that was a good girl he'd killed, all because he couldn't have her.”

Marigold shivered. The woman tucked her hair behind her ear and asked, “Too much for you, bunny?”

She shook her head. She didn't care what was being said if it was being said to her, for her to listen to.

“Well,” said the woman, “I was angry as the hells and twice as ready to burn the bastard down. The Whisper-Dagger couldn't do what she'd used to without putting the whole family at risk, now that she was the head of it and people were paying attention to her, so it fell on me to handle the thing, and handle it I did. Marched right into that fucker's office and challenged him to a fight at dawn—and I was young, and small, and didn't have half the muscles and scars I did now.” With her free arm, she flexed, surprising a whispering laugh out of Marigold. Her eyes shone with delight.

“So of course he said yes. Bastard thought it'd be an easy fight. But I brought my hammer when he was ready for a sword. I remember,” the woman smiled fondly, “he started laughing when he saw me, said gods, of course the dwarf would bring a hammer to a duel! But that's the thing, bunny,” she tapped Marigold's nose, “I said fight, he heard duel. Duels mean you have rules. Fights mean you don't. I ran in, broke his knees, pummeled him half to death, and that—” She stopped, searching Marigold's face. “You're sure you're all right hearing this?”

Marigold nodded with infuriated eagerness. They could hardly stop now!

“That,” continued the woman, “was when he started begging for his life. Started saying oh, please, please, Thea, it was a crime of passion, I was just so angry, I'll never do it again—” She smiled grimly. “And I didn't say anything back, because that was the Whisper-Dagger's sister. She was a good girl who'd done nothing but love, and love truly. Made the mistake of loving wrong once, but she hadn't done it again. She'd deserved life. He'd taken it away. Laughed in my face when I told him he should see justice for what he'd done. Second chances are for people who know they've done wrong.”

Marigold imagined mum under Thea’s hammer for half a moment, then flinched away. She didn't want to think about that.

Thea’s expression twisted nervously. She pulled back a little and said, “Sorry. That's—” and then Marigold realized that maybe Thea thought she'd said something wrong, which wasn't right at all, so she moved forward and wrapped her arms tightly round Thea’s neck. Thea made a muffled noise of surprise, then reached up to hold her, and said, “Bunny,” in that tone of voice you used when you were going to keep something forever, come hell or high water.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The High Harper was soaking wet in their kitchen. The only unusual bit about this sentence was the soaking wet bit, not really the High Harper bit or the kitchen bit; Jaheira in their kitchen was really just every other week, usually. Norie took this in, then went to go get the towels from upstairs, which meant it was Ros's job to sort out the hows and the whys of this whole situation.

“Everyone all right?” she asked carefully. She knew Thea wasn't dead, because if Thea was dead, Jaheira would have looked twelve times worse. But something had happened, because it wasn't even misting outside. “Fall in a canal?”

Jaheira sat down heavily at the kitchen table. She massaged her temples. “Your mother will be a few days late returning,” she said. “She asked me to let you know as soon as possible.” 

“O…kay,” said Ros slowly. “Still doesn't explain why you're drenched.”

“It was raining,” said Jaheira.

Ros turned slowly to look at the bright, sunny sky out the window.

“Not here,” said Jaheira. “There. Where your mother is.”

“Sorry,” said Ros, eyes widening, “you were with her?”

“Now is not the time,” said Jaheira shortly. She raised her head to look at Ros, with those steely eyes that meant she was about to say something really fucking important. “She is bringing back a little girl,” she said. “Fifteen. A year older than Lenora, but much smaller. Delicate. You and Lenora need to be prepared.”

Norie, who had been coming back in with the towels, stopped with a very pensive look on her face, which Ros understood completely. Thea didn't just go around picking up kids willy-nilly, and Jaheira didn't just drop everything she was doing to go check up on Thea—well, all right, Jaheira did do that, but usually not long-distance, and definitely not unless Thea asked her to do it, which in and of itself was a pretty fucking rare occurrence.

“What's this girl like, then?” Ros asked lightly, testing the waters.

Jaheira said, “Her mother stabbed her to death.”

Ros flinched back. So did Norie. Jaheira looked at them as if to say see? “She is an incredibly fragile sort,” she continued, “and she is not likely to respond well to…exuberance.”

Well, that one was clearly for Ros.

“Or antipathy.”

That one was clearly for Norie.

“Be gentle,” concluded Jaheira. “Both of you. As much as you can. With her, and…” She wavered. “And with your mother. She was badly shaken when I arrived.”

Ah, hells. “Is she okay?” Ros asked anxiously. “Should we—I don't know, go and visit her too?"”

“It is a bit of a ways away,” said Jaheira, smiling wryly, “and my means of transportation was very much emergencies-only. Your mother asked that I assure you both she is doing better now, which I can corroborate.”

“How are you?” Norie asked. It was the first thing she'd said since coming back with the towels.

Jaheira's face softened and she said something in Elven that Ros didn't know, but that made Norie blush a little and smile awkwardly. In Common, she said, “I am fine, spider. Thank you.”

Norie leaned down to drape the towel round Jaheira's shoulders, tucking it in place. Ros said, “Look, stay a bit, why don't you? We'll make you something nice.”

“I…” Jaheira wavered.

“You're dead on your feet, Commander,” Ros pressed. “Stay.”

She didn't bring out Commander often. It was part of the reason she tossed round stepmummy like she did, because when she did call Jaheira Commander, Jaheira looked startled, then touched, then gave in without very much arguing, which was what happened now. “…I could do with some of Lenora's hot chocolate,” she conceded, “if it is not too much trouble. The rain was quite cold.”

“Spiked?” Norie offered.

"You are fourteen; you are not supposed to know how to do that," said Jaheira severely.

“Spiked?” Norie repeated, as if Jaheira hadn't spoken.

“Hmph!” said Jaheira.

“We both know that's not a no. I'm putting alcohol in,” said Norie, and headed towards the cupboards. Jaheira smiled with annoyed appreciation and drew the towel a bit closer round her.

Ros followed Norie. As quietly as she could manage, she whispered, “Hey, Norie, what'd she say to you?”

“The translation is a bit ambiguous,” said Lenora. “The word can mean either busy-body or meddling daughter.” She smiled sweetly. “I like to think it's busy-body.”

“It isn't,” said Jaheira.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Marigold was a lovely name, of course, but Thea had landed on bunny and it was hard to stop after she'd started. The girl was twitchy, soft, wide-eyed, and she had a way of tilting her head that was a bit rabbitish in nature. She trembled when touched, but she didn't move away, just stared and stared with golden eyes that held the warmth and brightness of twin stars. She would smile on occasion, a barely-there little twitch of the mouth, and Thea always felt like she'd won a thousand medals of valor, bringing that smile forward. 

She ate sparingly. It was hard to convince her to eat at all, and harder still to find out why, but Thea thought it might have to do with that stick-thin woman in the woods who looked like she hadn't eaten a day herself. 

“I own a bakery in the city, you know,” she said. “Baldur's Gate. Bit of a distance from here, but the things we make! Breads, pastries, hot chocolate, fruit juice when the fruit's in season. You like fruit juice, bunny?”

This earned her only a blankly curious expression. 

“You ever had fruit juice?”

The red curls shook no.

“Oh, now, that can't be abided by,” Thea gently teased. “When we get home, we'll see what we can do.”

Marigold froze. She looked more frightened than Thea had ever seen her. The red curls shook no, again and again, no, no, no, no, no.

“Bunny,” Thea breathed, catching her gently by the shoulders. Marigold tried to squirm away. “Bunny, bunny, look at me. Look at me. What's wrong?”

Marigold shook her head. 

“You don't want to come home with me?”

Marigold's hands moved to her chest. The scar. The—

“Oh, fuck no, I'm not taking you back to her,” said Thea furiously, which stilled Marigold immediately into shaky relief. “I'd rather fucking kill myself. I say home and I mean my home, Mari, not your home. I want to take you to Baldur's Gate.” She hesitated. “It is a bit of a distance,” she said slowly, “so if you—want—to stay here, in the grove—”

Marigold let out a hiccupping sob. Her hands moved up and over Thea's hands on her shoulders like she couldn't half believe they were there. Held Thea fast, where she was.

“Do you want to stay?” Thea asked. 

Marigold shook her head, not half so urgently this time.

Heart pounding, Thea asked, “Do you want to come back to the bakery with me?”

Nodding, emphatically, so hard the little girl was shaking in place all over again.

Thea cupped Marigold's face in her hands. She said, a wet laugh in her voice, “We'll make a baker of you yet,” and Marigold smiled brightly enough to rival the sun.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Heading homeward. 

Jaheira traced the lines with her finger before responding. How is Marigold?

I'll give the quill over.

A long pause, followed by a few curious, swirling scribbles—then, charmingly, meticulously, Thea's own words mimicked in a wobbly hand, letter by letter. I'll give the quill over.

Clever girl! Jaheira wrote, enchanted. Should I assume she has not written before?

Clever girl! echoed the quill, still in that unsteady handwriting. Should I assume she has not written before?

Then, in Thea's print, Never, I think, but she's fucking obsessed with the parchment. You mind writing some things she can copy?

Jaheira considered. She wrote Marigold, and watched the quill repeat it, then write it four more times with increasing excitement; clearly Thea had explained what the word was. She wrote Thea, and after a long pause, this one was picked up and written all over the parchment, everywhere, every corner, scribbled frantically and delightedly and with too much love for one piece of parchment to contain. 

When the writing had faded away, Jaheira considered, then, testing out a suspicion, drew a perfect heart.

Another pause—not as long—and then: 

Marigold ♥ Thea

Marigold ♥ Thea

Marigold ♥ Thea

Thea ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ Thea Thea Thea

This seemed as though it might be going on for quite a while. Jaheira set the parchment aside. When she picked it up again, Thea had written, Fuck you; I nearly started fucking crying in front of her and that's your fucking fault. Go fuck yourself.

Jaheira ♥ Thea, Jaheira wrote back. Satisfyingly, Thea did not seem to have a response to this.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Roslin, Marigold wrote. Lenora. Thea. Marigold. Marigold. Jaheira. Marigold. Roslin. Thea. Thea. Thea. Lenora. Roslin. Thea. Marigold. Jaheira. Some of the names meant things to her and others were only abstract ideas. She wanted to ask Thea how to write bunny, but she'd need more words for that, and she still didn't have them yet. 

It was nice, too, that Thea didn't ask her to talk, or—well, do anything, really. Mum usually had something to say about what Marigold was or wasn't doing, but all Thea seemed to want to do was spend time with her, which was usually warm and cozy and involved Marigold listening to lots of different stories about all the things Thea had done. She was old—older than mum, even, who was the oldest of the people Marigold had known—and she'd done a lot of traveling, gone everywhere, but she said her favorite part was her girls at home, which did make Marigold a bit nervous. She'd been part of a family, a mum and two girls, and that hadn't gone well, so maybe this wouldn't either. What if she got there and the girls didn't like her? What if the girls not liking her made Thea stop liking her too?

Roslin, she wrote. Lenora. She tried to imagine them. Reverie and Elodie had names that sounded almost the same, but they couldn't have been more different. Lenora, Thea had said, was a human, but Roslin was a tiefling, and growing up in the woods with mum and her sisters meant that Marigold hadn't ever met a tiefling before. Or a dwarf, before Thea. She'd decided that she loved dwarves, based largely on the fact that one of them was Thea.

Tieflings had horns. Thea tried to draw one on the parchment, and then the parchment drew a better tiefling than Thea, and Thea wrote fuck off on the parchment, which Marigold had started to recognize by sight by now. She didn't exactly remember Jaheira, but apparently Jaheira had been there when Marigold had been healing. There were still parts of this that didn't make sense, but she didn't quite know how to ask about them. She almost didn't want to. She was afraid that asking would make it all fall apart.

The ride back to the city was long, and Marigold spent most of the road-time writing on the parchment to Jaheira, who would give her words to copy. Balance. Sunlight. Tree. Grass. Sky. Flower. Marigold was a kind of flower, so she wrote Marigold and flower next to each other, and Jaheira drew a little heart, which Thea had said meant love, so Marigold decided that she loved Jaheira too. Marigold ♥ Jaheira, she wrote, and Jaheira didn't write any more words for a few minutes, which made Thea laugh and laugh and laugh. “It's not on you, bunny,” she managed. “She's not used to people saying they love her. Doesn't always know how to say it back.”

Well, Marigold would make her used to it. She wrote Marigold ♥ Jaheira until it covered the paper, at which point Thea said that it'd probably take more than just one day to get the message across, and didn't Marigold want to learn a few more new words? Then she wrote something on the paper that Marigold didn't yet know how to read, but that got Jaheira to start writing long sentences back. 

The times they weren't on the road, they were in cities, with Thea getting food for her and for Marigold and having long conversations with people about how much money was too much money for food. Marigold tried honey and liked it so much that Thea bought her seven jars, and said that they couldn't eat it while they traveled but they could bring it home and she could have more there. “On bread,” she said. “Can't just eat sugar.”

Which mum had said to Reverie and Elodie before, but not the way Thea said it to Marigold—a loving reminder, not an indictment. Marigold ate four slices of bread with honey and no one said she was stuffing her face. Thea said she was so glad to see Marigold eating.

Thea wrote bread, honey, city, Baldur's Gate. Thea wrote fruit, apples, berries. She got them a sunmelon when they were three days from the city and chopped it with an axe, which Marigold hadn't even known women were allowed to do; mum had always said the knives and the axes weren't for girls. But Thea was strong and wore armor and chopped sunmelons, and the chopping was the best, because it meant Marigold could sink her teeth into the red, watery insides and let the juice run down her mouth.

Jaheira wrote green, red, brown, silver. Jaheira wrote blue, purple, pink, green. She wrote green a few times, like she was trying to make sure Marigold remembered it. Thea said, “Jaheira's a druid who lives in the city and it's hard on her sometimes,” which made Marigold wonder what kind of city Baldur's Gate was. They'd been to a few cities now and Marigold liked them so much more than nature, where there was no one around. Cities, everyone was there, and everyone had things to say. They'd say get out of the way, they'd say five silver pieces for a butter roll, they'd say a dress for the little one, saer? And Marigold got to watch Thea say YOU get out of the fucking way, fucker, or five silver for some moldy bread? You're fucking kidding me, or make it seven dresses, which was probably the best thing she could have ever said. Marigold got to change out of the clothes the druids had made her and into a dress that was yellow and green.

Thea said, “Norie might steal that when you get home, you know,” and off of Marigold's nervous expression, hastened to say, “Oh, you'll still keep it! Norie likes to embroider. She'll add some pretty flowers to the dress, give it back to you, it's just she doesn't usually ask before she adds things.”

Marigold didn't really see the point in asking to add flowers to someone's dress. Dresses were unilaterally better with flowers. Lenora sounded like she was just being smart about it.

Jaheira wrote, Scornubel, Triel, Elturel, Candlekeep. Rivington. Baldur's Gate.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Thea came back on a big old cart with fruits and breads piled high in the back. She jumped down and ran over and hugged Roslin and Lenora like she hadn't seen them in years, then pulled back to look at them, smiling all wobbly. “I'm not leaving,” she said. “I'm done.”

“Wow,” said Roslin, “this latest trip must have been really fucking terrible if you're all done making trips out of the city—”

“Missed you girls too much,” said Thea, which shut Roslin up. Lenora's heart swelled. “How's it been, spider?”

“Oh, you know,” said Lenora. “There was a wet Jaheira in the kitchen a few days ago.”

“So basically, yeah, you really do need to be home more,” said Roslin, which made Thea go crimson.

Lenora shoved Roslin sideways. She fell over laughing. 

There was a rustle of movement from the cart, like someone was trying to hide behind some of the fruits. Thea turned, her face softening. “Going to have to coax her down,” she said. “Give us a minute.”

Roslin and Lenora watched as Thea moved back up towards the cart. The girl really was little, Lenora thought; she looked closer to eight or nine than fifteen, which seemed a lot like Jaheira's daughter Rion, who had grown up slower on account of the half-elf thing. She was indeed a bit thinner than what seemed healthy. She stumbled a bit getting out of the cart, and gripped Thea's shoulder.

“Oh my gods,” said Roslin. “Oh my gods. Norie, I know Jaheira said no exuberance, but she's literally the cutest thing I've ever seen. I thought we were getting, like, another you or something?! But she's a baby?!”

No antipathy would not be half as hard a directive to follow. Lenora knew exactly what Roslin was talking about. The girl was barely taller than Thea and clung to her side as though the rest of the world was all shadow-monsters. 

“Mari,” Thea coaxed, “this is Ros, and that's Norie. Ros, Norie, you want to introduce—?”

“I'M ROS!” said Roslin very loudly, then clapped her hands over her mouth. “Fuck!” she said, mouth covered. “Sorry! You're just so tiny! Anyone ever told you how tiny you are? You're the littlest thing I've ever seen! You're—”

“Stop that,” said Lenora. “You're embarrassing yourself.”

Marigold's nervous expression was giving way to one of fascinated curiosity. Her eyes lingered on Roslin's horns. Jealously, Lenora wished she had horns, if it meant the little one would pay attention to her.

“Norie?” Thea prompted.

Lenora tried for a smile. It came out more of a nervous grimace. “I'm…Lenora," she supplied. “I like your dress.”

Marigold waved at them both, frantically and still a bit apprehensively. Her free hand tightened on Thea's shoulder. 

“You'll warm up to each other,” said Thea, mostly to Marigold. “They're good girls. Ros's just a bit overexcited; she's the older-sisterly type, and she always likes taking care of girls younger than her. And Norie…” She smiled, and said, “Norie's scary, isn't she?”

Marigold took this in. A small, sweet grin illuminated her face as her eyes flicked towards Lenora. She shook her head.

Lenora was now certain that she would burn down a thousand cities for that little girl.

“No?” said Thea, mock-surprised. “Well, should have known that someone as brave as you wouldn't be felled by our Norie.”

Marigold fidgeted. She rummaged in her satchel. Thea said, “Oh, she's been working on something for you! Wouldn't show it to me, even, so it'll be a surprise for all of us,” and then she stopped, mouth trembling, as Marigold held the drawing up.

Carefully and shakily rendered in black ink: a tiefling, a human-ish figure, a slightly small and curly-haired girl, and a dwarf of about her size, all holding hands. The drawing had been captioned Hello! I'm Marigold! every letter formed inexpertly but with clear effort.

Roslin burst into tears. Lenora didn't even make fun of her for it. She knelt down in front of Marigold and said, “You got my hair just right,” softly, running her finger along the black ink of the drawing. 

Marigold smiled very shyly.

Lenora tried to imagine anyone stabbing this girl to death, and couldn't. It was Ilmater, wasn't it, who watched over those that suffered the most? Who eased their suffering, one way or another, and ensured that it ended? Ilmater, then, must have saved this girl, because imagining a world where Thea had never reached her in the single minute that could be used to revive her was a sickening fucking thought. She would leave an offering. She would become a cleric, maybe. Absolutely. She would be a cleric of Ilmater.

Tongue between her teeth, Marigold reached out to absently touch Lenora's hair, then jerked her hand back as if expecting a reprimand. Lenora said, “It's fine, Mari, Ros does worse to my hair all the time. Don't you, Ros?”

“I style it,” said Roslin, who was fighting to maintain composure.

“She turned it into a birds' nest last year,” said Lenora. “A literal birds' nest. Put fake birds in it. She never does this to her hair, just to mine—”

“Um, if I do it to my hair, you'll make fun of me,” Roslin countered. “If it's done to your hair, you get to complain to everyone about how annoying I am, which I know you like.”

“Shut up, I'm bonding with Marigold.”

“I'm bonding with Marigold! Marigold likes me better!” Roslin scrambled forward. “Mari, who do you like better, me or Norie?”

“Don't crowd her!!” said an outraged Lenora, elbowing Roslin away.

Marigold was watching them both with that adorable little half-smile. She turned the parchment over and was immediately handed a quill by Thea. She turned away from them all, scribbling on the back of her drawing, and held up the paper again.

Marigold ♥ Thea !!

“Oh, that's not even fair,” said Roslin. “She has an edge! She literally just spent the last three days buying you dresses and fruit and things. Well, I have money, Marigold, I can buy you even better dresses and fruit and things—”

“Thea's all our favorites,” said Lenora to Marigold, deciding to ignore Roslin. “We have that in common; that's nice, isn't it?”

Marigold nodded so emphatically that her curls shook. Lenora decided to visit the temple of Ilmater in two days' time and ask about what it would look like to be a cleric.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Jaheira came to visit the next day with a bouquet of wildflowers: mostly marigolds, but there were quite a few daisies and violets in as well, and some sweet-smelling herbs. It was a visual cacophony. Thea was entirely unsurprised when Marigold lit up, hugged the bouquet, set the bouquet down, hugged Jaheira, hugged the bouquet again, gave the bouquet to Thea, and hugged Jaheira one more time.

“What was it you are calling her?” said Jaheira. “Bunny?” Her hand rested atop Marigold's head. “Seems apt.”

Marigold butted her forehead against Jaheira's hand. She let go and ran off into the kitchen.

Jaheira lowered her voice. “Althea, how—how are you? When we last spoke—”

“I can't half think about that night,” said Thea. She swallowed. “She is the sweetest little girl I've ever known. Loves easy as breathing. Trusts me with her life, and I can't say I'd do the same in her position—”

“You can't say you'd do the same?” Jaheira echoed skeptically. “Not even after you—?”

“We're not talking about it,” said Thea shortly, “I don't know how much she remembers, and I'm not dragging it up unless she mentions it first.”

Her eyes were still halfway following Marigold, who was running round the kitchen between Roslin and Lenora, standing on tiptoe to try and see what they were doing. Roslin caught her on one of her sprints and lifted her up to the counter, which made Marigold squeak and laugh in a way that at first seemed halfway frightened, then quickly became all the way joyful. Roslin called, “MUMMA COME IN HERE, WE'RE MAKING SCONES!”

Thea smiled wryly at Jaheira. “Duty calls.”

“The Lady of the Fray's strongest soldier,” said Jaheira. She squeezed Thea's shoulder. “You grow good things here.”

[sillyrabbit81]

The Pull

Summary: Alternative Universe. Vampire Henry. Henry, Crown Prince of the Vampires is avoiding his responsibilities because of his mother's fate. When Henry finds his mate, the circumstances are eerily similar to his mother's. Rather than risking his mate's life, Henry chooses to run, but can he run from his fate?

Pairing: Henry x OFC

Word Count: approx 2.4k

Warnings: mention of death, mention of abortion (although it didn't happen), and swearing

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

Chapter Two

Rowena POV

"David, I can't wear this!" I complained on the phone. I held up the dress again. "It's just too much, too revealing."

It was a simple white silk floor-length skirt, but the top of the dress was two long vertical pieces of silk, barely wide enough to cover my breasts, which crossed at the back before wrapping around my waist and tied in a bow on my lower back. There was no way I could wear a bra. It would only take a slight wrong move, and there would be an embarrassing nipple slip.

"Yes, you can," my brother said. "Lawrence had it made for you to wear as a gift. He wants to meet you and make a good impression." Lawrence was David's partner, they had been together for over a year, but I was yet to met him. Lawrence and David seemed to travel together an awful lot, so it had been challenging to find time for us to get together.

"Have you seen it?" I asked.

"Of course," David replied. I was surprised. David was my older brother and had always been a little protective of me, especially since our parents died when I was 15 and he was 20. Maybe he had finally let that go considering I was now 26.

"You know I'd never wear something like that. It's gorgeous, but it's too revealing for me."

"Rowena, it's Halloween. It's an excuse for excess." I rolled my eyes. For David, being a day that ended in 'y' was an excuse for excess.

"Why does your boyfriend want to see me in this?" It just seemed over the top for a party. I gathered that Lawrence was wealthy, but still, it's just a Halloween party.

"Because he wants you to fit in. Honestly, you'll stick out less wearing that than anything else. Besides, no one knows you there, and you'll have a mask. Just pretend you're someone else."

I grumbled. "What time did Lawrence say the stylist was coming?"

Although I couldn't see him, I could hear David's victorious smile through the phone. "At six pm. The driver will be there at eight."

"That seems late, David," I said. "I won't arrive until nearly nine."

"I know, but that is Lawrence's style."

"Promise you won't leave me alone." I wasn't afraid of being alone at parties usually but by the sounds of this one, the dress and the fact that I was having my hair and makeup done professionally made it feel like a big deal.

"Lawrence and I will take good care of you," David promised.

I said my goodbyes and hung up the phone.

Feeling only a little more confident after the phone call, I jumped in the shower, washed my hair, and shaved my legs for the first time in weeks. I put on a robe and slippers and went up to the main house to see Charlie since I had half an hour to kill before the stylist arrived.

Charlie was staying there tonight with Alice while I went out. He had his own room and often slept there now that he was getting older and wanted space from me. Charlie and I mostly ate our meals up at the house and just kept basics in our two-bedroom flat above the old stables.

Charlie and Alice were sitting together at the dining table, playing with a random assortment of lego pieces. "Hey, Mum. I made this for you." Charlie handed me a flower made from the blocks. He was such a sweetheart of a boy.

"Awww, thanks, Babybear. I love it." I kissed the top of his head and sat with them.

"I thought you had to get ready for tonight," Alice asked.

"I have an hour," I replied.

"You're still going, aren't you?" Alice asked. She seemed more eager for me to go than I was. Alice was Charlie's paternal grandmother. Charlie's dad, Alex, had been my boyfriend when I was 17. Despite being on the pill, I fell pregnant, and Alex tried to pressure me into an abortion and refused to be a part of his life. Alice had been horrified by the way Alex had treated me. In an unexpected turn of events, she had stepped in to help raise Charlie. Charlie rarely saw Alex, but Alice saw that we both wanted nothing. The woman was a saint.

"Yeah," I said reluctantly.

"It'll be good for you," Alice said, squeezing my hand.

"I know." I sighed.

"Charlie, go get Nanny a glass of water, please. My throat is feeling dry," Alice said. She had something to say to me outside of Charlie's ears. Being a kind and helpful kid, Charlie immediately got up and went to get her one. He made me so proud.

As soon as he left the room, Alice said, "Rowena, don't feel guilty getting out there again."

"How can you say that?" I asked. I had tried dating a few times over the years. It always ended disastrously. Always my fault too. I had developed severe commitment issues.

"Charlie is my grandson, and I want his mother to be happy. Not lonely and depressed. It would be best if you had a life beyond Charlie. I've been telling you that for years."

Charlie came back with a book, and Alice read to him. As mothers often are, I was struck by how handsome my little boy was. His blonde sun-bleached hair and deep brown eyes were framed by a face that had lost nearly all of its childhood fat. At nine years old, he was almost as tall as me already, and he would probably take after his father in that regard. In fact, his eyes were the only thing that came from my side of the family as they were the same colour as David's and my Dad's. Charlie looked so much like his father, sometimes it hurts to look at him.

Kissing him again, on the cheek this time, I said goodbye to Charlie, told him to be a good boy for Nanny and went back to our flat above the garage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I arrived at Lawrence's house not long after the sun had set. House was probably too humble a word to describe it. It was a borderline castle. I had thought Alice's family was wealthy, but this was another level. It was like something out of the Great Gatsby.

The car drove around the circular driveway and pulled up near the front door. A valet opened the car door, and he escorted me into the house, where he told my name to a butler who asked me to follow him.

Looking around the room, I was grateful to David for insisting I wear the dress. Everybody was dressed like it was a Hollywood awards show, and I mean everybody. Not to mention they all looked like actors or models. I had never in my life been around so many beautiful people. And I don't mean just beautiful because they were thin. There were people of all shapes and sizes, but everyone moved with grace and ethereal ease. They seemed so other.

This was crazy. Who the hell was my brother mixed up with? This whole night must have cost a fortune. Beyond a fortune! All for a Halloween party?

I was led from room to room, the house full of beautiful creatures. More than that, the house was decorated in a way that would put Versailles to shame. The decadence of the furnishings was lush and rich. Every piece seemed to be a precious antique but shone like it was brand new. Gold leaf decorated the cornices, and priceless framed artworks, tapestries and mirrors filled every wall. Even the wooden floor was an intricate parquetry design that appears to have taken years to lay.

At first, I thought I imagined it, but I noticed that everybody stared at me as I moved through each room. I felt heat rush to my cheeks. Did I look so different from everyone else? I supposed I did, but the eyes following me made me thankful for the mask.

After what seemed like hours but couldn't have been, I was taken to a large hall and presented. Yes, presented. What the fuck?

My escort stopped outside the room and spoke to a man standing just inside the door. The man rapped his cane on the floor three times and thundered, "Rowena, sister of David, Inamorato of Duke Lawrence." An eerie silence fell as every face turned to me. Some even bowed their heads. What on earth was going on?

"Rowena!" David was at my side, clutching my hands to his chest. "I've missed you so." He leaned over and kissed both my cheeks. Everybody in the room seemed to return to normal, and sounds of chatter resumed. David was wearing a mask and wore an elegant dark grey suit. He looked so different. David has always been handsome, but he looked so unlike his usual self, and I couldn't pinpoint the difference. I didn't even have the words to describe the change. I know it had been months since we had seen each other, but it wasn't that he had lost weight or gained muscle. What I could see of his face was inconsistent with my memories of him. Then I saw his eyes.

"David, what the..." David cut me off and embraced me. His smell was mouth-watering, and I wondered what cologne he was wearing. He had never smelt like that before.

"Come, meet Lawrence!" David exclaimed, gripping my hand tightly. Maybe he had put on muscle because he was stronger than I remembered.

David lead me further into the room. I followed, but my head was spinning. Why did everything look so beautiful but feel so... unreal?

"Lawrence, my love, this is Rowena," David said.

The man who sat before me took my breath away. I had no word to describe him other than impressive. He wasn't tall or large, but he seemed to take up all the space in the room as if by looking at him, your eyes couldn't see anything else. His skin was like a midnight sky lit up by the moon, which seemed to reflect the light as it was so smooth, flawless and radiant. His hair bounced with large curls, and although it was dark too, it seemed to shine with its own light.

As Lawrence stood, his movements were so polished they almost had a serpentine grace. His white lace mask framed his eyes, black with a red rim around the pupil, just like David's. Lawrence came towards me, and I was captivated, struck immobile by the force of his presence. Then all of a sudden, the fear left me as though it was never there. I sucked in air, not realising I hadn't taken a breath since I laid eyes on him.

Lawrence grasped my hands to his chest, just like my brother had. "Oh David, she is lovely, isn't she?" He lifted my hands to his lips and kissed both of them before lifting my arms wide and inspecting me. "She does look luscious in this dress. I do have excellent taste, do I not?"

I looked to David, who was beaming proudly like he had passed a test by bringing me here and meeting Lawrence's approval. Stunned, I looked again at David's smile. Something was wrong with it.

Lawrence was still talking, "You were right that she would be a hard one to crack. She seems to see many things others don't. Including you, by the way." David laughed at Lawrence's observation.

I tried to speak, to ask again what was going on, but nothing came out. I kept trying to breathe but I felt suffocated. The more I tried, the less air seemed to come in.

David grabbed my shoulders and caught my gaze. His voice was solid and musical, and the force of his words almost made me fall. "Rowena, it's alright. You can breathe." And all at once, I could.

"This dress is too tight." I managed to say.

"Nonsense," Lawrence said dismissively, "it's perfect. He is going to love it."

"He?" I questioned.

Lawrence sighed and glanced at David. They looked at each other for a few moments, then David took me by the arm and led me to a cluster of sofas. "Come, sister, sit with me and let's catch up."

Even the way he spoke seemed to change. It can't have been that long since I'd seen him. I thought back and realised I hadn't seen him in about two years. We occasionally spoke on the phone, but years had passed since I had physically seen him.

Lawrence left us mingled around the room, which I saw now was a ballroom. Some people danced, some drank wine, and others socialised. Something was wrong with all of it, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

David started to talk to me, asked me about little Charlie. I went to get my phone to show him some pictures and realised I must have left my bag in the limo. Before I could tell David that, he said, "never mind, the driver works for Lawrence. He has it. You can get it before you leave."

How did he know where I had left my phone? This was too much. "David, what's going on? There's something wrong here. This place is... off."

I suddenly felt bewildered, like I couldn't concentrate on anything. I felt a curious pull towards the back of the hall. I stood and looked back and started to walk towards the doors. It was like I was trapped in a gravitational pull towards... something. Without warning, a spontaneous feeling of arousal hit me, and my body was on fire. I let out an audible moan. I felt a desperate call come from between my legs to ease the rapidly growing craving. And not just by anyone, by Him. Wait, who was Him?

David held my arm and tried to lead me back, but I wouldn't allow it. I struggled for him to let me go. David was about to say something when another announcement was made, "The Crown Prince, Henry, Son of Alfred, King of all Sanguisuge."

I looked first to David to question what on earth that meant when I caught sight of the Prince.

It's Him.

I felt like I was falling, plummeting to the ground. The floor rushed to meet me, and my vision went dark.

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

@henryobsessed

[fictionwordcounts]

Together or Not at All [Din x Reader]

Word Count: 8000+

Summary: Normally two Mandalorians working together wasn't a good idea, but sometimes you're forced to make it work; and sometimes you want it to work.

It had been months since you had seen another Mandalorian. It was better for only a few hunters to work at a time, so they hardly crossed paths during a mission. That's why when a Mandalorian showed up in your town, word got around fast.

You had just picked up a bounty puck from an old friend of yours when a group of chattering droids wandered into the cantina. You twiddled your thumbs as they gossiped away, giving you all the information you needed. You could almost laugh at the stupidity of droids. They didn't know or care about what they could be giving away.

You slid your drink down the counter for someone else to enjoy. Normally, you'd take one back to your ship, but this couldn't be one of those times. You had work to do and a bounty hunter to find.

You walked down the street looking for the one person you knew that couldn't resist telling you everything; Even if it was for a price. As you passed by children playing in the streets, their mothers rounded them inside as quickly as they could. They knew your reputation, and though you would never hurt a youngling, it was probably best they stay out of your way. They watched curiously behind their mothers until you had passed their dwelling.

"If it isn't old Wrist Rocket!" Jung Powell's voice rang out signaling you had reached your destination. He called you that because a small missile launcher on your wrist was the only piece of pure beskar you had. It stood out, hence him picking it to distinguish you from other Mandalorians.

He emerged from his workshop and walked over to you. "Here to ask about the new Mando in town, eh?"

"Where are they?" You asked simply.

Jung laughed and squashed a bug underneath his foot. He was always easily distracted. "You know I like ya," he smiled. "But payment's been kind of high this month. Y'know how it is--"

"Fine. I'll get you a payment," you interrupted.

He chuckled and crossed all four of his green arms. "That's why I like you, but it's a bit different this time." You withheld a breath. If Jung wanted you to do something different, it was never good.

"I don't have time to chase down the people you squabble with," you argued.

"It's not a squabble," he countered. "He owes me money, and he won't pay up."

"So, a squabble," you huffed.

He waved two of his hands dismissively. "Ok, call it what you want. The point is I'm not very intimidating--"

"You don't say."

"But if you so much as walk in the door, he'll be at your feet with the money. I just know it." You took a moment to weigh out the options. It was just a simple debt collection. You figured it would be an easy job. Just get it over with and find the other Mandalorian.

"Fine," you agreed. "Who owes you?"

"Don't know if you've heard of him. His name's Kole. Never gave a me a last name, but he doesn't live far away."

He gave you the directions to your target, and you went quickly on your way. You needed to get this job over with so you could get the information you needed about the Mandalorian. You were almost jogging down the streets as you relayed the directions in your head. Left. Right. Left again. You stopped your mental GPS when you heard some kind of commotion. You took a deep breath. It was where your target supposedly was.

You armed the rocket on your wrist and slowly walked into the building. A man dropped at your feet and you instinctively aimed at him. He wasn't moving. You kicked his arm to make sure it was safe to continue.

"Who are you?" A voice made you whip around. Standing only a few feet from you was a Mandalorian decked out in full beskar armor. Every system in your body froze, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

"You're a Mandalorian," you commented, ignoring his question.

"So are you," he added. He took a step towards you and you pulled out your blaster. He raised his hands slightly, but he didn't step back.

"What are you doing here?" you questioned.

"I'm just passing through," he answered. "I didn't know...I thought all the other Mandalorians were dead." You were glad the helmet you wore concealed the shock on your face. Either he was a lunatic or something terrible at happened.

"Why would you think that?" you asked.

He kept a hand raised as he crouched down at the man at your feet. "Because they all died," he quipped. You didn't quite know how to process what he was saying. You hadn't gone back to Mandalore in years, so it wasn't impossible that he was telling the truth. Still, you refused to believe that they were all gone.

He pulled something out of the mans pocket and stepped back once more. "What is that?" you questioned. The only reason you could trust him was the fact that he was a Mandalorian, and at the moment, that wasn't enough.

He crushed the device in his hand, making you wonder what it was even more. "Broken," he responded simply.

You rolled your eyes though he couldn't see it. "You better start talking, because this is my town. I'm not letting another Mandalorian put me out of my job here.

"I'm not here to take your job," he assured you. "I just came for him." He gestured to the unmoving man that was still at your feet. You figured by now that it was Kole. Your target.

"He was my job," you growled. He still hadn't told you why he was there or how the other Mandalorians had died. He wasn't telling you anything, and it frustrated you to no end.

"Well," he sighed. "You better hope your employer will take him in cold." He tried to walk by you and you were quick to block him.

"Move," he ordered.

"Not until you give me answers," you insisted.

"I was going to," he said. "Back at my ship."

"I'm perfectly fine discussing this here," you said pointedly.

"I'm not." He changed his approach, realizing that he wasn't getting through to you. "Believe me, I'm not going anywhere. I've been looking for another Mandalorian for a while. I just need to get something."

You both stared at each other as if you could read the other's expression through the helmets. That was always a problem with Mandalorians. They couldn't communicate without getting physical. The longer you stood there the heavier the tension in the air became.

A squeal interrupted your stare-down, and before you knew it, your blaster was aimed in the direction of the sound.

"Don't!" The Mandalorian cried. You took a moment to take in what exactly you were looking at. A small green creature with abnormally large ears was standing on a counter not far off.

"How did that get in here?" you demanded.

The Mandalorian rushed over to the creature and gingerly picked it up. "I don't know," he huffed. Then to the child he added, "I thought I told you to stay on the ship." It cooed in response and held it's hand out toward you. You still had your blaster raised, so you lowered it slowly and stared at it's three little fingers.

"What does it want?" you asked. Instead of responding, he put the child down on the ground, and it stumbled in it's oversized coat towards you. You tensed up as it got closer.

"What does it want?" you repeated with more urgency. The kid reached your feet and grabbed on to one of your legs. You froze, so you didn't hurt it by moving.

"Don't hurt him, he's just a kid," The Mandalorian said.

"I wasn't planning on it, but you need to get it off of me!" You raised the boot with the creature on it so he could take it off. He set it back on the ground, and it immediately started making it's way back to you. He picked it up with a warning and didn't put it down again.

"That's not....your kid---"

"No," he interrupted. "I just found him."

"A foundling," you whispered as you stepped towards the child.

The Mandalorian instinctively stepped back. "Yes. I've been keeping him safe."

"Hence my target being dead at my feet," you guessed.

He nodded. "Are you a guild member?"

"No, I get my targets from locals," you explained. "Something I intend to keep doing, so you and your foundling might want to make yourselves disappear."

"We're not here to ruin your business."

"You being here is ruining my business," you pointed out. "Right now, I get plenty of jobs. Why shouldn't I? I am the only Mandalorian in this town after all. Add another in the mix? eventually we'll be either splitting the load, or fighting for the best offer."

"I'm not here for the jobs," he said. "If I needed jobs, I could go anywhere. Like I said, the Mandalorians are gone. People will hire anyone. All you need is the armor."

"Speaking of," you said with a nod towards his armor. "You've got a pretty good set. What are the odds of the Mandalorians being wiped out and a single man making it out with full beskar armor? I'd guess pretty slim. Unless of course he helped kill a few so he could keep the spoils."

"I got this armor before they all died," he informed. "High paying customer."

"Must've been quite a bounty."

"Still is," he looked at the kid in his arms. "That's why I have to keep him safe."

You paused to take in what he had said. "That was the bounty?"

"If you lay a finger on him--"

"I'm not interested in the money," you snapped. "I just want to know how you got paid and still got to keep him."

"It's complicated."

You looked back and forth between him and the kid. "Alright. I don't care. Just get what you came for and get off my planet."

***

It had been days since your Mandalorian encounter and he still hadn't left. You would see him around town every now and again, and he was always with that kid. He insisted he was leaving, but he never did. It made you anxious. In just the few days he had been there he had stirred everyone up. You couldn't imagine what would happen if he never left.

You sat on the edge of a rock on the outskirts of your town. He claimed he had his ship parked somewhere around there. You wanted to check it out, but you weren't in any hurry. It was nice to be able to take in the scenery for a moment. You stood and took a deep breath. Calming down for a second was just what you needed. This Mandalorian had you worked up for nothing.

You turned around and froze when you saw the Mandalorian's kid standing right in front of you. For some reason, he always made an effort to find you. You liked to think the Mandalorian told it to, just to get on your nerves.

"Go back to the Mandalorian," you ordered. It titled it's head and continued to stare at you. "The other Mandalorian." It stayed.

"Look, kid, I'm not babysitting you. Go back to the Mandalorian that takes care of you, cause it certainly isn't me." Finally, he started walking. Unfortunately for him, he was walking straight towards the edge of the cliff. You put your foot in it's path and it looked up at you.

"Try the other way," you instructed. You nudged it with your foot away from the edge. It paused there for a moment, then turned around and headed for the edge again. You sighed and picked it up by the back of it's cloak. You really didn't want to touch it at all, but you couldn't leave it to wander off the cliff like that. You held it away from you as you continued to trek through the rocky area. Either you'd find his ship or you'd take the creature back to him directly.

A few moments later you saw smoke rising in the sky. There was nothing in that area for miles. The perfect place to land a ship. You picked up the pace, hoping that it was the ship you were looking for. Sure enough in the middle of the clearing was a broken down ship that looked like it used to be a Razor Crest.

"Please tell me that isn't his ship," you said to the child. It only gurgled in response. You set it down now that it couldn't wander off an edge somewhere, and it started walking to the ship. No wonder that Mandalorian was still there. He hardly had a ship to fly back on.

"Hey!" The Mandalorian came up behind you. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"You intend to fly back on that?" you remarked. "That wouldn't make it off the ground, much less the planet."

"You think I don't know that?" he huffed. "That's why I've been repairing it these past few days. Don't worry. The kid and I will be out of your little town in no time." He stopped the kid halfway to the ship and carried him the rest of the way. You decided to follow, curious about the inside. You followed the Mandalorian up the ramp and took a quick look around the ship. It didn't take long since it was so small and cramped. You couldn't imagine living in it.

"Are you done with your little tour?" he grumbled when you had made it back to the ramp.

You shrugged. "If you don't want me to look around your ship, you should've had it off the planet."

"Unless you have a spare parked in a garage somewhere, that's not going to happen just yet."

"It might be easier if you didn't have a kid to look after," you pointed out.

"It's not that difficult."

"Oh really?" you smirked. "Is that why I found it about to wander off a cliff?"

You could see him tense beneath his beskar armor. "What?" he said testily.

You walked off the ship with a last comment over your shoulder. "I'll let you get back to work."

You sat outside the cantina with Jung Powell talking business. He always bought you a drink thought he knew you couldn't remove your helmet. He probably did it as a temptation to break your code, but it would never work. Instead he would just drink yours as well as his.

"You did great with the money Kole owed me," he was saying. "But you killing him gave a lot of people cold feet y'know."

You tilted your head slightly. "What about you?"

He reached forward to grab the cup in front of you. "I understand it was all in a day's work," he said through a chuckle. He emptied the glass in one gulp and slammed the cup back on the table. "So, if you're looking for another job, I'm the one to talk to."

"That's why I'm here," you said.

"This one's a bit different--"

"With how often you say that, it's starting to become expected."

"Right, I get that, but this really is something else." He leaned over the table enough for you to smell his breath. "Are you up for a cargo run?"

You leaned back and shook your head. "I'm a bounty hunter, not a mail carrier."

"Not even if the mail includes a high paying customer?" he bribed. You stared at him as you considered the offer. It was almost impossible for you to give up a good payment, and you knew that Jung never let you down when it came to those.

"Where to?" you asked warily.

"A dwarf planet a couple systems away--"

"Off planet?" you interrupted. "No deal."

"Come on, wrist rocket, it's getting harder and harder to get deals that stay on planet," he whined.

"Maybe for you, but I have other sources." You stood up to leave and he was quick to tumble out of his chair and stop you.

"No, no, wait!" he cried. "I promise it's worth your time! Plenty of credits! Probably enough to get you more than just a wrist rocket!" You froze. You couldn't lie and say that it wasn't tempting. Deep down you knew it was because of the Mandalorian, but you didn't listen to yourself.

Instead you turned back to Jung. "What do I need to take and where?"

He smiled and rubbed two of his hands together. "Glad you're on board." He gave you your assignment and you walked away knowing you just made a big mistake. Madnalorians were true to their word. If you said you were going to do it, you have to see it through. Now you took up a job out of what? Spite? It was a terrible idea. However, you pushed the doubt out of your mind and looked towards your goal. The only thing you needed now was a way off the planet.

***

"You want me to do what?" The Mandalorian didn't sound thrilled about your offer.

"I'll give you a cut," you assured him. "I just need transportation off-planet."

"I'm not towing you around to whatever planet you want for a small tip."

"A small tip and the repairs you need to get that ship off the ground," you corrected.

"No thanks. I'll repair it myself." He walked back into his ship, not letting you respond. You stepped back to see his ship was still smoking and hissing and let out a frustrated breath. You knew you could fix it for him, but you wouldn't do it for charity. You weren't getting through to him though. You cut your losses and turned around to leave.

Something grabbed on to your leg and out of instinct, you tried to kick it off. You heard the Mandalorian's foundling squealing so you stopped and looked down. Once again, the creature was holding onto your boot with a iron grip. Normally you'd pry it off and send it on it's way, but as it looked up at you with it's big black eyes, you had an awful idea.

Warily, you began walking it back to the ship. You heard the Mandalorian in the the cockpit so you waited for him to come down. When he did come down and saw you with the creature, he froze.

"What are you doing with him?" he said. You could tell he was tense, and his hand was hovering closer and closer to his blaster.

"Your little foundling won't let go of me," you said with a smirk that he thankfully couldn't see. "I tried and tried, but he just won't budge."

"Sounds like a you problem," he said. You thought you heard a hint of humor, but he was far too concerned about his kid for you to tell.

"It is until I go off-planet to finish out this job, and because I couldn't get him away from me, he tags along. That sounds very much like a you problem," you teased.

The Mandalorian clenched his fists. He scooped the kid off your leg and placed him in his bed. He closed the door and turned back to you. "Leave the kid out of this."

"I can't help what it does--"

"You're not taking him with you." Now he was getting upset.

You felt the kid grab onto your boot again and without looking down at it you said, "I don't think I have a choice."

"How did you--" The Mandalorian tried to take him off again, but the kid stayed put. "C'mon kid, let go."

Nothing.

The Mandalorian tugged harder, but the kid squealed, causing him to stop. He looked from the creature to you. For a second, your stomach flipped at the idea that he might actually kill you just to get his kid back. You quickly pushed the thought aside. He wouldn't. It was against the code.

He stood there considering his options for a while before he finally mumbled, "You'd have to get it to fly."

You smiled and gently took the kid off your boot. "Thank you," you said as you handed it over.

He took it and brushed past you as he said, "Just one trip there and back. No more." That was fine by you. You got exactly what you needed. Now you had to get to work with the repairs.

***

You and the Mandalorian sat in the cockpit ready to test out the repaired ship. His kid sat in his lap since you were taking up it's usual spot, so he carefully reached around it to flip switches and press buttons. He had instructed you not to touch anything, then proceeded to unscrew a small lever and hand part of it to the kid.

"We just repaired this thing, and you think it's a good idea to take it apart for that thing's chew toy?" you inquired.

"I know what I'm doing," he snapped. He pulled up, and the whole ship rumbled beneath you. For a moment you weren't sure it would make it off the ground. Then, with a low creak, the ship rose and started cruising forward slowly but surely.

"Hold on," the Mandalorian instructed. He increased the speed and the ship let out a number of complaints. It started rumbling and shaking uncontrollably, and you grabbed onto the seat so you wouldn't get tossed around.

"What's happening?" you shouted over the noise of alarms and groaning metal.

"It'll stabilize once we break through the atmosphere!" he responded.

"If we make it that far!" you snapped. You looked over at the kid on his lap. He was smiling and bouncing like it was some kind of ride to him. Something you would've found funny if there wasn't a good chance that you would all plummet back to the ground. A few moments later, space came speeding into view and the alarms switched off. Then in a second everything went from chaotic to completely silent.

"Told you," the Mandalorian said. "Now we just cruise over to your dwarf planet. I don't think we'll be able to jump to hyperspace."

"What?" you said louder than you had planned. "That could take us days, and that's if we don't come across any obstacles!"

"You're the one who wanted a ride," he quipped as he leaned back in his chair. "If you change your mind, there's always the eject pods."

It took every cell in your body to maintain your composure. This wasn't even a mission you were particularly thrilled about going on, much less with this Mandalorian. You felt at times that the only thing keeping you both from each others throats was the Mandalorian code, but according to him, all the Mandalorians were dead. What validity was there to that pact?

The creature on his lap kept looking at you with it's huge, pitch-black eyes. You didn't know how to react. It was hard not to stare. It's eyes and ears were oversized, and it's layers of clothes made it look like it was in a squishy cocoon. It was kind of cute. You smiled at it, and though it couldn't see, it gurgled and smiled back.

"How old is it?" you asked. The Mandalorian seemed taken aback by the question. You were almost surprised yourself. You didn't care about the kid. You were just curious.

"I don't know," he said after a while. "Somewhere around 50?"

"Fifty?" you asked surprised.

"Well, he obviously ages slower than we do," he remarked. You looked over at the kid and he looked back at you with wide questioning eyes. The Mandalorian stood up with the kid in his arms, and went to the lower part of the ship. "I'll be right back. Don't touch anything!" His command echoed just far enough for you to hear him. You rolled your eyes and reclined in your seat. You might as well get comfortable.

You had been twiddling your thumbs for almost half an hour, and the Mandalorian still hadn't come back. It was irritating, especially since you couldn't do anything on his ship. It clearly wasn't meant to be a livable space. It was just meant for towing him across the galaxy.

You had thought about traveling beyond your planet before, and the longer you stayed the more you wanted to leave. You had heard that it's the spirit of a Mandalorian to travel from place to place, but you never tried. Now you looked out at the black of space littered with stars. It had been so long since you had seen it.

A small, quiet sound roused you from your thoughts. You turned your seat around to see the kid standing there and staring right at you. A small chuckle escaped your lips.

"What do I have to do to get you to stop following me?" you asked half-jokingly. He babbled as if he was actually trying to respond. He walked closer and raised his arms.

"Sorry, but I don't think your dad would want me picking you up," you warned. It insisted and walked even closer. You rolled your eyes. The Mandalorian didn't seem to be coming back soon anyway. You granted the child's wish and picked him up. You didn't set him on your lap, but rather held him a good distance away from you as if he was toxic.

"Are you seriously older than I am?" you whispered almost to yourself.

"Hey!" The Mandalorian's voice cut through the ships low hum and made you jump. You almost dropped the kid so you brought him closer to you by instinct. "What are you doing with the kid?"

"Your kid keeps coming to me!" you explained angrily. "Besides, he's fine." You held the creature out towards the Mandalorian like it was some dull object. He was quick to take it from you, and he sat back down in the pilot's seat. You needed to say something. Anything. You were getting tired of constantly being mad at each other. After all, you were supposedly the last two of your kind. It probably wasn't best to be fighting each other with every word.

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to call you," you mentioned. It was a sudden thought that you had. You currently didn't call him anything. The way you got each others attention was by yelling at the other. Definitely not a good way to end the fighting.

His head moved ever so slightly towards you. "I don't really..." He trailed off and a long moment of silence passed before he spoke up again. "Why don't you just...call me Mando?"

"Mando?" you inquired. "That derogatory nickname that almost every Mandalorian gets?"

"It's not a derogatory nickname. At least, not anymore," he corrected. "I don't have anything else in mind."

"Well, Mandalorians get their nicknames by what they look like or how they act," you pointed out. You looked him up and down. "I guess that would make you 'Beskar?'"

"And what would that make you? 'Not beskar?'" he retorted.

"Ha ha," you replied unenthusiastically. "I'm seriously just supposed to call you Mando?"

"Call me whatever you want," he concluded. "It's not like we're going to be seeing each other after I drop you off." You couldn't argue with that. You certainly didn't intend to see him again, and you were positive the feeling was mutual. You laid your head back against the seat. This was going to be a long trip.

***

Two days since you had left, the dwarf planet finally came into view. You were relieved to be so close to your destination. Of course, the trip wasn't as bad as you thought once you actually talked to Mando without bickering. If you didn't leave room for an argument, he hardly said anything, but the few things he said were actually worth something.

"That's the planet right?" he asked.

"It is," you confirmed. "Are you sure this thing is equipped to land?"

"I guess we'll find out in about five minutes," he replied as he flicked switches and pressed buttons.

"Ship 4119, this is landing pad 7. Do you have clearance to land?" A voice from the intercom made both of you freeze. A small hologram appeared with a symbol that made your blood turn cold. It was the crest of the Empire.

"This is an imperial trade?" Mando hissed under his breath.

"Dank farrik!" you growled. "I'll kill you, Powell."

"Ship 4119, are you reading me?" The voice pressed.

"What do we do?" you whispered.

"Four minutes 'til we land," he started. "We stall." He raised his voice so the person over the intercom could hear. "Yes, I have clearance, but there's some bad interference. Let me switch you over to another channel. Stand by." He switched off the intercom and turned towards you. "That should buy us about a minute."

"Only?" you asked incredulously.

"What did you expect dealing with the Empire?" he scolded.

"I didn't know it was the Empire," you defended weakly.

"We don't have long to figure out what we're doing," he reminded you. "We can't land on the pad so we need to find an alternative."

"It's all trees," you huffed. "The landing pad is our only option."

"Ship 4119, you cooperation is required or you will be terminated."

"The landing pad it is," he sighed. "Hold on to the kid. It's not going to be a smooth landing."

You did as he said and waited. He lowered the landing gear and the ship immediately seized up. The shook and rumbled, and alarms started going off. The voice over the intercom had started a countdown until their "termination". Mando waited until the count of one to expertly roll to the side and half land half crash onto a separate landing pad. Guards were around the ship in moments. Stormtroopers.

"Step out of the ship with your arms up," one commanded.

"They don't know that there's two of us," Mando whispered to you. "I'll walk out as they said, then on my signal, you come in behind and start taking them out." You nodded, and he started to make his way off the ship. You watched him closely for the signal as you readied your rocket. One hit, perfectly aimed, would take them all out.

The signal, followed by your rocket going off, followed by a blinding white light filled the next few moments of your life. When the smoke cleared, there was hardly anything telling you there were stormtroopers there at all. You exited the ship with the kid still in your arms.

"Not bad," you complemented yourself.

"Yeah, yeah, you did good," he brushed off. "We're not entirely out of the woods yet. Spread out and make contact if you find the package."

You stopped. "I thought you were leaving."

"What can I say?" he said with a small shrug. "I'm bored." He threw a small communicator in your direction. "If you come back without the kid, you're as good as dead." Without another word, he jogged off to look for the package. You look down at the kid in your hands, and he tilted his head.

"Yeah, I'm confused too," you murmured. You jogged in the opposite direction already waiting to get off this planet.

What seemed like hours later, Mando contacted you on the communicator. It was pretty choppy, but from what you could tell, he either had the package or he would soon. You breathed a sigh of relief. You weren't comfortable being so close to the Empire.

You quickly found the river you had been following, and began heading upstream. The kid was getting restless. He wanted to walk, but the Mandalorian would have your head if you let him with so many stormtroopers around. So you continued. You thought all would be well, but out of nowhere a gun shot fired right next to your head.

"They're over here!" A stormtrooper yelled through the woods. You found cover and quickly opened your communicator.

"Mando, I'm under attack!" you warned. "South of the ship, not far! Hurry!" Shots were firing all around you and the child started whimpering in fear. You held him close to you as you fired shots blindly into the forest. "Mando!"

Stormtroopers yelled in the distance signaling help was there. You stood from your cover and came helmet to helmet with a camo trooper. He knocked his gun into your hands, sending the kid rolling across the forest floor. You fired your blaster and the trooper dropped to the ground. You heard a sickening splash as you realized the child had rolled towards the river.

Mando caught up with you and noticed you didn't have his kid. "Where is he?" he yelled. You ignored him and plunged head first into the river. The child was so small, it would've been carried away in an instant. When you finally spotted him, he was bobbing downstream with a wide smile. You swam towards him, scooped him up, and placed him back on solid ground. Thankfully there wasn't a scratch on him.

The Mandalorian had made it to you and the kid right as you pulled yourself from the river. You were ready for him to scold you, grab the kid, and walk off, but he picked up the kid and extended an arm to you.

"You alright?" he questioned. You hesitantly took his hand, and he helped you stand.

"Fine," you said quietly. A small hint of a nod from Mando, and you were both walking through the forest back to the ship.

Mando held out a metal rod laced with blue light. "This the package?"

"Yes," you said as you took it from him. "Thank you."

"We can't get back on the Razor Crest," he informed. "It's too banged up."

"What are we supposed to do then?" you asked.

He turned to you. "We need one of those Imperial Cruisers."

***

It had been a whole month since your run-in with the Empire. You and Mando successfully stole one of the Empires aircraft, and made your way back to your planet without a hitch. It was there that Mando offered for you to work with him for a while. You told him you had to think about it, but your mind was already made up. You loved the thrill of going off planet, and you wanted to go again.

You hadn't looked back until now. You were currently making your way back to that same dwarf planet to retrieve the ship you had left behind so long ago.

"Either the Empire will be completely flushed out--" Mando was saying.

"Or they'll have grown ten times their original size," you finished.

"That about sums it up," he confirmed. Working together felt so natural now. It was a wonder Mandalorians hadn't worked together before. They had similar expertise, making it easy to agree to and execute a plan. At least, that was the case for you and the Mandalorian. You found a way to communicate without fighting, and you only grew closer from there.

You liked being around the Mandalorian. You hadn't expected to become so close to him, but you didn't mind one bit. You were both at ease with one another and didn't need a lot of words to understand each other. You both had learned the micro movements that the other would use. A small shift of the helmet. A clench of the fist. A drop of the shoulders. Small things that meant so much.

"So, you run the kid onto the ship as I cover you," Mando said, going through the plan once more.

"I set off a distraction long enough for you to make it on the ship yourself," you continued.

"And we fly off the planet as quick as we can."

"Assuming it will fly," you quipped.

"All of this is assuming they've grown stronger," he reminded you. "I'm not sure the Empire is capable of that at this point."

"I wouldn't get my hopes up," you cautioned. The intercom rang out with the same warning you had received last time.

Mando kept his eyes forward. "Here we go." He ignored the voice and landed the ship on the pad. You picked up the kid and waited for Mando to leave the ship first. He walked out, guns blazing, and you were quick to slip out behind him. A few troopers saw you, but luckily they were terrible shots. You made quick work of them and moved the kid onto the Razor Crest. So far so good. Now you just had give Mando a distraction.

Before you could even think of anything, three TIE fighters let loose a rain of fire on the pad where the Mandalorian was. In a panic you fired a rocket at one, but it just missed the fast moving ship.

"Mando!" you called. "Get in here! We need to move!" You fired at as many troopers as you could without attracting fire to yourself, but it didn't help much. He was practically by himself.

"Fire up the ship and take off!" You heard Mando's voice over the communicator in your helmet.

"I'm not leaving you," you replied.

"Leave the ramp open! Trust me!" Going against your better judgement, you did as he said. The child was confused as to why you were leaving the Mandalorian on the planet, but he stayed with you. You tried to get the ship off the ground, but it wouldn't budge. You diverted power and fuel until you had enough of a kick to get it moving.

"Now would be a great time to get on board!" you informed.

"I'm on my way! Fly!" he responded. You pushed forward as the ship creaked. Would it be able to make it off the planet?

"Lower!" Mando's voice called out suddenly. You pushed the ship downwards and everything lurched forward. Including the child who was more than happy to be around all the buttons.

"Get back in your seat," you instructed him. His ears drooped, but he obeyed and crawled off the control panel.

"I'm on! Close the ramp," Mando said. You closed the ramp and tried to direct the ship upwards. TIE fighters noticed the attempt to escape and started firing making the ship worse.

"We're taking fire!" you yelled. Mando climbed the ladder into the cockpit, and you were quick to move so he could take the controls. The ship slowly climbed while taking shots from the TIE fighters. You couldn't dodge them without using much needed fuel to get away from the planet. The ship was rocking and squealing as it tried to break through the planets atmosphere. You grabbed the child and rushed him down to his bed. He would be safer there than in the cockpit.

"We broke through!" Mando informed you. You climbed back up to where he was.

"Then why are we still shaking uncontrollably?" you questioned.

"Those TIE fighters will be on us in seconds," he continued. "We need to jump to hyperspace."

"This ship can't do that!"

"It'll have to. Where's the kid?"

"He's safe."

"Then hold on." He prepared everything for the jump, but he looked over at you before he started. "It's our only option."

You strapped in as quickly as you could. "Then do it." Mando engaged the hyperdrive. Immediately you knew you were going to crash. The ship's alarms blared and the engine burst into flames. Pulling out of hyperspace, you saw a planet speeding into view, but you couldn't stop the ship in time. You crashed and slid on the icy planet before everything went black.

***

When you woke up, you could only make out the orange light of fire mixing with the blue light of the planet you were on. You tried to blink to make the world come into focus, but your eyes refused to comply. You took off your helmet for a moment and cold wind whipped at your face. The back of your head throbbed and you gingerly touched it. When you moved your hand you saw that it was coated in blood. You were wounded where no one could see.

You slipped your helmet back on before going to find the Mandalorian. You didn't know what to do except find him, so that's what you would do. You didn't have to walk far before you found the crashed ship. You picked up the pace as you called for the Mandalorian. You entered the burning ship and found Mando unconscious in the cock pit. You shook his shoulder until he finally woke.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"I'm fine," you lied.

"And the kid?" he pressed.

"I don't know," you answered. You both quickly descended the ladder and opened the door to the sleeping pod. The child sat on the bed completely unharmed. You breathed a sigh of relief. You felt as if the kid was your own. You didn't know what you'd do if something happened to him.

"Any sign of the Empire?" Mando questioned.

"None," you replied. "But there's no sign of getting off this planet either. We really messed up."

"There has to be some kind of lifeform on this planet," he insisted.

"I saw the planet. It's all snow and ice. You'd have to be crazy to live here."

"We have to try anyway." He grabbed a blanket off the bed and wrapped the child in it. You all left the ship and stepped onto the freezing planet. Your hopes of finding a way off were low to non-existent, but you followed Mando. He'd find a way.

The longer you walked, the dizzier you felt. Your head hadn't stopped throbbing and you were finding it hard to focus. Whatever you had done to your head was slowly chipping away at you. Your legs felt weak, and it wasn't long before they gave out on you. You crumpled into the snow.

"Y/N!" Mando called. You couldn't register his voice. Where he was. What was happening. The fact that he had used your name though you never gave it to him. It was all just a fleeting thought that was drowned out in the pain. He held you in his arms as he tried to keep you conscious. You felt his hands at the sides of your helmet and you quickly held them away.

"It's against the code," you groaned.

He looked at his hand which was covered in blood from your helmet. "You're bleeding! I have to take it off to help!"

"No!" you insisted. "You can't see my face. You know that."

"I'd rather you live with the shame then die here in the snow!"

"I can't," you breathed. "I've never taken it off in front of anyone." He stopped and looked at you hopelessly.

"It's ok," you said. "Find a way off the planet and take care of the kid." The Mandalorian carefully propped you up in the snow then slightly stepped back. Before you could say anything, or even think of what was happening. He removed his helmet and dropped it at his feet. His brown hair blew wildly in the wind as he bent down to you.

"You..." you barely whispered.

"I'm helping you even if that means breaking the code, but we'll be breaking it together," he said. You felt him lifting the helmet off your head, but you didn't stop him. He placed your helmet next to his in the snow and gently moved your hair aside. You didn't have the willpower to fight what was happening. You let him work as the world grew fuzzy around you. It all seemed surreal. Especially when the next thing you remembered was the child dropping to the ground in exhaustion.

The world was coming back into focus, and the throbbing pain in your skull subsided. You looked up to see your Mandalorian unmasked and holding his child. Your hand instinctively reached for the wound at the back of your head, but there was none.

"He healed you." It was strange to hear the Mandalorian's voice outside of the helmet. It was softer and more real. "I don't know how he does it, but it drains his energy. It was the only way to save you.

You stood slowly, unable to take your eyes from the Mandalorian's. It was strange to think he was seeing your face just as you were seeing his. You thought you'd be more ashamed. After all you had broken one of the most important rules on Mandalore. You both had. But you didn't feel guilt like you had done something wrong. You felt what you could only identify as relief. Relief that you didn't have to hide behind your metal helmet in front of the one you cared so deeply for.

Mando picked up both the helmets, handing yours to you. "We should get moving." You stared into yours, not wanting to put it back on. You grudgingly did, and Mando followed. You both took moment to stare at each others expressionless helmets, then continued through the ice and snow.

When you finally found people, you recognized them as a rebels. There weren't many that were aware of the Empires presence and even fewer would fight. They wouldn't harm you. They brought you into a cave that was partially lined with metal and cement. They hadn't been there long. They were hesitant to let you in at first, but when they saw the child laying unconscious in Mando's arms, they obliged. They took the kid to care for him, and you could tell Mando was tense. You placed your hand on his shoulder and he turned to you.

"He's going to be fine," you comforted. He remained silent. "You...said my name. Back in the snow. Unless I was hallucinating--"

"You weren't" he confirmed. "I saw it on our first trip to that kriffing dwarf planet. I never meant to get used to saying it in my head. I'm sorry."

You shrugged. "I don't think you knowing it puts me in danger."

He took a deep breath. "My real name is Din Djarin."

"You didn't have to tell me--"

"From now on, we do things together or not at all. Deal?"

You desperately wished he could see you smile. "Deal."

***

A week passed on the planet you came to know as Hoth. You needed time to recover and so did the kid. The rebels were working on a way to get you off the planet, and the Mandalorian spent most of his time working to help them with that. He was getting more frustrated every day. You wanted to help him. Tell him they'd find a way soon, but the only option they had was another week of waiting until a ship flew in for supplies.

It was late at night when he came to you. He was broken down and stressed, but he would never tell you so. He hardly said a word to you during the whole week. But now here he was.

He walked over to you slowly and stopped. "I can't find a faster way off this planet," he said, his voice laced with defeat.

"It's alright," you assured him. "What matters is that we will get off. Eventually."

"Eventually," he repeated. "Eventually isn't good enough."

"We're alright here," you soothed. "Nothing's going to happen to the kid here."

"They have trackers," he pointed out. "They'll find him if we don't move--"

"Din," you said, using his name for the first time since he told it to you. You stepped closer so he was only a few inches apart from you. You removed his helmet without any objections from him and set it aside. You did the same to your helmet. You needed to talk to him face to face.

"No one is going to get the kid because we're protecting him," you said. "We protect him together." Din smiled, wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you closer to him. Your arms rested around his neck as your lips touched. A kiss was something a Mandalorian could never know. But you both disregarded the rules just so you could know each other's touch not  through a casing of metal. And you did it together.

[swordandquill]

Title: Winter Break

Fandom: Leverage

Summary: The team find themselves snowed in in a little town in the middle of nowhere.

Ch 2: Fussing - Nate has to choose between supervising a shopping spree or supervising a grumpy hitter. He definitely chooses the lesser evil.

Author’s Note: I still don’t know where this story is going or when the next update will be. 

Many, many thanks to @whumpybliss for beta reading this chapter!

You can go here to read this on AO3 instead.

"I know what you're trying to do."

Eliot's glare was less impressive than usual, but Nate still would have bet his money on him. Not that he wouldn't always bet on Eliot, and with things much more valuable to him than money.

"Trying to get you to eat saltines, so you don't throw up when you take the prescription strength anti-inflammatories I know you have in your bag?" Nate waved the open sleeve of crackers in front of the hitter.

"Stop fussing," Eliot snapped and snatched the sleeve out of Nate's hand.

Now that Parker had pointed it out, Nate could clearly see Eliot was favoring his left arm. Or, possibly because Parker had pointed it out, Eliot was putting less effort into hiding it.

"They shouldn't be in there alone," Eliot pulled a few crackers out of the sleeve and shoved it back at Nate.

"They're not alone," Nate swapped the sleeve for a water bottle from the grocery bag at his feet, "they have each other. We might be living off of orange soda and Trix for the next two weeks, but I think they'll get each other out of the store in one piece."

Eliot gave him a dubious look but refrained from talking with his mouth full.

"Anyway, I'm listening," Nate tapped the comm he had slipped into his ear.

"Where's my…?" Eliot frowned and tried to reach behind the seat for his bag, wincing hard at the twisting motion.

"Stop it," Nate thumped his side lightly with the back of his hand, "I've got them. Parker hasn't managed to convince Sophie that Froot Loops are both a vegetable and a fruit. Sophie is giving her tips on being persuasive, and Hardison doesn't know the difference between a zucchini and a cucumber, but one of them has made it into the basket."

"How have they made it this far without dying of malnutrition?" Eliot let his head flop back against the headrest.

"Cereal is fortified," Nate said dryly and poked Eliot with the water bottle, "which bag are your meds in?"

"It can wait until we get to the cabin," Eliot grabbed the offending bottle away without opening his eyes.

Nate didn't have to wrangle an injured Eliot often. Most of the time, he was more than capable of managing his own injuries. When he wasn't, Nate usually let Parker take the lead in poking and prodding while he helped Hardison track down whatever medical help their hitter needed.

Parker needed to burn off some energy, though, and Nate would rather supervise a cranky Eliot than his team on a shopping spree. He had trailed Eliot through the first aid aisle, listened to him mutter over spices and knives on the baking aisle, and then dragged him back to the van with saltines and water bottles in hand.

"Just take the anti-inflammatory," Nate argued, "it won't make you drowsy, and the longer you wait, the less well they'll work."

"Stop. Fussing." Eliot growled, somehow managing to drink his water angrily. Nate was always impressed by how Eliot could make the most mundane tasks look threatening. Luckily for him and the rest of the team, Nate was not easily intimidated.

"Just for the sake of argument..." Nate started.

"No," Eliot said flatly.

"We're stuck in the car until Hardison picks a shampoo. Humor me," Nate ignored Hardison's protests over the comm about his sensitive scalp.

"They need to hurry," Eliot groused, 'the snow is getting worse."

"Right," Nate agreed and held the sleeve of saltines out to Eliot again. He was disproportionately pleased when the hitter grabbed a few more without protest, "so let's just say there really is some shadowy figure waiting behind the curtain to get us…"

Eliot raised an eyebrow at that, probably cross-checking his mental list of people who matched that description, but Nate ignored him.

"And they orchestrated stranding the five us in this specific tiny town, in the middle of nowhere, by waiting until we were both split up on five different planes, and there was a massive storm front to force our flights here…"

"Look, I know…" Eliot rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Which is possible," Nate continued to ignore him, "highly unlikely, but possible. After all, shady figures are usually good at seizing opportunity when they see it. So let's say all of that is true. What's their next move? Where do they expect us to be?"

Eliot frowned before reluctantly admitting, "They expect us to be stranded, at the airport or one of the hotels."

"Right," Nate nodded, "and even if they somehow anticipated us renting a summer house, it would be almost impossible to control which summer house we rented. Hardison must have skimmed through a half dozen search pages worth before we went after this one."

Eliot's frown deepened as he worked the problem and thought how he would have managed something like this from the other side. Nate let him be for a minute because he was still eating crackers while he thought, seemingly without noticing.

"There are ways they could stack the deck in their favor," he finally said slowly. "Knowing what we would want in a place to lay low, making it available even though it looked unavailable, monitoring Hardison for the search criteria he was using, then populating it with multiple properties that they have control of."

"Possible," Nate conceded, "ridiculously elaborate and unnecessarily complicated, but possible."

"So, one of your plans, basically," Eliot snorted.

"I don't have the patience to wait on mother nature," Nate let the jab slide, "my point is, the best thing we can do in this situation is not be where we're most likely to be. The rest, we'll just have to deal with as it comes."

"I know that. It's just…" Eliot just looked worn out now, tired of having to run through every scenario and possibility for every given moment.

Nate had figured out fairly early on that Eliot's paranoia was rooted in both a lot of experience and a lot of trauma. It meant they would be idiots to ignore him when he said something was wrong (and Nate had, unfortunately, been that idiot on more than one occasion, although he tried not to be these days), but they also needed to be a second check on those things for him sometimes, because he could always work his way around to those perceived threats being possible, even if they weren't probable.

It had gotten a lot better over the years, and the team had gotten better at finding ways to help him deal with it when it did come up. There was never a perfect solution, but they were more than happy to settle for an imperfect one if it made things at least a little better.

"And we'll deal with everything a lot better if you just take your diclofenac," Nate cut him off again, "so what bag is it in?"

"Duffel," Eliot conceded defeat finally, "they really do need to hurry."

"I know," Nate turned around and started sifting through the bags they had tossed into the third row of seats, "they're almost done."

Parker had been sitting in the back row, and she had rearranged the luggage that hadn't fit in the trunk to make a nest of sorts for herself around the middle seat. Nate had to practically crawl over the back of the middle row to reach Eliot's duffel bag, and he only felt a little bad for messing up her carefully crafted arrangement.

Eliot carried prescription meds with him and had for as long as Nate had known him. He had worried at first about the bottle of oxi that was always packed in the hitter's personal medkit. In hindsight, he could see the hypocrisy of constantly watching Eliot for signs of opioid addiction while simultaneously getting blackout drunk on a regular basis.

It had only taken a couple months for that concern to shift from Eliot taking too many painkillers to getting Eliot to take them at all. Two years in, and Nate had been worrying about why Eliot felt like jobs would leave him in enough pain on a regular enough basis that he would need to always have that level of painkiller with him. These days, Eliot and meds were mostly a bargaining act, a give and take informed by context and where Eliot's head was at at the given moment.

Oxi made him disoriented and dizzy; he wouldn't take it if he didn't feel safe. Diclofenac made him nauseous if he didn't take it with food (sometimes even when he did). Of the two problems, that was the easier one to solve.

Nate finally managed to find Eliot's duffel bag and pulled the medkit out, tossing the bag back in the pile of luggage for Parker to rearrange and poke through to her heart's content once they got back to the van.

"You want one or two?" Nate opened the kit and sorted through the neatly labeled bottles.

"Just one," Eliot was slumped back against the headrest again, eyes closed.

"You're out of Zofran," Nate shook the empty bottle.

"I gave the last of it to Sophie when we hit that patch of turbulence on the way in for the job," Eliot said dismissively, "it's fine. I'll refill it later."

Nate handed the pill and another water bottle over to Eliot, then texted Parker and asked her to get a bottle of Zofran from the pharmacy. A little thievery would do her good after 8 hours on a plane.

Eliot took the pill, and the van went comfortably quiet aside from the rest of the team's chatter in Nate's ear. It was surprisingly relaxing to listen in on them doing something as mundane as arguing over pasta sauce and gummy frog brands. They were on the comms a lot, but during jobs, there was a certain amount of tension, the constant need to be assessing and reassessing everything that happened.

Nate didn't care what kind of pasta sauce they got, and he didn't like gummy frogs, but it was nice just to sit back and listen to them be together.

There was suddenly weight against his shoulder, and Nate held still as Eliot gradually slumped more heavily against him, eyes closed and breath even. Nate waited until he was sure he was settled before shifting to get an arm around him and stop him from sliding down too far. Eliot fidgeted in his sleep for a moment, then relaxed with a soft sigh.

It wasn't that unusual for Eliot to sleep around them, but after how keyed up he had been at the airport, having him resting solid and relaxed against his side felt like winning.

[katsukisbeatingheart]

adolebitque manet

breakups suck. and sometimes you just need to burn your ex's shit.

word count: 2573

ao3!

Ridiculous piece of crap.

You yanked the chain.

Pathetic promises.

You tore the letter.

And a long dead rose.

The stem twirled between your fingertips, and you didn't even flinch when a thorn along the spine left a gash in your index finger.

Typical.

It was however, enough for you to breathe deeply, and exhale—more over the case of everything they used to be.

Cheat.

Cheat. Cheat. Cheat. Cheat.

Liar.

Your bloody finger found the wasted tears before you did. Poetic, how they mixed and dripped over the broken pieces in front of you. A blood oath to break another blood oath.

How many years had you supported such a beguiling—bewitching feeling? All for naught, only to ruin by such a simple measure.

It wasn't simple though. It was so complicated, it was simple; and it was so simple, it was complicated.

You sneered at the contradiction of such a fact, of such a relationship.

You'd look back on this—hopefully in months time—and laugh at yourself for the dramatic wreck you came to be. Over one person.

One person, who had meant so much to you for so many years.

It had taken you weeks to even think about believing everything you saw to be true. It took another few to agonizingly collect each and every bit of each other, and begin destroying them.

You had strong encouragement from those closest to you, and they were very patient and kind with your struggling heart. Despite your best attempts to recoil, and pay for something you realized only you were probably invested in—they wouldn't let you.

Now here you were, in the middle of your apartment, ready to gather these things up and eviscerate them; but you couldn't do it alone.

The cardboard was flimsy, but it did the job. Sturdy enough to carry the weight of such useless trinkets with heavy price, you dumped and swept in each tiny, bloody bit as roughly as you could—quickly apologizing to the box, a reminder that it wasn't to blame.

You ghosted to your door, moving in a hollow effort to dispose of their evidence.

Softly cracking the door open and angling to look out into the hallway, you peered at your neighbor's doors; ears open, eyes wide for any sign of life.

Mina, Shoji, Tokoyami, Shinso, Izuku—

Your eyes flicked up.

Kirishima, Sero, and Denki are upstairs...

You had a wonderful, wonderful support system. The friends that lived in the same building, and the ones across town—but the more you sifted through your options, the more you couldn't bring yourself to bother any of them with this. No matter how small a request.

With the umpteenth sigh of the evening, your head lolled backward. Your eyes slid closed and your fingers rubbed at the ache settled in your neck. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, glancing down the right side of the hall.

There was only one more door facing opposite yours—at a diag to the fire escape window at the end of the hall, and you.

It was impulsive, and despite everything—your best option.

The two meter walk in your cement shoes felt like pouring a jar of molasses on a winter's day. Gathering courage to actually knock felt like pouring two jars of molasses on a winter's day.

It was inevitable, you decided—especially if he opened the door to step out only to find you standing there petrified in your own grief and nerves—and two gentle taps and a third slightly harsher, more desperate rap later, crimson red eyes glowered at you in annoyance.

"Oi. Do you know what fuckin' time it i—"

His abrasiveness grated to a humbling halt in the face of a wholy distraught you. He wasn't one to gossip, or even to put any stock into useless chatter of the sort; but even he knew you were keeping life together by pins and needles. And he didn't even need to have Ashido as a neighbor to know that, because he was looking at the tangled disaster right now.

Your shoulders shook, and the barely kept together bite of your lip with vacant eyes told him he needed to close his mouth and keep it that way.

He was generally coarse, brusque, and blunt—not stupid or blind.

You steeled your regard, holding a determined glint in your eye and a placating plead beneath it.

"Bakugo I need you to do me a favor."

"What is it."

"Burn this for me."

You held the box out between the two of you, handling it with a nauseating combination of disdain and care. Bakugo quickly brushed through the contents with a quickly baleful sweep of his eyes, and you were too numb to bother wondering why the hostility. It was enough you were baring such personal trinkets—yet thoroughly clichéd banalities—to someone of his caliber. You parts trusted him to suggest a certain modicum of consideration, and tiny parts trusted yourself to be too beaten down to care otherwise.

The regret at such irresolution toward your longtime neighbor and friend, ebbed away as he looked back up to you with a certain fire in his eyes. It warmed you abruptly in ways you didn't understand at all.

Bakugo jerked his head to the side, his body following along with it as he stepped aside to invite you in. You said nothing, catching your breath in a purposeful stride, ducking past his shoulder. You strode in confidently, but faltered not far from the doormat when you noticed how long it had been since you'd been there.

The lights were off, and the far wall—ceiling to floor sliding glass doors up one step, leading to a balcony looking over the other part of the city night lights—bled with the light of the moon, illuminating a living space shaped like yours, but not at all how you remembered it being from however long ago.

There were new pieces of furniture rearranged in a way that suggested the man was open to having guests—mostly Eijiro, Denki, Sero, and Mina, you figured. Matte black couch cushions, with silver finishings along the frame; a dark wooden circular dining table in front of the bar attached to the kitchen, right by the glass doors—a rather romantic placement, especially for him, you marvelled; deep brown cabinets with lighter hardwood doors, occupying the back right hand corner where the kitchen was.

You turned to glance at the potted plant and admired how generally... homey the place felt. Either Bakugo had been invaded by a homes and gardens magazine, or he had grown quite the honeyed eye.

Your admiration melted into remorse, quicker than the fondness came. You couldn't even remember how long it had been since you'd visited.

In hindsight, you immediately knew it was because you'd spent all of your time with...

I must've been a real shitty friend.

"What was that?"

His questions were coming out more as gruff statements, any inquisitiveness overrode by the demand for an answer. It almost made you smile, before, again, you remembered why you'd missed that so much.

You didn't even know you'd spoken aloud, and were too tired to avoid it now.

"I must've been terrible to you," you whispered.

You felt the air grow stale with awkward tension. Bakugo raised a hand to run through his hair, stopping at the base of his neck. He didn't know what to say.

But you did.

"I'm so sorry, Katsuki," you breathed. "I'm so sorry—I feel like I completely neglected you, and I'm only realizing this now, after I've come to you when I need something and I can't believe it's taken me this long to—to see that. You must feel so— so—"

Used. Ignored.

Cheated.

You clenched your fists, squeezing your eyes shut in suffocating reproach.

You turned to face him head on. You were going to deal with this with dignity—completely ready for the growling consequences and the scorching anger.

The thundering shouting.

Biting rejection.

Unadulterated hatred.

None of that came. Instead, Bakugo's eyes reflected with an intense sheen of pain—as if everything you left unsaid came swinging back to him in full force. Like he'd been repressing those exact accusations the entire time.

You wanted to scream. You wanted him to scream. You wanted somebody to scream.

It wasn't a scream, but his voice was indomitable enough to be.

"Let's fucking burn this thing."

Glass shattered, the dam broke, and you moaned once—exhaling a jagged breath of relief, anguish, and extreme adoration. The tears poured and you shoved them away with the palms of your hand, laughing and crying with a silent nod. Bakugo roughly pulled the box from your hands, stalking briskly toward the glass doors. He slammed them open, and you heard them rattle. You weren't afraid, though. He wasn't mad at you.

He dropped the container on the concrete floor with a harsh bang, and you didn't miss the crack of a frame breaking with a picture of you and them. You doubt he did either.

Bakugo held out his right hand—fingers down, palm up—to the box. You watched him with something in your heart, as he ignited. It was piercing, and brought back memories of special moves you worked on in high school. You'd seen him nearly blow his arm off trying to get this kind of precision, and now you'd see him on T.V., using it for hero work as if he'd been doing it since the day he was born. You remembered gushing about how amazing he was, every single time he managed to do something new.

Yes, Bakugo had used this move to best and save many people.

In an instant, flames shot straight for the box, and suddenly you were engulfed in light. Just like fireworks, the contents popped and crackled, and just like fireworks, you were completely mesmerized. The light from your little conflagration poured warmth over everything you could feel. You were positively glowing.

You bit back tears that no longer needed to be spent on the likes of them. You were the one who wasted away in the company of someone who never really cared about you.

Since then, you'd forgotten about the ones that really and truly did.

You looked to Bakugo, watching the shadows dance menacingly across his face. The ferocity, and damn near animalistic malice singed more than the fire he made did. Your eyes widened in surprise.

As if he felt you staring, he turned.

Fully.

Fully facing you with much softer eyes and an expression you knew that came from being a hero.

It was as if to say you're safe now.

You choked and let more tears fall, feeling a combination of cold and searing in light of the fire.

"Katsuki," you whispered.

For the first time in your life, you watched him hesitate. He stepped forward, looking so vulnerable as he tried to grasp for words. The space between you came to about a hand's length, and the heavy rise and fall of his chest vibrated along your skin. Bakugo's eyes clouded, and your mouth went dry with that feeling again.

"Marshmallows."

You blinked.

"...What?" You weren't sure you heard him right.

"Here," he began, taking your hand in his as he turned around and led you back inside. Bakugo didn't let go, until he set you at one of the barstools, to move past and dig through one of his upper cabinets. After a moment of shuffling, he pulled away to reveal a family sized bag of puffy white marshmallows, and a big bar of chocolate. He tossed the bag of sweets towards you, his mouth quirking into a little smirk.

The warmth you'd been feeling more and more since you'd got here exploded in your chest, and you felt it rise to your cheeks.

"And don't think I forgot—" Bakugo bent down and pulled open a bottom drawer. He fished something out that crinkled and reflected small bits of light, and smacked it on the bar countertop, right in front of you.

The childish squeal burst out before you could think.

"Cookies!"

Bakugo rolled his eyes and desperately tried to bury his bliss beneath an annoyed click of his tongue. He really missed you.

"What a fucking dork," he mumbled not-so-quietly under his breath. He could hide it all he wanted but you caught the smile in his voice anyway.

Bakugo's eyes glazed as he watched you giggle, and he—almost tentatively—grasped your hand again, uncharacteristic gentleness as he pulled you back outside.

You stared dazedly at yours in his—but mostly his—and wondered why the sudden touchiness.

In all honestly, Bakugo couldn't figure himself; but when he did pin the feeling—he might've just been scared to see you go again.

He handed you the collection of sweets, going to bring out chairs to sit on. You touched his shoulder and shook your head, grabbing a blanket you noticed stretched out along the balcony fence. You flicked it outward, laying it as close as possible to the fire—setting the chocolate, marshmallows, and cookies in the middle.

Looking up to meet his eyes, you patted the spot next to you. For the first time—in a long time—you watched Katsuki's cheeks flush. No matter how badly you wanted to be the one to do that to him, you convinced yourself that it was nothing but the cold of the night or the heat of the flames.

The boy dropped down beside you, holding out a skewer without making eye contact.

As a pair, you silently worked marshmallows onto the sticks, and held them over the fragments of your burning relationship.

"Hope we don't get poisoned or something, doing this," you broke the silence wryly, eyeing the disfigured picture frame and the horribly burnt photo inside of it.

"Not a bad way to go, really." Katsuki too, was looking at the fire, and you did your best to not linger on the implications behind that statement.

"Death by marshmallows," you tapped your chin thoughtfully, "I'll take it."

"That's not what I meant."

You looked away from your toasting sweet, and studied him with dinner-plate eyes. The curiosity and... desire, you figured, smoldered, and you were sure he stared back with intensity rivalling yours. The silence—besides the crackling of fire and melting of sour memories—pressed down on you and you were positive you could fall into him, and get lost and it would be okay—

"You're gonna burn your s'mores, dumbass," Katsuki whispered. You were sitting shoulder to shoulder. He smelled sweet.

The smile climbing its way to your face settled in under a slightly disbelieving laugh.

"Right."

Knees hugged to your chest, you drifted not too far from him, and focused on the flames.

"Hey, Katsuki?"

"Yeah?"

Inhaling with more than enough steadiness to still the ocean, you sighed, feeling more weightless than you'd felt in the last two months.

"Thank you."

With every second that burned by, you felt a sort of resolve subside and thicken—less like the cast iron chains that held you back hours and months ago, and more like a promise.

To yourself.

To him.

Bakugo Katsuki shrugged, and as he did so he moved the tiniest bit closer. His voice was quiet when he spoke.

"I'm just glad you're back."

[longlivejasongrace]

the luck i've had can make a good man turn bad

i meant to make a more fleshed out companion piece to my erasermight fic halley’s comet with alternative universe scenes or more reunions but i never came around to finish it so i’m just gonna post what i had here because i want it to see the light of day, i actually quite liked what i had so far.

if you dont feel like reading the original story, it’s an au where yagi and aizawa met in the first workplace experience aizawa had while they both were in high school.

before.

“Ah, Aizawa!”

Shōta flinched and turned around. The 1-B class had moved to the training grounds to hold a practical exercise with the two top students of Yūei and now one of them was jogging towards him. Shōta looked at him, his eyes inevitably following the movement of blond bangs swinging from side to side.

“Yagi.”

It was…. cute.

“I didn’t know you were in this class!” The way his smile broadened when he caught up to him felt like a bludgeon to the face. “How’ve you been? I didn’t hear from you since---”

“Oooh, does Aizawa have a private tutor for today’s assignment?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yamada---”

“Oh, hi Yamada!” Yagi slightly bowed his head at the loud underclassman. “Thank you again for inviting me to your radio show!”

Any trace of sarcasm in Yamada Hizashi’s face was wiped away by the honest enthusiasm in that voice. Shōta saw how his best friend started to stand on his tiptoes, his center of gravity shifting towards Yagi.

“Ah! I’m so thankful you can appear on my humble attempt at journalism!”

Shōta  frowned. “You call hero gossip ‘journalism’?”

“Aizawa! So mean! It’s not gossip!”

“You always talk about your so called ‘sources’ but I have yet to--”

A soft chuckle made them both look at Yagi. His blue eyes crinckled at the edges and Shōta could see for the very first time how his eyelashes were the same color of his hair. Shōta closed his mouth so fast it made him wince.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to laugh at you! It’s just that--," he tilted his head. “You really make a great pair.”

They blinked almost in synch but while Yamada laughed in his outdoors level yet again, Shōta lowered his head, trying to hide his flaming cheeks behind his hair.

“Oh, right! You met at field training, right? Did Aizawa behave?”

He frowned. “You are the problem child out of the two of us, Yamada.”

“Aizawa, buddy, you flatter me but you do have a nasty mouth of your own.”

“It’s not nasty if I just state the truth.”

Yagi’s head jumped from one face to the other, like he was following a very close tennis match.

“I’m sorry to say no one wants your truth, dude.”

“Aizawa was a great help, really!” Yagi moved his hands in front of him, like he was trying to physically disperse their worries. “Even if his wording was a bit… eh.”

Shōta glared at him on instinct and Yagi scratched his cheek.

“Even Yagi noticed! Were you mean to him, Aizawa? That’s so not cool.”

“I wasn’t,”  Shōta crossed his arms and tried very hard not to look like a sulking child. “Plus, I learned a lot from my guide," Yagi perked up, his eyebrows lifting in anticipation. Shōta felt his face heating up again.

He knew that--- Yamada knew. His annoying best friend had gotten better at reading him and he was sure he was pale enough for him to notice his blush. If Shōta didn’t say what he knew they were expecting, they would just tease him until he gave in. He would probably feel even more embarrassed and end up in an awkward position. It would be better if he made it quick, painless.

Like ripping off a band-aid.

Shōta blinked. “And Yagi, too.”

That earned him a pleased smile and a soft flush colouring still-round cheeks. In the heartbeat before Yamada started cooing at him, Shōta thought it was worth it.

“Does Aizawa have---”

“Hey, Yagi!” They turned their heads towards the voice and were met by a menacing scowl. “Get your ass over here, we have to start the demonstration.”

“Ah, sorry, Todoroki!" He turned back, a slight frown creasing his forehead. “Aizawa, could you stay after class? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Uh--”

“Hurry the fuck up!”

“Coming!”

They saw him jog to the front of the training field where Todoroki waited for him with his hands on his pockets. Shōta blinked. Did he---?

“Did you just get asked out?”

He inhaled. “If you say anything more I swear to god, Yamada, I’ll fill your locker to the brim with cockroaches.”

“Ew! Aizawa, you’re awful!”

The sun was high on the sky, and the nearby trees in the courtyard casted leaves-shaped shadows on Yagi’s face. The bell for lunch break had already rang and the soft buzz of chatter seemed to blanket them in an almost ridiculous amount of normalcy. Here, in his gray school jacket and not in those ridiculous primary colors of his hero outfit, Yagi Toshinori looked exactly 18 years old. A semester away from graduating, but very much a high school boy.

It made Shōta’s pulse quicken.

“So, what did you want to talk about that required this amount of dramatics?”

Yagi’s shoulders fell. “Dramatics?”

“You know, asking me to stay after class, meeting up by the side of the school building,” Shōta shrugged, willing his voice to stay in its usual monotone. “It’s kinda-- too much.”

A pretty red dyed Yagi’s cheeks. “That wasn’t my intention! I just didn’t want to make a big fuss about it, I know how you hate attention.”

“Unnecessary attention,” he corrected. Shōta huffed, moving a few strands of hair from his eyes. “And, Yagi, this probably had the opposite effect.”

He blinked.

“It did?”

“I’m positive, yeah.”

Yagi put a hand -big, with long fingers and thin white scars along the side of it- over his forehead and eyes and groaned.

“I just-- I wanted to ask you about your internship and if you were going to apply to the same place as in the workplace experience.”

Shōta lifted an eyebrow. “Why do you want to know?”

“I really liked pairing up in patrol with you,” Yagi let his hand fall until it was resting against the back of his neck. “I think we make a good team, and I like your perspective on battles.”

Shōta felt something warm expand from the center of his chest. His bones felt light, like they were made out of cotton candy.

“Oh.”

“Ah, but that doesn’t mean I want to force you to apply wherever I’m working! You can make any decision you want, of course!”

Shōta looked at him, at his rosy cheeks and sky blue eyes. At the way a few rays of sunlight had managed to reach his hair between the thick leaves, making a golden halo for the rising star.

He swallowed.

“I won’t be applying to the same hero office.” His voice was a whisper and he gritted his teeth at the way Yagi’s expression fell, how he seemed to wilt under his rejection. “Like I said, I learnt a lot from my guide and--,” he cleared his throat. “From you, Yagi. But that agency was too high profile for me, and I want to be able to work in more--- underground environments.”

He lowered his gaze.

“Ah, I see.”

There was something off about his tone. It was too subdued. It didn’t go with the boldness of his smile or the determination of his eyes. Shōta resisted the urge to look up.

It felt like something bigger had happened, bigger than just talking about a course. A divergence in the road, a clean cut. A crash of principles.

Shōta bit his lip until it became numb, shielded by his hair.

“Well, sorry about taking up your time, Aizawa.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll see you around, okay?”

But before he could respond, Yagi had left.

after.

Toshinori had been looking. Not as closely as he would have liked, not as openly either, but he had. That was how he could recognize him so quickly, even though his hair was longer and his scarf obscured most of his face. He grinded his teeth together to stop himself from saying his name out loud.

Aizawa Shōta restrained the unconscious villain with his capture weapon, tying him up to a lighting post.

Toshinori spared a heartbeat to look at his back, his figure framed by the soft glow of the street lamp. Then he wrestled the mutant user who had a shock absorption quirk to the ground, effectively burying him in the concrete so only his legs stuck out, flailing.

“Thank you, fellow hero!”

Eraserhead turned around and Toshinori had to restrain the shiver that wanted to follow the line of his spine. His eyes weren’t red but they bored into him like he was trying to dissect him by gaze alone.

Oh.

“If I knew you were at the scene I wouldn’t have come.”

Oh.

“Well, I am very glad you came to help! That villain’s quirk was proving to be quite annoying!”

Aizawa looked at the rest of the villain gang who were passed out in different parts of the street, some hanging from street lamps and others doubled over garbage cans.

“You say that but at most it probably delayed you by just a few seconds,” he hid his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t it, Mister Number 1 Hero?”

Toshinori wanted to pull at his bangs in frustration. He laughed instead.

“But my friend! A second can be vital in a fight where you are outnumbered!” He stretched his smile and saw him narrow his eyes. “Particularly something as dangerous as heat vision, if you hadn’t intervened the damages to the nearby buildings would have been greater.”

He didn’t reply to that, but knowing his underclassman that was probably the best response he could get. Toshinori started looking for something he could use as a rope to hold the members of the gang together while they waited for the police force to come get them.

But a faint rustling made him look up. Eraserhead was already on top of a lighting post, making his exit.

“You’re leaving?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Do you need me to hold your hand until the cops arrive?”

“Shouldn’t you stay to give your account of the attack so they can make their report?”

“I don’t need that, I’m not big on getting my name on police files.”

“But I didn’t subdue them alone.”

Eraserhead shrugged. “You can take the credit for all I care.”

“I don’t take credit for other people’s work.”

They both blinked. Toshinori unclenched his fists, wondering with a pang of apprehension if he had let his uneasiness leak into his posture. Aizawa’s eyes surveyed every line in his expression, but they weren’t glowing red.

They never were, when he was looking at him.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to imply you did,” he licked his lips and he lifted his chin, like he was trying to get a better look at Toshinori. “It’s just that I don’t mind since I literally just spent two seconds actually doing something here.”

He felt his face getting warm and thanked the protection of the shadows of the night. He hadn’t let his temper get the best of him since his debut.

“I’m very sorry, I was rude.”

“You really weren’t.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were implying--”

Eraserhead snorted. “It really doesn't need to be as complicated as you are making it.”

“Oh, okay.”

They regarded each other for a few seconds. Toshinori searched for the last remains of that short lived laugh on his face but Aizawa’s capture weapon didn’t let him. He bit his lip, the distance between them weighing him down like lead. He searched for things to say, to break the silence, to reach him like when they patrolled downtown Tokyo during their high school years.

He found nothing.

“Thank you for everything again.”

Eraserhead made a noncommittal noise.

“I hope I see you again, hero...?”

“Eraserhead. And I’m sure you won’t need to.”

And with that, Aizawa  Shōta left. Toshinori kept his gaze on the lighting post, watching him leave him. Again.  

[starlit-scifi]

Chapter 11

First•Previous•Next

When you wake up, you almost wish you hadn't, you're so sore. Lori’s up already, and she stretches, groaning softly. You blink as she pulls up the shades, filling your tent with natural light, illuminating the outline of her body draped in her baggy pajamas.

Not that you’re really looking. Really.

You roll over and stretch, mindful of your sore muscles, and it feels like every one of your vertebrae cracks back into place. She looks over at you and chuckles.

“That sounds like it felt good,” she says, her voice husky from sleep. You feel your cheeks go pink and quickly rub your eyes in an attempt to hide it.

“It was okay… I’m really sore,” you admit.

“Same,” she replies, plopping down on her sleeping bag to sit beside you. Her hip pops as she crosses her legs, and she winces and readjusts herself. “Stupid real gravity… I definitely wasn't prepared for this part. But once we start moving around, it'll get better.”

“That requires moving, though,” you say with a pout. She rolls her eyes.

“You're reminding me of Manda too much right now.” She grins, mischief in her eyes, and grabs her pillow and smacks you gently with it. “Now get up, or I will drag you out of bed. Don't think I've never done it to her.”

“Okay, okay!” You laugh, wiggling out of range to go find your clothes.

You get dressed, distinctly aware that she's doing the same just a few feet away. But it's normal, or at least it's going to have to be if you want to survive this without something stupid happening.

And nothing stupid is going to happen, you tell yourself firmly, pulling your ponytail a bit tighter before you twist it up into as much of a bun as you can get it in with this humidity.

“Almost ready?” She asks, looking over at you as she double checks the closures on her backpack.

“Yeah, just need my shoes.” You fumble with the laces for long enough that you start to feel self-conscious, and when you finally look up, she's smiling at you.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“It's fine. No rush. We're taking things at your pace today anyway.”

“Y-yeah.”

You step out into the bright jungle morning, colorful foliage and chattering creatures all around, the sweet scent of flowers and the hum of life dancing in the air.

The thickly, horribly humid air.

You're already drenched in sweat when you make it to your first sampling site about ten minutes later. Lori's definitely suffering too; she gulps down water as you set your bag on a convenient rock and get your tools out. She undoes her jacket and sighs in relief.

“Okay,” you say as you look away and try to pull yourself together. “Here we're collecting small invertebrates, and sampling soil microbes for culturing and sequencing. Bug trap or digging?”

“Digging, definitely digging.” She takes the small digging tool when you hand it to her, and you run over how to use it again: Clear the area of debris, press the tip to the soil, and push the button. Eject the sample into a tube, close the tube, move somewhere else and repeat. She watches intently as you demonstrate, and you send her off to do her thing as you do yours.

You've just set up your third trap when she shrieks. You turn to see her surrounded by a cloud of flying insects. Thinking fast, you open your water bottle and slosh the contents at the swarm. “Run!” You shout, heading back the way you think your campsite is. Lori stumbles after you, and as soon as you're sure the insects didn't follow, you stop. She leans heavily against a tree, panting.

“Did they bite you?” You don't see any obvious marks or swelling, but you can’t be too sure.

“No, I don't think so? They were everywhere though, I…” Her eyes widen in horror. “Something's in my shirt--” She struggles her way out of her jacket and her undershirt, and you run to help her as she tries to swat at the insect that's crawling around her mid-back. You manage to catch it in your cupped hands, and it tickles you as it scuttles around. You drop it on the ground and watch as it scurries away into the undergrowth.

“It looked like some kind of beetle… you probably just disturbed a nest.”

She shudders. “Well they can keep their nest, and stay far, far away from me.” She hugs her arms to her chest, and a moment later you realize you're staring at her, so you pick up her jacket instead and try to shake the dust off. There's another bug crawling on it, and you casually pick it off rather than mention it to her. You wait until she's done wrestling her shirt back on before handing the jacket over.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Ready to head back?"

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Yeah."

"Sorry for being such a baby about bugs," she says quietly after a minute.

"Don't be. We're all scared of things. And it pays to be cautious-- even though in theory nothing on this planet can really hurt us, it's better to be careful anyway."

"I know, I know. I was actually awake for that lecture," she adds with a chuckle.

"Yeah, gotta love paradise planets."

She smiles, then yelps and ducks as another beetle flies past her head. "Why does paradise have to involve so many bugs?"

You shrug. "The beetle-like shape is generally an advantageous bauplan in terrestrial environments. Earth had massive diversity in insects, especially beetles, before the ecosystem started to collapse. In fact, if any macroscopic animals survived, it's probably the insects."

"That's impressive."

"They're pretty resilient."

She smirks. "That's probably why the Denilian nickname for us is their equivalent of 'insect', right?"

You laugh. "Let's keep telling ourselves that."

By the time evening comes, you're both exhausted, dirty, and beyond sore. You eat in silence and clean yourselves up the best you can before retreating to the tent. You change into pajamas, but she just undresses and flops down on her sleeping bag with a tired groan.

“What's up?” you ask, settling down beside her.

“I'm just… gross. We've done field training before, just never somewhere so sweaty.”

“The closest I've been to being in this kind of climate was a sauna at a spa resort. It was on a planet where you couldn’t breathe the air outside, but you could see the rainforest through the window…”

She laughs. “That is a completely foreign concept to me.”

“Well, you see,” you say in your absolute snobbiest voice, “A window is a piece of transparent material integrated into the structure of--” You dodge the balled-up sock she throws at you, and then the other one, laughing the whole time. She just shakes her head, still smiling.

“I mean the whole spa resort thing. Was that really normal for you growing up?”

You shrug. “My parents travel a lot, and most colonial governments try to treat them pretty well. As soon as I was old enough, they decided to bring me along too, since I'd presumably be doing the same eventually. And I know that kind of thing is a big waste of money and resources… but it can be pretty nice. It just feels good to get pampered like that.”

“Must be nice… Back home I don't even go places to get my hair cut, I have a cousin who does it for me.”

“That's nice. We just have bots for that kind of stuff. It's a bit ridiculous.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “Tusies,” she mutters, and you throw her socks right back at her. You're both too exhausted to do much else, so you lie there side by side.

“Tell me you don't have bots that give massages, too,” she grumbles.

You laugh. “We do, and I'd kill to have one here right now.”

“Same.” She turns to look at you pleadingly. "I'll give you a massage if you give me one. Just… rub my shoulders. Or my calves. Real gravity sucks and I'd like to be able to walk tomorrow,” she mutters.

“Um. Sure. I can try, at least, I don't know if I'd be any good…”

“At this point,” she says dryly, rolling over, “I'm willing to take that chance.”

You scoot over towards her and gingerly press your palms against her back.

“I've… never really done this before…”

“For starters, you can get on top of me, that way you can press harder. Use the bottom of your hand, or your thumb-- ah…” You back off quickly. “No, no, that was good,” she says. “Keep going.”

You do, mostly just guessing based on the noises she makes and that one lecture on human musculoskeletal structure you vaguely remember from your first year. By the time she asks you to move on to her legs, you're grateful, since straddling her was getting a bit uncomfortable-- your legs are sore, too.

She cries out when you press your thumbs into her right calf, and you snatch your hands away.

“I'm okay, I'm okay,” she gasps. “Just… stars. Be gentle.”

You do your best. She whimpers softly when you give it another try, but tells you to keep going. When she's had enough, she rolls over.

“Alright. Your turn.”

“More like your turn for revenge,” you mutter. She grins.

“Now you get it. Come on.”

You didn't realize how much tension you had been carrying in your shoulders, or how much of the soreness in your feet was coming from your calves.

You also didn't realize what it would do to you, to have those strong hands tease every bit of tightness from your poor muscles.

After she's done, you lay there a while in tingling bliss, until she gently puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, Aurie,” she whispers, “You awake?”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “What’s up?”

She chuckles softly. “You're just halfway on my sleeping bag.”

“Oh. Sorry.” You scoot over to your own, and she settles down in hers. You're almost asleep when you hear her say something.

“Hm?”

“Just wanted to say thanks,” she murmurs. “It helped a lot.”

“No problem.” But there is a problem, you add silently, with how good it feels…

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