#but it ends up with them being super close and you can see frank fighting against himself

[gottagobackintime]

"It's not possible… this. Why can't you see that?" "We just brought a stag-headed girl to an orphanage to be looked after by a woman with fire for hands and a… debutante giantess! I think what is possible is very much up for debate."

[dyaz-stories]

With the latest chapter out, what are your thoughts on it? Other than how they mentioned Gojo. I remember hearing something about a faceless(hidden) character that kind of looks like Kenjaku/Geto at the end.

Spoiler-free opinion is that I generally enjoyed the chapter! It's very in line with what to expect from a shonen epilogue. That's what I thought we were going to get immediately post-Sukuna defeat, mostly because that's usually how that goes.

We're starting to close the curtains on the characters, we see that life goes on, what's changed, etc. It's cute, it's a sweet farewell to the characters. I don't care about some of the ones we see in the chapter, but I love most of them, so I'm happy about that! I'm still really upset with the way Gojo is handled, so I'm going to get a little more in depth with all that under the cut.

We conclude really quickly on Tengen but it's not super clear to me what's going on, nor do I care too much to be frank. We do see Gakuganji telling Utahime and Nitta 'not to worry' because they're still young, so that's a definite shift from the beginning of the manga — less urgency, less responsibility on their sole shoulders, the cycle is broken, all of that.

(peep the really cute panel of Noritoshi with his family — he wasn't my favorite but I thought that was sweet. He's no longer chained to his clan, yet another change from the beginning of the manga.)

Then we close a few plotines with characters I, honestly, didn't care for (the mangaka Hakari fought with, Yuuji's acquaintance who used to be a bully, the sumo/samurai that helped Maki have her awakening), but there is an interesting line about how they've gone public with the existence of curses.

So things have changed, and with the public knowing about it, maybe a future where humans learn to channel their cursed energy, like Yuki Tsukumo hoped for, is an option? There's hope.

(It is quite random since we hadn't heard about that before, but I can accept something like that because clearly a lot of weird stuff had happened and there needed to be some explanation for the non-sorcerers)

I like the Megumi and Angel interactions we get — she was always an interesting character to me and I wish we'd seen more of her. I also like the idea of characters deciding to help each other out. It seems that Megumi does it partially out of guilt, which I'm not a huge fan of, but supporting a character who's lost an arm in battle feels, again, like an evolution from the start of the manga. She's not going to be left to fend for herself like Geto was, and isn't that a great thing?

And I like that the chapter ends up with them taking up a new mission — we know that curses couldn't disappear, so life goes on. Yuuji goes back to helping people, like he's always wanted to do, and honestly I'm quite happy with that. There wasn't a permanent solution to curses unless people were willing to commit a genocide, but there were ways of making things easier. Because non-sorcerers know about curses, they can reach out directly to sorcerers before anyone dies (...well we'll see about that next chapter, but that's what it looks like), which should in turn limit curses' opportunity to get super strong undetected. Ijichi actually starts by talking about a "victim", but then we see everyone's okay and they take the cursed person to get a physical, so they should be fine. Lots of evolution shown in the chapter!

(the trio back togetherrrrr, they're so cute!)

Now, to the things I wasn't a fan of.

Like you said, there is something about Kenjaku. I don't know if you'd read this plotline, but there was this character, Fumihiko Takaba, who was this unfunny comedian. He's the one who fights Kenjaku and distracts him enough for Yuuta to kill him without too much of a struggle. Kenjaku has this whole thing about how this was the first time he'd had this much fun in centuries, being in a 'comedic duo' with that guy. Now it was a really weird couple of chapters, and it looks like he gets someone to join his duo. We don't see his face, but yeah, it looks like Kenjaku in Geto's body.

Now I don't think that's him but it is imo something about... idk, reincarnation, cosmisc alignment, whatever. I'm pretty indifferent to that — I didn't care about that guy nor about Kenjaku. However, to see both of them get a closure that I don't feel we've gotten for Gojo kills me. At this point I feel confident that Gege feels the airport scene was all the closure needed, and I just... yeah I just disagree.

The chapter actually opens on a gravestone — Tsumiki's. Shoko and Megumi are there, paying their respects. But we don't see a headstone for Gojo or a funeral of any king, which I'd been hoping for if it's because he's alive I'll eat literally all of my words but at this point I think there's a 0% chance of that

In fact, we're told that Shoko dealt with Tsumiki's remains, which were cremated. And then this.

...I'm just tired of this at this point. When I was reading the manga, I was talking to a friend and said that it didn't feel like anyone liked Gojo. People can have respect for him, admire him, hate him, etc. but it never felt like anyone liked him. Even the characters that I think would have had the better chance of having some reaction to him (Shoko, Yuuji, Yuta, Megumi), from what we see, just... didn't care for him that much, you know? [I think there are solid arguments against that and I know for sure that's not how I'm going to write them, but imo that is what we are seeing play out at the moment] So, in turn, it's making me feel silly for caring as much as I do. It just... feels like he never mattered. He's been erased from the narrative, and I hate it.

The scene ends with Shoko throwing away her cigarette. It probably has a lot of symbolical significance — we know that she stopped smoking in high school and picked it up again in Shibuya because she was nostalgic of her high school days.

I guess this means those days are fully behind her now. Because there's no one left.

[kudzucataclysm]

ramble below the cut about Vincent and Frank- heavy topics like abuse and drugz are mentioned but i dont delve too deep into it so BEWARB

Francis at the start was already an extremely complicated person at just 10 years old; coming from a background of severe neglect, physical abuse, total abandonment, AND just getting out of the accident that caused her her amnesia.

Vincent on the other hand was a runaway homeless teenager struggling with depression and anxiety- she wasn’t equipped to help herself or anyone else. She wasn’t ready to take on the responsibilities of caring for an alien child while at the same time dealing with her own feelings of not really giving a shit about herself.

To be frankly (heh) honest, Vincent didn’t keep Francis around really to help her, but instead to…give HERSELF a reason to live; Francis for a while was Vincent’s purpose to live, and emotionally invested a lot into this emotionally unstable and disturbed alien child. But still, 18 is YOUNG to be taking care of a child. Taking into consideration that Francis already had plenty of issues (that Vincent willingly chose to ignore), it was only a matter of time before the situation spiraled out of control. Eventually Vincent began more or less trying to distance herself from Francis because around this time she fell into heavy substance abuse, which once resulted in Francis getting into her stash…that night did not end well.

While the two were super close for a couple years, it obviously wasn’t…great.

See, in Vincent’s line of work, having a Chimera around (even…a 10 year old one..) was very beneficial. Working as a ‘debt collector’ of sorts and also a drug dealer, Vincent often had Francis hang around with her for muscle and many times had Francis do a ton of dirty work for her. Basically, Vincent used Frank as a shield against anyone who would want to go after her, and while she felt kinda bad (*wobbles hand*) she often justified it in a, “I provide food and shelter for us so it's only fair” way. Since she ALSO used Frank as an emotional rock….aye aye aye

Francis meanwhile was straight up openly hostile to anyone who tried to get close to Vincent to the point of being an absolute fucking menace to anyone (to JACK notoriously) who wasn’t Vince. To Francis, Vincent was more or less her person, her guardian, and she often clung to the older girl like a barnacle on a whale. Francis was TERRIFIED of being abandoned again, and despite the fact that she looked up to Vince, the two often got into fights with one another; bad enough to draw blood but not anything super serious- Francis, to avoid feeling bad about anything would blame Vincent for the fight and force Vince to apologize. And once Vince started doing harder drugs and began to more or less check out, well…

Vincent had wracked up a pretty significant debt; she was regularly partaking of her own stash and stealing money from other people she worked with at the time. So Antumbra was hired to confront her and get her to pay up-

Now for y’all, I haven’t talked about Antumbra, or how it works: Antumbra is a semi-underground company of assassins, cleaners, and hitmen in the NEC who by all means operate by the law. To keep this short, children can be used as…exchange, or payment, to them. You need someone dead but you have no money? Your next child or next born closest relative will be your compensation.

-And Vince, in the throes of her addiction to heroin and opioids, offered Francis to pay off the debt.

and THAT didn’t end well for ANYONE.

[unohanadaydreams]

So, I was randomly thinking about the start of WA and especially about Yachiru & Nemu & Nanao’s dynamic. Keep in mind that they’ve known each other since Nemu was a child. It would certainly explain Nemu’s attitude toward WA & Yachiru in particular. She has a child-like loyalty and sense of purpose when it comes the WA & Yachiru is the only person we see (even if it’s a joke panel) that inspires jealousy from Mayuri other than Urahara & probably Senjumaru.

We know that Zaraki became a captain not too long after the events of the Pendulum Arc because he killed the Kenpachi who was presented in that flashback.

And we know Mayuri didn’t create Nemu until 6 previous failures, which gives a lot of wiggle room for Kenpachi to have become a captain even before the 7th and titular Nemu was born.

Nanao was also really young in the flashback, so they probably had a close  enough bond to start the WA together. Unohana is the supervising chairwoman so you can imagine that it started out as Nanao’s pet project to herald in (supervised) improvements around the Seireitei (Nanao was also the eldest). She probably had the idea that all three of them would grow into the club, but as Yachiru didn’t end up growing in age or goals, she became the honorary president (mascot).

Honestly, it makes me wonder what kind of journey of realization Nanao had to go through when it came to Mayuri’s treatement of Nemu as well as Nemu’s lack of wanting things to change or understanding that things could change. Yachiru probably has a very childish view of the situation ie ‘if Nemu didn’t want to be treated that way she could fight back to stop it or die trying, so if Nemu’s fine with the situation then so am I’ (she is, after all, the reflection of a very childish power and emotional state). But I’ve always wondered what journey Nanao had to go on in regards to Nemu’s treatment.

Nemu is a very frank person. She speaks of her father’s atrocities with pride and doesn’t view them as taboo like most people would. And Nanao grows into a person who intimately understands she must control what she can. I’m sure that conversation with her psuedo-uncle (but also real uncle) was super fun! Especially if she caught Shunsui in a ponderous, drunken state.

Like the WA just being a little club for a handful of girls in the Seireitei struggling to grapple with their inability to utilize the power that should be inherent in their high positions within the Gotei 13 and eventually turning into something more fun than functional, but still wildly successful. Like little Nanao dreaming up so many changes with her odd duck companions Yachiru & Nemu turning into Nanao using WA as a glorified fundraiser because she knows better now while Yachiru & Nemu just have fun with it.

[harrison-abbott]

When I was in my first year at university I lived in student halls. That were organised by a fairly decrepit company that ripped off lots of young people, including me, to live in their gnarly accommodation.

In my first year the rooms were mixed; so I lived with six other people in a flat: four girls and two boys. We were all super young. Most of them were either seventeen or eighteen, and I was nineteen.

One girl was called Michaela, and another Alice. And one night they had a huge fight.

I didn’t see it. Only heard it. It was Michaela’s birthday, and she was having a party and drinks in the communal kitchen. Which was right next to Alice’s bedroom. And, Alice’s boyfriend, Blake, was staying over.

Blake got angry about the noise, and he bashed into the kitchen and started yelling at the party goers, and asked them to leave. Michaela got mad, in turn, because it was her birthday, and felt that she was being chucked out. So, she and her friends left. Apparently there was a scuffle between Blake and a boy who was at the party, in the corridor. But I didn’t hear this either.

Throughout the night, way into the a.m. hours, I heard banging and shrieking from Michaela, as she came back and forth into the flat. And at one point there was a massive crack of the front door.

In the morning, Michaela and Alice had a huge oral fight. It was right outside my door and they were both shouting at each other. Michaela attacking Alice’s boyfriend and Alice trying to stick up for him. And the ‘best bit’ was when Alice walked away from the argument and said, with impressive sarcasm, “Happy birthday.”

Anyway. When I went down the corridor, I found that the front door had been broken. Michaela had smashed it the night before. My only concern, whatsoever, was that I wasn’t going to pay to get it repaired. Fuck that. [I didn’t have to, in the end. Michaela paid for the repair.]

And I didn’t really know the whole story and didn’t care. This all happened in February: and we’d moved in together the previous September. I hadn’t really befriended any of them. We just didn’t have mutual interests. Was a bit unlucky.

Micheala and Alice never, ever, made up after the argument. And they stopped speaking to each other completely. Alice’s boyfriend Blake still came around afterwards, to visit. Until Micheala went and made a complaint to the housing/halls company that she didn’t want him here in the flat. And they legally ‘blocked’ him from coming back.

Yeah. There you go. I grew up in quite a tumultuous household myself. And remember arguments. But, Jeeso: the one above the girls ^ was so trivial that it gave me a different perspective on anger. To be frank, I thought Michaela was a vile character from quite early on. I remember I saw her on the campus, in my second year, after I’d moved out from this initial flat. And she recognised me and glanced at me with this disgusted look of dislike. For what, I’m not quite sure. I simply walked past her without a word.

And I am not saying that I was a total angel myself when I was nineteen. I wasn’t.

It’s just that it surprised me how wrathful the two girls could be with each other over something so silly.

I’d be in the kitchen making food, and Michaela would be there sitting on the couch. Alice would walk in, and they totally blanked each other. As far as I’m aware there wasn’t a single word passed between them post-argument.

It kinda changed my perspective of how arguments can destroy relationships. Because [I should have said this before] Michaela and Alice were actually close friends for the first five months that they knew each other. They were mates; they did stuff together, were close. And then it was all severed after that one frivolous night.

The incident made me realise that my own household growing up, with all of its tantrums and shouting, wasn’t so bad in comparison.

[ziracona]

Here is all of it. So I don't have to keep digging through my ancient side blog to find it again.

The context is so hyper specific. The shortest possible version (still long) is it's Nancy Drew Game fic. AU where on a mission for ATAC, Frank and Joe get set up by a minor criminal who pretended to want to help them, Joe is shot, Frank captured by a spy ring and tortured for two years. Goes completely insane both with grief and the torture. After getting free and seeking vengeance, becomes paranoid the same thing that happened to Joe will happen to Nancy, the only person he has right now that he cares about. Kidnaps a bunch of minor criminals who knew Nancy, out of his paranoid fear she will suffer the same fate, and a kind of 'I can save him by saving her' deluded attempt to deal with his own guilt and loss. Puts them in a complex like, Jigsaw situation in a bunker, where they're given lots of mystery puzzle things, and ethical quandaries, meant to give them a chance to prove they don't deserve to die, and him a chance to kill them really personally if they do. Terrible plan. He's a mess. Goes in with them as a 'kidnap victim' too, pretending to be Alec Fell, to keep a close eye on them and get the full detail version of events. Uses Henry at gunpoint as a mouthpiece to give the illusion of a game master on the outside. As literally anyone could have predicted, because every part of this is completely insane, everything falls apart. No one involved deserves murder. Befriending people you might kill messes you up. It's hard to spend /weeks/ being fake friends without catching feelings. He gets way too emotionally involved in everything almost immediately and steadily freaks out more and more as he begins to realize how bad he's messed up. Extremely like ride-or-die (almost literally in several fights) friends with Nick, and very close to the Hubbard twins, Grigor, Dylan, and Rentaro as well. Weird relationship with Henry, who is kind of trapped as his almost killed about four times semi-confidant for the entire encounter. Frank does snap out of this, but realizes way too late that the two years of psychological and physical torture left him super warped and not okay and has gone completely insane and nothing he's doing makes sense and this is all really bad, and decides to stop in the first moment of clarity he has since Joe's death. This is the resulting fallout. He killed three people, pretended to kill four more, and one pretended to kill herself to have a cover to sneak around without being missed to try and help everyone escape. They're mid one of his little 'test' events when he made this call.

---[[1/6 parts. 5 Ending segments, one pre-WDM. This is the pre-WDM situation. Frank having the OG breakdown that leads to this whole thing, after he escapes Zhiming syndicate: ]]

---Year Two

He kept running, past the door, past the steps and the sidewalk.  He lost his footing, or his legs gave out, and his knees and palms met pavement. 

He gasped and felt fresh air enter his lungs for the first time in, God, months, years?

His hands were shaking uncontrollably, but he could barely see them through blurred eyes.  He could feel tremors starting in his core and traveling the course of his whole body, wracking him uncontrollably.  He managed to focus on the ground ahead of him.  Blood, blood everywhere.  Had he cut his hands, or was it just from…him?  From something else?  God, how much of him was even left?

Behind him the night sky shattered into a million pieces as a momentous explosion erupted from deep within the tower building behind him.  He threw his hands up to shield his head.  The shockwave knocked him back into something, and his vision went black and red for a minute, until it slowly melted into the yellow-orange of the flames consuming the building.

Frank Hardy tried to stand, but his legs weren’t working.  He punched his leg, but he couldn’t even feel it.

Come on!  Get up!  GET UP!  You don’t have much time.

His hands were still shaking.  Dark red.  Was it blood, or was the skin just gone?   He couldn’t remember.  He couldn’t think right, but he hand to.  The drugs, the drugs were still in his system. 

Frank tried to breathe.  It came out in gasps and ended in coughs.  He clung to the object the blast had knocked him into, and tried to steady himself.

Lukewarm metal under his hand.  What was it?  He looked.  It took a second to focus. 

A motorcycle.

Frank dragged himself up, adrenaline kicking back in with a renewed sense of purpose.  His fingers began to fiddle with cords, trying to remember how to hotwire.  He kept fumbling—shocked himself once.  Thank God muscle memory was working, and his hands were doing most of it on their own.  He couldn’t think straight.  His hands.  His hands were the hands of a skeleton.  He could only imagine the rest of himself.

The motorcycle purred to life, and he let out a deep sigh of relief.  Noticing the helmet for the first time, Frank put it on.  Good, it would cover his face.  Maybe he wouldn’t be stopped.

He dragged himself on top of the bike.  Sirens were going off in the distance.  He had to move fast.  No one could still be alive in the building behind him, and he knew for a fact that three of them were dead.  No…Not three.  Three in the room, then two outside, and…another…six?  More? 

Why?  He’d been so focused, but now his memories were falling apart.  It was like the explosion had broken the flimsy wall he’d constructed in his mind to hold his sanity in.  Everything was fading, crumbling.  It was so hard to think.  Joe. 

Frank hit the gas and sped out of the parking lot.

He drove until the gas light came on, and he pulled over in a secluded part of town.  Quiet.  Closed stores.  Apartments nearby.  Vaguely familiar.  He found a wall and parked, and leaned against it.

Joe.  What year was it?  He had to find him!  He had to find Joe.  He had to get help.  ATAC.  Why hadn’t anyone come for him? They had to looking, and if they were, they would be nearby.  But where to start?  He needed new clothes, a disguise.  Something to stop the bleeding.  He had to find Joe—he had to still be alive, he was, he knew it—he had to be.  Where—where to start?  How—

He became aware of something.  Pain?  Worse than normal?  Or was it…

He looked down.  The cut in his side was still slowly letting fluid seep out.  Very slowly, but still.  He had to find a way to stop it.

He couldn’t die.  Not until Joe was safe.

He could find the Embassy…No, no—if Zhiming knew he was alive, they’d know he was coming for them.  If they still had Joe, they might—no, he couldn’t let them know he was alive.  But where?

“Oh my God.  Frank?” 

He looked up, ready to run, or kill the speaker.  When he saw him, he did neither.  He collapsed.  Somehow, his body realized it was okay to do so now, and stopped pretending it could keep him upright.

Ned Nickerson dropped his bag of groceries and ran, cutting his knees open, skidding on the pavement in time to catch him in his arms, and keep Frank’s head from hitting the pavement.

“Frank!  Oh God, what did they do to you?  I’ll call an ambulance, please, just hang on!”

Frank was losing sensations, losing consciousness, but he could see Ned’s panicked face looking down through a haze of grey fog.

“Don’t…Please, you can’t tell anyone I’m alive.  I need you to no…t…or…”  Frank faded out.

-

Frank Hardy opened his eyes.  He didn’t recognize the sensation at first.  Comfort.  He was on something soft.  It was warm, and dry.  Something…smelled?  Nice?  The ceiling was white plaster.  Where was he?  What kind of sick trick were they using today?  It wasn’t going to work, he wasn’t—no!

Frank shot upright. 

He’d killed them!  He’d escaped, he had—

“Frank?”

He turned his head.  A familiar face greeted him.  She’d been sitting by the bed; her face held a mixture of extreme emotions.  She looked like she was going to cry.

“N…Nancy?”  His voice.  He hadn’t heard it for a long time.  Until he’d spoken to Ned.  Ned?  He looked up and saw him, standing behind Nancy, looking worried and relieved.

“Frank, oh, I’ve been looking for you!”  Nancy threw her arms around his neck and hugged him—trying her hardest to be gentle.  “For two years!  I never stopped—I knew it, I knew you were alive!”

Frank didn’t hug her back.  He couldn’t remember how, or his arms weren’t responding.  Why?

Tears were streaming down her face, and he could feel her chest heaving.  It hurt.  But he didn’t mind.  A different…a different kind of pain.  There were different kinds of pain, that was right.  Some of them were okay.  He’d forgotten.

He looked up and saw Ned.  He could tell he was trying to keep it together, but silent tears were streaming down his face.  A strange sensation welled up in his chest.  For a second he thought he was having a heart attack, because he didn’t remember what it felt like to laugh, but then he was laughing and remembered.  It hurt.  In a good way.  His hand went up slowly and he hugged Nancy with the arm that was easier to move.

Nancy finally let go and pulled back.  Her face was stained with tears.  “Frank, what happened?”

Frank shook his head, trying to put his thoughts together.  “I was…Joe and I.  We had a case, and this man—he, he turned on…He—“suddenly, the memories slammed into his head, as merciless and hard as a sledgehammer.  He reeled backwards, bringing his hand to his face.  Joe.  God, no.  No, no, no.  He saw it.  Bai Guo, grabbing him, the gun—using Joe as a shield.  He’d shot Frank.  He shot me…No…no, no, no, no…no.  God please, no.  Through Joe.  He saw the gun flash, the bullet tearing through Joe’s chest, slamming into him after killing his brother.  Killing? 

“No!”

“Frank, Frank what’s wrong?”  He felt Nancy’s hand on his shoulder.

“It can’t.”  He finally broke.  One second of facing reality did what two years of physical and psychological torture couldn’t.  The memory of Joe—he hadn’t meant to accept it.  But he finally had.  And his mind shattered with the wall of denial he’d fought to keep up.

He didn’t remember much from those few days.  He remembered crying.  He remembered memories, or nightmares, all sorts of contorted things in his head.  Thoughts—images.  Real, not real?  Who knew.  They destroyed him, a piece at a time.  He remembered the memories of Joe the week before it had happened, watching Jumanji on the plane, Joe completely wasting his opportunity to try Chinese cuisine by requesting McDonalds.  And, God, had he really been so mean to him?  Had he had to make fun of him for that?  Couldn’t he have just smiled at him, one more time?  Couldn’t he have said something else to him, with his last words?  Why did they have to be “Don’t mess this up?”  Why did they have to be…? 

He remembered Nancy, and Ned.  They were both there a lot.  Feeding him, healing him.  Looking after him.  But those memories were foggier than the ones inside his head.  They were worried—he’d known that.  But they’d honored his request not to take him to a hospital.  Nancy had called his father, to let him know.  He had held the phone.  He remembered that part clearly.  Nancy’s voice, saying “Fenton?  You might want to sit down.  One of your sons is alive—“He’d cut her off, his dad had, asking about something.  Nancy had tried to say something a few times, but had given up and handed the phone to Frank.

Frank remembered it so clearly, taking the phone. His dad’s voice.

“Frank?  Joe?”

Which one.  “Frank.”  He’d answered.  Speaking the word had hurt.  If it could have just been the other name.

“Frank?  Oh, Frank, thank God it’s you.”

“Thank God it’s you.”

He’d hung up.  Nancy had called his dad back, explained Frank wasn’t doing so well, convinced him not to tell anyone his son was alive.  She’d seemed to have been successful, but Frank hadn’t cared. 

Thank God it’s you.

--

---[Current time. WDM events aftermath]]----

-

--- Endings (1/5)

“It’s getting late,” said Dylan nervously, “Why hasn’t something happened?”

Two hours ago, their rooms had unlocked, and they’d walked back into the common area, and everyone had been there but Alec. Well, everyone still alive, thought Kim. The door to ‘Niobe’s Room’, where they had seen him last, was still locked. They had knocked on it and called for him, and gotten no answer. Nick had even tried to break it down, but nothing had happened at all. Not even a reprimand from their captor, watching on the camera system.

But he can’t be dead, thought Kim, trying to avoid the most likely reality, He won the last challenge. He had immunity. He wasn’t Scared.

But. But she and Dylan had been. After everything people had gone through the past couple of weeks, they were close, and Alec was nice. Nice and rash, and what if he’d…what if he’d made some kind of bargain? What if this close to the end, he’d traded immunity for one of them. No, you don’t know that. He’s probably okay. Maybe he’s not in there. Maybe winning the case got him a reward, and he’s somewhere else being given information. You don’t know he’s dead.

She was so scared thinking about it.

Nick looked like he felt about the same. He kept pacing the hall, pausing by the door to Niobe’s Room to listen, and then walking again. Agitated. Muttering to himself.

Rentaro and Dylan were together against the wall across from the door, Rentaro sitting with his knees tucked up, Dylan standing. Both exhausted.

“Why hasn’t something happened?” echoed Kim in her head. Dylan or she should have been dead by now. They had talked, and Nick had promised to try to protect her if she got attacked, back in Grigor’s Room, and she knew if something came for Dylan right now, they’d have all done the same, but she’d known how low the odds of surviving were. I’m so used to being afraid I don’t think I even feel it normally anymore.

There was a thunk from inside Niobe’s Room.

Nick’s head shot up and he spun on his heel and ran to the door. “Alec!” He banged against the metal with his fist, “Say something! Are you in there?”

Desperation. She knew exactly how he felt. So many times, they’d almost been able to do something. Rentaro had grabbed the killer, had been so close to saving Jane. But while the sound might mean Alec was back, or waking up, or any number of things, it almost might mean he’d been in there the whole time, and something had finally just killed him. She tried not to imagine that. Not to think about it, squeezing her eyes shut. What had been left of Grigor, Niobe, and Lori still way too fresh in her head. Thinking about the pendulum, the pyre, the stoning. Stop. Don’t. Come on. Rachel’s out there, and she’s doing so well. We’re gonna make it out before anyone else dies. It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.

She had liked Grigor so much…

“Alec!” Nick was more frantic this time, and the sound snapped her out of her head.

Dylan and Rentaro exchanged glances, and then came over to help, trying again to beat the door in. Kim watched them for a second, thinking with a thudding heart about the last case. About how the killer had said they bumped into Grigor in the hall to get his keycard. Apologized and went on. It’s one of us. Or they were lying. They might be lying. But.

The paranoia was killing her, but Kim ignored it and joined the others, trying not to think about being scared of them. “Alec?” she called hopefully, moving to a chunk of the wall because there were three men blocking the door. She pressed her ear against it. Wait, is that. “Shh!” she called, holding up a finger, “Stop making noise!”

They stopped. And she was sure. For just one second after the beating stopped, footsteps.

“Someone’s in there!” she called, “I can hear them walking.”

“I swear to God!” shouted Nick at the door, “If you-“

The door opened.

They all stepped back in surprise, and Kim slid into place beside Dylan in time to see Alec step out, looking unusually haggard. Even for Alec. Looking like first week Alec, stumbling in drunk all the time and barely coherent.

“Oh God,” said Nick, overcome with relief and smiling, going forward to hug him, “We thought you were dead.”

“Don’t,” said Alec, holding up a hand, and looking really different. Far off, and pained.

Nick stopped. Face immediately grave again. “Are you wired to something?” he asked, paling.

A bomb? thought Kim, looking frantically around what she could see of the room for an explanation for why he looked like this.

“Sort of,” said Alec, “I need to talk to you. All of you.”

“Are you in danger?” asked Nick, “What do we need to do.”

“No, just,” Alec hesitated for a second, and he looked at Nick and smiled, and Nick looked relieved, but Kim thought there was something off about the smile. That he looked…sad. “I have to explain something,” said Alec, “Please let me explain all of it.”

The relief on Nick’s face wavered.

Explain?

After what the killer had said last night, they all had to be thinking the same thing. No, Kim told herself, There’s no way it’s Alec. But. She didn’t think it was Nick or Rentaro or Dylan either. Honestly, as doable as it had been to fake Rachel’s death, Kim had kind of suspected it was someone who’d died. That somehow they hadn’t done it for real. And she’d thought the killer was lying about Grigor. If they could program the cards, why bother swapping with him? Just make a new one that can go anywhere. Whoever it is just wants us to not trust each other. Even if Alec says something, I bet it’s because he’s being forced to. Like Henry was. We all thought it was him for a few days, but he just had a gun to his head. I don’t believe it. I know all of these people, and none of them are bad. They’ve all risked their lives to keep me and each other alive. She knew it. She knew it so hard.

“I’m not Alec Fell,” said Alec.

“What?” said Dylan, looking betrayed and worried. She could tell Rentaro was trying to think fast beside him, as lost as she felt.

“He’s a real person, like Moira confirmed, but I’m not him,” said Alec, “I killed him, and I took his place. He was the first body.”

“The-? No,” said Nick, taking a step back. Horror and betrayal flickered across his features, and for the first time Kim had ever seen, she thought he might cry. He stared at Alec, shaking his head. “No.” More conviction in his voice the second time. “I don’t believe it. Alec, I know you. Why are you saying this? What did he say he would do to you?”

“Nobody’s making me say this,” said Alec quietly, watching him and looking almost sad. “My name is Frank. And I’m the one who did all of this.”

“You monster!” shouted Dylan, hurt and enraged at the same time, stepping between her and Rentaro and the person she had thought was Alec, “You did this? You kidnapped us, and kept us scared, and picked us off one by one for weeks while pretending to be our friend?”

Alec watched him, pained, but made no move to do anything. He stayed still. “Yes,” he said quietly, “It was me.”

“Please,” said Nick, almost brokenly, “It can’t have been.”

Alec looked at him for a couple of seconds, and then at the ground. “I wish it wasn’t.” He looked back up at the little group, one by one, and when he met Kim’s gaze, she felt physically ill. She didn’t know who she was looking at. “About three years ago, I lost my brother,” said Alec. Very little emotion in his voice, but a tone to it and a look on his face like he was feeling many things, and simply doing a good job repressing them all. Like a storm building that just hadn’t broken yet.

No…Not Alec, realized Kim slowly, feeling…sad? Which wasn’t the emotion she had expected. She was feeling a lot of things, but somehow that was the one that was winning. She wanted to cry. Somehow, it being him made her want to just give up and sit in a corner and not even fight back, and she didn’t know why. Not Alec. What had he said his name was? Frank?

“I was a detective. We were working a case,” continued Frank, tone almost empty. She thought he was trying to sound that way, but he wasn’t quite doing it. Still a little exhausted, a little sad, despite his best efforts. “There was a low level criminal—a petty thief—who’d gotten caught up in the operation a crime syndicate ran. He wanted to flip, to help. The things they were doing were too awful, and he’d never wanted to hurt anybody. We believed him. We met up with him, and our second meeting, he caught us completely off guard. Killed my brother and shot me.”

“What does that have to do with any of us?” asked Rentaro in dismay, “With anyone you murdered? Why? Why would you do this to us?”

“I. I’m trying to explain,” said Frank, a little harried and unsure for the first time since appearing.

“Explain faster,” said Nick, expression hard. Frank looked at him in surprise, and then a very downcast kind of acceptance as he took in the look on his face. He nodded.

“I’ll try to make it as short as I can,” said Frank, not really looking any of them in the face. “Your last case was about what happened to us, so you know some of it anyway. I ended up captive for two years, more or less as a practice tool for their interrogators. After two years of physical and psychological torture, I got lucky. Someone made a mistake, and I broke out. Took the whole building down with me.”

“You’re not explaining anything!” said Dylan, almost more desperate than mad now, “What does any of that have to do with us?”

“You were threats,” said Frank, looking up at him, speaking in the tone of someone trying to describe something they knew it was hopeless to explain. “I—I was. Not thinking. And—no. I was. I was thinking wrong. I didn’t realize how-how messed up I was from the things that had happened. I was just. I didn’t know what to do anymore. But I was so sure. I was so sure, after that, that…anyone who was willing to be any kind of criminal would go as far as they had to. And you were all people someone I was close to knew. I was afraid that…if I didn’t do something, she would die too.”

“W-you,” said Nick, trying to comprehend, “Y-you kidnapped us and killed eight people b-because we knew someone you liked?”

“I know,” said Frank, almost pleading, “I know how it sounds. I know how insane that is. At least.” He looked away a second, eyes moving quickly, “At least I think right now I do. I don’t know.” He looked back at Nick. “It made sense. It made so much sense. I was sure. Of everything I was doing. I knew that I was right. I was… I-I don’t know. I don’t. I don’t know what happened to me. I don’t know how I ended up here. I don’t know why I did this; I don’t know why I didn’t stop. There’s something wrong with me, and I didn’t realize it—I didn’t realize how wrong. How much I changed, in those two years. But it’s done!” He was almost desperate. “It’s over! I’m letting you all go.”

“And what about everybody else?” asked Kim, voice small and caught in her throat. Frank turned his head to look at her, and he looked so deeply sad. Almost wounded. “What about Grigor. He was your friend. He would have died for you. You know he would have. He would have died for any of us. What about the rest of them? Lori, Niobe, Connie, Jane, Moira, Lou? What about the people in that morgue? Al—” She stopped. No. Not Alec. “Frank. What about the people you killed? Jane got scared and wanted you to hold her hand. She was younger than me. She was fourteen. What about them?”

He listened to her whole statement, and then lowered his head. “I can’t do anything about the people I killed.”

“Well we can!” snapped Dylan, taking a step forward, furious. “Jane was fourteen! She was a child! I don’t care what happened to you, you sick—”

“—Jane’s alive!” said Frank desperately, taking a step back into the room, “She’s alive! And so are Niobe, Grigor, and Lori—I haven’t killed anyone since Connie, or, since Lou—Connie wasn’t planned.”

“What?” said Kim at the same time Rentaro said, “They’re alive?”

“Where are they!” asked Nick, turning on him.

“They’re locked up, deeper in the building,” said Frank nervously, taking another step back, “Henry’s already getting them. They’ll be down here in not too long, or he’ll take them to the elevator alone and you’ll see them at the exit. I-I don’t know. I don’t think I told him what to do.”

“You’re lying,” said Rentaro, face falling a little, “They can’t be alive. ...We. We looked at their medical records. Niobe’s hair. Lori’s blood. We saw their—” He stopped and his eyes widened. He stared at Frank. “You changed the records.”

“You believe him?” asked Dylan.

“Think about it,” said Rentaro quickly, “T-the overkill in this case? The weird deaths? How all the bodies were completely unrecognizable? It was them—it was—it was the other corpses. That’s why Niobe was stabbed before being stoned—it wasn’t Niobe—it was Connie. He had to mask her broken ribs. That has to be why the corpse was scalped. We’d have recognized the hair. And that means Lori was Moira. You had to burn her, to make the corpse’s age unrecognizable. Grigor must have been Lou…Or—or maybe Soren—Alec. The-the first guy.”

“Can you prove it?” asked Dylan.

Frank gave a nod and fiddled with his watch for a moment. One of the screens they’d seen messages on before lowered and lit up with a security feed. Kim saw Henry trying to help Lori, who was sobbing and clinging to him, out of a cell. Behind them, in the hall, Grigor was carrying an unconscious Niobe with much shorter hair, a shaky and pale Jane at his side, clinging to the edge of his shirt.

They all just stared at it, trying to undo the mourning and loss over friends felt in the last 48 hours, and before, unable to really comprehend any of it. After a moment, the group on the screen made it to an elevator, and stepped inside, and Frank shut off the screen.

“That’s the down elevator. They’ll be here soon,” said Frank quietly, lowering his arm, “Rentaro’s right about what you all found. Jane was just paralyzed. There was no body double, but she was never dead. Tetrodotoxin creates a very death-like façade when used in smaller doses. You just have to be extremely precise.”

“I don’t understand,” said Kim, turning back to him, “If you felt bad about what you were doing as far back as Jane, why didn’t you stop? W-why kill Connie, why keep going?”

Frank looked at her for a second, and then let out a breath and shook his head. “I…I didn’t regret, I. Was conflicted. I was buying time. To think. I don’t know. I. I was…I thought I knew what I was doing. I.”

He seemed shaky almost. Not physically, but, like mentally he wasn’t on very solid ground. Like first week Alec, but worse.

About thirty feet off, the far elevator opened, and Grigor, Jane, Lori, and Henry stepped off, Niobe still out cold in Grigor’s arms.

“You!” shouted Grigor, picking out Alec-Frank immediately. What had been relief and joy at seeing his friends immediately flipping to rage like a light switch.

“You little psychopath!” said Lori, almost as mad, but kind of scared and hanging by Henry and Grigor.

Grigor gave Niobe a worried look, and then set her on the ground by the elevator, and stormed over.

“Grigor—wait,” tried Henry from behind him, but Grigor wasn’t listening.

“You murdered them!” shouted Grigor, and Kim couldn’t tell if he was more angry or betrayed, advancing on Frank like a musclebound grim reaper, “You pretended to care about us, and you killed them! You said you looked Moira right in the eyes as she died, and you liked it! Lou begged for his life!”

He pushed past a stunned Dylan and Rentaro, and Frank started to back up.

“Wait!” said Frank kind of desperately, holding up his hands in front of him, “Please—just listen to me!”

“Wait?” echoed Grigor, furious but hurt more than anything else, looming over him, “Like you waited? You’re a murderer and a traitor!” He grabbed Frank by his collar and dragged him forward, and Kim had seen Alec fight so she knew he could, but he wasn’t, he was just trying to get free. “Look! Look at them!” Grigor pointed to Jane and Lori and Niobe hovering by the door, and at Henry, halfway to reaching Kim’s group. “Jane survived, and look what even that did to her!”

She didn’t look good. She was pale, and shaky, hiding behind Lori, who looked confused about anyone hiding behind her, but hadn’t tried to make her move. Grigor let go of Frank and punched him in the face with so much force it knocked him back onto the hard marble floor of the replica museum. At his feet, Frank dragged himself up on an arm, looking back up at Grigor and breathing hard.

“I know, I—” tried Frank unsteadily.

“That makes it worse!” said Dylan desperately, moving up himself, “How could you do this to us? We were friends. Nick and Grigor and Rentaro saved your life, and you put them through hell! You put us through so much that Rachel killed herself to try to keep someone else from being murdered!”

“I-I. I know,” said Frank, still on the ground, much shakier, and his eyes found Kim’s, “I. I’m so sorry—I never meant to do that. I…”

“You think that matters?” asked Lori, furious.

Grigor started to take a step towards Frank again, fist already drawn back. Overwhelming amounts of pain on his face.

“Wait! Don’t!” called Henry, struggling to push his way into the room past the little crowd choking the entryway.

Grigor and Dylan did not wait. Kim didn’t even think they really heard him. They were furious, and Kim was too. Rentaro was, Lori was, they all were, and they should be. Grigor was right. How had he done this to them? How could he have…She was seeing things in her head she wished she had never seen. I don’t understand, I don’t understand. I just…I don’t…I…

On the floor, Frank watched them coming and started to drag himself back up unsteadily, gripping a display for support, and then suddenly Nick was between him and them, back to Frank.

“Wait,” said Nick, holding his hands up.

They did, for Nick, but they didn’t want to. There was so much pain and anger and confusion and betrayal in the air that Kim was choking on it.

“We’re not gonna do this,” said Nick, glancing behind himself to see where Frank was, and then back at the other two.

“Nick,” started Dylan.

“Please!” said Henry, finally breaking through the little group, “Listen to him! You can’t kill him!”

Nick, Grigor, and Dylan glanced at him in surprise.

“We can and should!” snapped Lori, “He deserves it!”

“He’s—the whole place is rigged,” explained Henry, shaky and out of breath, “If his heart stops beating, this whole place will blow up and we’re all dead!”

“Fine,” said Grigor, not looking anymore, eyes fixed on Frank and breathing raggedly. Furious, so upset he seemed like he might cry, “Some broken bones won’t make his heart stop beating.”

“No,” said Nick, stepping into his way again, keeping between him and Frank.

“Nick—I know he was your friend,” said Dylan, “He was my friend too, but he was never Alec! He’s dangerous! This isn’t just about revenge—if we don’t stop him, who knows what he’ll do? You’ve seen the kinds of things that might be!”

“I know,” said Nick, taking a step back and staying between them and Frank.

Behind him, Frank looked so…surprised. He was staring at Nick like he couldn’t even understand the gesture. Like moving between him and the others had wounded him.

“He needs to face justice, for what he’s done,” said Nick steadily, eyes on the people in front of him, “He killed people. He has to pay for that. But we’re going to do things the right way. He’s done. He stopped, he surrendered. We’re going to leave together, and turn him in to the police. We’re doing this the right way. We’re not gonna be a mob.”

A little of the anger drained out of Grigor and Dylan, and Grigor lowered his fists. With the fury gone, he just looked sad and confused. Dylan just looked lost. It was hard to tell how everyone around her was feeling. Rentaro was watching and he looked kind of far away, and sad, like somehow for him the scene was already over and he had been able to move on to thinking about it. Lori was still furious, but she had pursed her lips and regulated her breathing, trying to calm down a little. Jane had just shut her eyes and buried her head against Lori’s side. Henry seemed relieved, more than anything. Still locked into fight or flight and not really ready for anything but ensuring survival. Definitely not ready to process.

And Nick?

Nick looked…different. Older. And resigned. Sad, in a deep, bitter, hopeless kind of way.  Kim had no idea how she felt.

“Here,” said Frank quietly, taking a keycard out of his pocket and holding it out to Nick when he turned. “This will unlock the lift so it goes all the way to the surface.” He didn’t look at Nick when he took the card, and Nick didn’t really look at him either.

“Do we have something to tie him up with?” asked Rentaro hollowly, “If we’re all going up, and he’s surrendered?”

“Yeah,” said Nick, not looking in Frank’s direction at all, “That’s a good idea. I’m sure there’s something in here we can use.” He turned his head toward Frank but didn’t look at him. “You stay there.”

“Okay,” said Frank, staring past Nick at nothing. There was a dark bruise starting to form along his cheekbone.

The guys split up to look for rope, except for Retaro, who went over to talk to Jane quietly for a moment. They had been kind of close, before. At least, Rachel had said they were. Frank stayed where he had been, not even shifting his weight. Just looking at nothing as people went around him, trying to find something to tie him up with.

I don’t understand, thought Kim, looking at him, and seeing Alec, and not wanting to hate him at the same time she desperately did. I don’t understand.

What had he even said? That—that he’d lost his brother, to a criminal he had trusted. And…been tortured. And kidnapped himself, and somehow, that had spiraled for him, into a belief that anyone who broke the law would potentially turn on you and kill you. What did I even do? thought Kim, feeling like crying, I-I tried to pay for one education instead of two? I snuck onto Waverly grounds and lived there without paying fees? I…I stole cookies from the snack shop to have something to eat? Her eyes welled up with tears, thinking about Moira, and Lou, and Connie, and the first man she had never even really known. You were going to kill me for that? For…for.

He was looking at her. He hadn’t really looked at anyone since Nick had defended him, but when she looked up, he met her gaze. And he looked sober, and sorry, which she hadn’t expected. Everything was a little too much, and Kim’s tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks as she held his gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” he said very quietly. Probably only she even heard it. “I know exactly what I put you through, and I can never be sorry enough.”

“…Rachel isn’t dead,” said Kim.

She saw shock register on his face. He looked past her, at nothing, thinking incredibly fast, and then back at her, confused.

Kim wasn’t even really sure why she’d told him. “We faked her death. Henry helped us. So that she could escape the morgue and look for a way out.”

“She’s alive?” he checked, astounded.

Kim nodded.

Relief. So much relief. He looked like someone had just given him the best news he could possibly have heard. He even smiled at her for a moment, and it felt so familiar. So much like the Alec she had known and cared about. And then the expression faded, and became almost blank again, and he swallowed hard.

That just made her so much more confused.

“Thank you,” said Frank. He glanced at her for just a second, and smiled a little. “I don’t know how you did it, but whatever you three did, it was smart.” The smiled faded again and he looked at the ground.

I’m so lost, thought Kim, watching him, What am I supposed to do?

She. She could get Rachel. And they could talk and understand stuff together, but she had to do that first. Quickly, she went over to Henry.

He gave her a welcoming if shaky smile when she reached him. “Hi.”

“Did you let Rachel know?” asked Kim.

“Yes,” said Henry quickly, looking guilty for not having thought to update her on his own, “She’s close to the surface already, and she can’t get back down easily. She’s okay though. There’s an office Frank must have been using, right by the surface ,and she’s there. It’s the second-to-last stop on the elevator. She’ll be waiting for us when we go up. Or—if you want, I could go ahead and get her and bring her down.”

Kim shook her head. “Just in case something bad happens. I don’t want her to ever have to come down here again. I’ll wait.”

Henry nodded.

“Thank you,” said Kim, kind of affectionately bumping him with her shoulder. She was afraid to show much physical affection, because he was so weak right now he looked like a hug might snap him like a toothpick. Henry glanced down at her again, surprised, and then smiled. “Really,” said Kim, “We could never have gotten so far without you. You were really brave. You risked dying a lot of times to help us.”

“I…wasn’t the one really under a threat,” said Henry, “You two are a lot more brave. Willing to drug yourself and crawl into a morgue storage unit and trust someone else would be there to let you out before you died of asphyxiation. Climbing around elevator shafts with no security rope. You’re a pretty incredible pair, you know that?”

She grinned. Feeling a lot better and more grounded just from that one positive interaction with a real friend. Yeah. Alec was lying to you, but Henry wasn’t. Nick wasn’t, Dylan wasn’t, Rentaro, Grigor. None of them. You can still trust people. It’ll all be okay. We’re gonna get to go home soon. And Rachel will be okay too.

“Are you holding up okay?” asked Henry, concerned.

“Yeah, you?” asked Kim. He still had a bandage over half his face and he looked about ready to collapse.

“Well, supposedly I still have both my eyes, and my organs haven’t catabolized yet, so I think I’ll be okay,” said Henry, trying to joke.

That’s too scary to joke about, thought Kim tearfully. “I would hug you but I think I’d break your bones,” said Kim.

Henry almost laughed, and then very gingerly put an arm around her shoulder. “Half-hug?”

“Sure,” said Kim, leaning against him and shutting her eyes for a second.

When she opened them again, she looked back into the room, and watched the action. There wasn’t much of use in the museum replica, except the velvet ropes roping off exhibits, and those weren’t very flexible, so in the end, they more or less gave up, and Nick came back over to Frank and used his belt to bind his wrists instead. It was hard to watch. He approached Frank, belt in hand, and looked him in the eyes, and Frank silently held his wrists out. Frank held still as Nick tied his wrists in place with the belt, but he watched him. Not saying anything, not resisting. Just looking kind of sad and far away. Nick was trying hard not to look at him while he worked, but he did on accident, while tightening the bonds, and he looked like that had hurt him. Kim thought he was going to say something, but then he just looked away again and shook his head, and finished tying his knots. Frank looked at the ground past him, and his shoulders slumped a little.

As soon as Frank was tied up, the group left. Grigor went and picked up Niobe again, and they filed into the elevator as one. It was packed like that, but they could fit with a little room to spare. Kim stayed by Henry as he operated the controls, and glanced over her shoulder at Dylan and Nick, guarding Frank, who was staring blankly past them all at nothing. No real fight in him at all. Jane was hiding behind Rentaro like she was afraid to be anywhere near Frank, and Kim thought absently that that was good for Rentaro. He looked a little more okay right now than he had before, now that he was protecting someone else. It seemed to have given him a little bit of an override on how he was feeling. Lori stayed by Henry and her protectively, casting Frank hateful looks he wasn’t noticing.

“Are there weapons in here?” asked Nick, watching the numbers on the elevator slowly creep up.

Kim didn’t know if he’d been asking Henry or Frank, but it was Frank who answered. “Yes. Room 604 on the keypad has supplies.”

“Stop there,” said Nick to Henry, “On the way up. I want some insurance.”

“Sure,” said Henry, glancing over at him and then keying in the room on the keypad. It would have been an infuriating elevator to operate without a blueprint, because it moved in at least six directions, and the rooms seemed to be named arbitrarily to make them hard to find—and there definitely weren’t 600 or more of them. Henry seemed to know what he was doing at least a little, though, and the door slid open to what looked to Kim like a room from a film set for a Mission Impossible movie, or something. It was just…full. Full of every kind of weapon imaginable. Guns, and little drones, knives, tazers. There was gear too. She blinked at the place in wonder. Why did you have all this? she thought, glancing over at Frank, How did you afford it? I thought…before that. You were a detective? Why…?

No…there had. She almost had something. There had been…in the files they’d gotten for the last case. The one that Frank said was about what had happened to him. …….Oh. Her eyes widened.

“I’m getting a gun,” said Nick, stone faced, walking into the room, “Dylan, can you watch him?”

“Sure,” said Dylan quietly, looking like he didn’t feel much better than Nick did. He placed a hand on Frank’s shoulder, and Frank didn’t move. Just watched Nick go through things in the room in silence.

“Are you all okay?” she heard Grigor asking Rentaro quietly.

“Yeah,” said Rentaro, “You? Did you get hurt getting…kidnapped?”

“Not badly,” said Grigor, “I have a headache and a few bruises. Niobe’s still out, though. I’m kind of worried. She might be…”

“He said it was just sleeping pills,” said Rentaro encouragingly.

“Yeah?” asked Grigor, sounding a little better.

Kim was only half hearing that though. She was looking at Frank. We’re where you were, aren’t we? Or…No. Not the same place, but. One of them. It had been in the case. You went back and wiped out the people who killed your brother. This isn’t your stuff. It’s theirs. Or…I guess it’s yours now, but.

She looked away, thinking, trying to figure that all out. She wondered if maybe that was why he’d never used a gun himself, on them. Because he would never be completely sure, no matter how impossibly low the percentage of a chance, that it wouldn’t be the same gun that had killed his brother. She wondered, what exactly had happened to him. Why he had stopped. If he’d been…been whatever enough to do this. Why? Why…just give up like this? How had that worked, in his head? What would I do, if somebody killed Rachel… What would she have done? Kim didn’t like the idea of hurting anybody. Not at all. If she saw beetles in the house, she used to catch them in a cup and take them outside, because she didn’t even like squashing bugs. They didn’t mean to be a problem by just existing. But. But Rachel? Her best friend, her other half, her sister? What on earth would she have done, if Rachel had…If way back when, the Black Cat had gone too far, and killed her? Poisoned or something. What if…if here, Alec, No, not Alec, Frank, had killed her? Would she have run at him and tried to hit him in the head with whatever she could find, as soon as he’d told the truth? She…she didn’t think she would have. Could have. But then. She’d also loved him. If it had just been somebody. Some man she’d never seen before, and he’d shot her through the throat like he’d killed Lou, would she…?

Kim shut her eyes, feeling sick and sad. Really, she had no idea what she would have done. Except that she wouldn’t have been okay. And. And…

And she probably wouldn’t have been okay ever again.

She looked over at Frank again. He was still watching Nick. Looking sad in a way she wasn’t used to people looking. Resignation and remorse and regret, all together, but just barely. Like he didn’t have much energy to feel anything right now, or to show it, maybe. Maybe he was just the kind of person who felt things privately. Personally, instead of out where people could see them.

“Does anyone else want anything?” asked Nick, glancing back at the elevator.

Kim didn’t.

“I want a gun,” said Lori. Grigor shook his head and looked down at the unconscious girl in his arms.

“I-I would take a…bat, or something,” said Rentaro hesitantly.

“I’d take a knife,” said Dylan. He had been furious earlier, and he was definitely still mad, but he looked more somber now.

Jane just shook her head, and Henry, like herself, kept quiet.

Nick took a second sorting things, then came back into the lift with a pistol strapped over his shoulder and gave Dylan a tactical knife, Rentaro a police baton, and Lori a pistol, and then said, “Just one more thing,” and went back and perused a row of handcuffs and shackles on the wall before selecting what looked like a pretty impressive pair and coming back with it.

“Go ahead,” said Nick to Henry, stepping back inside, and then, as the elevator started to move again, he turned to Frank. “Hold out your hands.”

Frank looked at the shackles he was holding and looked almost desperate. He glanced back up into Nick’s face. “Please. Don’t make me put those on.”

“Do you think that there is any part of this that is enjoyable for me?”  asked Nick, breaking the stony presence he’d been keeping up and sounding pained for just a moment. “Do it.”

Frank stayed still for a second, breathing faster, and kind of twitched for a second, then looked up at Nick and shook his head. “I can’t.”

He really sounds like he means that, thought Kim in confusion, watching. Why?

“Please don’t make me force you to,” said Nick.

Frank looked at Nick for a few seconds. The set line of his mouth. And then he took a breath and shut his eyes and held up his hands. Nick opened the shackles and reached over to start undoing the belt.

“Lori, keep your gun on him in case something happens,” said Nick. Lori did. Grigor awkwardly maneuvered closer to Rentaro and Jane to be out of accidental-misfire range.

Frank didn’t do anything but stand there, though, eyes still shut. Nick got the belt off and took his left wrist and closed a shackle around it, and Frank flinched at the sound of the click, and his arms started to tremble. He was breathing almost raggedly, now, eyes still shut. Tense and braced. Nick hesitated and watched him for a second, and then for just a moment his expression softened, and he just looked sad. Almost sympathetic even, maybe. Looking at his friend. He let out a breath and unlocked the left shackle, and as it came free, Frank opened his eyes and looked at him in surprise.

The shackles hit the ground, and Nick kicked them towards a corner of the elevator. “Keep still,” he said, glancing at Frank for just a second, and then going to re-tie the belt. Frank did, just staring at him in what was almost wonder, but a little too sad and a little too shaky for that, like he was almost afraid to be looking at him at all.

“Why?” asked Dylan, watching the shackles come to rest by a wall.

“I don’t know how those things really work,” said Nick, tugging the belt tight around Frank’s wrists, “He does.”

Kim was pretty sure that wasn’t why, and she wondered if everyone else knew it too.

“We’re getting close to the top,” said Henry, trying to help with the stifling silence in the lift, “I’m sorry it’s so slow. It has to be, because it goes in so many directions. We’re sort of going up and back and left, instead of just up.”

“You didn’t make it,” said Lori.

They were all quiet. After a few seconds, Jane asked Grigor something Kim couldn’t quite make out, and he answered. Something about Connie, she thought. Probably wants to know what happened…

“You okay?” Lori asked Henry quietly with way more warmth than Kim had heard in…maybe ever.

“I am,” said Henry, giving her a shaky smile, “You?”

Behind her, Kim heard Frank’s voice, very quietly, in the middle of the other conversations. “Thank you.”

She glanced over, trying to be subtle, and saw he had said it to Nick. Nick had his back to him, though, and didn’t turn to look.

“For…” Frank glanced at his wrists, and then at what he could see of Nick. “Not. And. For downstairs.”

Nick said nothing. Just stared straight forward.

Frank looked at his feet for a moment, and then back at Nick. Unstable, and rough. “I-I just wanted you—”

“—What could you possibly say,” said Nick in a low tone, cutting him off. His eyes were a little bit glossier than normal, but he kept staring straight forward. A request for him to stop.

“…Nothing that would matter enough,” answered Frank quietly after a moment, looking away. Defeated. He kept his eyes on the floor, and Nick kept his back turned to him, and Kim thought that was the end of it, but just as the elevator began to slow, she heard Frank say so quietly she almost missed it, “But I am sorry.”

-

-----Endings (2/5) -

The elevator began to slow, nearing its stop. Nick kept his eyes on the door. Trying really, really hard not to think about anything at all.

“…But I am sorry.” Alec. Almost whispered.

No. Don’t say that, thought Nick, trying not to show any reaction to that outwardly at all. He wasn’t ready to deal with that. He couldn’t even think about this right now. It was way too much. Just don’t look at him. We’ll get to the top, and we’ll be out, and the cops will come and it’ll be somebody else’s problem, and…And what? He could pretend to just forget? That was never gonna happen.

I don’t understand. It wasn’t like no one had ever stabbed him in the back before. Life had been rough on and off for Nick Falcone, but. Never like this. Never someone he had been so close to, so completely. He hadn’t realized that confusion could be one of the most painful things to feel, but. God, he, he would have rather been angry, or sad, or…or anything, he thought, and he was—he was both of those things and more, but above all, he was just so utterly lost. I just don’t understand.

How can it be you? he thought, not looking back. How could it possibly be Alec? He had…they had fought together. Traded clues and watched each other’s backs. He had woken up with a concussion and a relieved Alec looking down at him after that fight in the basement, propped up in his lap and with his stupid green coat on to keep him from freezing in the snow. Nick had heard him calling for help and saved him from drowning in the library, and…it was so genuine. The memory he had in his head of Alec, drenched and coughing, shaking his shoulder to wake him up. He’d said something about being so relieved he was okay, and Nick had believed that without question. It had been so real. Everything. They had…they had hung out together a lot, between cases. Just to try to make being locked up here bearable. Talked about life, and places, and movies, and friends, and nothing, like friends. They had…they had been friends. And Grigor and Rentaro…Dylan and Kim? It… How? I can’t…I can’t understand.

The elevator door slid open, and Nick was brought back to the present by the sound of what he’d thought at first was Kim’s voice, but couldn’t be, because she was right beside him, and it was shrieking, “Kim!” with joy, and then Kim was tearing past him and flinging herself at her twin sister, and they collapsed backwards onto the floor of a little office, laughing and crying and talking over eachother so fast he could barely make a word out.

“Rachel?” said Dylan, who had been close to her, staring in shock at the sight and going pale.

“I-I’m so sorry,” said Henry, turning to him, “I—So much has happened in the last half hour. She’s been alive the whole time, and I should have remembered you all didn’t know. Kim and Rachel and I faked her death together, to try to find a way out.”

“You didn’t die,” said Nick with wonder, staring at the hugging sisters on the ground, trying to mentally adjust to that. A lot of people hadn’t died. Because their killer had had second thoughts. And for a second that made him feel a lot better, and then he was thinking about the four people who had died, and the better feeling went away. Against his better judgement, he glanced at Alec for a moment. He wasn’t even really sure why.

Alec was watching Kim and Rachel, and almost smiling. Looking sad like he had ever since he’d told them his name wasn’t Alec Fell, but in just that one moment, better too. Relieved, and happy, for someone else.

That felt so familiar. But. But Nick didn’t know if that was real, or if he was acting, the way he had been for weeks. The way he was apparently so proficient at that Nick hadn’t been able to sense a single thing off at all. Were you just pretending to be a drunk, too? He wondered, looking back into the office, not willing to look at him long enough to risk Alec knowing he’d done it. Nick had thought, that when he and Grigor and Rentaro and Alec had become kind of a unit, a…a friend group, that Alec had gotten better. Had stopped drinking. Had been less erratic and irresponsible. And he’d been…really happy for him. But. That had probably been just an act too, something to distract people. And either way, it hadn’t actually been Alec. It had never been Alec…

The real Alec was dead somewhere in this building. Nick wondered if he had been anything like the person this guy was pretending to be. If the real Alec and he would have been friends. But he couldn’t think about that much, so he stopped, and tried to go back to thinking about nothing.

“Hey!” said Rentaro, running into the room and then hesitating just short of them. He’d definitely been going in for a hug, and then second-guessed every decision he’d ever made, and it was painfully awkward to watch. “Rachel—welcome back,” he said, trying to save it.

“Hi,” said Rachel, giving him a warm smile.

“What’s going on?” asked Jane timidly from beside Grigor.

That’s right. You never even found out there were two of them, thought Nick sympathetically.

“Uh. Twins,” said Grigor, still kind of reeling himself, “You only ever met the one who was already in the room until a few minutes ago. The one waiting downstairs is her sister, Kim.”

“I’m very confused…” said Jane quietly.

“Henry!” said Rachel, spotting him in the lift. Henry smiled at her and gave a wave, and she shot to her feet and ran over and hugged him with enough force that as paper-thin as he was right now, she knocked him into the elevator wall and he almost fell over.

“H-hi,” said Henry unsteadily, grinning at her, “Glad you’re okay.”

“You too!” said Rachel, arms wrapped tight around him and eyes squeezed shut, “Thank you so much. For everything.”

“You too,” said Henry, returning the hug as best he could, “You were amazing.”

Kim joined them and turned it into a group hug.

“So you were never dead?” said Lori, blinking at her, “Wow. Holy smokes you did good, kiddo. Everyone bought that.”

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” said Dylan, starting to go over to greet her too, and then hesitating, because he and Nick were kind of guarding Alec.

“You too Dylan,” said Rachel, beaming at him.

“Hi,” offered Grigor happily, “I’d come hug you, but-“

“-You’ve got your hands full,” agreed Rachel, almost giggling. She glanced past him to Alec, and her expression changed. It got serious, and hurt, and she let go of Henry and took Kim’s hand, kind of backing a step away.

Alec had almost looked happy, watching her reunite with everyone, but as soon as she looked at him, his expression changed too, and he looked away from her and past the floor at nothing.

“So. We just go to the top?” Nick asked Henry, “Are we close enough to some kind of…human residence of any kind that we can get to a phone? Or a car?”

“There’s a phone in the office,” said Alec, not looking up, “The windowsill has a hidden compartment. I’m the only one who can unlock it, though. It needs my fingerprint and retina scan.”

Nick looked over at him. His eyes were still fixed solidly on the elevator floor. “Okay,” said Nick, tone low and level, “Get it for us, then.”

Alec glanced at him for a second, and then gave a nod and took a step into the room, looking at no one. Nick went with him, and Dylan came after.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” said Dylan, more tired and tense than anything.

“I won’t,” said Alec quietly.

Yeah. Dylan might be right. I…guess I should… Nick took the pistol out of its holster and checked the safety, then stayed close to Alec, weapon in hand, just in case. He didn’t love the feeling of doing that.

In the corner of the room, there was a tiny window. Not big enough for even a small person to have possibly fit through, and it was just barely at ground level, but it let in daylight, and Nick felt almost sick with relief at the sight of the sun. He’d had no idea how much he’d missed that, until he was looking at it again. Alec approached the little windowsill and slid his left thumb along the edge kind of awkwardly, with his wrists bound, and it lit up light blue at his touch. The sill slid back and a little black console embedded in the wood appeared. Alec leaned forward and brought his left eye level with the scanner, and it made a little ‘beep’, and a drawer slid out. Alec stepped back, and stopped moving. “In there.”

Nick cautiously stepped forward and checked the drawer. There were several things in it. Files, a notebook, a camera, some piece of tech he didn’t recognize, and a phone. Nick took the phone, half expecting it to be an elaborate trap and shock him, but nothing happened. He tried to unlock the screen, but it made an angry sound as soon as he touched the screen. There weren’t any buttons on it. He looked to Alec.

“I’ll get it,” said Alec, trying not to meet his gaze. He held out his hands.

Nick passed it over, and Alec tapped what looked like random parts of the screen, and grimaced, having difficulty maneuvering with his hands tied together. The phone made an angry sound at him too.

“What are you trying to do?” said Dylan tensely, stepping closer.

“I-I’m not,” said Alec shakily, glancing from one to the other, “I can’t do it right like this.”

“We’re not untying you,” said Dylan, very firm, and extremely suspicious.

“I’m not lying,” said Alec. He looked at Nick for help.

No. Don’t do that. Don’t look at me like I’m the one who might help you. I can’t. I can’t do this.

“Here,” he said, holding the phone kind of shakily out to him, “If you can hold it still for me, I think I can do it like this.”

Nick said nothing and held the phone up. Alec tried to find an angle that worked, and then used his index finger to quickly tap parts of the screen in what looked like a memorized sequence, even though there was no grid on the screen or anything. Whatever he’d done worked, though, and it lit up blue like the sill had. Alec lowered his hands.

“It’ll work now,” said Alec, “It’s pretty straightforward. Phone icon. You can call for help.”

“Where are we?” asked Dylan.

“China,” said Alec quietly.

“What’s the emergency code for China?” asked Dylan.

Right. It’s different, remembered Nick, hesitating halfway to hitting a 9 on the keypad.

“It’s 110,” said Alec, looking at him only for a second, “For police. 120 for an ambulance.”

Nick started to hit ‘110’, and then hesitated. “Henry.”

“Y-yeah?” said Henry, stopping mid-conversation with Rachel and Kim and Rentaro, back in the elevator.

“You should make the call. You know more than anybody but Alec,” Crap! No. That’s not his name. It was too late though, he’d said it. “What happened. It’s, uh, 110, on the phone,” he finished a little awkwardly, because correcting his mistake would have felt even worse.

“Oh. Uhm. Sure,” said Henry. Nick walked over and gave him the phone.

“Come on,” said Dylan, nudging Alec. No. No, that’s right. He’s…’Frank’. He was never Alec. Frank complied and walked back onto the elevator, looking at no one. Everyone tried to move further away from him, closer to the walls.

“Okay,” said Henry, hitting numbers on the keypad, “Last stop.”

The elevator began to rise, and Henry dialed. “Hello? Hi. I need help. Uh. I’m not sure where I am, where we are. There’s a bunch of us. Sorry. Sorry. I’ll slow down. I-I don’t know Chinese. Am I…u-understandable enough?” He glanced at the others in the lift, just in case, and people shook their heads. A bunch of Americans, a couple Greeks, two Brits, and a teenager from Japan. They had not hit the one-of-us-knows-Chinese-as-a-first-or-second-language lottery.

“I can speak it,” said Frank quietly.

“Yeah, that isn’t happening,” said Dylan.

Frank looked at the ground again.

“Okay. Thank you,” said Henry, still on the phone, “Hi. Sorry-I—”

The elevator doors slid open, and suddenly they were standing in fresh air again.

“Whoa,” said Rachel, stepping off the elevator and onto solid ground. The others hurried off after her, taking in the trees and grass and nature and ability to really breathe.

I can’t believe we actually made it. Relief actually hit Nick then. He hadn’t felt it, not when Alec was surrendering, or explaining, or on the ride up. He’d been thinking about too much to really remember this was a big part of what was happening. We’re free. We lived. Almost all of them. They’d lost three, since waking up at the base of an elevator much like this one, surrounded by strangers, but almost all of the people he’d gotten to know over the last few weeks were still there. Living and breathing, and stepping out into sunshine. All of his close friends had made it. He had been so sure Grigor was gone, but he wasn’t. The big guy stepped out after Rachel, still towing an unconscious Niobe, and looked around. Smiling, really smiling. Everyone was. We’re out.

“Mountains,” said Grigor, almost painfully happy, looking back at him and the people still in the lift. He was right. They were somewhere in the mountains. The whole thing must have been underground, built into the earth. It was so wonderful to see the sun again.

For a moment, Nick felt better too, feeling the wind on his face for the first time in weeks. He saw the look of relief and hope and happiness on Dylan’s face as they glanced in each other’s directions, and then Nick saw Alec between them. He was watching Kim and Rachel laugh and spin each other around on the grass, still gushing. Rachel grabbing Rentaro’s hand and saying something Nick couldn’t quite catch, then hugging him, and Kim piling on too. Watching Lori and Henry walk outside together, Henry still stumbling over himself, trying to give details on the phone, Lori taking in the scenery with relief. Grigor finding somewhere in the grass he could set Niobe down, checking her pulse, still worried. Jane hovering by him and looking around with big eyes. And Alec looked…What exactly? Not…sad. Not just sad, anyway. There was a word for it, Nick thought, just one he wasn’t remembering. Like someone looking at friend going off to work at a job they had been hoping to get, but one that would also take them to another continent. Or somebody reading an old note from someone they used to know, that had meant a whole lot to them once. He couldn’t really find a word for that feeling, but he knew what it was.

You have to stop. You have to quit trying to make sense of things—you never will. You’ll make yourself go mad, Nick told himself, looking away.

“Come on,” said Dylan, nudging Alec’s—Frank’s shoulder. Frank complied and walked off the lift a few steps and then stopped and went still again. Nick followed them. The last one off. He looked back at the awful hunk of metal, the opening to a place that had brought nothing but suffering and pain, until the doors had shut behind them. Good. I never want to see that place again.

“Okay,” said Henry, “Thank you.” Nick had missed a lot of his conversation with the police, but it seemed to still be going on. “I’ll keep the line open. No one is…” He looked over at the others. “B-badly hurt, as far as I can tell. We’ve got a couple of cuts, and I’m uh…” He held up his own bony hand and looked at it, and then swallowed and kept going, “n-not great. Weak. But no one is seriously hurt. One of us has been drugged, though. Sleeping pills.”

“Veronal,” offered Dylan, trying to help.

“Veronal,” echoed Henry to the phone, “And she’s still unconscious. Yes—she’s breathing. We have her propped up.” Grigor had sat down, but still had her in his lap. “There’s ten of us,” he added, and then, glancing over at Frank, “And our captor. Eleven in all. He’s tied up, and he surrendered, but he’s still alive too.” Henry listened for a moment, and then turned to the others. “We’re pretty far out from the city, but they’re sending people. We have to sit tight for maybe half an hour, though.”

Lori sighed, but the others seemed to take that okay.

Half an hour. Not too long. He wished it was sooner, but there was nothing to do about it. They’d just have to sit and wait. I better call my mom and tell her I’m alive… thought Nick kind of sheepishly. He hoped they weren’t too worried. Kim and Rachel had said they were orphans, but they had to have some relatives, and Jane and Rentaro’s parent’s must have been about ill at this point too. Orphans? Right, he’d forgotten. Nick glanced over at them again. They were talking animatedly to Rentaro, explaining things and gesturing wildly. He couldn’t make out all of it, but he heard, ‘Blackout,’ and ‘Elevator shaft,’ and ‘Climbing,’ and a few other things that gave him a general idea they were probably discussing Rachel’s wild escape. I wish I’d gotten to know you were alive, thought Nick tiredly. But of course Kim hadn’t told anyone. And that was good. She’d been close with him, but she’d been close with Alec too, and if he’d found out? What would you have done? he wondered, looking at Frank again, Would you have tracked her down and killed her?

He had been so upset. Nick still had really fresh memories of comforting Alec when Rachel had…when they had thought that Rachel had killed herself. I really thought you were sad, thought Nick, trying to see if he could find any answers at all in the blank face a few feet to his right, staring at nothing, You were…you were so genuine. You were so heartbroken. Talking about your missing sister. I was so worried about you. I thought. I. I thought…

He looked away.

“What happens now?” asked Rachel, looking from one to the other of the older people around her, starting with Henry and ending with Dylan.

“Uh,” said Henry, who wasn’t talking on the phone anymore, but was still holding it, “I think all we can do is wait.”

“But after,” said Kim, on the same wavelength.

“You’ll get to go home,” promised Dylan with a smile, “I’ll make sure. Probably the police can set something up, but I’ll buy you a ticket if not.”

The twins beamed at him.

How are they gonna survive this? wondered Nick with a sinking feeling, no matter how happy they looked right now, How are two teenagers with no family going to make it through unpacking the kind of stuff you two have seen here?

Honestly, all of them were…

Beside him, he sensed movement, and saw Frank had turned. He was scanning the nearby terrain intently, when he’d been almost zoned out before, and Nick took that in with a note of suspicion.

“Hey. What are you doing.”

Frank glanced back at him, surprised. “Just looking. I haven’t been out in a while.”

You’re lying, thought Nick, trying to figure out how he could tell that. Why are you lying? It was the held, steady eye contact—that was it. Alec—no. Frank didn’t do that if he was feeling bad and not lying. Alec had done that when he was feeling bad, if Nick had asked him how he was. If he didn’t want Nick to worry, he’d look him right in the face and smile and say, “No, it’s nothing. I’m just tired,” but Nick had always been able to tell. That’s just paranoid, Nick told himself, Obviously you never had any idea if he was lying, because he was lying constantly. And he probably was never feeling bad. You just thought you knew him a little. That was…true. So. Maybe it was nothing.

“Sit down,” said Dylan to Frank, “I’ll feel safer.”

Frank obliged, kind of gracelessly taking a seat without arms to steady himself, still looking around. Not at the people, but at the mountain.

“Where’ll you go?” asked Rachel, watching that, and then glancing at Dylan. “Back…to England?”

“I’m uh.” Dylan hesitated and glanced at Nick, “Uh—can you?” He indicated Frank.

“Yeah, I’ll watch him,” said Nick.

Dylan turned and went over a little closer to Rachel and Kim, and gave Rachel a hug for real. Nick would have liked to do that too. He was so glad she hadn’t died the way he’d thought.

“Nick,” said Frank quietly.

Nick glanced down at him. He looked a little unsteady, but more focused than before. Thinking hard.

“I don’t want to hurt someone again,” said Frank, like he was having a hard time finding the right order for words, “I know I…have to pay. For what I did. But I don’t…” He looked up into his face, and then trailed off. He’d been going to say more, but something made him change his mind, Nick saw him give up. His expression fall, and close off again, tired, and resigned, and he looked back at the ground. After a second, he shut his eyes, and took a few steady breaths.

Nick watched him, trying to figure that out. It was so impossible. All of this. He didn’t think he could do it. I still feel like I’m just talking to Alec, and something will click into place and it’ll all make sense. It will have all been some big trick, or I’ll have been asleep, or something. But that’s not going to ever happen. Is it.

Frank opened his eyes again and looked up at him. His eyes went to the gun. “You put the safety on?”

He’d asked it like why did you do this? not did you? and Nick tilted the gun in his hand, double-checking that it was still on, and felt something slam into his legs, and then he was careening backwards, legs swept out from under him, and hit the ground hard on his back, air knocked out of him.

Vaguely, he was aware of people shouting, and movement, but really all he was paying attention to was what he knew had just happened. Frank had moved on the ground and swept his legs out, and from his back, Nick could just barely see him up and running. Trying to get away. No way.

Nick dragged himself up with a vengeance and took off after him as fast as fast as he could, barely even registering the other people doing the same. Frank had bought himself maybe a six second lead, but Nick wasn’t about to lose him. He flipped the safety off the gun and ran hard, tearing through underbrush, eyes locked on the figure in dark brown ahead of him, trying to lose them in the woods. Lori and Dylan and Grigor were with him at first, Rentaro and one of the twins too, he thought, but he lost the younger ones fast, and then lost the others. Running blind, Nick heard gunshots four times, from on his left—it could only be Lori, and he didn’t even know what he hoped that meant. Just kept running. And after a minute, he lost even the sound of the others nearby, shouting and pushing past tree branches, and it was just him. For a second he thought he’d even lost Frank, pausing on the edge of a steep hill, breathing hard, and then he saw him. He’d gained about sixty yards, but he was still in sight, and Nick took a shortcut, following the path of least resistance above him on the hill, trying to keep him in sight. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost the belt, and his arms were free now. It took Nick a minute to figure out what exactly he was doing, and then Nick saw it. Down the slope, on his far right. A road. He was trying to make it to the road.

Immediately, Nick changed course. Straight for the road, only barely keeping Frank in sight at all. He’s smart—I bet he’s got a bike or something. A way to get out of this. You can’t let him do that—you can’t let him get away. After all this—

Breathing raggedly, Nick jumped a little ravine and stumbled on the other side, and he temporarily checked the safety back on, a little afraid of shooting himself, and he kept going. The road was close now. So close. And arms pumping at his sides, lungs burning for oxygen, he broke the tree line at the base of the hill one second before Frank did, about twenty feet behind him. Nick had been facing back, and Frank facing forward, and they saw each other immediately, and he saw shock register on Frank, and he turned to run, and Nick flipped off the safety and pulled the trigger, aiming well to the right of him.

The gunshot was so loud it made Nick flinch, but he shouted past it anyway. “Stop! I won’t miss the next one!”

Frank froze, breathing hard himself, and slowly turned to face Nick. Nick started to walk towards him, and Frank took a step back, shaking his head at him.

“Don’t move,” warned Nick, pointing the gun at his chest and feeling sick doing that. He hadn’t pointed a gun at someone before. He’d used one to shoot clay pigeons in college, at a friend’s house on weekends, so he was a fine shot, but holding something that would kill someone if you accidentally increased pressure was such a…shaky way to feel. He didn’t like the lack of control it gave. The way he was constantly thinking about what would happen if the trigger was pulled. Nick had missed it at first, but he realized then that Frank’s shoulder was bleeding, and he thought for a horrifying moment that as wide as he’d aimed, somehow he’d hit him, but. No, he’d turned around, that was right, and it was his left shoulder that was bleeding. If he’d hit him, he’d have hit the other side. And Nick remembered Lori, and the four shots in the woods. One of those must have landed. Somehow, though, the sight of a bullet hole already in him just made his hands feel shakier on the gun, even though the bullet hadn’t come from him.

“Nick, wait,” said Frank kind of desperately, raising his hands, but still backing up.

“I said don’t move!” shouted Nick.

Frank stopped, breathing fast. He looked at the gun, and then at Nick. “Please.”

“’Please?’” echoed Nick, hand still shaking, “Please, what, Alec!” He kicked himself mentally. Not Alec. “Please let you go?” he continued, trying to move past that, “Let you run off and kidnap twelve more people to murder?”

“No,” said Frank, almost desperate. He started to take a step back again, because Nick was still advancing, but he saw Nick move the gun and hesitated. Instead, he stopped and just looked him in the face. Pleading. “I’m—I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“By running away?” asked Nick, furious, and hurt, and a lot of things he hadn’t had time to begin to unpack.

“I’ll turn myself in,” said Frank, “But I can’t do it like this.”

“You can’t let us be the ones to do it?” asked Nick, angry and disbelieving, still advancing on him.

“No—Nick—please,” said Frank, watching the steadily shortening distance. He started to back up again. “It’s not that—I—”

“—I willshoot you if I have to!” warned Nick.

Frank stopped, and looked him in the face again, shaky now. “I ran because you all would never have listened to me, not because I wanted to escape! I’m telling you the truth. I know—I know what I did. I know I have to face justice for that, but you can’t turn me over to the police.”

He looked so desperate. He looked like he really meant that. ‘Can’t?’ –No. Stop. Don’t listen to him. You’re better than this. He’d say anything; you can’t trust him. He’d hesitated though, without meaning to, said nothing and forgotten to take his next step forward, and he could see hope on Frank’s face, taking that as a sign he might listen.

“Listen, Nick,” said Frank, “I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I know it’s bad. I know I’m all kinds of broken and messed up, and I know I have done things that I have to pay for. B-but I also know I’m not myself. I’m not the person I used to be. And I know that right now, but I didn’t for so long, and I did things that I already can’t understand. Things that made sense to me yesterday. And back there, in the elevator, when you started to cuff me, I-I wanted to do them again. I started to crack, and feel like someone completely different, but for a second, I thought that the thing I was doing was the crazy thing, not the thing I was about to do. And I—I have no idea how to stop it.”

He looked so distraught, and confused, and lost, and Nick understood that in his soul, because it was how he felt right now, pointing a loaded gun he knew he was supposed to be willing to use at the person who had been maybe the closest friend he’d ever really had. Trying to make sense of all of the time he’d spent with him, and how they had ended up here, face to face like this.

“If I let them take me, I know what’s going to happen,” continued Frank, almost begging, “I don’t know when. I don’t know if it’ll be as soon as they cuff me, or the first time someone shoves me to get me to move, or when they put me in the back of a car, or a cell, or chain me to a table to interrogate me, but somewhere along that line, I’m going to snap, and they’re not going to be ready for me. I don’t know how to stop that from happening. I don’t think I can. But I know what I’m capable of. And they won’t be able to stop me.”

Frank lowered his hands, and just stood there, facing him. Nick still hadn’t moved. He was maybe ten feet away, gun still drawn.

“If it hadn’t been you,” said Frank, looking sad and exhausted and broken, “If it wasn’t someone I…” He looked him in the eyes for just a second, and then looked away like it had been too hard to do. “Trusted. That I…felt like I knew. Then…I think I might have killed everyone in that elevator, without even meaning to. And I-I can’t do that again. Please, Nick. I want to make things right. I know I can’t just go off and hide. I know I. I-I might do anything, forget myself again. B-but there’s a way! I have people I know. People I am completely certain I wouldn’t hurt. People I trust. I’ll go to them, and I’ll tell them everything, and I’ll turn myself in to them, and they can make sure whoever takes me is prepared.”

“…I can’t just believe that,” said Nick, trying so hard to see in his face if he was lying. As if that had ever been something he’d really been able to do. “Frank, I have no reason to think you’re telling me the truth. For all I know, you’ll change your mind and come after us again, or we passed whatever your ‘test’ was, and you’ll go kill another room full of liars and petty thieves. I would be insane to let you go.”

“Then shoot me,” said Frank hopelessly, “Because I’m not coming with you.”

“You would do that to me?” asked Nick, so betrayed by that. He heard his voice crack, and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t hide how much that had hurt. He tried to force Frank to meet his eyes, and he did, surprised by that response. “After everything? You would force me to choose between letting you run off and kill people like Lou again, and gunning down my best friend? You would force me to become a killer, no matter what I do?”

“I—no,” said Frank shakily, sounding and looking just like Alec, “No. Nick.” He stopped and thought quickly, frantically, eyes moving, but looking at nothing, and then finally at Nick. “If I go back with you, and lose my mind again and kill a station full of policemen, you’ll just feel the same way. Please. If you let me go, no one else has to get hurt. I-I know I’ve lied to you, and it must be so impossible for you to trust me, but I’m not lying to you now. If you let me go, I’ll turn myself in—I’ll have them call you as soon as I do. I’m done! I am. I’m myself right now, at least more than I am somebody else, and I just want this to be over. This is the only way I think I can do that.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?” asked Nick, chest aching, gun leveled.

“You—”

“—Don’t say that I know you!” said Nick, desperate, sure that had been what he’d been about to say, “I’ve never known who you were! I don’t know anything about you! I’m not even sure I know your real name!”

For a few seconds, Frank just looked at him, sad. “Nick. I’m so sorry,” he said finally, much quieter than he’d said anything else. “You have no idea how sorry I am. I. I wish I could undo all this.” He lowered his arms completely, shoulders slumped, standing still in the road. “I know you…won’t believe this. Maybe it’ll just make things worse. …But I did care about you.”

Nick wanted to shout at him for saying that. There were hundreds of things he could have said, and they were all true, but he didn’t say anything, because Frank looked so far away and hopeless, and there was enough of Alec in that look that he lost the anger before he could put it into words, and he just felt broken, and wounded, and confused. He wanted so badly to hate him, but he didn’t know how to. Not yet anyway, not all the way. I wish that too, thought Nick against his will, I wish you could undo it. And it’s you who has no idea how much.

“There’s another way,” said Frank, voice empty and dead, “If you can’t trust me to do what I said, then give me the gun, and I’ll do it myself.”

The thought of that horrified Nick, and he started to take a step back on impulse. “No.”

“I don’t see another-“ started Frank.

“—How do I know you wouldn’t just shoot me?” said Nick, trying to recover some of the intensity he’d had before, to not let Frank know he was listening to any of it, and Frank stared at him, taken aback, and then his face fell, and lost the tiny fragment of hope that had still been in it. Because he had thought the reluctance had been over Nick’s desire for him to live. Which…it had been. He just hadn’t wanted him to know. “Besides,” said Nick more quietly, looking away and giving in to the guilt he knew he had no reason to be feeling, “Even if you didn’t, how would that be any better?”

“…I don’t know what to do then. I don’t know how to prove it to you,” said Frank hopelessly, not really begging this time, just asking. Pleading less intensely. Pleading like you would with a friend. Almost just talking, like they would have yesterday, when the world had been a place Nick had still understood. “Nick, I just don’t want to hurt someone again. I don’t know any other way. Please. I know you have no reason to believe me, after everything I’ve done to you, but I will turn myself in.”

Nick glanced up at him and the person who had been his friend held his gaze, asking silently for him to trust him this one last time.

“I know what I did,” continued Frank, “I know how awful it was. And not just the people I killed; Kim, Rachel, Rentaro, Jane—kids? And Grigor, and Dylan, my friends—and you? I wouldn’t…I won’t let myself get away with what I did to you. I don’t want to get away with it. I want to pay. I want to make things right. If I can. God. If I…if I can do that at all anymore. I swear to you. That’s what I want, more than anything. I just…I’m. I’m so barely here at all. You don’t know what that’s like. I feel like I could slip away and die again any second, and then wake up in another year to see I’m even more of a monster than the last time I was in my own body. They did something to me. Those two years I was locked up. I don’t know when, or how, or which thing they did turned me into this, but I’m so messed up. And I can see that now, I can, but I don’t know how to not be like this again. My brain isn’t mine anymore. It does things I wouldn’t have ever wanted, and I obey it. I-I don’t even know if I’m…sane.” That looked like it had been incredibly painful to say, but he kept going. Forced himself to. “I know if I turn myself in to my friends, I won’t hurt them, and they’ll know what to do with me. That’s all I want to do. I just want this to be over. I want to stop. But I’m so scared that if someone else tries to stop me, I’ll go right back to where I was. Please.”

“…Your brother,” said Nick, holding his gaze. It hurt to do that. So impossibly much. How could it hurt this much just to look at someone? “What was his name.”

Frank looked confused, and surprised, and sad, but he answered. “Joe.” His voice was soft and low and full of affection and pain when he said it. “His name was Joe.” He glanced up and met Nick’s gaze again and tried to smile, but his eyes welled up. “And he would never have turned out like me. No matter what someone did to him. You would have liked him.”

“Swear on Joe,” said Nick, feeling sick himself, “Swear on your brother that you’ll do what you’re promising me, and you’ll do it immediately.”

“I swear,” said Frank, shakily holding his gaze, and then looking away once he’d said it. He shut his eyes. “I swear on Joe.”

Nick lowered the gun.

Frank opened his eyes slowly, and looked up at him. Watched him for a few seconds, like he was waiting to see if the decision was real, and then he reached up almost absently and felt the bullet wound in his shoulder and winced. He looked at the blood on his hand, then back at Nick. “Thank you.”

Nick thought he meant that, but it was so hard to tell himself he really knew anything anymore.

For just a moment, they stood like that in silence, then Frank lowered his head and turned, and started to walk. Away from Nick, towards the far side of the road, and then past him. Nick turned and watched him go, wondering if he were a terrible person for believe him. For letting him go. For not shooting him in the back now, while he still had a chance. Or maybe shooting him in the leg. Something that would stop him, force him to wait for the police to come. He couldn’t, though, and he knew it. He thought that if Frank had run, hadn’t talked to him at all, he probably couldn’t have done it either. He would have pulled the trigger, and tried to miss. As awful as that was. Because he was still looking at this person and seeing someone else. And he couldn’t kill them.

On the side of the road, Frank removed some thick underbrush by a large boulder, and tugged out a small motorcycle. He brought it to the road, and Nick tried not to notice the make and model, or the license, because he didn’t want to struggle with himself over lying if someone asked him. Frank climbed onto the bike, and took a helmet clipped to the bars and placed it on his head, and then glanced back at Nick one last time. Nick stayed in the road where he had been before, watching him go.

“I…know you can’t be glad you met me,” said Frank, “But you should know that being around you got me back where I am now. Even if you hate that you thought I was someone worth getting close to, you should know that doing that saved a lot of people’s lives. So. Hopefully that makes some tiny part of it something that…you can.” He had been trying to say something nice, but he was struggling. His voice sounded choked. “Y-you should be proud of that. That. You helped…not me. But. That you helped them.” He looked at Nick shakily, trying to see if that had done anything to help him, and then he looked away and flipped the visor over the helmet. He started up the motorcycle, and said something else over the roar of it, but so quietly Nick couldn’t quite make it out. He thought though, watching the motorcycle take a corner and fade in the distance, that it had been, “Goodbye.”

-

-------Endings (3/5) -

“Okay,” said Nancy softly, watching him with sad blue eyes.

Joe had blue eyes too, a lot like hers. He had to stop thinking that. Stop thinking of them like they were the same person. It had gotten him where he was now.

You’re almost there, Frank told himself, Just hang on a little bit longer, and this will all be over. “Okay,” he echoed quietly, holding his right arm out to her, palm-up.

He was sitting on the edge of a bed in a hospital. A lot of the last forty-eight hours was kind of a blur to him, but he remembered well enough the steps. Leaving Nick on the side of the road, finding her again in Shanghai. It had been Ned again, first. Poor Ned. He thought it a little fondly, remembering the look on his face. Surprise and relief, and then worry, but worry because Frank had had a bullet hole in his shoulder. No idea all the things he was about to learn that he should have been worried about. It shouldn’t have had to be you. Either of you, but you especially, Ned. Getting dragged into this. You must be so exhausted. Hanging on to loyalty towards—what—a casual friend? They had been something. Something that had meant he’d felt safe enough to pass out when it had been Ned a year ago who found him in the street. But it couldn’t be enough that Ned should have had to be here through all of this mess.

Still, a little late for that. For a lot of things. Frank had gone in, and Nancy had been inside, rushed over and hugged him, worried about the wound, worried about him, and all her unanswered messages, telling him she was waiting when he was ready to come home. She’d wanted to fix his shoulder, and he’d wanted to get the truth out first, but she wouldn’t let him. She’d told him to talk while she dressed it, and so he had. And she hadn’t stopped. Not when she’d heard that Alec was dead, or Moira, or Lou, or Connie, not when she heard what he’d done to Jane and Rentaro and Rachel and Kim, not for any of it. Ned had gone pale, and looked horrified, but he’d stayed too, just watching Frank in disbelief. He’d gone to get Frank some water and bread, when he’d just started the story, and he’d still handed it over, like he didn’t know what else to do. And they’d listened, like he knew they would, until he’d gotten to the end of it and filled them in on where he was now. What he needed.

Nancy had asked him if it was possible he was wrong. That…the whole thing had been in his head, or a hallucination. Not because she didn’t trust him, but because she did. Because she’d been so sure that he couldn’t have done the things he’d just said he did. But Frank had been sure, and he’d still had his watch. It was well out of rage of the blacksite by now, but it had some internal memory. Enough for a few recent video files. Enough to be enough… And the police had called, and confirmed, and she had called Nick, like Frank had promised, and he had confirmed, and there had been no getting away from it then.

And still. Still they hadn’t wanted to do this. To turn him in. But they’d had to, and all three of them had known it. Gone to a hospital. He’d walked in with them willingly, trying not to think about the police cars parked out front, or the guards in the halls. Tried to just focus on the two people with him he’d known and trusted. And now they were here.

“It’s a sedative,” said Nancy, showing him the needle she’d gotten from a nurse. Frank had known if someone else tried to do it, he would snap, and so they’d had to show her how.

Ned was standing in the corner, watching. The only other one there. Everyone else was waiting for him to be out. Frank didn’t know what she’d had to say to people to get them to listen. Maybe she’d gotten help from ATAC. After all, with what he’d accomplished solo in the last year, it had to be a well established fact that he was, above anything else at this point, dangerous. And devastatingly so.

“It’ll knock you out for a little bit,” she continued, taking his arm gently and readying herself.

He nodded. Not really looking at her. He felt the needle slip under his skin, then, and he had to look at her, to keep from lashing out. To reassure his pre-programmed mind that this was fine. It was her, and he knew her. For a second, it was hard, even with her face and her sad blue eyes, but after holding her gaze for a second, he calmed down, and the impulse to attack her faded. He could feel it, though. The sedative pumping in. That’s okay, he told himself, Almost over. As soon as you pass out, you’re done. You won’t have to fight so hard anymore. You’ll wake up, and you’ll be restrained, and watched by people who know what they’re doing, and you won’t have to be the one stopping you anymore. You’re almost there. Thirty more seconds.

Such a shame. It hurt a little bit, even as hard a time as he was having really processing anything, to know how difficult a time he was having just acting like himself for thirty seconds.

“That’s it,” said Nancy, removing the needle, “It’s over.” She closed her fingers around his.

“Thank you for doing this,” said Frank quietly, sad, returning the gesture and tightening his grip while he was still awake and strong enough to do that.

“Of course,” said Nancy. She looked rough. She had been keeping it together for hours, but she was starting to crack now.

Please don’t cry, thought Frank, heart sinking. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” said Nancy, “It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” said Frank, starting to feel a little shaky. Whatever she’d given him was kicking in. “Most of it, anyway.”

She shook her head. “I know you. You were out of your head when this all happened. You didn’t mean to.”

He wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe it didn’t even matter whether or not she was right. You’re so beautiful, he thought, pained, looking at her, And so kind. I wish you didn’t have to be here. “I’m sorry I had to ask you to do this,” he said. His vision was getting blurry. I should…lie…down. I’m not gonna be up. Much longer.

“It’s okay,” said Nancy.

Shakily, Frank leaned back against the hospital bed, trying to focus through the drug setting in in earnest. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, but it felt far away. He turned his head and looked back at Nancy, and Ned behind her. He couldn’t make out Ned’s face anymore. Everything was getting. So much…harder to see. This is it, then. I’m about to be gone.

“I’m gonna miss you,” said Frank, trying to smile at her.

“No, don’t say that,” said Nancy, taking his hand in both of hers, “This isn’t goodbye. We’re going to be here when you wake up. I’m staying the whole time. Through the trial—through everything. It’s gonna be okay.”

No, thought Frank, studying her face, trying to memorize it, because he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get to see it again. He wasn’t sure if he was ever even going to wake up again, but if he did, she wasn’t going to be there. It won’t be.

“I’m…sorry. I…let you…down,” he managed. Breathing felt hard. His vision was so fuzzy, he could barely make her out now. He could still feel her hand, though. Reassuring. “T-thank…you. For…tr…trying…to s…save me…”

“It’s not over yet.” Her voice sounded so far away, like he was underwater. Everything distorted. But he could just barely make out the words. “You’re gonna be okay.”

No, thought Frank sadly as his vision went dark, But that’s okay. It’s what I deserve.

————————————————————-

It had been a long couple of days.

The last few years, there had been a lot of long couple of days, but never as bad as this one before. Maybe not even that first day, c-could it really just be three years ago? It felt like another lifetime. Ned still remembered it. He’d been working, trying to fix a problem with his car’s radiator—he—really he couldn’t remember at all anymore what had caused it, and it didn’t matter. He’d missed his phone going off the first time, listening to music, and just barely got it the second time, recognizing his ring tone for Nancy. That sequence was solidified in his head, and he felt pretty sure it always would be. Almost smacking his head on the hood in his hurry, frantically wiping a hand on his jeans to get grease off, picking up on the last ring with a happy, “Hey—sorry—I couldn’t—” He had been going to say ‘hear’. That he couldn’t hear his phone go off. But she had been crying, and he’d stopped immediately, and the kind of light, okay feeling he’d had that day had vanished. Nancy was solid as a rock, and not scared of anything at all. For her to cry, it had to mean something awful—mean someone was dead, or dying, or had run over Togo or something, and he felt like his heart had stopped. And then she’d been saying that Fenton had called her, and Frank and Joe had gone missing on a case in Shanghai. Something big, with dangerous people, and it had been a few days ago, but they’d found their car in the bay, and been able to track their last location with cellphone records, and they’d found traces of blood. Blood from both of them. And there had been nothing since. Someone had heard shooting at the time, had reported it to the police, but that was all they had. And Fenton wanted help. He was going to Shanghai to look for them, and wanted her to go too, and Ned had said, “Let me go with you,” because he had known she shouldn’t be alone. Not just because there was someone out there dangerous enough that Frank and Joe were missing, but because they were so close, and she wasn’t okay. He had never heard her…really not okay before. Not like that. And he hadn’t ever forgotten.

His car hadn’t been working, but he’d left immediately. Called Dave because he was close, he would get there faster than a taxi, and he’d taken his car and sped the whole way to her house. Helped her pack. Flown to China. Ned hadn’t known when he’d gotten on that flight that he’d be living in the place he was going for the vast majority of the next few years.

He hadn’t even really thought about how he felt until the plane ride. That was. He had, as soon as he’d heard it, and again driving to see her, and every moment alone for a second, carrying bags, or grabbing food, but not enough. Not extensively. There had just been shock there, and fear, maybe. It hadn’t felt real. Frank and Joe were really capable people, and of course he’d been worried, but when your friends were people who almost died all the time, it was hard to feel like they actually might have. And then, on the plane ride, Nancy had given him her copy of what they knew so far to look over, so he’d be caught up. He’d been holding it open for Bess and George to see too, Bess at his side and George leaning over her seatback in front of them, and he’d looked at the photo someone had taken of the spot their cellphone records put them last. At the blood on the ground, and.

And he had been scared. In a way that he just…he never had been before.

That fear hadn’t really left him for two years. Until the day he’d been walking back to Nancy’s apartment with groceries, and he’d seen Frank.

Ned had frozen, sure he was hallucinating, or dreaming, or seeing what he wanted to see, but. The person had been him. Leaking a worrying amount of blood from his side and looking like a ghost. For some reason, it was all in fragments after that. He remembered calling out to him, Frank meeting his gaze, and seeing recognition, and then he’d collapsed. Ned had dropped what he’d been holding and caught him, just barely in time to keep him from hitting pavement, but he couldn’t remember what he’d said to him. He must have said he’d take him to a hospital or something, because he knew Frank had told him not to do that. That something would happen if people knew he was alive. And Ned had been terrified he would die, but he’d believed him. And then he’d passed out, and it had just been Ned, alone on that street at night with a body that was still alive. But he wasn’t a doctor. And Frank had looked so close to dead. He remembered blood on his hands, and his jacket, and stepping over scattered oranges while he hefted him up. Remembered how light he’d been. How different he’d looked. Remembered…tying something around his side, to try to keep some pressure and slow the bleeding. Getting back to the apartment as fast as he could. The look on Nancy’s face when she’d opened the door and he’d been standing there, covered in Frank’s blood, holding what looked like his lifeless body.

They must have talked. He must have told her what Frank had told him, but he didn’t remember that either. He remembered getting off Frank’s jacket, and thinking there was something weird about the clothes he’d had on underneath. Almost like a uniform, but not in a good way. Remembered taking that off too, and seeing the wound for the first time, and how awful and huge the gash had looked. There had been so much blood. He kept thinking that if Frank died, it was going to be because he’d messed up. Ned had been so afraid that the little he knew how to do wasn’t going to be enough. He’d known he would never forgive himself if that happened. And he had looked so dead. He’d looked so dead…

He hadn’t been, though.

They had fought to keep it that way. Had sewed up the cut with a travel sewing kit, no idea what either of them were doing, and sterilized the wound, taking turns working and frantically googling things and trying to offer guidance on the next step, a tandem paramedic replacement act of desperation. It had been so surreal, seeing him that way. Ned and Frank had never been best friends, or known each other incredibly well, but Ned had liked him, and he’d known him well enough to recognize that there was so much wrong, so much different. There were so many scars on his body he hadn’t had before, mostly small, but all different kinds, and everywhere. Burns, and cuts, and things Ned couldn’t even really guess at. Still, he’d tried to find solace in the fact there were no other real wounds, not serious ones—just the gash. He’d lost a lot of weight, and been weak and sick, but they’d gotten lucky, and he hadn’t been hurt in a way that was past two people who weren’t surgeons to fix. And after they’d cleaned him up, Ned had gotten him carefully into some of his own clothes, and on a bed. And God, that had felt so much better. Like being on solid ground again. Like he hadn’t really been breathing the way he used to in two years. He’d been so relieved, seeing him there on that bed, just a little more color in his face again than the ghost who’d collapsed in his arms.

Nancy had been so happy that after the danger was over, she’d come up to Ned and wrapped her arms around his back and put her head against his chest and cried. Cried because she was happy, and she was scared, and because it wasn’t both of them. Ned had tried not to cry, so she’d feel better. Tried to stay strong. And he’d almost done it.

That night, they’d both stayed up. Waiting for him to wake up again. Keeping a careful watch to make sure he was stable, and didn’t get worse. It had been a long night, and maybe something like seven hours after they’d sat down to watch him rest before he’d opened his eyes again.

And that part, that part Ned remembered all of. He remembered the way Frank had tossed weakly, mumbling incoherent things to himself, face scrunched up in worry, and fear, and pain. How sometimes he would lay still for a while, and then start to breathe raggedly for a few seconds, and shudder in a way that went down his whole body. The way it had felt to watch that, and wonder, knowing what he’d known then, after two years of investigating with Nancy, about who the people he’d been investigating when he’d vanished had been.

But he’s okay, Ned remembered telling himself, over and over again that night, waiting for Frank to wake up, He’s safe again, with us, so he’ll be okay now. And maybe, he’d believed, maybe that meant Joe was still out there too, and they would both be okay. Maybe after all of the agonizing waiting and searching and not knowing, and the way he’d seen that chipping away at Nancy, the way he’d felt it slowly begin to seep into himself too, maybe it would turn out to have some kind of a happy ending.

He’d really thought that, a year ago, for seven hours. He really had. He had been…he had been so happy to find Frank alive. So relieved. And he still remembered that, in painful detail. The way the light had been a pale orange, from the old lamp in the kitchen, and the way Nancy had reached over and held his hand, and looked hopeful again, and the touch of her skin had felt like home, and it had all seemed so quiet and still to him, even with the sounds of the city outside. The way Frank had looked, shaky and sweating and pale, but breathing and so much less pale than an hour before. And how he’d felt so awful for him, but so relieved, and just kept thinking, He’ll be okay. We can help him. We’ll find Joe. We’ll fix it. He’s gonna be okay.

But he had been wrong. They had not saved him. They had not gotten a happy ending.

-

-------Endings (4/5)

-

“Hey.”

Nancy looked up in surprise, recognizing the voice instantly. She would have known him even if she hadn’t called him two days ago—he wasn’t a person it was easy to forget. “Hey!” She shot to her feet.

Nick Falcone gave her a little wave from the doorway, and a tired smile. He looked a bit rough, a fading bruise on his head, a big bandaid on his cheek, bags under his eyes, but not too bad, and she was relieved to see it. She still didn’t know all the details of the things that had gone down at the complex, so she hadn’t really known how bad off any of them specifically would be. Nancy hurried over to him and hugged him, and Nick returned the greeting. She hadn’t seen him in…was it actually—could it really be five years? Six?

“It’s so good to see you—not like this, but, in general,” said Nancy, releasing him so she could see him again, “It’s been so long—I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of—”

He waved the concern away. “Don’t worry about it. Nobody keeps up. But you? You actually remembered to send me a post card every Christmas. You know how few people still send Christmas cards period, even to their family? Most people I meet on the job don’t even save my number.”

“Yeah, well—but we were,” started Nancy.

“A team,” agreed Nick, then, with a wink, “Partners in crime?”

“—My friend was kidnapped!” defended Nancy, grinning.

“I know,” said Nick with a matching grin.

“Still, it’s really good to see you,” said Nancy, straightening back up. And it was. A lot of the time, she…never saw people again, after cases. Even though she would have liked to. She was a traveler in people’s lives, there one week and gone the next. Somehow, she rarely seemed to hit the same island twice. And she didn’t like that, she really didn’t. Nancy cared about people pretty easily, but not in a way she thought was cheap or surface-level. She just genuinely enjoyed establishing connections with other human beings. And. It was sad, to not see them again. That was how life was, sure, and for everyone to some extent, but. She went so many places, and made so many friends, and she ended up missing all of them. And Nick had been not just one of the people she’d helped, he’d been a case partner and a trauma-bond friend.

“Yeah, yeah. I missed you too,” he said, all the warmth and playfulness and familiarity that had been there before back so easily, like it had beeen six days and not six years. That was...really nice to hear.

“How are you doing?” asked Nancy, “Really?”

Nick shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Physically, I’m fine. I have some bruises, and a cut on my cheek that might scar, but that’s the worst of it. It’s weird to come out of all that with nothing that’s gonna leave more than a little mark, but, looks like that’s how it’s gonna be for me.”

“And…” said Nancy, “…Uh….”

“Mentally?” asked Nick sympathetically, “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to ask me that either. I could be asking you the same thing though. From what I’m gathering the past two days, he was your friend, right? And a pretty close one.”

Nancy nodded. Was? “He is,” she said, because even saying nothing would have felt like a betrayal she wasn’t ready to commit.

“You okay?” asked Nick.

“No, but you didn’t answer my question,” said Nancy.

He smiled kind of sheepishly. “Did I not?”

She shook her head.

“I’m fine,” said Nick, clearly lying blatantly.

She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

“Okay. Honestly, I have no idea,” said Nick, giving in and amending his statement, “Everything is just. Surreal. I guess I’m lucky to be alive, and I should feel good about that, right? But I don’t feel anything about it at all.”

“Yeah,” said Nancy quietly.

“He’s here somewhere?” asked Nick, glancing around the hospital’s open main foyer, like he might see him, and didn’t want to.

“Yes. Upstairs,” said Nancy, “They’ve got some psychologists trying to work with him who’ve been in and out all day, and armed guards that are a constant, so, you don’t need to...” worry...

“They got any idea what is wrong with him?” asked Nick kind of awkwardly, “It was…He wasn’t lying, right? There is…something wrong. I mean—beyond killing people—wrong-wrong-uh—PTSD, dissociative episodes kind of something wrong stuff.”

“Yes, very,” said Nancy, “But are you sure you want to hear about this? I understand, if—”

“—I want to know,” said Nick, looking like he meant it, “I’m gonna wonder forever if I don’t.”

Right. You were…sort of friends. Not with him, but with...’Alec’. She had. She had just…no idea what to say to Nick at all. What could she even try to say, to explain any of this? It was so much, and so exhausting--just the version of today she was dealing with. She couldn’t even begin to understand, right now, what Nick’s version of the last month had been like.

“…Can I see him?” asked Nick quietly, expression a hard read, “—Not talk to. Just, I...feel like until I actually see he’s locked up somewhere under armed guard, I’m not gonna really believe it. And. It might seem…in bad taste, to you, but the others would probably like a photo of that. –Not to gloat. Just. Nobody feels really safe right now. Even right by a station full of cops.”

“…Right,” said Nancy, overcome with a pang of sadness. She understood. It make a lot of sense, and it wasn’t in poor taste, it was just hard. “Sure. He’s out right now anyway, so he wouldn’t even have to know. I’ll show you.” She motioned him to follow her, and Nick came, sliding his hands into the pockets on his big brown jacket, and looking around the hospital curiously as they went.

“You still doing detective work, rescuing kidnapped girls?” asked Nick with an only barely forced smile, catching up and keeping pace with her, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Yeah, sort of,” said Nancy, returning his smile with an even more exhausted one, “I’ve been working one case for three years now. But, sometimes someone local needs help, and I’ll be working two cases, and it’ll be like old times, and that’s really nice.”

“You’re some kinda do-gooder, but I get it,” said Nick carelessly, “We all got our own wars to fight. Causes to win. They just look a little different to each of us.”

“Yeah,” said Nancy, actually feeling a little better. It had been a long time since the case in Missouri where she’d met him, but they’d been good friends, even if their relationship had started out with her yelling at him and accusing him of kidnapping. Look—I was having some kind of day—Maya was gone, and everyone was stonewalling me and being a huge pain—him too. I was mad. Still. By the end of it, he’d been almost her partner on the case, and they’d saved Maya together. He’d bought her enough time to get it done. “What about you? Still a Human Against the Destruction of Illustrious Theaters?”

Nick snorted. “You know I am,” he said proudly, “That and running with about five other causes.”

“Should you be doing six at once?” asked Nancy.

“Hey—You don’t get to lecture me about doing too much,” said Nick.

“Fair enough,” agreed Nancy with a smile.

They reached the second floor, and Nancy wove through halls, finally finding Frank’s room. It was in a corner, by itself. One thin window a human couldn’t possibly fit through, about eye level, and looking in from the hospital to the room. No external windows at all, just solid concrete walls. There were several armed guards at the door, which still felt strange. But. It has to be like this right now. You know that.

Nancy held up her ID. They knew who she was, so it was just a formality, but it paid sometimes to go by the book.

“Who’s he?” asked one of the guards she knew by now was named Guozhi. After three years, Nancy wasn’t bad at Mandarin, but the guards knew English, and had been generous and started just assuming that was the best bet with the people coming in and out of the room all the time, and they weren’t wrong. It was only going to get worse, with the people Nancy already knew were flying in from the US to try to help deal with this.

“This is Nick Falcone,” answered Nancy, nudging Nick with her elbow. He quickly pulled an ID out of his pocket and held it up. The guards were familiar with the situation, and would already know who that was, so they’d know the name.

“I don’t have to go in,” said Nick, almost nervous, “I just. Wanted to…see.” The guards gave a nod, and Nick stepped past them and to the side, near the wall to the room, and looked in the little window. His face was almost impossible for her to read. Maybe she didn’t have any right to be prying right now anyway, trying to guess what was going on. Nancy decided not to try, and just stepped up beside him and looked in too.

Frank was asleep. Ned was in there, waiting with him, back to the window. Reading a book, but not very well. Every couple seconds, he would glance over at Frank, and then keep going. Not able to focus enough to probably be actually comprehending anything in the book at all. Oh Ned, I’m so sorry, thought Nancy, meaning it, and feeling bad, but feeling worse that as bad as she felt for him, she was so much more glad and relieved that he was there. That he’d come with her, and stayed with her, and she hadn’t had to do all this alone. I’m some kind of terrible girlfriend, I guess… She loved him so much. She had to find some way to tell him that, and that she was sorry it had been like this, and she was glad he’d stayed, but there was so much going on right now, she barely had the energy to get up and walk around.

“So. …What happens now?” asked Nick, expression still closed off and a hard read, taking in the scene in front of him.

Poor Frank, thought Nancy, watching herself for a moment. They had strapped him down, wrists, chest, waist, ankles. With a blanket over, it wasn’t so awful to look at, but she could still see the cuffs around his wrists. She still knew. And he was so pale, sweating, and moving fitfully, like he had the first night he’d been safe with them in Shanghai, and all the nights for two weeks after. They were trying out a drug, to see if it would help him, and God, she hoped it would. Nancy didn’t like to be here. It was hard to bear. But not being here would have been worse. It. It was so strange to be talking to Nick like this too, especially now, right here by Frank—she wasn’t really sure what to say. She was still feeling like Frank was the victim in this, well, not the, a, but. To everyone things had happened to…? I don’t think I’ve really even begun to process it, thought Nancy, placing her fingers against the glass, Not really. Because I haven’t had to see a body. But Moira? Mom’s best friend? She was…like an aunt to me. We were getting really close, the last few years. And Lou was a thief, but he was just a stupid college student. Connie? She wondered if anyone had let Daryl know yet—if they’d still even been together. I did such a bad job of keeping up with people, she thought again mournfully, Maybe if I hadn’t, something would have been different. I’d have known they were gone. I could have stopped it, or something. And Alec—the real Alec? She wondered. Was his sister still out there somewhere, like he’d hoped? The one he’d been searching for so tirelessly, for years, and years, far past when anyone else would have given up? What would happen to her now, if she was, with no one left out there in the world to find her…

“Now?” echoed Nancy, glancing over at Nick, “He’s going to finish getting evaluated, and hopefully get a diagnosis from some psychologists, and then treatment. And, somewhere while that’s all happening, it’ll go to trial. I don’t know when, yet. I’m…Technically, his next of kin is his father, Fenton, so, when anything happens isn’t really up to me.”

“Is he here?” asked Nick.

“No,” said Nancy, removing her hand from the window slowly and letting out a breath, “Fenton’s getting in late tonight, though. It’s…been hard.”

Nick nodded, and studied Frank for a few more seconds in silence, then straightened up. “...Kinda surprised he really did it.”

“Turned himself in?” asked Nancy.

Nick nodded.

“You didn’t think he would?”

“I don’t…think I knew anything, one way or another,” said Nick tiredly, staring past her at nothing.

“…I’m really sorry,” said Nancy quietly, watching him.

“It’s not your fault,” said Nick, meeting her gaze again, “You didn’t ask him to do it. Unless there’s something I don’t know, he came after us because we knew you, not because you told him we were problems. Right?”

“No—of course not,” said Nancy, horrified, “—We were friends! I—” He was grinning at her. “Oh, you were teasing me.”

“Yeah,” said Nick.

“Still,” said Nancy, glancing back through the window. Not really sure which of many things she’d been wanting to say.

“…What did he say?” asked Nick.

Nancy glanced at him.

“Anything that—made more sense than what he told us?”

“…I don’t really know exactly what he told you,” said Nancy.

“Okay, but you said ‘very’—very wrong. Why ‘very,’” said Nick, “Like I said, I want to know. Not one thing that’s happen the past month makes sense. If there’s a way to understand all that, I…I need to.”

“I can…tell you what I know,” said Nancy, feeling bad, taking in the look on his face, “But you might be better off waiting for the psychologists to be done. Or to at least have a primary diagnosis. We don’t have anything in writing yet at all. I wouldn’t want to…Like you said, he’s my friend. I’ll do all the guessing I feel like helps me, but I don’t want to guess for someone else. You deserve real answers.”

“I want what I can get,” said Nick, “You knew him. That’s more than I’ve got. What do you think?”

“About…why he did it?” asked Nancy. She glanced at Frank for a few seconds, and then back at Nick. “I’m…not a psychologist.”

She could see very plainly that he still wanted to know. Desperately. And she understood that. She would have been asking anyone who’d known more than her, even without having to suffer through the version of it Nick had. If she’d just…been home, living her own life in River Heights, and gotten a call, and Joe had been here, she’d have been asking him. Trying to get him to make sense of it for her, because any step closer was better than where she was right now.

“Okay,” said Nancy, taking a breath, “But. Take what I say with a grain of salt. I’ve been spending all the free time I have trying to research, and understand, and I’m good at that, it’s—it’s kind of my job, but. I know really I’m just…guessing. And that’s all. I believe him, though. I know him. I’ve known him for years. And I think he told me the whole truth when he got home. He’s…he’s different, and at the same time, I know he’s still the same person he’s always been, and that’s so hard for me to understand. I’ve been trying. Torture…from everything I’ve been able to read up on, it’s designed kind of above all else to destroy someone’s sense of self. And their sense of safety, and trust, and any kind of security or understanding they had in the world at all along with it. People all develop cognitive framework for understanding the world when they’re growing up—how to categorize things, their idea of a just world. Self-identity, society, personal relationships. But. When you get tortured, everything the person torturing you is doing is about destroying all of that. It damages your brain. You go through too much to suffer and be able to really stay the same, on even a…a physical level, and the damage breaks neurological connections. You have to form new ways to think about the world, to cope, to just survive, and you spend every day with people trying to make it so you can’t even remember how you used to think about yourself and life before. There’s a lot of stuff about the aftermath of torture, and about anger, and anxiety, and so much about paranoia. Cognitive deterioration.”

She let out a slow breath. Even with all the time she’d spent the past two days, she still knew so little, and yet somehow everything she did know felt really impossible to explain anything like quickly to someone else.

“But I believe him,” she said again, watching Nick’s face, “I think he didn’t know what he was doing. Not the real him. I think he was doing what he thought made sense, but what he thought made sense was what going through things I can’t even imagine for two years made him think. It wasn’t what he wanted. He was out of his head, and out of control, and there was no one there to stop him, but I don’t think he ever really wanted to do it. Somebody else conditioned him to be like this. And then, somewhere along the way, he came to his senses enough to realize that, and so he stopped, and tried to get help. I just. Wish it could have been sooner…”

Nick had been listening in silence, and he looked away when she finished, thinking. A very far-away and set look on his face.

“You don’t have to listen to this, though,” said Nancy, feeling bad, thinking about the trauma he’d been through over the past month or so, “You don’t have to feel sympathetic. –You don’t have to think sympathetic. You don’t even have to wonder. You can just go home, and you should. None of this excuses anything that happened to you, or the rest of them. Nobody could ask you to try to be generous about that.” He had just—he had said he wanted to understand, so, she had been…trying. But. I’m sorry if I just hurt you more.

“Yeah,” said Nick, glancing back at her. He cleared his throat. “So. He’ll go to trial in a few weeks or something?”

“Or something,” agreed Nancy, “You’ll probably be asked to be there—all of you, to testify. But if you, or any of the kids, or—any of the others can’t handle it, I think you can talk to someone and have a written statement submitted. Or a video, or something.”

“I know,” said Nick tiredly, “They already talked to us about that.”

“Oh,” said Nancy.

For a moment, Nick glanced back into the room again, watching the unconscious person inside, then he turned to Nancy and straightened up. “Do you know what he’s pleading?”

“What?” said Nancy, genuinely confused for a second, “—Oh. Guilty. He wants to plead guilty, to whatever charges get brought. He’s been in and out of it since getting here, but he was really set on that. I…He does feel awful. I don’t—I’m sorry, if you don’t want to know things like that that, tell me, and I won’t say them again. But if it…makes any of this any more…bearable, or something. He wants to pay.”

Nick held her gaze for a second, and then smiled kind of sadly, and shook his head. “You’re fine. I think I just want to know as much as I can.” He turned and took a few steps back towards the stairwell, and then paused and turned to face her again. “We’re around. All of us are staying in town, together, for the moment. Uh—separate rooms, because there’s some drama. Lori and Niobe tried to kill Grigor a few days ago—”

“They did what?” asked Nancy, horrified.

“It’s—it’s so complicated,” said Nick, very exhausted, taking a little travel notepad out from a pocket and scribbling on it, “But uh. We’re all in the same hotel, for safety. Because none of us are ever gonna feel safe in a room alone again.” He’d been trying to joke, and flashed her a grin, but it was too hard to laugh at that. Too soon. And it had been too soon for him too, and she could see it. “It was as close to the police station as we could get,” continued Nick more soberly, “I’m in 114 and 116—adjoining rooms, with Grigor, and Dylan, and all four of the kids. Niobe and Lori are across the hall and one down in 117. Henry kind of just, drifts. Between all three rooms. If you want to find any of us, that’s where we’ll be.” He tore off a sheet of paper and handed the address out to her.

“Thank you, Nick,” said Nancy, taking it. “Ned and I haven’t even booked a place yet. I’ve got an apartment, a bit of drive from here, but technically in town, so I’m not even sure if it’s worth it to get a hotel. We might just sleep here in chairs for the moment…But uh. Whatever we end up doing, I’ll text you, in case any of you want to reach us.”

“Sure,” said Nick.

“It was good to see you again,” said Nancy.

“You too,” said Nick with a real smile for a second. He turned to go.

“Do you…need your picture?” she asked, feeling a little sick.  He turned back around. “For the others?”

“…Right,” said Nick. He gave the room a look, and then glanced back at her. “No. I changed my mind. They’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Okay,” said Nancy, not pressing him on why.

Nick hesitated in the hallway, though, absently opening and closing his fist, caught in indecision. Agitated. I wonder if he wants to ask something, but he thinks I won’t want to help?

For a few more seconds, he was silent, debating whatever he was debating in his head, and then he made his decision and glanced over at her. “You should talk him out of that.”

“What?” said Nancy, not sure what any part of that sentence had been referring to.

“Pleading guilty,” said Nick. He met her gaze, and he seemed tired, and sad, but firm—sincere. Beyond that, she couldn’t read him at all. She felt like that was the way he wanted it, too. “Having spent the last almost two months with the guy, and knowing what I know now—the things I saw him do in that place? If there’s ever been a case where someone really deserved to plead not guilty by reason of insanity? This was it.”

“…” She had wanted to say “You really think he’s insane?”, but, when she had looked for her voice to do it, all it would say for her was, “Yeah,” because she’d known it too, and just hadn’t wanted to say it out loud, but she couldn’t say that, so she couldn’t answer him at all.

Nick waited for an answer she couldn’t give for a second, then smiled at her. “If you want someone to testify to that, I’ll do it. You know where to find me.” He gave her a nod in goodbye, and then started down the stairs.

“…You would help him?” she asked.

He stopped on the third step down, and turned to glance at her over his shoulder.

“After everything he did to you?” asked Nancy. She wanted to help Frank. God, even, even after the things he’d done—the people she…she had lost too, in ways. Especially Moira. But…Nick had never known him before. It was different. To him—to all of them, except maybe Lori, he was a complete and utter stranger.

Nick glanced away, and stuffed his hands into his pockets, then shrugged. “I don’t think it’s…’helping.’ That would be trying to get him out of something he deserves. I just think you’re right. I think he killed four people because he got tortured somewhere for two years and lost his mind. It’s the only thing that could possibly make sense, even a little, after the way things fell apart—how elaborate it all was, but how poorly planned, how much things went off the rails. Him turning himself in. I’m not a doctor, or a lawyer, or a cop. I don’t ‘know’ what’s right, I guess legally, or ethically, or scientifically speaking. And I can’t claim to. But it seems like it…it should at least be different, you know?” He glanced at her again, “Than what you’d call justice for someone who just wanted to do all that. That’s why we put murders in categories, right? Premeditated, heat of the moment, manslaughter. ‘Crazy’ isn’t a full category on its own, that I know of anyway, but. It isn’t the same as the others either. I…just want whatever happens to be the right thing.” He met her gaze again and tried to smile.

“That’s…really good of you,” said Nancy.

“No,” said Nick, looking at the ground. “I’m just tired of watching people die.”

Die?

Oh no.

Everything changed. She felt her blood run cold and the urge to vomit suddenly. No, no, no. She’d been living here for three years now—she’d known that, but somehow she’d missed it. Somehow Nick Falcone had realized it first. She was so used to American laws, and American ways of doing things, she hadn’t even remembered to think about it, but Nick was right. Oh God, he was right about all of it. Everything that had been done, every death, it had all happened on Chinese soil, and unless there was some way Fenton could get him extradited—

The knowledge she had had and simply not looked at before slammed against her skull, and Nancy felt the floor of the building cracking under her feet and things collapsing around her, and she knew it was in her head, but it didn’t matter. It was going to be real enough.

How. How could I have forgotten this? He’s right. God, he’s right. China practices capital punishment. It’s got the highest number of death penalties handed out of any country in the world. It’s passed down as a common sentencing in criminal trials here. Especially for. …Drug trafficking. And. Murder. Murderers often get sentenced to death. By lethal injection…or gunshot.

-

--Endings (5/5)

-

Frank had sat in a chair in chains and tried not to think at all, facing a judge and a room full of people.

He had been so barely aware of anything at all.

It had been like that for days now. Everything was a haze. He knew what was happening, but he didn’t learn details or retain them. He felt empty. And far away.

So many doctors had come in to talk to him, and God, it had been so hard to be chained to something like that and to make himself tell people the truth about anything at all. It had been hardwired into him not to do that. But he’d tried. He’d tried. He’d tried…

Off and on for days. Medication? He was pretty sure, but he couldn’t remember what. Maybe no one had told him. Ned was there. He…he thought…Ned was there…

Nancy sometimes. His dad. Nancy’s dad. Lots of other people. Too many people…

Then, finally, the days that had seeped into one another had been over. And they’d taken him to a trial.

It had been a relief. That was the last thing he really had to do. And as far as he could tell, he really just had to show up there, maybe answer a few questions. Almost done. Almost done…

His dad. He’d seen him a lot over the past few days. Frank remembered some of that, but not most of it. So much talking. He’d wanted to know what he’d done, and why, and so much—so much. So many details. Details about things he didn’t want to talk about. Had he? Did I? …Had he… Huh. He couldn’t remember. He would have thought he’d remember that. But. No. …Had his dad been angry? He must’ve been. Frank remembered him being there. Shouting. But…No. Wait. I was shouting. I was shouting at him. Right. Oh. There it was. Yes, he had been mad. They’d both been mad. Frank didn’t remember all the words they’d said anymore, but he remembered the visuals that went with it. Weird. When you were little, it freaked you out if one of your parents shouted at you. Apparently you would feel the same way if you had a shouting match as an adult while chained to something… Or. Frank had, anyway. Mom. Mom had come too. He hadn’t wanted to see her. Hadn’t wanted to talk to her. He’d forgotten that a part of turning himself in would mean she’d hear what he’d done. He hadn’t wanted her to be there, to see him strapped down to a hospital bed, to know, and when she had been, he’d wanted her to…To not care, somehow. To be angry too, maybe. But. She’d just come into the room and cried and stroked his head and said she loved him, and he wished he could forget that, like everything else his mind was letting just drift in and out, because it had made him a little bit sad to die. Or to be in prison for the rest of his life. Whatever happened. Sad because she would be so sad watching it happen. And he had almost been at peace with just letting himself go.

The trial lasted what felt like days and days, but he wasn’t keeping count. There were a lot of people trying to defend him. He hadn’t wanted that. He just wanted it to be over.

And then, he’d been sitting there, listening to people talk through their opening formalities, and barely even really hearing it, and his lawyer had gotten up and said, “Not guilty,” when they’d asked for his plea.

“Not guilty, by reason of insanity.”

He remembered staring in shock and horror at the man in front of him, and standing up himself—trying to actually do something for the first time since turning himself in. He’d said something. Shouted. And they’d had to stop for a minute to get him to shut up. He had argued. He had argued for what felt like an hour, and everyone had been against him. Frank remembered, really vividly, finally turning to his dad and saying, “It doesn’t matter what you think! I’m the person charged, so I get to choose my plea!”

And his dad had looked him in the face and said, “Not if we can prove you aren’t capable of doing that.”

It had been. So surreal. And it hurt. Hurt in a way he couldn’t really categorize. Getting told to his face by his father that he wasn’t enough of a person to make decisions about what happened to him anymore.

He had argued. He had fought. Frank had tried so hard to get anyone to listen to him, anyone at all, but no one would. Not his mom, not his dad, not even Nancy. He had seen her, hanging by the edge of the room, worried, had looked at her, and said, “Please! I can’t do this—I know I’m not right in the head, but I’m not insane enough to not be guilty of doing this,” and she’d met his eyes and looked sad, and said, “You don’t deserve the guilty plea.” And that had…it had been as bad as saying he was. And still he had tried, alone, tried to get the judge to listen. The people in the court room to listen. And then he had sat there while a bunch of doctors he’d met with had paraded out and talked about him in front of him for hours, and gone into so much detail about everything that was wrong with him, and there had been so much that he hadn’t said that they were so sure of, somehow, and…He hadn’t been able to take it. His brain had shut off and dissociated after the second full day of it, and he’d just sat there, barely half-listening, having realized now that they weren’t going to hear him when he spoke either, so what was the point.

Frank had thought that would be the end of it, but it hadn’t been. He’d had to testify too. That had been…been so much more surreal than even the things that had come before. Sitting in chains, looking at his father, and being asked questions he knew he was supposed to answer truthfully about how insane he was.

He had…he had wanted to fight. But he hadn’t wanted to lie. Then had wanted to lie, when the questions got too personal. Realized way too late he could have just opted to stay silent, and then done that, once he’d remembered he could. But that had been after hours of other things. Of quiet ‘yes’s and ‘no’s to leading questions someone should have been objecting to. What are you doing, Dad? he’d thought, watching his father work through a long question about his relationship with Joe, Trying to walk me through convincing the judge here I’m a lunatic? Are you so afraid to watch me rot in prison, or die, that you’d rather do this? Throw everything I don’t want to think about at me in a court full of strangers and make me live it again, just so someone can put me in an institution for the next forty years instead? And what, you’ll just…pretend that’s the best way to handle the fact that I shot a guy my age through the neck while he was begging me to let him go? Pretend that’s the fair thing for all of us to do?

That whole, long, awful process, Frank had thought those things. Exhausted, and hurt, and confused. And not once, not once the whole time, did he stop to wonder if they might be right.

He knew they weren’t.

And it had all only gotten so much worse.

He had already been so tired, after days of exhausting questioning, and then he’d been waiting, waiting like always, and they’d called Jane to the stand.

Frank hadn’t expected to ever see any of them again, but of course. And of course it would be like this.

And that? That was punishment.

Sitting there in a room, surrounded by strangers, watching a fourteen year old girl talk about the way you had kidnapped her. How she’d woken up in a room full of adults she’d never seen before, far from home, and been told she was going to die for something terrible she’d done, unless she found some way to prove her innocence. How it had been scary, how she’d seen a body, and it hadn’t been the last, just the only one that wasn’t someone she could remember alive. All the pressure, all the strangers, all the threats and fear. How she had met people, too, people who had helped her. He’d had to sit there, listening to her describe Moira, and Lou, and Connie—the ways she’d seen them. Hear her talk about him, about the American named Alec, and how he’d looked out for her, along with some of the others, and he’d been an alcoholic and she’d been worried about him, so she’d stolen his alcohol to try and make him stop, because they were all in it together and he was her friend, and God—she had—she had done that. He remembered that. She had tried to help him, and she’d been proud of it. But he’d kept going. And Jane talked about the recreation of her home, and what it felt like to find a woman cut to pieces in a replica of her family garden, the fear of sleeping at night knowing it could be her that didn’t wake back up. The anxiety of trying to perform, trying to prove herself, and being so young, and not knowing if she could trust the people around her. Knowing she’d have lost easily in a fight with any one of them, even the teenagers.

And then she’d described seeing Lou. Strung up by his wrists, with an arrow hole in his throat. Frank had realized, listening to Jane, that he was going to hear this story a lot of times, he was going to hear it at least nine more times. But he couldn’t even take it once. That had been the one he couldn’t get past. Moira, he had been so sure for, and Connie had been an accident, and he’d still been angry, but Lou? Lou. God... God, look at you. Look at what you’ve done. How could you do this? How could you do something like this. How could you do this. How. He’d begged. He had begged. Why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you stop? You could have saved him. You didn’t want to do that one. I was there. I remember. Why didn’t I stop? It would have been so easy. I taught him a lesson; I never had to kill him. I could have lowered the bow and walked away. Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I. Why didn’t I. Why didn’t I…

She must have said other things after that, and a lot of them, but Frank didn’t hear. He stayed with that death in his head, thinking about it, looking at it, reliving it, and he didn’t come back out of his head until someone bumped him to ask if he wanted a glass of water, hours later, and Jane was walking down from the stand.

It doesn’t matter, Frank had thought then, wondering why he felt nothing at all instead of relief as he watched her go, It doesn’t matter what dad or his ten lawyers try. Nobody’s going to let me go after hearing that. Hearing it from a kid. And they’re going to get it again. And again. And again. From a lot of people who deserve to say it. God, Henry. I hope he’s okay. I hope he’s well enough to come. That had been the one he’d interacted with the most as himself, behind the scenes. And he’d been awful to him. He’d almost killed him once, when he was angry, and then almost let him starve to death because he’d been so wrapped up in everything he was trying to do that he’d quite literally forgotten that he was there. He has to be terrified of me, thought Frank emptily. And that had been what he’d wanted. He’d worked hard to make sure Henry would be. But he’d been so good at it. He wondered if it was hurting the people who’d survived him more to be here, and to talk, or if maybe it helped a little, to be able to have a platform to make people listen to what had been done to them. He hoped it was the latter. He felt awful he’d gotten lost in his head and stopped listening to Jane’s—like he’d intentionally gotten out of something he knew he should have done.

Either way, thought Frank, trying hard to refocus, This is good for me. It means Dad won’t get what he wants. They’re not gonna ignore ten innocent people for one psychopath. No matter what he tries.

And where would that leave him?

…Probably dead, realized Frank, no feeling attached to the thought. Probably dead. And then what? What after? Frank hadn’t been scared at all until he’d wondered that. He really hadn’t. Maybe he’d not really thought the whole thing through at all before, or maybe it was just because the question of after bore so much more terror than death itself. Regardless, he did then, and the fear he had thought he was well past feeling seeped in, slowly, but relentless, and it settled in his bones. Like a pendulum he could see swinging closer and closer, or an hourglass running out of time, a bomb counter working its way down to zero. And he was afraid, then. Still firm in his decision to take the punishment he deserved. But scared. Constantly, relentlessly, consumingly afraid.

The days got harder to focus on as the trial went on. Frank didn’t know if it was him, or the medications he was being given he didn’t even know the names of, or just stress and exhaustion, but he started to lose track of time. Things just seeped into each other, one day to the next.

He was moved. He would talk to doctors, talk to lawyers, sit in court in silence. He saw everyone, from the blacksite. But only barely. He couldn’t feel anything but fear and guilt and regret and confusion at all, and those just barely, but constantly, hammering at his head. Frank tried to focus, tried to hear what people said. Tried to listen to the people he had hurt. But he couldn’t. He would be able to focus on snippets, fragments, but the rest would just go past him like he wasn’t really there. Sometimes he would hear them, and then forget it too, and not be able to remember what had happened in court at all. But it was all so bad. And that was right, that was how it should be. That was what had happened. Any time he made out a phrase right, it would be Lori recounting him threatening her with a knife at her throat, or Henry giving an account of waking up on a table in a room he’d never seen before, too weak to even sit up and with an IV in his arm and the man who’d almost killed him a few days earlier waiting. Be Grigor describing struggling with him when he’d shoved a mask on him and made him inhale anesthesia so he could get him to a different room, and how he’d recognized ‘Alec’ and known he was going to die. And Frank would have to remember it too, and be thinking about it from his side. Seeing shock and horror on Grigor’s face when he’d fought back, and how he hadn’t realized until that moment how well someone could plead with just their eyes, because Grigor couldn’t talk with the mask, but he’d been saying ‘Please. Please—we were friends. You can’t do this. You wouldn’t,’ and he’d been saying it just fine without words at all.

And Frank would get so lost in those memories, he would sometimes miss hours before he thought to tune in again. It was so easy to get lost in his head. So easy… He knew that was bad, but at least it was a different kind of bad. It was dissociative and unstable, but at least it wasn’t volatile and violent, like before. Barely there was better than there and just not present to stop himself. Not present right.

Frank missed a lot of testimony, that week, even though he tried. He could remember their faces, though. A lot of them tried not to look at him. Some of them did though, some of them wanted to make him look, and he’d tried to, zoned out and barely there as he was. Some of them were mad, some of them were shellshocked, some of them were just confused. Sometimes they looked at him in ways that didn’t make sense. It didn’t feel good to look at them. Every time he accidentally made eye contact, it felt like being kicked in the gut.

It was strange. Maybe he hadn’t known how it would feel at all. But it hurt, to have people hate you. It hurt to listen to someone who hated you talk about why you should die. Even if you deserved it. He had…he thought…he thought that he had thought it wouldn’t, since he knew they were right. But it did. Stupid. Stupid, and unfair. You have no right to care. But he couldn’t control that. And it wounded him. Ate at him. Stacked, and built, and blurred together, and he heard steadily less and less of what anyone said. Just felt more and more anxiety, and dread, and guilt, and fear.

So many people talked. He had to get up and talk too. The prosecution asked him things he didn’t want to answer, or didn’t know how to, and Frank couldn’t even remember after any of what he’d said. It got suffocating in that room. He could see on everyone in the gallery what they thought, every time he was looking out at them. And he started to think about dying a lot. And then he couldn’t anymore, and he thought about nothing. He shut down, and compacted, without really meaning to, and things happened around him while he didn’t really listen. While he tried to dig himself back out of the hole he’d made for himself unconsciously, and failed.

It was so hard. Climbing back out of numb and empty. If he thought about any of it, about what death would feel like, then he would think about what things had felt like before. He would think about watching his brother die, and how that had felt, and he would think about his mom and dad coming to watch him leave the world, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop them. And he thought about how that would feel, for them, and what they must think of him, and how broken he would be leaving them after. He thought about how the people who hated him would feel, and might celebrate, and he wasn’t angry, but it hurt, and he was sad. And he would think about Nancy, and Ned, and how miserably wasted their last three whole years of life had been. What kind of an ending that would be for all their work. How that would feel. How trying to sift through all of that could only possibly feel like torture. How Joe would have felt, if he’d known. How heartbroken he would be to know the legacy his brother had carved out in his name had been the last thing he would have ever wanted, had been nothing but blood. He would think about afterlife, and that would be too much, because if he didn’t end up where Joe was, how would that be bearable? Ever? He knew he had done awful things, and he knew he deserved to suffer for that, but. God, that was too much. It was too much. He couldn’t bear that. He couldn’t. It was beyond him. And it was coming for him now, looming, like a waiting guillotine. And so after traveling that circuit of thought about four times, he just shut down any time it began, which was constantly, and lived in the fear of its shadow. In a haze of drugs, and exhaustion, and trauma that hadn’t even begun to be addressed.

The last day of court, Frank hadn’t known it would be the last one at all until Ned had said something to him. Had bumped him in a friendly way very gently with his elbow when they’d been walking out of the hospital and said, “Don’t worry. Everyone’s worked really hard. I know it’ll work out.”

He had looked up at him kind of blankly, and taken a second to realize what he meant. “The sentencing is today?”

Ned had looked so surprised. “…Yeah. You. Didn’t know?” He’d glanced over his shoulder, back at the people walking behind them, and then at Frank again. “Nobody told you?”

They probably had, and he’d just missed it, or forgotten it, but Frank hadn’t really wanted to say that, so he’d just shrugged.

“Are they treating you okay?” asked Ned, worried now.

That had been funny. For some reason, it was always funny to him when Ned was sad or worried because of him. He didn’t know why. “You would know better than I do,” said Frank, almost smiling for the first time in quite a while, “You’re there all the time, and awake for more of it.”

That was true. He was there even more than Nancy was. She was out trying to help her dad, and his dad, and the lawyers. But Ned had no expertise, so he’d been left to babysit. He was always there when Frank woke up. Like a nurse or something. Or a dog. In a good way, thought Frank, feeling guilty.

“Yeah, but I’m not there when the psychologists are,” said Ned, still concerned, “Or your lawyers.”

“I don’t know,” said Frank, suddenly very tired, “Does it matter?”

“What are you talking about?” Ned had asked, “Of course it does.”

Not really, Frank had thought, but it had been nice of him. A lot of things had been nice of him. Now that he was thinking about it, Ned had talked to him a lot. Wait. Hold on. Did you read to me??? He was getting memories he hadn’t had at all before suddenly, and it was surreal, because they were detailed, but he hadn’t had them at all until just then. Did you ask me what books I like and then read to me while I’ve been out? thought Frank frantically, trying to deal with a type of new information he hadn’t gotten like this before, Am I completely losing my mind?? Did this happen? There was no way he could ask Ned that. He would sound completely insane.

Well, thought Frank tiredly, glancing over at him again, I guess it’s worth considering that it’s not like they don’t already know that. “Thank you. For doing what you can,” said Frank instead, to have given some answer, and because it was something he had needed to say anyway.

“I’m sorry I can’t do anything real,” Ned had replied, trying to smile, “I really picked the wrong career for being useful in this kind of situation. …I guess I picked the wrong hobbies too—I’m not even that good of a narrator.”

He had been trying to joke to make him feel better, but all Frank could think was, Oh my god, he did then. He has been reading to give me something to do. I’m. I’m forgetting way more than I thought. Oh, this is bad.

“Are you okay?”

Ned again. So much concern. And again, it made him want to laugh. What a strange way to still be able to feel.

“I don’t know,” Frank had said, because there was no way to explain right now everything he was feeling, “I guess we’ll find out.”

The air in the big cavernous room had been different that day. Before, it had been heavy, and looming. Now it was tight, and fast, but not in a way that was better. Just a different sort of tension. Tension like a bowstring drawn back.

Frank had tired to stay focused, especially after talking to Ned. He had watched the judge, and listened as the attorneys presented their last statements. One arguing that he was broken, incapable of personal responsibility, and criminally insane, another that he was a cold and calculated, a vicious, sadistic murderer. Is that true? he had wondered, listening to the two men out there presenting their cases to the room, Am I either a complete monster, or barely even legally a person at all? He had…he had sort of thought, that it was somewhere between the two. That he was messed up, and sick, but also responsible, and wrong, and very, very guilty of choosing to do terrible things. That was…still what he thought. Both people were telling this room full of strangers that he was inhuman. Just one was sure it was because he wanted to be vile, and the other that someone had beaten the humanity out of him and left just the shell.

What a thing for everyone in the whole room, everyone in the whole world who knew you, to believe. No matter which side they were on.

But I’m not, Frank had thought, feeling kind of sick. Feeling the room crumbling around him and his focus failing. I’m not inhuman. I know what I did was unforgivable, and monstrous, but I feel awful. I feel. I came back because I wanted to do what was right. I didn’t kill the kids because I couldn’t—it was too wrong. I couldn’t kill my friends, either. I came back to face justice because I wanted to. It wasn’t fair. He was going to die; how much more did they have to take away from him? He’d fought for this, and it hadn’t been easy—couldn’t he at least take that one thing with him? That he had chosen to try? That he had been himself, been a full human being, damaged and broken and bad and wrong, but still him, and he’d made a choice, and the last one had been a good one. It didn’t undo all the others, but it was still his, and he had been proud of it. A little. Not in a way that was more proud than the horror and shame at all the other choices. But. But he had done this. It was the last good thing he had. It was his.

I’m not just a shell, walking around on auto-pilot either, he thought, words from his own defense reverberating in his head, I’m not a robot. I’m not…a ghost, repeating old patterns, or a toy, with no agency at all. Zhiming took a lot from me, and I know it broke something in me, but I didn’t just hurt people. I also made friends. I cared about Nick, and Rentaro, and Dylan, and Grigor, and Henry, and Kim. I found a way through everything bad in my head, and I chose to listen to things they said to me. I changed my mind. That was real. It doesn’t matter to any of them and it doesn’t have to, but it mattered to me, and it was real—it was important. I cared. And I did that, as a human being. I cared about people—I let myself care again, when I didn’t want to, and I changed because of it. That was mine too. It’s not fair. I should get to keep that. I should get to keep my humanity, and the good decisions along with the bad. I’m willing to pay for what I did, I’m willing to rot in prison, I’m willing to die, but I’m myself. I’m still a person. And no one thinks that anymore. How am I supposed to die at peace with that.

It hit him in a kind of painful, kind of sad way, that maybe that wasn’t true. The way Ned had talked to him this morning, he thought probably he didn’t think either of those things, even now. Maybe Ned was so oblivious that he was still just Frank to someone. It would be…a consolation. A big one. If he could be sure that was true. One person was so much more than zero.

Behind him, his counsel was talking, sharing notes with each other. It had gotten quiet in the court room. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Nancy and Ned and Bess and George and his parents, first row. Right there, right behind. All of them tried to smile at him, or give him whatever their version of reassurance was. Bess had been crying.

You’re all so worried, Frank had thought fondly, just the tiniest piece of that anxiety from moments before fading. It was nice. It was nice to still have people who cared like that about him. He didn’t deserve it.

People were talking again, in the court, and Frank turned his head to look. Took in a little re-hashing of his list of crimes from the judge before he started to zone out again. He’d looked at the gavel carved in as a decoration on the judge’s platform and been dragged down into thoughts, again, about after. About what would happen to him next. There was so much to think about that he couldn’t get through it all, and he wasn’t ready. He was afraid.

So much sound erupted from the courtroom that he jolted, adrenaline kicking in, snapped back to reality.

Frank turned his head, chains clinking together as he looked as far as his limited mobility would allow, trying to see what had happened. Startled. People were on their feet, people moving. His family, his friends with them. Nancy had reached him almost before he’d been able to pick her out of the group, and she threw her arms around him, crying, and hugged him hard.

“What?” said Frank, totally lost, “What happened?”

“What?” she’d asked, more confused than he was, still clinging to him and looking up with a tear-stained face. “You weren’t listening?”

He shook his head.

“Your sentence,” she choked out, and then she couldn’t talk for a second, shoulders trembling while she tried to fight back sobs.

Frank looked past her in confusion, so lost in the middle of the crowd, the only one who didn’t understand what was happening to him. His father was holding his mother, and she was crying. George was holding Bess, who was crying. Ned—there. Ned was walking up and standing just behind Nancy, and he was crying too, but he smiled at Frank. Good smile? thought Frank in confusion, Not sympathy smile? What did…

“You got,” Nancy again, choking words out. He looked back down from Ned to her. “T-ten years,” she managed, “Under approved constant supervision and psychiatric care. To be served under home or location-approved imprisonment. With a—an ankle monitor. And you can appeal to have yourself revaluated in four.” She had started crying again on the last line.

What?

He was so confused. He didn’t understand what had just happened.

“Told you,” said Ned, trying to stop crying and smiling at him, reaching over and putting a hand on his shoulder. “They worked hard.”

“I don’t…” said Frank, still confused, “I don’t understand.”

“Mitigating factors,” managed Nancy, “They understood. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I don’t understand,” said Frank again, unable to catch up to where they were, trying desperately. “I don’t…” He looked at her, then Ned. “I’m not going to die?”

Ned teared up and shook his head, and Frank heard Nancy choke out a, “No,” from where her head was buried against his torso.

“I’m…I don’t—why?” said Frank, “I. I should be going to jail. Or. Or dying. I-I don’t.”

Ned shook his head. “You shouldn’t.”

“But. I…” He couldn’t keep up. He couldn’t process this. Frank hadn’t been prepared for something like this at all. “The people I…”

“I know, I know,” said Nancy, stilly crying, “But we’re gonna figure all that out. Together. It wasn’t all your fault.”

Not…’all’…? I…

“But…how will they ever feel like—” started Frank desperately, trying to find something to hold on to.

“—At least half of them testified more or less in your favor,” said Ned reassuringly, “It’s okay.”

What? There was…he had…no memory of that. Not at all. He went looking for it, hoping it would come in a downpour like his memories of Ned, but it didn’t. He just had faces, and no audio. Had they? But. No…He’d. The gallery had been so hostile. He had known. He had…

“…I…” he managed, standing on shaky ground, “…What does this…what does this mean?”

“It means you’ll be okay,” Ned had promised, holding his gaze.

And everything had been chaos and confusion around him, and Frank had known that couldn’t be right—that whatever happened, things could not be okay ever again, but because it had been Ned who told him, Ned who had talked to him this morning like he was still just Frank, and thought somehow that it would be worth it to read a book out loud to a murderer who couldn’t even remember his own answers in court, he hadn’t been sure.

Every time I think about whodunnitmafia stuff I wrote post game I get so furious why the hell did I write some of the best fiction I've written in my entire life, for a story so niche it's literally for an audience of like, two, at absolute most.

[that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main]

Father frank castle request?? ALL PLATONIC 100000000000 PLATONIC

Father Frank castle x daughter reader, him teaching her how to defend herself???

Waffles vs Pancakes|

Frank Castle

Reader: Female (6th grader at first, then jumps to Freshman year of highschool) | daughter reader

type: One-shot

warnings: bullies, bloody nose, burns, bad boyfriend that tried to bully you into submission but you said nah (at the end you'll see)

Notes: this one turned out super good too! And im really glad you all like Dad Castle!

Masterlist: Marvel | The "Playlist"

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Frank walked into the office, well Pete Castiglione watched in the office.

"Hello how can I help you?" The woman at the front asked.

"I'm here to pick up Y/n. Y/n Castiglione."

"Oh..." The woman forced a grin, "Down the hall, nurses office."

He nodded, following the orders, and knocking at the door at the end of the hall.

"come in."

Frank opened the door, the man applying some ointment to Y/n's face.

"You must be Mr.Castiglione." He spoke.

Frank nodded, the man turning towards Y/n, "yeah it's him..."

"What happened," Frank asked, looking at Y/n.

The nurse smiled, "Y/n got in a pretty nasty fight."

"I wouldn't call it that." She scoffed.

"Tell him what happened."

"Why? So he can tell me I'm being dramatic too?" Y/n argued.

The man sighed, pulling a piece of gauze over her cut and then some tape, her nose starting to bleed again as she held a scrunched nose.

"ah, here we are, here."

She was handed tissues for her nose.

"Well if you're not going to tell him I will." He spoke, she only rolled her eyes and looked away, causing him to sigh once more, "Okay then, I'll talk to him."

The man walked Frank out and closed the door.

"Ah, she says one of the boys in her biology class touched her and she didn't like it." The man spoke, "she won't tell me where or in what way. The boy sits next to her in class. By the video people recorded of them fighting, she gave a real beating, but he beat her pretty bad too. She has a burn from the hot plate on her arm that I fixed up. She's scratched up a bit, bloody nose as you can tell."

Frank sighed, rubbing over his face, "What's the school doing about it?"

"Oh...uh..." The nurse spoke, "If I were me as principal I'd dig deeper into it, but they won't don't want the bad publicity."

"So that's it?" Frank asked his voice rising with every word, "Some crazy ass kid touches my daughter and you're not going to do anything about it?"

"Please Mr.Castiligone, I understand that you're upset, I'd gladly do something about it, but I'm risking a lot already talking to you just about what happened." The man spoke, "I can only recommend you to the principal."

Frank opened the door to the nurse's office, Y/n sitting there in silence, the bleeding had stopped again, "come on we're going."

Y/n got up, quickly following Frank after grabbing her bag. They walked threw the hall and out of the office.

"Sir you have to sign her out!"

"No need, I'm unenrolling her," Frank spoke, Y/n following his footsteps.

They walked out of the school, some kids calling to her yelling goodbye, Y/n waving goodbye as they vanished behind a building on their way to the parking lot.

"Get in."

Y/n did as told, sitting in her own seat in the front.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" Frank spoke looking over at her.

Y/n was silent, "You tell me the truth and you're not in trouble."

"I told him to stop touching me." Y/n spoke, "He kept pushing me on the shoulder, then he pulled my hair. I swore at him and he pushed me in the chest."

"So you punched him in the face." Frank spoke.

Y/n shrugged her arms hugging her yellow backpack, "I pushed him into the lab table and the lab table hit him in the face."

Frank sighed as he pulled out his keys, "I like icecream. You like icecream?"

Y/n shook her head no, "dairy makes my stomach hurt...I like the guys who sell fruit on the corner of the street."

Frank looked at her, "Yeah that works too."

So that's what they did, they went and got fruit cups from one of those stands, the ones that sell fruit covered in seasoning, Y/n taking Frank's seasoning as he ate it bare, just fruit.

Y/n was silent as she ate the cup of fruit as Frank drove.

"Hey kid." Frank spoke up, Y/n turning her head, "There's gonna be alot of people like that boy that pushed you. There gonna push you harder, alot harder."

Y/n looked at him, "I...I know...I figured by the time Im older you'd clear them all out."

Frank looked at her shortly, then laughed softly, "Nah. I wish. There's always gonna be bad people out there. You gotta be able to protect yourself."

Y/n gulped nervously, "like...with a gun?" He was gonna show her how to kill someone?

"No, in general, ya know." Frank spoke, "other times...you've gotta do what you've gotta do, but don't you worry about that. I can take care of the bigger bullies."

Y/n nodded, "So...what? You're gonna teach me how to fight?"

"that's part of it."

Y/n hit the ground again, Frank standing over her with a hand on his hip, "Come on, you can do better than that."

Y/n got up, her and Frank in an emptied boxing Studio, someplace called Fogwell's. They stood in the open area boxing ring, Y/n rushing to her feet.

"Good, keep gettin' up, keep comin' at me." Frank ordered, Y/n standing there, hands up, "No. Stop."

Y/n stood up straight, Frank walking towards her, "Bring them up higher," Frank ordered Y/n getting into a ready position.

"Higher."

Y/n did as told, fist up covering her face, "Elbows out."

Y/n spread her arms wide, "Not that far."

"Couldn't I just punch them back?" Y/n asked standing back up straight.

"You could," Frank spoke, "but how far is that gonna get ya when someone hits harder than a 6th grader? they punch so hard they can break your nose in one punch?"

"not far," Y/n answered.

"That's right." Frank said, with a nod of his head, "Now. Keep hand up, elbow's spread, just enough, shoulder's length..."

Y/n did as told, "Feet apart One forward one back, not too much or you'll slip."

Y/n stepped a foot back, a knee bending in reflex.

"Stay loose, light on your toes," Frank instructed, "You always wanna be moving, so things are easier to avoid. Easier to doge if your bodies are already warm- Throw a punch."

Y/n threw a quick jab with her left hand, Frank grabbing her forearm at the end, "Don't hyperextend, you'll leave yourself open."

Y/n brought her arm back into position, throwing the jab again.

"atta girl!" he praised ruffling her hair, she smiles.

It would become Y/n's newest favorite thing, training with Frank: either it be just simple defense, or learning how to throw a punch better. Frank as a teacher was rough around the edges, but he ment well.

He kinda took it easy on her, most of the time, he'd just sent her to the firm floor of the boxing ring, making her get back up to her feet. They'd get dinner afterwards, either it be something quick from a gas station like Ramen you added water too, or breakfast for dinner, where he got pancakes, and her waffles.

It was often the two had a playful argument, Waffles were better than Pancakes and Pancakes were better than waffles.

"I bet a waffle could beat up a pancake." Y/n laughed with a smile.

"yeah is that so?"

Y/n nodded, "yeah, see all these squares, it's like armor."

Frank chuckled, drinking from the mug. This is what he wanted all along.

Family.

Y/n laughed as the plate slipped while she was trying to take a bite of the full waffle, she smiled at Frank.

All things come to an end at the end of the day.

"Come on Y/n! Y/n!"

"Get her Jericho! Don't get beat by a girl!"

Half way through Freshmen year, Jericho had come into Y/n's life, he a Sophmore, but the same age as Y/n. He was sweet, carring, everything she wanted out of a boyfriend.

Except she didn't like his need for "speed" nor his need for Lean and smoking. It was like it was on repeat, the fight from sixth grade.

He had pushed her, and she didn't like that and shoved him back in the hallway, he told her she was being dramatic and tried to kiss her again which resulted in a slap across the face from Y/n.

That's how it started, Y/n losing heavily, her mind too out of focus; it all happened too sudden, this was someone she was supposed to trust, someone she was truly in love with, now fighting her, pumbling her.

She managed to push him off, he falling back as she rushed to her feet.

"Hands up, elbows shoulder apart, atta girl just like that." Frank instructed, "Now when someone bigger gonna come at you, they're gonna come with a lot of weight, use it against them, inexperienced fighters tend to lock their elbows and hyperextend, it leaves them open. Hit them in the elbow with enough force you could break their elbow, dodge and they could send themselves to the ground.".

Y/n took in a deep breath, Jericho getting back up on his feet, "Little bitch is cryin,"

That's right she was, mostly a nerve reflex from the blood running down her nose, Y/n only chuckling as she wiped her nose.

Her go-at-it attitude annoyed Jericho, "Go fuck yourself!"

Y/n put on a smirk, Frank once said the enemy will always try and take your confidence down, but don't let them, "Afraid to tussle with me a bit? You're a coward, no wonder history will forget you."

There was a loud uproar in "OHHHHHS" and "OH SHIT SHE DID NOT AH" as Jericho came at her again, Y/n's stance was better than before, light on her feet, she managed to dodge most of his attacks, and as she watched him stumble with each missed one.

"GETTEM! GET HIM!"

It was one clean and quiet powerful uppercut by Y/n that ended the whole thing, it sending Jericho stumbling as she grabbed him by the back of his shirt and kneed him deep in the gut sending him to the ground in pain.

Y/n licked her lips, the blood tasting like copper as she spit onto the ground besides him, she squatting down besides his head, "Come at anyone, or any of your new little girlfriends like that, and I'll be back, and I won't be nice next time."

Y/n got up, grabbed that all well too known yellow backpack and slung it over her shoulder, and walked off.

She had Frank to thank for her confidence, and her skills, Frank was right about a lot of things.

But waffles were still better than pancakes.

[marvelcriminalhoe]

Paper Rings

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Chapter 8

Valentines Day

i.e. Season 9 Episode 15

TW: typical criminal minds case jargon

AN: I had a hard time writing this chapter ??? Idk, I kept rewriting it. Feels pretty boring to be frank. Hope you enjoy :) (promise next chapter will be more entertaining)

Word Count: 1,395

Series Masterlist

“Okay my crime fighting super pals, What are everyones plans for this upcoming day of love?” Garcia asks, walking into the bullpen where you and the rest of the team, minus Rossi and Hotch, sit at you desks completing preliminary profiles and consults.

Morgan is the first one to entertain her idea of a fun conversation, leaning back in his chair and sending her his famous smirk, “I was thinking about a little candlelit dinner at Le Donkle’s overlooking the Potomac.”

“Ohh…” Garcia eats it up with a huge sigh, “That is romantic.”

“I will be going to this new exposé about the transforming of medicine through artificial intelligence and the reverse of disease if anyone wants to tag along.” Reid looks around at the desks.

“I’ll pass.” JJ nods, “I will be spending a well deserved night in with my boys.”

Blake chooses not to entertain the discussion, continuing to do her work, which is when Penelope Garcia puts her target eyes on you, “And what about my favorite young superhero?”

Reid’s comment about how he thought he was her favorite young super hero, gets ignored by the blonde as her eyes don’t leave you, awaiting your answer.

“I will be eating takeout and watching old law and order episodes on Netflix.” You tell her simply, not wanting to give way to the fact you've been casually seeing your boss for the past two months. You don’t think anyone has caught on, besides Rossi, but he doesn't know you've actually been dating, just that there is mutual feelings on both sides.

“Ugh.” She scrunches up her nose at you in a very playful way, “I do not understand how you can watch those shows. Don’t you get enough of it in our daily lives?”

You shrug at her, “I like being able to solve the case before the characters.”

“Don’t you already know how the cases end if you've seen the episodes already, especially with that brain of yours?” Morgan questions, eyebrows furrowed.

“Not the point.” You reply with a shake of your head, laughing when everyone else does.

A short time later, the team gets called into the round table, and all the talk for the upcoming weekend gets put to a hold. Garcia stands by the screen, giving the team the case details, “Pittsburgh field office has reported two murders in the past 48 hours.”

“Both of them were strangled, then stripped down to their underwear, and then dumped off of a highway.” Aaron picks up where Garcia stops, the crime scene photos on the screen for everyone to see.

You look over to Aaron, “Have the victims been ID’d?”

“No,” He shakes his head, “Not yet.”

“The guy has a lot of rage.” Rossi comments, studying the photos. “He’s using some kind of ligature, maybe a strap?”

Derek stands from his chair, choosing to pace as he reads the file in his hands, “It looks like he’s choking them intermittently, allowing them to breathe only when he permits it.”

“But the M.E. report says neither was sexually assaulted.” Aaron details.

Reid’s eyebrows furrow, “That’s odd given the fact that 80% of crimes against women involve some sort of sexual component.”

“He probably gets off on the chocking.” You theorize, “Some sort of erratic asphyxiation filtered through a psychopath’s need for power and control.”

“Ok, what is this?” JJ asks, “Are they wrapped in shower curtains?”

Garcia grimaces, “Strangely, yes. Which is why I'm checking with a number of manufacturers to see where these were distributed from.”

“The M.O. says sexual sadist but the curtain reads remorse.” Blake states, head tilted to the side.

“Which either points to symbolic or literal emasculation, we need to find out.” Aaron closes his case files, standing up, “Wheels up in 30.”

You’re in the break room at the local police station, grabbing another cup of extremely watered down coffee. You lost count on the number of cups you've had so far about an hour ago, but you know it’s probably way past your normal amount.

Putting the glass pot back in its spot, another hand reaches out to stop you, grazing your hand as they do. There’s a small electric feeling that shoots up your arm, and you're aware of who the hand belongs to before looking, just by that bodily reaction of yours.

You turn your head, making eye contact with your boss. He raises an eyebrow at you, tiny smirk on his lips, “I think you might have more of an addiction to coffee than Reid.”

You scoff, small smile playing on your lips, “Please, no one has a bigger dependency than him.”

An actual smile finds its way onto his face at that, as he shakes his head, filling up his own cup with the discount, dollar tree brand of caffeine. He studies you for a moment as he takes a sip, you pretend not to notice, looking out at the chaos that ensues the station of a small town with a serial partnership wrecking havoc in it.

Aaron clears his throat, drawing your eyes back to the handsome man beside you, “I know we haven't really talked about valentines day.” His voice is low, not wanting to draw too much attention to what is being discussed, “But I would really like to spend it with you.” He studies your face for a moment, “If that’s something you would like as well.”

“Yeah.” You smile, “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Aaron whispers with a brief glance down to your lips. You find yourself doing the same, a magnetic pull bringing you closer to him, minds forgetting about where you were for a fleeting second.

But the moment gets effectively ruined by Reid walking in, heading straight to the coffee machine between you and Aaron. Aaron clears his throat, sends you one more genuine look that the curly haired boy beside you is too busy guzzling his coffee to notice, and walks out of the room, leaving you to watch him.

Valentines day has never been something you've ever celebrated. Granted, you've never had a reason to. You honestly would have pegged Aaron to be the same way, choosing to treat it as just another day of the year. But if Aaron Hotchner is good at anything, its surprising you, over and over again.

After that case wrapped up in pittsburgh, the team was free to enjoy their weekend and planned activities for the holiday of love and relationships. Aaron picked you up from your apartment at 6 o’clock with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, a tradition he’s kept up with for each date.

You like that. That he gives you flowers.

Dinner was at a beautiful, Rossi approved, Italian restaurant. It was a good date, with good company, much like your past dates. Except, unlike your past ones, you invited him inside when he dropped you off at your door. You watch as he observes your apartment. He’s never actually been inside, always picking you up at the door. You usually spend your time together at his.

His eyes seem to focus on one of the pictures you have hanging on your small gallery wall, it’s your high school graduation. You have a big smile on your face, your eyes crinkling because of it. You’re standing in-between your parents, the gradation gown practically swallowing your preteen self whole.

Aaron looks back over to you, “You haven't changed much.”

“What?” You scoff, “I’ve changed plenty.”

Aaron just shakes his head, “You still smile like that when you're really happy about something.”

“No I don’t.” You scrunch your nose up at him.

He nods his head, pulling you into him by your waist, “You do.”

You don’t have time to say anything as his lips hit yours in a warm and gentle kiss. You loose yourself in it. Kissing Aaron Hotchner is something you won’t ever get enough of. You smile into the kiss and Aaron pulls back to look at you, he laughs a little, causing you to ask whats so funny to him.

“You’re smiling the same as you are in that picture.” He laughs.

You groan again, pushing away from him, “You’re the worst.” But you don’t get very far, getting pulled right back into him.

And you go willingly.

You’ll always go willingly to Aaron Hotchner

*******

taglist: @buckyswintersoldiermask @ssahotchnerxx @bestillmystuckyheart @eternal-silvertongued-prince @honeyofthegods @pitchblackstars @averyhotchner @hotched @mintphoenix @natasharomanoff1984-blog @avatarkanemi

[the-cult-of-russo]

gotta know how u think billy would be as a dad with his kids :D

I had so many requests for Dad!Billy headcanons 😭

I hope you're ready for this chaotic ramble.

Please remember this is my Billy I'm writing

-

You know those parents who take like a million pictures of their kid and show them to everyone? The kind that talks about their kid nonstop to anyone who'll listen? Their family, friends, the poor random old lady at the store that just wants to buy some damn milk.

That's Billy.

He's such an unbelievably proud parent, his pride for his kids knows no bounds. It doesn't even need to be some kind of milestone worth celebrating, everything his kid does makes him proud. You better believe when his baby has an explosive crap and ruins their clothes, he's boasting about it the next day to Frank and the guys at Anvil.

-

He's incredibly protective. Murder is a possibility if his kids in danger. He wants nothing more than to keep his kids safe. If they're being bullied, it takes all of his willpower to stop himself from kicking the kids ass for doing that to his kid. He's not above picking a fight with the bullies dad though if they don't get their little shit head in check and also making it known to the principle that this shit won't fly with him.

~

"Mr Russo, I don't think you understand how serious this is. Your son broke a kids nose," the principle mutters with a glare.

Billy tilts his head, regarding the teacher with those unsettling eyes that has the old man squirming in his seat.

"You’re damn right he did," Billy replies seriously, a proud tone to his voice. His dark eyes cut to his left where his son is, practically his double. As Billy smirks, unable to help himself, his son wears the same one although he's lowering his head to hide his amusement.

"We don't tolerate that behaviour here, Mr Russo," the principle huffs. Billy's eyes harden then as his eyes narrow, sitting forward in his chair just the right amount to be imposing. The second the man leans back he knows it worked.

"You know what I don't tolerate? My kid bein' bullied. You assholes won't do shit to stop it, so I say let the little fucker get a taste of his own medicine. Serves him right for messin' with a Russo," he smirks wickedly.

~

He teaches them self defence, wanting them to be able to look after themselves if it ever came down to it. Naturally, for their 16th birthday, they're gifted with a big ass knife.

-

Billy as a dad is so stupidly soft.

We all remember the scene from the show, right? Where he's in the hospital with his mom and he says;

"Maybe you did me a solid, you know? I mean, the way I see it, you want weak kids, give 'em everything. But if you... if you want 'em strong... treat 'em hard."

When he has a kid of his own he realises just what utter garbage this is. The idea of all the shit he's been through making him into the tough son of a bitch he is today is born from trauma that he still hasn't dealt with. The way his brain tries to rationalise what he went though. To make it make sense instead of it being so goddamn senseless.

But if he's honest, more than he'd like to admit, he finds himself wondering just what his life would have been like if he grew up in a loving home. What it would be like to feel wanted and cared for. To rise to the top being helped and cheered on by others instead of clawing his way there with bloodied and dirty fingers, the weight of the world bearing down on him as he's beat down at every turn.

He never wants his kids to feel that way. Not even a fraction of how unloved and unwanted he felt. He does everything in his power to make sure they know just how much he cares about them. There's literally nothing he wouldn't do for his kids. They could turn up at home one day and confess to a murder and Billy wouldn't hesitate to ask where the body is so he can handle it for them.

-

Billy is ridiculously sentimental when it comes to his kids. Drawings go up on the fridge and when a new one takes its place, the old one goes into a box of many others that he can't seem to ever throw away. He has multiple pictures of his kids at his office, even some framed cute drawings they did for him. He's kept all the mementos from the pregnancy, birth and onwards. They're his little treasures.

-

Billy is super supportive of everything his kids do. He makes sure they get a good education but he never pushes them to do something they don't want to do. Despite the large college fund he's got for them, if they choose not to go to college, he doesn't pressure them. Instead, whatever hopes and dreams they have, he does everything in his power to support and help them. Whether that's moral and emotional support, money or even breaking a few jaws of people standing in their way.

-

Let's look a little bit at how he is throughout some of the ages of his kid.

Billy with a baby is a sight to behold. No one has ever seen Lieutenant William Russo so goddamn soft. Once he's got hold of his baby, you've got no chance of getting them back off him. You'd have to fight him. He adores holding his little one close, soaking them in. He's constantly holding them no matter what he's doing and baby carriers and wraps are a godsend to him. You'd heard about them from a friend and told Billy and you better believe by the time the baby's born that he's an expert on all things baby wearing. He's a perfectionist and carrying a baby wrong can be dangerous. He makes sure he knows how to do it right.

Just as he has little affectionate touches for you, he has the same for his baby. His large hand stroking their tiny head and little hair. His finger stroking their chubby little cheek. He's a tactile person and touch is grounding for him. It soothes him to do so with his baby and reassures him they're really there and that they're okay.

He's super attentive. Of course he works a lot but as soon as he becomes a dad, he doesn't stay late anymore and makes sure to have days off. The second he comes home, he's making a beeline for his baby, scooping them up with a grin. He loves to read to them, something that continues as they grow up. His weekends used to be restful or if he was feeling like a masochist, he'd work from home. But now weekends are his time to shine. By the time you wake up on a Saturday morning, he's already up with the baby, making you breakfast as he's got the baby attached to him via baby carrier.

As his baby grows into a toddler, each milestone makes him tearful and full of pride. He kisses any booboos that happen and he's constantly playing with his child. He has a pretty silly side to him that most don't get to see. Making his kid laugh and smile brings him the greatest joy.

He loves taking his toddler to the office with him. Everyone dotes on his kid and treats them like royalty.

When they turn into a small child, he watches with a proud smile and amusement as his kid wants to fight with his men, watching them 'beat' the shit out of them. The guys at Anvil are more than happy to very dramatically go down, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree when the tiny Russo grins smugly at their 'win'.

Their first day at school and Billy's a mess. It's such a turning point and he doesn't know how to deal with how fast their growing up. But every achievement at school, even minor ones, and he's showering them with praise.

He encourages them to work hard and as soft as he might be, he is still the boss. He makes sure they do their homework and don't fall behind on their studies.

One thing Billy loves is teaching his kids stuff. Whether that's mundane stuff to help with school or teaching them shit he knows like survivalist things, because you can never be too prepared, right? He loves helping them with school projects and answering any questions they might have about one of the many things he's knowledgeable about.

When his kids moves onto those hard teenage years, the ones where everything feels so dramatic and world ending, he's a little tougher when it calls for it. Billy is no novice to rebellion, he has a rebellious streak of his own and marches to the beat of his own drum half the time. He respects that. What he doesn't respect or tolerate is behaviour that's going to fuck his kid over in the long run or self sabotage. He will be firm and a hard ass if he needs to be to keep his kids on a path where they don't get hurt or ruin their life.

Billy has a zero tolerance policy on drugs. After the shit with his mother, he won't budge on this. If he finds out his kid is dabbling in drugs, they're grounded until they're old enough to move out.

-

No matter what age his kids are, Billy loves them immensely. He wants to be the father he wished he'd had growing up and he pours all of his anguish and pain from his upbringing into it. Channeling it into the purest form of love for his kids. To break the curse that had hold of him. He won't perpetuate the cycle.

Being a father brings him a sense of completeness and peace he didn't think was possible for him to achieve. It fills the void that's been eating away at his soul from his lack of love as a child and he loves every second of being a parent. Even the hard moments.

-

Bonus:

The Russo's and the Castle's go on monthly camping trips together. Billy loves the outdoors, the mild survivalist feelings he gets from it without the real danger. He loves taking his kids there, teaching them everything. In his role as dad and uncle, he sits around the camp fire at night, the light of the flames dancing along his face as he very theatrically tells the kids a spooky story.

You and his kids are his immediate family but the Castle's are his family too. So he really loves it when you all get to spend time together like that.

[4stars-uswnt]

My Muse, My Valentine [Christen Press x Reader]

requested by anon: Not sure if you’re accepting any request but can you write a cp x photographer gf where her gf surprised her at man u, like her gf secretly transfer there to be with cp. Thanks

A/N: please ignore some of the inconsistencies this story has with reality :) but anyways... hope you enjoy and have a happy Valentine’s Day (tomorrow) and remember it’s a day about LOVE, whether that be romantic, platonic, familial, or self ❤️

“I’m gonna miss you,” you whine, as you watch your girlfriend pack her suitcase.

“I know, babe. I’m gonna miss you too, so much.” Christen leans down to quickly peck your lips, before continuing to fold her clothes.

You and Christen had been dating for almost three years now, having met after you’d photographed one of the USWNT’s matches. You instantly felt an attraction to the curly-haired forward, your camera always drifting towards her wherever she was on the pitch.

After you’d posted a couple of your photos on your Instagram, which Christen made a point to like and repost, you gathered up the courage to approach her after a game, and thus began your relationship.

With yours and Christen’s busy schedules, it was sometimes hard to find time for each other, but you made it work, sharing an apartment in Portland during the offseason and flying out for matches when you could. But being a sports photographer did have its benefits, as your work often led you to spending more time with your girlfriend and admiring her speed down the field and score goals.

But now, with the pandemic, as the NWSL was struggling to field games,  you found yourself with little work. Christen herself was not quite satisfied with the league’s plan for the season, so when Tobin proposed the idea of going to the WSL, she desperately wanted to, yearning to get back on the pitch.

At first, when Christen approached you with the subject, you immediately opposed, not wanting to be so far from your girlfriend for such a long amount of time. Additionally, with COVID, it would be nearly, if not completely, impossible for you to visit. But after a blowout fight and discussing it further, you realized that this is what would be best for Christen and her career.

“Do you have to go?” You pout, sitting up and moving to the end of the bed.

“You know I do, (Y/N/N).” Christen playfully rolls her eyes.

“Humph.”

“Babe, come on, don’t make me feel worse about leaving you.”

“Then don’t,” you quip, grabbing your girlfriend by the waist, pulling her down on the bed with you.

“Babe!” Christen squeals, as you blow raspberries into her skin.

You lift your head from the crook of her neck, your eyes locking with hers. “I know that you have to go,” you admit seriously. “Doesn’t mean I like it, but I know that this is what’s best for your career.”

“Thank you, (Y/N),” she says earnestly, giving you a small smile. “We’ll text and FaceTime everyday.”

“I’m holding you to that.” You cup her face and bring her in for a kiss, savoring the feeling of her soft lips on yours. “I also know that you’re gonna kill it over there in Manchester. The WSL isn’t gonna know what hit them.”

Christen ducks her bashfully, a small blush arising on her cheeks. “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course, Chris. I love you, too.”

“Good.” She gives you a quick peck, as she gets up from the bed. “Now, either quit bothering me or help me. My flight is early tomorrow morning, and I haven’t even finished packing.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

—————

It had been a little over five months since you’d dropped Christen off at the airport and she left for Manchester. Despite the constant texting and the nightly FaceTime calls, you couldn’t help but ache for your girlfriend. Without her, the apartment was lonelier and the bed felt bigger.

It had helped that your work had started back up, first with some freelance work and then with the NWSL fall series starting, which gave you something to do and kept you fairly busy.

Currently, you were sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping on a cup of coffee, as you edited some photos for the Thorns. Just as you were saving your work and closing Lightroom, about to shut your computer, a ping alerts a new email in your inbox.

Switching tabs, you notice the message is from an unfamiliar address, so you presume it’s a new client. You click and open it, your eyes widening, as you scan the email:

Ms. (Y/L/N),

I noticed your professional portfolio through many referrals, particularly your work form the World Cup. I am writing on behalf of the BBC News Media Centre, and we’re looking for an excellent sports photographer to join the team, specifically to cover the FA Women’s Super League and the Premier League.

Your experience is outstanding, adn your work speaks for itself. I think you’d be a great fit for this role, and I’d love to tell you more about it and hear more from you.

Would you like to set up a phone or Zoom call soon? If so, let me know when you’re available.

Best,

Charles Smith

Director of Media Relations at BBC Sport

You quickly reread the email, and then reread it again, just to make sure you’re not dreaming. This was too good to be true. But you shake yourself out of your stupor and quickly type out a response to set up a phone call as soon as possible.

After hitting send, you shut your computer with excitement and throw your hands up in the air.

“Yes!” You exclaim into the empty apartment, as you throw your fist in the air and jump off the barstool.

Knowing you needed to distract yourself, otherwise you’d just be staring at your computer, eagerly awaiting the response, you decided to go on a run.

Jogging through the city, you think of your girlfriend and your potential reunion if this job offer worked out. You decided that if you did in fact take this position, you’d surprise Christen at one of her matches, hopefully one that you’d be able to photograph.

As soon as you arrive back in your apartment, you make a beeline for your laptop. You anxiously open your inbox and beam when you see Charles had replied to set up a Zoom call at 9:30 tomorrow morning. You excitedly type out pleasantries, telling him you’re looking forward to it.

For the rest of the afternoon, you were in an increasingly good mood. So later that evening, when Christen called you for your routine FaceTime, she could tell something was up.

“Why do you keep smiling like that?”

“Can I not be happy to talk to my girlfriend?” You tease, a huge grin plastered onto your face.

“You can,” Christen trails off, not quite believing you. “But you have the weird giddy look you get when something’s up?”

“Nothing’s up. Just had a good day,” you shrug nonchalantly.

“Okay,” the forward accepts, still eyeing you suspiciously. “Anyways, you know She Believes is in a couple weeks, are you working the tournament?”

“Yup,” you nod and make a mental note to mention that to Charles tomorrow.

The two of you continue updating each other, chatting about topics ranging from what you had for breakfast that day to re-inc’s upcoming drop.

“Alright,” Christen yawns. “I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

You check your phone and see it’s 5:37 pm, meaning it’s almost midnight in Manchester.

“Okay,” your eyes softening at the sight of your sleepy girlfriend. “Good night, Chris. I love you.”

“Love you, too, babe. G’night.”

After ending the call and shutting your laptop, you head into the kitchen to make some dinner for yourself, getting on with your evening.

—————

The next morning, you anxiously await for Charles to begin the Zoom call, nervously bouncing your knee and biting your lip.

“Hi, (Y/N),” Charles greets, his face appearing on your screen.

“Good morning. Or rather good afternoon?” You correct with a light chuckle, to which he reciprocates.

“Well, as you know from my email, we are looking for a photographer to join our team, and from many referrals, you seem to be a very good candidate,

“So, I was thinking maybe we could look at your portfolio really quickly and then hash out the logistics to see if this is something that could work out.”

“Sounds good,” you agree, as you pull up some of your best pictures and share your screen.

The two of you look through your photos, many from the 2019 World Cup, some of the Olympics, and a few from random NWSL games.

“Well, (Y/N), your work is quite impressive. If you’re ready, and you’re seriously interested in this position, we can talk specifics, scheduling, all that good stuff,” Charles offers.

“I’m definitely interested, but can I just preface by saying that my girlfriend is a major part of this decision, so depending on what she wants to do at the end of the season will impact my contract.”

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrows, clearly not expecting your candor. “Your girlfriend plays in the WSL?”

“Yeah, well, technically only for this season. Her contract is up in May,” you explain.  

“(Y/N), to be completely frank, we’re looking to hire because a couple of our photographers had some personal issues due to COVID and had to leave mid-season,” Charles reveals. “So if it turns out that your girlfriend wants to go back to the NWSL, then we can work that out. And if she wants to stay, and you end up liking it here and you fit in well, we can also work that out. We’re pretty flexible.”

You sigh in relief, giving him a small smile. “Wow, thank you so much. So what would my contract look like?”

“Well, we can sign you to three month contract with the option for extension,” he offers, as you nod along enthusiastically.

“That sounds great,” you exclaim, beaming. “And just to let you know, I’ve already signed on to work the She Believes tournament from the 18th to the 21st.”

“That actually aligns with the WSL’s international break, and there are a couple Premier League matches that weekend, but I think we can manage, so that shouldn’t be an issue.”

“You guys are too kind and so flexible. I really appreciate it so much,” you say earnestly.

“It’s really just us being desperate for a good photographer,” Charles jokes.

“Either way, I’m grateful for this opportunity.”

“We’re excited for you to join our team,” he reciprocates. “So, in terms of when you’ll begin, I honestly would like you to come over as soon as possible so that you can get settled and get acclimated.”

“I am honestly ready to start whenever you’ll have me.”

“How about next week? The Manchester Derby is on Friday, and honestly, given your portfolio, I’d love you to photograph that match,” the British man admits.

“That’s perfect!” You were in complete awe of how perfectly everything was working out. Photographing a Man United match as your first job meant you could surprise Christen, maybe as an early Valentine’s gift.

“Great,” Charles smiles.

The two of you discuss and finalize your contract and the logistics of you starting the job. Once everything’s settled and you each have the information you need, you wrap up the call.

“Well, thank you so much, Charles, for this offer, and I can’t wait to see you next Tuesday.”

“I can’t wait to work with you and meet you. See you next week. Cheers.”

After ending the Zoom call, you begin to make a COVID test appointment, book your flight, and arrange your hotel room for the few days that Christen doesn’t know you’re there, preparing yourself for moving across the world.

—————

After landing in London, getting settled into your hotel, and meeting with the BBC team and the other photographers, you were now on your way to the Manchester Derby.

In the back of the black cab, you pull out your phone to text a good luck text to Christen.

It was difficult to keep your surprise a secret, especially when you were actually in England, because it was much more difficult to FaceTime without her noticing your change in setting. You had to make up the excuse that you were swarmed with editing and preparing for the upcoming Thorns trainings.

As you pull up to the Academy Stadium, you hear your phone ding.

Chris ❤️

Thanks babe. Miss and love you 😘

You quickly type out a response, before heading into the building.

(Y/N/N) 💗

Love you too. I miss u too but go kick butt.

The match was exhilarating. Not only were you a sports photographer, but you were also a huge fan of the game, enjoying a good game when you see one.

You watched in awe, the level and style of play significantly different from than NWSL. While snapping hundreds of photos of both teams, your camera would always somehow land back on your girlfriend.

Your heart ached for the curly-haired forward, as you missed her dearly. Until you saw her back on the pitch, you hadn’t really realized that you missed watching her play the game that she’d mastered, her movements around the pitch and on the ball effortless and elegant.

As the ref blew the whistle, signaling the end of the half, you scroll through some of the photos you’d taken, deleting some of the blurry and unfocussed ones.

A smile immediately forms on your face when you see a picture of Christen during warmups with a huge grin on her face. You spend all of halftime editing said photo and putting together an Instagram post for your girlfriend.

About fifteen minutes later, the teams take the pitch and you go back to doing your job. Throughout the second half, you could tell that Christen was getting increasingly frustrated, her team getting down 3-0 with only about five minutes left.

You watch as the players high five and hug each other, and you want nothing more than to run onto the field to be with your girlfriend, but you had a plan to stick to.

As the team goes back into the locker room, you pull out your phone to post a photo on Instagram and then you shoot a quick text to Tobin:

(Y/N)🤓:

toby go check out my ig post :))

Back in the Man United locker room, after Casey went through her post match speech, Tobin checks her phone and sees a text from you. The injured forward playfully rolls her eyes at your message but follows your directions.

Upon opening the social media app, Tobin raises her eyebrows, her eyes widening. She glances across the room to see if her best friend had seen your post, but Christen was minding her own business, changing into sweats after her shower.

“Chris!” The older forward calls over to the other woman. “Have you seen your girlfriend’s Instagram post?”

Christen furrows her brows in confusion. “What? No, what is it?”

Tobin waves her friend over and shows her the post:

Liked by mrapinoe, ashlynharris24, and 638,231 others

yourusername: My muse, my valentine.

“As I sat and looked at her

and the rolling hills she sat upon

I thought,

what amazing luck I have

that the world had created

such beautiful things

and given me the eyes to see them.”

- atticus

tagged: christenpress

- - - - -

mrapinoe: Stunning pictures, (Y/N). Love you guys 💖

alikrieger: These photos are 🔥🔥🔥🔥

alexmorgan13: love this 😍😍

cdunn19: Beautiful!

glennondoyle: Love love love love this!!

ashlynharris24: Holy shit! Are you in Manchester????

↳lavellerose: Was this today??

↳sammymewyy: Oh my gosh it was!

↳kellyohara: Valentine’s Day surprise for Pressy?? 👀

Christen zooms in on the photo in the center, her eyes widening when she realizes that it is from today’s match.

“How did she get that picture?”

Tobin mentally slaps her forehead at her friend’s denseness. “Knowing (Y/N), she probably took it.”

“But that’s impossible. She’s in the States,” Christen states and shakes her head, dumbfounded.

“Actually,” you speak up, stepping into the locker room, deciding to make your presence known. “I’m right here.”

“(Y/N)?” Your girlfriend looks up at you, her mind in a state of shock.

“Hey, love,” you greet shyly.

Once her mind caught up with reality, Christen runs and jumps into your body, kissing you passionately but briefly and wrapping you into a bone crushing hug.

“I can’t believe your here,” she whispers into your neck. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, babe, so much.”

Unwrapping herself from the hug, Christen stares at you in awe. “What… how are you here?”

“We can talk about that later,” you give her another quick kiss. “But right now, I just wanna spend time with you. Maybe we can grab some dinner? You can show me around Manchester, considering I’m gonna be spending a lot of time here.”

Your girlfriend looks at you puzzled, but you just give her a wink with a small smirk on your face.

“Well, c’mon lets get out of here.”

—————

Back at Christen’s apartment, the two of you sit down for a nice and casual, but romantic, dinner you’d prepared along with a bottle of red wine.

After catching up, the forward finally decides to address the elephant in the room. “So how are you here? What’s going on, (Y/N/N)? You said earlier that you’d be spending a lot of time in Manchester, what does that mean? I’m so confused. Not that I’m grateful that you’re here right now and that I get to see you, but I thought you were working She Believes, and—“

“Chris,” you cut off your girlfriend’s endearing rambling. “Babe, you’re rambling.”

“Sorry,” she blushes, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“I got a job with BBC Sport till the end of the season,” you answer her parade of questions.

“Does that mean what I think it does?”

You nod, while taking a sip of your water. “It means I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

Not having the adequate words to express her joy and excitement, Christen gets up from her chair, walks over to sit in your lap, and connects you lips for a searing kiss.

“I can’t believe you,” she breathes, rubbing her nose against yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you quickly peck her lips while rubbing circles on her hip. “But as much as I love you and all this romance, we gotta get going soon.”

Your girlfriend tilts her head in confusion.

“Do the words ‘She Believes’ ring a bell?” You tease. “If I remember correctly, our flight leaves in a couple hours.”

“You’re coming with me?” Christen asks, her brain trying to wrap around the fact that her girlfriend, who she hadn’t seen in almost five months, would now be living with her in England and flying back to the States with her for the next week.

“Of course, Chris,” you give her a cheeky smile, along with a kiss to her nose, as you quote a book Becky had convinced the whole team to read. “You should know by now that I’d follow you anywhere. You’re the only good thing left in this world.”

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

Reading through your wedding post made me so happy, but then I read about Falco's family 😭 Do you think you could write some of your headcannons of you and Reiner watching Falco for a week while his brother goes on a business trip or something. I can only picture by the end of the week that the house is full of the kids because none of them want to go home because Falco misses his brother and hes sad!! 😭😭

I'm so happy you enjoyed it! And that's such a sweet and thoughtful request how could i say no :( my god it sounds like the perfect comfort fic to write and honestly Falco deserves it💛

And the kiddos comforting Falco is a really adorable idea especially since he's the one looking out for everyone and comforting them most of the time, i can only imagine how loved he'd be by them.

Falco spending a week with you and Reiner

{ Reiner x reader | tw:deceased parents tw:neglectful parents | reverse comfort, fluff | modern }

{ "Tales of Enchantment" by Frank O. Salisbury 1874–1962 }

Around 5am, you and Reiner were waiting in the living room, each holding a cup of coffee. In the past days you got a call from Colt, asking if you can take care of Falco for a week, he sounded really apologetic and so you reassured him it's not trouble at all.

Apparently him and Zeke had a work related trip to a far away town, being understaffed in that town and all, the situation was dire and they couldn't refuse without their rating taking a huge hit not to mention morally too. But as a compensation, the company promised a higher pay to make their effort worth it.

You didn't notice the repeated knocking on the door till a couple seconds later, lack of sleep delaying your senses.

Opening it, you were met with an anxious Colt carrying his little brother in his arms, still asleep in his pajamas. Zeke from behind him carrying a couple bags and backpacks, he waved to you with a smile.

As Reiner took Falco in his arms and some of the bags too, you carried his Marvel school backpack and a list Colt made for all the things Falco needed and liked. He seemed to put a lot of effort in it, somethings in it you didn't even know yourself.

While tucking Falco in your bed, Reiner couldn't help but express his worry over Colt working himself to exhausting, both mentally and physically.

Yeah it was only a temporary thing till Colt graduates college and finds a stable good paying job, whilst taking care of his little brother as much as he can. He's been carrying Falco's responsibility on his shoulder since the funeral without a twitch or a complaint.

You think back to all the times you saw Colt, most being for mere minutes when he came to drop off the kids or pick them up just as his classes ended and before his shift at work started, barely having time for himself yet he chose to spend that little remaining free time on Falco and his friends.

You sit next to Reiner on the bed, gently brushing Falco's hair away from his face as he's sound asleep. He always looked up to his brother more than anyone else and would never let anyone talk badly about him.

It's like his own personal superhero.

"Do you think he'll be sad knowing he didn't get to say goodbye before Colt left?" You ask, still looking at Falco.

Reiner thinks for a moment before answering, "probably, but won't show it" he secures the blanket more around Falco, "sometimes I wonder who's more stubborn with showing their emotions, Gabi or Falco."

"I'd say Zofia wins the acting Oscar" you turn the lights off on your way out, "wasn't it for Udo, we wouldn't know how she's feeling half the time."

Around 10am, a very sleepy Falco merges out of the dark bedroom. Making his way to sit between you and Reiner on the couch, while carrying a blanket around him.

He leans into Reiner's hand when he strokes Falco's hair while you secure the blanket around him. Seeming unusual quiet, you and Reiner shared a knowing concerned look.

Offering to make him his favourite food for breakfast got a smiles out of Falco, Reiner even let him choose what shapes he wants his sunny side eggs as.

While he went to cook and prepare food, Falco shyly leans into your lap as if testing the water.

Please assure him it's okay to seek physical comfort from you, wrap your arms around him and he'll be embarrassed at first to ask to sit on your lap but will love it afterwards.

Just don't tell anyone about it okay? It's something his parents used to do when he was little.

When he heard about Gabi coming over today, he seemed to light up. While Udo and Zofia have weekend music lessons they couldn't make it till tomorrow.

While looking away, he asked if you could watch teen titans go with him.

The rest of the day went smoothly after that, Falco was a good kid in general and a really helpful and understanding person. He helped you both with chores and even attempted to cook pancakes.

While it came out burned, don't tell him that! He's really worried so please make him know you loved it and it was super delicious.

You and Reiner even took him to the dogs park nearby, he had pet so many good dogs till he couldn't count, even played fetch with one. After that you got ice cream on the way back.

When Gabi finally arrived, full of energy and enthusiastic about Falco staying over meaning she too will be staying over

All hell broke loose, it's like a switch had been flipped and the well behaved good boy Falco you know was completely weoponised by Gabi as she pulled him into her mischiefs

By himself, Falco is a good kid, well behaved, polite and responsible for his age. But with adding Gabi to the mix? They're a force to be reckon with.

You could see that Reiner was trying his hardest to deny that his closest cousin Gabi, was the bad influence on other kids all along.

You know? The one leading you off a cliff that your moms tells you not to follow? The rebellious kid with very strong opinions and the will to fist fight god? Yeah that one.

Apparently, no one gave Falco the cliff talk yet because he seemed far too eager to follow her to the end of the earth and down that cliff, he'd even jump hand in hand with her just to protect her from the sharp rocks under.

Gabi was actually looking forward to Falco staying over, since either way she'd spend a couple of days with you and Reiner whenever her parents are away or are too busy. She can't handle feeling lonely in the house, it's one of the worst feelings she's ever experienced.

It reached a point that Reiner gave her a copy of the keys, just so she could come in whenever even if you were at work. He too didn't like the idea of her being alone in a house all by herself, yet her parents didn't seem bothered at all.

But now she has a friend to spend the time with!

Falco was finding comfort in the fact that him and Gabi are currently in similar situations, while his was temporarily he felt better knowing he wasn't alone in this.

By the end of the the day, they managed to build a pillow fort in your living room. No one allowed to enter unless they're bearing offerings snacks

Around 10pm, when both of them fall asleep inside the fort. Falco hugging a pillow to his chest while Gabi still had a controller in her hand.

Of course Reiner took some pictures, how could he not? Especially with the way Falco's fingers were tangled with Gabi's as she had cookie crumbs around her mouth.

He also sent it to the groupchat Zeke made, reassuring Colt that Falco is having the time of his life whilst also sharing their adorable cousins with the rest of his friends.

The week went by faster than anyone could notice, good times always fly fast eh?

Each morning you and Reiner would walk Falco to the school bus before watching him sit next to Udo, sending him off with packed lunch and waving as the bus went away.

After school the rest of the kiddos will come with him home, keeping him company and helping him with homework too. They'd make sure to play Videgames right after.

Porco actually took over the duty of taking Zofia and Udo back to their houses, let's just say their mothers didn't like him at all, but reluctantly agreed after Reiner assured them he's a close family friend.

Each day around 6pm, Colt would video call him on his work break, sometimes with Zeke and other times alone. Falco would tell him about his day and Colt would praise him for all the good work he's done, he'd even share stories of his own and remind him to brush his teeth and eat his vegetables.

After each call, Falco will be noticeably more...down. can you blame him? He really misses him brother.

Sit next to him and hug him close please, he really needs it but he can't bring himself to ask for it. Soothe away his worries and don't mention it if his eyes start watering, just pull him against your chest and let him cry his heart out.

On nights he's particularly sad, he'd sneak into your bedroom to sleep between you and Reiner. It's something he used to do back when he was little, he can't help but miss his parents.

It makes him feel safe so make sure to keep a space for him in there always.

Please stroke his hair till he falls asleep like his mother used to do each night, and let him lean against you while watching cartoons like his father did.

You also noticed how...dotting the kiddos are around him during these times.

Gabi is more gentle with him, even willing to play the games he wants instead of hers. She always teams up with him and her words whenever they win make him smile.

Zofia shares her food with him, something so scarce. She gives up her turn on the tv for him and even defends his choice in what to watch if the others complain.

Udo is the one making him space on the school bus and walking with him home too. Helping him with his homework and holding his hand whenever he seemed to get sad.

Udo and Falco are a great emotional support to each other, they're not afraid to speak about their emotions to the other.

And naturally they're the most comforting, with Zofia botteling up her own emotions and Gabi wrestling through it, it's the two of them who work as the group emotional support backbone.

Reiner couldn't stop talking to you about how proud he is of Udo when he saw him comforting Falco these days, you couldn't agree more.

By the end of the week, the three kids were surrounding Falco on the couch as they played Mario karts.

Zofia was threatening to throw hands with whoever threw that blue shell at her making her last place, Gabi was too busy securing her first place spot.

Udo was leaving strategtic traps in his trail while in third place, making Zofia even more frustrated as she fell into every single one.

Falco was racing with Gabi in second place, attempting to push her kart or power through to the finish line.

When the black and white line came into view, Gabi and Falco's karts were separate by mere inches, both of them attempting to outrun the other.

And when Gabi managed to get a hold of the first spot for three seconds, a flying blue shell knocked her away. Making Falco the winner as he crossed the line.

To this day, Gabi doesn't know if which one of Zofia and Udo were the cause of her demise, but oh she will find the traitor and they will pay.

After that intense scene, they all shared a bag of cookies she brought from home! It was animal shaped.

[happyandticklish]

I just read your recent post about Percy and Jason being compared and stuff, and was wondering if you have any headcanons about the big three kids when it comes to tickling? <3

I would love to!

Percy:

. Alright, so Percy is like... unreasonably ticklish. His mom used to tickle him all the time when he was a kid, but as he grew older he managed to convince her his sensitivity had worn off. Of course that brief respite only lasted so long before he came to Camp Half-Blood and everyone discovered his secret. 

. His worst spots are his armpits, ribs, and feet. I also believe that his lower back is unfairly ticklish ever since the River Styx, and even after the curse wore off the spot remained hyper sensitive. Annabeth likes to trace her nails softly over it while they’re cuddling until he collapses until a giggly puddle in her arms. 

. He loves being tickled, as it makes him feel loved and wanted, but he has a difficult time admitting it. Annabeth is the only person he’s told before, but the others have put in their guesses by this point. His go-to method is just provoking people into tickle fights until they wreck his shit (which, you know, same).

. As a ler he’s super playful and teasy. He’s one of those people that uses baby talk when he’s tickling others and it flusters the shit out of people. Overall, he’s the biggest switch out of all of them. 

Jason:

. So Jason’s not super ticklish actually.

. At first.

. He’s really good at hiding his sensitivity because Thalia used to tickle him all the time as a kid and so he’s used to defending against it. The only people who know are Piper, Leo, Percy, and Nico. Piper, because his neck is deathly ticklish and it makes making very giggly. Leo, because he’s a persistent little shit and wouldn’t stop trying until Jason finally broke. Percy only found out after play wrestling took a right wrong turn. Jason actually ended up confessing that he didn’t mind tickling to Nico, and whenever the former was stressed about something then Nico will softly tickle his sides until he forgets about it. 

. His worst spots are his sides and neck, as well as the backs of his knees. He will kick you if you get him there (luckily Piper knows how to defend herself and uses this information to her advantage often). His laugh starts off as these huffed, breathy chuckles, but once he really gets going he starts letting out these deep belly-laughs that rock his whole body. Nico says it only adds to his Superman aesthetic. Jason got him back mercilessly for that comment. 

. He’s a fairly gentle ler, not liking to push people’s boundaries too much and always worrying that he’s going to far. He loves seeing his friend’s smile however, and he finds Piper’s laugh adorable, so he has been known to ler on occasion. His most often victim is Nico, and possibly the only person he doesn’t hold back on. He knows Nico loves it though and needs to laugh, so he’s happy to engage him. 

. He and Percy can get into the occasional competitive tickle fight and everyone backs off when they’re in that mode, afraid of getting pulled in. 

Hazel:

. God help this girl... 

. She’s basically a walking tickle spot. A single poke to the side will get her to jump and squeak, and she’s one of those people who will start giggling before you even touch her. 

. She’s ticklish everywhere, but her worst spot is her stomach and knees. One time Percy tried to show her the spider-knee trick and she near lost her mind. 

. Has the cutest fucking giggles man, like, it is not even fair how adorable she is while being tickled. Will double over and turn into a squirmy puddle in your arms, but cannot fight back to save the life of her. Almost everyone on the Argo II tickles her just because her reactions are too great not to. Frank is the most often provoker of these moments, as he loves making her smile, though he’s a fairly shy ler himself.

. Contrary to popular belief, Hazel is a vicious ler. She knows everyone’s death spots, though no one is sure how she does, and she will exploit them if needed. Don’t get me wrong, she can’t defend herself for the life of her while being tickled, but after? You better start running. 

. Sometimes she’ll team up with Nico and have him use his skeletons to hold the victim down. Together they make an unstoppable combo. 

Thalia:

. Like Jason, everyone assumes she’s not ticklish. But whereas Jason was good at hiding it, no one ever tried with Thalia; they were all too scared of retaliation. Not even Jason knows, as he was almost always the victim of their fights. 

. One day when Reyna and Thalia are hanging out (which a lot of the time translates to making out with the two), Reyna’s fingers brush against her sides and she accidentally giggles into her mouth. Reyna’s eyes widen and Thalia freezes up in her arms. She narrows her eyes and does the whole “Don’t you dare-” spiel, but it’s too late and soon she’s squealing and pleading underneath Reyna’s skilled hands. 

. So now every time Thalia is trying to act tough and all high and mighty in front of the others, Reyna will squeeze her sides in passing and let the others sort out the accompanying squeak for themselves (to this day Reyna is the only one who’s gotten away with tickling Thalia successfully). 

. Her worst spots are sides, like her brother, and her hips. Has this adorable, girly squeal that she’s super embarrassed about though Reyna assures her it’s cute. 

. Doesn’t like to be tickled that much, and will tell everyone she knows that she hates it. She doesn’t mind really soft, gentle tickles though, if it’s from people she trusts (i.e. Jason and Reyna). 

. The cruelest fucking ler, she will wreck her victim until they are a shrieking, begging mess. A merciless demon who cannot be stopped, she’s struck fear in the hearts of many. Jason used to be her most common victim, though now it’s usually Reyna. Percy once pissed her off and he was giggling for several minutes after she stopped he may or may not have tried to provoke her into it again later whaaaat

Nico:

. BABY.

. Literally so ticklish, how is he still alive??? Maybe it just runs in Hades children.

. Will insist he’s not ticklish and that he’s grown above “such childish nonsense”. Percy, of course, knows this is bullshit as he used to tickle him all the time as a kid and remembers that he used to love it. Sometimes he’ll bring it up when he’s denying it to others and Nico will turn this bright, cherry red and snap at Percy to shut up. 

. He can’t even admit it while he’s being tickled. In the same way that he could be dying and insist he’s fine, he could be curled up on the ground and giggling like a child and still wheeze out that he’s “not ticklish”. 

. His worst spots are his hips, feet, and thighs, as well as his shoulder blades (Will is the only one who knows about that last one and loves to torment him with it). 

. He has these adorable high-pitched giggles that are interspersed with hiccups and squeaks when it gets to be too much for him. He flails a lot when tickled, and generally has to be restrained for fear of injuring someone. 

. Contrary to his adamant denials, he loves being tickled. My boy is super touch-starved and loves the physical closeness that tickling brings. I also think there’s something about that fluttery, desperate quality to it that he loves and is flustered by all at the same time. 

. Will, Jason, and Percy all tickle him constantly, and he loves/hates it.

. Loves to be a ler almost as much as he likes being a lee. He’ll smirk and taunt his victim while holding them down with skeletons and wiggling his fingers right above their death spots until they can’t help but break down laughing before he’s even touched them. He tickles Will and Jason the most (he’s gets too flustered to even try tickling Percy), though he will tickle Hazel on occasion because he likes seeing her happy. 

Thank you for the ask!

[everythingthemoontouches]

Hiii Jahn!🌙 I’m just a new follower. I discovered you while searching for D9 asks. I was amazed by your in-depth explanation on each placements. 🤍 I’d like to send in my D1 & D9 charts also for future spouse reading to understand more about it.Thank you so much!!🤍 Please take your time. I’ll patiently wait. 💕 Hoping you’ll have a lovely day/night! 🌹

Hello there

This, my love has been a longtime coming. First off I'm gonna introduce you to an intuitive read and then present it in a more formal, bulleted manner. You seem to ha e chosen quite a challenging path in this lifetime. Props to you for bravery. And a hug + some tea to help you brave it 💕 your life could be a beautiful movie on love, healing, growth, spirituality and personal power.

Future BAE seems to be stable, practical reliable with service being his love language. He is down to grow together, and help you walk in your power.

Taurus rising.

Scorpio 7th house. + Pluto + moon.

Wow. Lots of shadow work involved when it comes to close personal relationships. You need to turn that critical eye inwards.

Untill you work at managing or integrating your inner child issues, any partners you end up with will continue to trigger you. At its best, this is someone who helps you work through your feelings. Breakdown. Confront reality. Breakdown and rebuild yourself stringer than ever. A hades and persephone kind of love. Lots of sexual allure. Strength, protectiveness, passion, push and pull, makeup sex? Specially since the ruler of the 7th house (Mars) is in the 5th house. You're not the kinda person who'd be happy to marry just for stability. Passion and mutual attraction, love is a must.

Mars and rahu. Service. Over exerting for those you love. Days spent in bed. Service kink. Lady in the streets, freak in the sheets.

You're definitely attracted to people who help you better your place in the world. They have to have a little bit of ' I wanna do good / change the world in them'. A friendly leader kinda figure. Disciplined.

Your darakarka Mars is retrograde. Controlling. Dominant. Future BAE is definitely gonna overthink themselves into a worry when it comes to dating and wooing. Or they could think that only their way is the right / best way to do soemthing. Poor lil baby( I say baby, but as a Virgo Mars they're probably the person who takes charge, plans, overanalyzes things has a set way of doing things.) this could be someone who is an advocate for universal free education, teaches children for free or some such. Could second guess themselves when it comes to taking action.

Mars Rahu conjunction: sub kink. They'd want a lot of adulation. Could be from a different culture from you or have studied in a very different environment.

I think your fs gets better at dealing with overthinking after you guys tie the knot. They learn to be more at peace with themself, letting their intuition guide them instead of focusing too hard on trying to do the logical thing. Okay with being messy. May like to act and arrange things behind the scenes. Imagine coming home tired to find that they've already called the restaurant, arranged for your favorite food to be dropped off, warmed, alid out on the table. Gives me the vibes of a puppeteer(katputli - a rajasthani folk dance)pulling the strings. You can't see them, but the show goes on.

From being ficusssed on accumulating wealth your focus goes towards doing things that boost your sense of Self confidence. You could also grow more tactful as you learnt to seek out harmony. You probably become more direct and assertive as a result the peopep you attract are more easy going / Libra like.

I'm seeing a house for a wedding present? Or moving into your spouse's ancestral home. They could also come from a matrilineal lineage.

Your household could be supported by one or both of you working in tax, insurance, financial industries. There could also be soemthing related to life insurance.

Pluto and Saturn in the 7th is a tad concerning. There's a very heavy sense of some kind of karmic duty. Saturn is exalted in Libra.

Way too controlling. Narcissism. Moon Mars mother. Karmic ties. Moon 8th house.

U must learn to stand up for yourself.

If you're meant to have any babies in this lifetime, they'd probably visit you in a dream or a psychic trance before they come down to earth. Call it mothers intuition. This is just a gut feeling wrt your moon in 8th house in Scorpio in the D9. I say this because the moon rules the 4th house of home, and children are an important part of the house if you're a mom. The 4th house is also the home/ heartland what you'd protect.

You suppress your emotions. Emerges as a volcano. But a cold one. U turn to ice and grow aloof.

Out of body experiences

You need to learn to be more dominant and combative. I'd suggest watching the teal Swans video on creating a zero sum game in relationships. Strengthened by Aries ascendant in d 9. This life u gotta learn to fight for yourself, and not sit quietly because people attacked u or kept u under their thumb when u were younger by a strict dad.

OK, now let's look at the placements and aspects

D1 lagna (ascendant) VS D9 lagna

You go from comfort stability minded to taking more risks and initiative. Self Confidence increases. Assert your needs better.

Vargottama Moon

The moon is quite dominant as it does not change signs between d1 and D9. You're super cooperative and hate to disappoint people. I'd suggest reading up more on Anuradha Nakshatra.

Moon - Pluto - 7th house

Could indicate karmic ties or past life connections to FS. You work through a lot of your own inner insecurities, self doubt, lack mindset related issues in close romantic relationships. There could be some mother wound related issues. You can only love as deeply as you allow yourself to love yourself. In order to attract people who inspire positive growth in you, you must first sit with your shadow, examine why people trigger you, and make peace with yourself or, perhaps your mom?

Mars Rahu - sextile moon

Mars and Rahu are both impulsive action oriented Planets. Them sextile your Pluto and moon could lead you to feel quite triggered and attacked by the slightest hint of advice or suggestion from someone else. Sex with the wrong people can really mess with you. In a better manifestation good sex has you feeling liek you can change the world and also that you're super safe and secure.

Venus combust - 10th house

You need to feel appreciated for your uniqueness. Ego battles could arise and get in the way of finding, expressing love.

Saturn- Ketu Pisces

The ruler of your 7th Nakshatra this is someone who loses themself to community service, could do too much for the wrong cause. Money could come in from fish farming. Seduments or other aquatic culture.

Anuradha 7th house

This is a Nakshatra that focuses on achieving success by working with a group. Your fs is collaborative and good at managing people. Someone who shares success. And is hence likely to go far ahead in life. Major success may come later in life.

Mars 7th house

Expect healthy amount of frank, direct communication. Some arguments with FS. But there's also protectiveness, concern, and the will to do the best by someone. Mars and moon aspects indicate a healthy sex life. They're probably enamored by you. You in turn would find them super sexy.

7th Nakshatra lord and Ketu

Your fs and relation with FS is a highly spiritual one. You could both be looking for a soulful connection. There is love, there us duty there is a need to help each other value time, focus on the future. They could have been a strict disciplinarian figure Ina past life. You both probably have a knack to look down at your phone just in time tos ee an email / message alert from them? Perhaps you two run or help/volunteer at an institution for the mentally challenged.

7th house relation to pieces

OK, so this is where we have a lot going on. Mars opposes saturn. And is placed with Rahu. Mars here feels restrained. Your fs could feel blocked in their creative gifts. In the sense that all they want to do is focus on it, create, post, gain fame but saturn and Ketu try to restrict their creative time. They could be perfectionists. Having to redo things. Since Rahu is also in virgo there's a focus on creating things with the hands and fine tuning every single detail. Directed towards you, this is someone who is always encouraging you while trying to micromanage a lot of details because they think they're being helpful. This is sosmrhtinf you two could have in common so

Mars Darakarka: they teach u to fight for you. Opinionated. Honest. Perfectionist. Service before self. Hardworking. Have integrity. Very active mind.

Mars conjunct Rahu-venus D9 creativity

The 5th house rules creativity and with your venus in the 9th house in D9 your fs is someone who encourages u to be more creative and follow or take up a course to be better at your hobbies. It's like full creative freedom to be you and do you.

D9 Exalted Saturn

Justice. Duty. Not very affectionate but they make sure you have everything you need. Balanced approach. Someone thoughtful. They're fair in a fight.

Libra, venus ruled 7th house

Beauty, peace and harmony in thr relationship. You're not gonna feel like you're being taken for grated. They will treat you to nice things and probably have a schedule for dates and other such romantic leisure activities.

Jupiter rules 9th, in 2nd house

Philosophy. Art. Culture. Museums. Travel coudk be a key focus in your married life. This is something you two bond over. Could also strike God fortune when u do travel or go on pilgrimages. Luck and money via foreign sources.

Rahu in aquarius

Social media influence or you get better at making friends just make sure that they're not provoking you into taking uncalcukated risks or actions that are wya too bizarre. Could denote some kind of breakthrough with technology, a love for a high end gadget driven spaces. An interest in Photography. Any couples pictures posts would be well received. Like you're the couple that looks exotic in their photos. Radiant. Aloof, intellectual, stimulating and even more appealing together.

Jupiter Taurus in 2nd house of D9

Debilitated Jupiter 9th house- religious issues - venus 9th house - conversion?

You may have struggled with religious ideologies being forced on you, or the one you were born into didn't quite feel right. Your fs may follow a different religion or show you that being religious does not mean you feel bad about some of your lifestyle choices.

Pisces Mars d9: he is either tactful and charming or a bit manipulative. You may feel like you prefer to act behind the scenes. It may be a little hard to be recognized for the things you do untill you get really really angry.

D9 Cancer 4th house: the home is a serious source of pride. Beautiful interiors and you'd be quite guarded about who you invite over. The best meals. Soothing interiors.

Pilgrimage within the 1st year of becoming a mom ( Jupiter's aspect on the 9th house)

Venus in Sagittarius D9: future BAE is gonna love his freedom. He could be a workaholic.

Alrighty, that's all I've got today. I hope this helps. I wish you the best on your healing and integration journey

[bluebellhairpin]

( Notice: OKAY - The pic there says ‘The Hobbit/LOTR’ but for times sake, and my own sanity, there is none listed thus-far (same goes for the ‘other’ category’). Merci for understanding! )

So I’ve been meaning to do this for a while, and I already have a blog for it ( @nemosrepost ) but that doesn’t get too much attention. Thus, here we are! 

(This was a nightmare to get done - it took weeks to get all the links and pics done up in my spare time - I hope you appreciate that.) 

They’re all sorts here, from Medieval Marvel AU’S, to Modern Attack on Titan one shots. They’re all organised via fandom, and I’ve tried my best to link and tag everything properly, but that is a difficult feat, so beware - for some it may not have worked too well.

Like my *actual* masterlist, this will be updated regularly with new fic recs, and even new characters and fandoms as I read them. All fic’s currently listed (as of November 26, 2020) are found on my reblog account. 

I’ve also tried to add in a ‘recommendation summary’ thing of each - so basically just my thoughts on the fic(s). But anyway, have fun browsing, and overall - enjoy! 

(AND also - LMAOOOO - Have fun scrolling lololololol!) - Nemo

( Pre - Warning: I am not tagging anything as NSWF, 18+, or triggering content. However some fics listed do contain such material. Please refer to the warnings or Authors Notes on each Fic before reading. Stay safe guys! I love you! ) 

Bluebellhairpin’s Masterlist 

Bucky Barnes

Knight in Rusty Armour - Medieval / A/B/O AU! Series - by @revengingbarnes Honestly I binged the first eight chapters (+ prologue) in close to one sitting. That was mostly because that was all that was published at the time. It is completed now. I love both these AU’s, and I love Bucky - win, win! 

Flowers Bloom - Soulmate AU! Series - by revengingbarnes  Another great series, and honestly I’m a slut for soulmate au’s, so this author might be coming after my heart - keep up that good work, if you know what I mean. 

The Great Build Up - Modern / Firefighter Au! One Shot - by @thottybarnes  This ones goes from cute, to hot and steamy, to angsty, and back to cute again. A one shot rollercoaster, and I thoroughly enjoyed every word of it. 

Maybe This Time - Mob Au! One Shot - by @propertyofpoeandbucky Okay, so if there’s one thing I like more than an mobster au, it’s adding children into the mix. Something about big bad guys going all soft for this tiny human - and then making them - and that’s called perfection. 

Whatever It Takes - Biker AU! One Shot - by @sgtjbuccky He like’s to be loud, so what. He rides a bike, so what. I what to ride him and his bike, so what. 

(Un-Named) - One Shot - by @softlybarnes  I’ve never liked Bucky’s metal arm more in my entire life. Using it for a baby going through teething? A+ idea. 

Hero, Waiting - Medieval AU! One Shot -  by captain-ariel-barnes Sadly, this fic is unavailable now, and that - obviously - makes me sad. But I’m adding it her anyway because of how much I adored it. The love triangle between Bucky, Reader, and Steve was amazing, and the feelings? Phenomenal. 

Steve Rogers

If Walls Could Talk - One Shot - by propertyofpoeandbucky  I’ll recreate my original comment on this fic - ‘Ouch’. And that’s all I have to say about that. 

The End of the War - College AU! One Shot - by @redgillan There’s nothing quite like a enemies to lovers trope that’s well-written. But then throw in fight club, a jerk date, ice-cream and pizza - just read it. You’ll understand then. 

The Edge of the Water - Mermaid AU! Series - @floatingpetals I have to admit now, I haven’t read all of this yet. But I also have to say, what I have read was fantastic. Mermaids - and Mermen - they just hit different, you know? 

Pseudo Princess - Medieval AU! Series - by @shreddedparchment​ To date, it’s one of the best fics - nay - stories I’ve ever read. I’d dare to say it’s easily the length of a novel, so if you’re up for the long haul, I’d definitely recommend it. It’s worth the wait - trust me. Op obviously put a hella lot of work into it, and it shows. 

Loki Laufeyson

Loki’s Happy Ending - Series (?) - by @gingerwritess  Listen, I have been and forever will be a Loki girl. Nothing will change that. And every scrap of content Theo produces for Loki I will cradle in my palms and keep warm until they’re ready to go out into the world or whatever - point is, read this. 

Just One Quick Glance - One Shot - by @imagines-trashcan  After watching ‘Endgame’, and squealing at every moment Loki appeared on screen, only to not have him show up in the final battle - this was one of my comfort fics. 

thunderstorms. - One Shot - by @tarynkauai Naturally, Loki’s child would inherit his unease of thunderstorms. And naturally, seeing Loki as a dad makes me happy. 

Stitches - One Shot - by @lokibug​  Loki being nice. I like that. We stan. 

Quentin Beck 

The Curveball - One Shot - by @healingchurch​  Listen, this is on here for a reason. I didn’t really like Mysterio ‘cause of what he did to Peter, but hey, some people are good actors, and some write characters acting very well. 

Stephen Strange 

(Un-Named) - Imagine / One Shot - by @archieimagines​ A cocky bastard and a shy Reader, as far as I’m concerned that a one-way ticket straight to my heart. *wink wonk*.

(Un-Named) - One Shot - by @whirlybirbs​  Honestly, there are multiple fics of hers on this list, and that’s because she’s a damn fine writer, and her stories are just that addictive. This one is no different. I was preparing to read more and then it ended. But all good things, right?

Crash and Burn - One Shot - by @lilyswritings​  The angst, and the angst. I cry, you cry, everyone cries. Unfortunately there is only the one part, but much to my personal joy that means I can interpret the after-ending however I want! 

Frank Castle

(Un-Named) - One Shot - by @alexsunmners​ This is just cute okay? I have no other words except this was plain and simply very, very, very nice to read, and that it makes me feel very soft right here on the inside. 

Peter Parker

Super Smooth Genius - One Shot (?) - by whirlybirbs  Back at it again with the cute, awkward, friendly, neighbourhood, Peter Parker. 

Just Don’t - Soulmate AU! One Shot - by @papel-creativo​ What’d I tell you about soulmate au’s? I can’t resist them. And of course Pete being a caring bf with his hero s/o. So nice. 

Ronan the Accuser 

Make You Proud - One Shot - by @kayleighhalliday2203​ This is justifiable because I was going through a Lee Pace faze and I found it and loved it immediately. 

Ultron

(Un-Named) - One Shot / Series - by @snarky-badger​ This I can also justify having read, because (and if you know me then you know) the robot thing ... Doesn’t bother me as much as it should. And I binged all of it on ao3, so. 

Poe Dameron

(Un-Named) - Masterlist - by propertyofpoeandbucky Okay, I know there’s a lot on this list, and it could take you a while to get through it all, but trust me - it’s worth it. Lani likes Poe, and it shows. He’s written so well. 

Dashing - One Shot / Series ? - by whirlybirbs Birbs does it again. She’s got Punchy!Reader, and if there were a legal way to get all of this Poe thing down into a written book, I’d do it. 

You Can See Me? - Modern / Ghost AU! One Shot - by @tintinwrites​ I just this this one’s really cool. And what Poe does for the reader at the end? So sweet! He would totally do that! 

Across the Hall - Modern / Nurse AU! Series - by @starryeyedstories​  It’s cute, it’s fun, it’s got tension, and a little drama - plus a smidge of angst and Corgi!BB-8. If perfection were ever made into a Modern/Nurse au Poe fic - this would be it. 

Deepest, Lightest Secrets - One Shot - by @writefightandflightclub​  It’s got the humour and overall feel  you’d expect to come from something Star Wars related - honestly I had so much fun reading it, and I’ll happily do it again. 

Levi Ackerman

Names for Him & You - One Shot - by @commanderserwin​ Again, op is one of my main sources for fic’s in this area - so there could be quite a few of them listed here. But this one? Cute as heck. 

Levi’s Secret - Modern AU! One Shot - by @theamberwriter​ This one was damn funny in my opinion. Nothing can ever be hidden from Hange for long. 

You Look So Beautiful In White - Modern AU! One Shot - by @alrightberries​ This fic, it carved out my heart, diced it, shoved it in a blender, then made it into an atomic bomb. I - I was not okay. That amount of angst shouldn’t be allowed. Read it. 

Abeille - Modern / Mafia AU! Series - by @ackermans-freedom-inc​ Honestly, this isn’t finished yet but, honestly, I’m not ready for it to finish. The heartache. The betrayal. The child. I can’t even. 

Lights - Modern AU! One Shot - by commanderserwin This was the first fic I ever read of op’s, and I couldn’t believe what I read so I went back and read it again. I can’t tell you how much I love it, or how I feel about it, so just go read for yourself and you’ll know. 

To Build a Home - Modern AU! Series - by @vennilavee​ If you’re a fan of Levi, you must go read this. It’s so detailed, and just so perfect - whenever a new part comes out I have a quick reboot before going to read it. 

Erwin Smith

One of Us - Modern AU! Miniseries - by commanderserwin I’m not going to lie, this one is here because I requested it, but also because I really liked it, and cried while reading it. So there. 

Reiner Braun

Service to the Crown - Medieval AU! Miniseries - by @present-mel​ It should probably be illegal to write Reiner or Medieval au’s this well, and yet here op is writing both. Like, McScuse me, where do you acquire such talent and can I have some? 

Toshinori Yagi

Flirting with All Might - One Shot - by @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten​ Toshi. The great. The hero. The awkward. He’s a blond boy doing what blond boys do even if he’s a little older he’s still part of the crew.

Stitches - Villain AU / Mini Series - by @itsallmightbitch​  Okay, so I said above that I wouldn’t put warnings on these - but this time I have to. Nothing I’ve read in my whole life emmits such an amount of pure horniness - and I love it. 

Godless - Fantasy AU / One Shot - by @pleasantanathema​  Another ‘All Smite’ fic, yes, I know. But god. They’re so good. This one is another real horny one, so if you can’t tell there is a slight theme running here. And - sksksksks - this is actually from the same ‘general area’ as the Reiner fic listed above (Service to the Crown). There was a event. I read everything. 

Keigo Takami

Preening - One Shot - by @shoutaaizawas​ Literally the softest and cutest damned thing I’ve read for Keigo. No, I’m not just ‘saying’ that, it’s genuine. The feelings I get - or lack thereof due to them turning to mush - it too much for words. Honest. 

Seasonal Special - One Shot - by @keiqos​ I’ll say this now and I’ll say it first - any Hawks fics written by op are *chefs kiss*. They’re amazing. Secondly, rut!Hawks is my weakness - this fic is one of such weaknesses. 

Shouto Aizawa

(Un-Named) - Series - by @theamberwriter​ This is *technically* the second part in the series, but it’s the only part I’ve read and goddamnit, I’m in love. Hubby Aizawa. The disappearing Baby-Zawa. 

I Miss You Texts - SMAU - Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto Koutarou, Nishinoya Yuu - by @briswriting​ I miss them too. They ain’t dead. I just feel like I haven’t seen them in so long.  

Little Things - Headcanons - Karasuno - by @haikyuudreaming​ Every single one makes me feel so nostalgic, and I feel so much longing. I love. I loose. I pine. I want. And yet I cannot have. I only dream.  

Cheerleader - Headcanons - Karasuno - by @imagine-101​  I want to be their cheerleader. Now I am able to be. Op, many thanks for the feeding. 

Tsukishima Kei

Cherry Wine - Single Parent AU! Series - by @bakugou-jpg​  I’m gonna head out and say that Tsukki was my first favourite Haikyuu character - then I ‘character developed’ but that only went so far as to give me more favorites. But deadass - read this and you won't regret it. 

Ukai Keishin

(Un-Named) - Ballroom/Latin Dancer AU! Headcanons - by @imagine-that-haikyuu​  I know nothing about dancing. Or ballroom dancing. But I do know I’d love to dance with Ukai. So how’s that for ‘middle ground’? 

[master-sass-blast]

Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter Two.

I had to input every single italic you see in this fic by hand because Tumblr doesn’t hold text format when I paste it innnnnn. *pained smile*

Please give this chapter some love, because that was fucking painful to do.

Summary: The aftermath of capturing Allison proves messy -both in dealing with the teen's evident trauma, and in all the skeletons in various closets that get unleashed soon after.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Frank Castle x Karen Page, and Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin.

Rating: M for gun violence, depictions of death and injuries, depictions of emotional trauma, and gratuitous use of the word “fuck.”

Word count: 8.9k.

Set after “Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter One.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @leo-writer, @emma-frxst, @sadstone-s

“What the hell were you thinking!”

“Ooh, careful there, Doohan,” Wade snarks, head rolling to indicate he’s rolling his eyes. “Get any more agitated and you’ll be saying all the no-no words.”

Scott scowls at Wade. “Stuff it, Wilson.”

“Every damn night, laser pointer.”

A mixture of grimaces, sighs, and groans go up through the crowd.

You’re all gathered in the medical wing of Xavier’s –the X-Force and nearly all of the X-Men. Allison’s off being examined by Dr. McCoy and Alyssa –to make sure she’s stable enough to be taken out of the handcuffs and the suppression band—and Frank and Karen are sequestered in a separate room until it's clear how everything's going to shake out.

Because, naturally, there’s been a wrench thrown in the situation.

Or maybe the whole damn toolbox, you mentally amend as Wade and Scott resume arguing.

“We cannot harbor a mob criminal here—”

“She’s thirteen, Summers!” Wade snaps. The eyes on his mask narrow into slits. “She’s not a criminal –and her parents’ choice don’t automatically make her guilty!”

“Murder, illegal theft and possession of firearms, assault, stalking, kidnapping,” Scott starts listing, ticking off each of Allison’s misdeeds on his fingers.

“She lost her family,” Nathan interjects, voice going to gravel. “Where the fuck were all of you when she needed support? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

The room goes silent. Many of the X-Men members look away or hang their heads slightly.

“We had no way of knowing that Allison was a mutant,” Ororo speaks up. “Without the proper information, we can’t help. It’s unfortunate, yes, but out of our control all the same.”

“But you know now,” Wade argues. “You knew with Russell. You knew with all the kids at Essex house. You turned your back on him and those kids, just like you’re turning your back on Allison now.” He scoffs, disgusted. “Same shit, different day. You’re all a bunch of cowardly cocksuckers.”

“We do have limits,” Professor Xavier speaks up from his chair. “Russell and the other members of Essex house were considered wards of the state. Legally, that meant Essex house had custody of them until they turned eighteen. We wrote petitions. We did as much as we could to bring attention to the issue. Unfortunately, it got swept under the rug or stonewalled by anti-mutant members of the legal system. As for Allison…” He sighs. “Taking in wards with criminal connections put the school at risk. Not just for fear of retaliation –as would certainly be a risk with Miss Ricci’s connections to the mafia—but also our funding and licensing. As an orphaned mutant, she is certainly deserving of our help—” he pauses to glare sternly at Scott and a few of the more stubborn, self-righteous members present “—but we have to consider the needs of our other residents and students, too.”

“I think we’re overlooking that Allison is here right now,” Jean pipes up. “Whether or not she stays with us is one thing, but we need to decide what to do for at least the next forty-eight hours.”

“She stays here,” you say automatically. “As far as we know, she has no other guardians, potentially even nowhere to go. I don’t think it’s gonna kill us to give her a bed and some food to eat.”

“Absolutely not,” Scott fires back –and, behind him, Angel and Iceman nod. “She’s far too aggressive to possibly put the students at risk.”

“She’s agitated and traumatized,” you reason, “but that doesn’t mean she’s going to lash out at people left and right.”

“Doesn’t she have a guardian of sorts?” Neena pipes up. “Artemis? Has anyone gotten ahold of them?”

“We reached out with the number Miss Ricci gave us,” Xavier explains. “The call picked up, but there wasn’t any verbal response for the duration of the call.”

Well, that bodes well. “What about her attorney?” you ask. “If we can’t keep her here, wouldn’t her attorney be able to arrange some sort of safe place for her to stay.”

“Thus far, we haven’t been able to reach her attorney.”

And that bodes even worse. You fight the urge to sigh or roll your eyes, and instead mentally curse monkey wrenches and whoever thought to invent the damn things.

“For the time being, I’ve contacted some of our external resources” –the glance Xavier shoots at both you and Piotr tells you that it’s your uncle and Alexandra—“to help with matters until the dust settles. They should be arriving soon, so—”

There’s a loud crash from down the hall, the sound of glass shattering, and an angry screech that sounds suspiciously like, “Fuck you, Castle!”

You give into the urge to sigh before booking it towards the sound of chaos and rage. Great. Now it’s an entire toolshed.

***

Subduing Allison this time, at least, is easier for several reasons.

First, she’s still wearing the repression cuff on her wrist. Without her powers –without a way to pop in and out of this existence, specifically—she’s much easier to catch.

Second, she’s tired. It’s not just the bags under her eyes or the sweat glistening at her furrowed brow. She’s stumbling unevenly, panting as she tries to exact her revenge.

Third, Illyana happens to show up at the exact same time with your uncle and Alexandra (and Nikolai as well, though he has less involvement in the “subduing process”).

Alex reacts fastest. She hooks one strong arm around Allison’s waist, then scoops her away from Karen and a hangdog-looking Frank. “Alright, that’s enough.”

Allison, however, doesn’t seem to agree. (Though whether it’s due to general teenage contrariness or trauma-induced rage, the jury’s still out.

…Actually, it’s probably both.)

“You don’t even get it, Castle!” Allison snaps with a manic grin, eyes wide and haunted. “You killed a good man. My dad was getting out! He was going to testify against them—”

Alex clamps a hand over the teen’s mouth, making her cut herself off with a garbled grunt. “I said enough.”

Allison thrashes in the older woman’s iron-clad grasp –to no avail, unsurprisingly. Her face scrunches up, then her jaw starts flexing. There’s a moment where her expression goes slack when Alex doesn’t react, then her nose scrunches up again and her jaw starts working harder.

Alex sighs, then starts carrying Allison back down the hall (she’s astonishingly unfazed by been chomped down on). “Come on. Let’s get you calmed down, malen’kiy.”

At the other end of the hall, Neena pokes her head into the fray. “Someone who calls herself Artemis is at the front door.”

Professor Xavier nods, then says, “Please escort her back to Miss Ricci’s room,” before wheeling after Alex and Artemis.

You look between Neena and the Professor –then, in the interest of going where you’re actually allowed to be (and not being bored out of your mind because you’ll be literally shut out of the room), you head towards the foyer.

…

“Do you think Frank was set up to stop the trial?”

Your uncle shrugs; the two of you have taken up a spot at the back of the room, where you can watch things unfold and gossip like the two old ladies you are in spirit. “It’s possible. It’s also possible that it was retribution for Allison being a mutant. The Ricci syndicate is notoriously… intolerant.”

You grimace. You certainly understand just how far people will go against their own flesh and blood for intolerance’s sake. “Blood and water.”

Your uncle nods, expression equally sour. “You fucking said it, punk.”

There’s not much point in hashing it out any further –both from the standpoint of “forbidden knowledge” and digging up old trauma—so you settle back into watching Artemis go through the mandatory security check.

She’s tall, with broad shoulders. Her hair’s dark, just starting to streak with silver at the temples, and her eyes are deep, intense, borderline black color. Her nose is slightly crooked –comes with the territory in this walk of life—and she’s dressed in black motorcycle wear and combat boots.

She honestly looks so fucking familiar.

You frown, brows pinching together as you try and place her face in your memory. Failing your own abilities at recollection, you lean over and whisper, “Is she one of your team members? I swear I’ve seen her before.”

“Uh –no,” your uncle replies (and it’s too fast and shaky, but you’re too caught up in figuring out whom the fuck you’re looking at to notice). “I mean –everyone has a doppelganger, right?”

“I guess.” You squint at Artemis, as though physically narrowing your eyes will help your brain puzzle things out—

And then Alex strides into the foyer –wiping the hand that Allison bit, and if you look close enough you’re pretty sure you can still see a few bloody teeth marks—and the cloud of confusion lifts from your mind.

“Oh!” you gasp quietly. “That’s why she looks familiar! She looks like Alex.” You look from the Rasputin matriarch, to the other black-leather clad woman, then back again. “She looks… a lot like Alex, actually.” You laugh softly –coincidence is a hell of a thing—then keep rambling when your uncle doesn’t say anything. “Two women who love the color black and carry enough weapons on their person to stock an army. You’d think the universe broke the mold with Alex, huh?”

Your uncle shifts from foot to foot next to you, but says nothing.

“You really weren’t kidding about the whole ‘doppelganger’ thing, huh.” You cock your head to one side, then frown as another epiphany starts growing in your mind. “Actually… she kind of looks like you, too.”

Your uncle makes a quiet, pained choking noise. “Punk—”

“Yeah, she’s got more of your build…”

“Punk.”

“And her lower lip has that weird lopsided curve like yours—”

“Punk—”

You peer closer at Artemis’s face. “Actually, her nose looks like you took yours and Alex’s and mashed them together—”

“Punk.”

You finally look up at him and take in the pale, wide-eyed, tight-lipped expression on his face. “What?” When he doesn’t say anything, you look at Artemis, then Alex, and then back at him—

Oh God.

Oh God.

Holy fucking shit.

You stare up at your uncle, agape. “Wait a second –you and—”

“Okay, shut the fuck up!” he hisses, panicked, before dragging you out of the foyer and into the nearest hallway.

“You and Alex had a baby,” you blurt –albeit in a voice no louder than a harsh whisper. “Artemis is your and her lovechild!”

He winces, then holds up his hands. “I can explain—”

“I don’t think you can!” you hiss. “Why didn’t you tell me that I have a cousin who happens to be my husband’s half fucking sister! Oh God, does Piotr know? Do any of the Rasputins know?”

“I…” He trails off, then cringes. He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure, actually.”

You stare up at him, dumbfounded. “You’re not sure. How are you not sure? Nick knows who you are –what, you think Alex just kept a whole child from his knowledge—”

“I mean, he probably knows that there was a baby at one point—”

“The baby is in this fucking house!” you snap in a quiet growl, arms flailing wildly. “She’s a full grown adult who probably pays taxes and has a 401k going! Why wouldn’t Alex tell her husband—”

“Look,” your uncle interjects, cutting you off. “As far as Alex knows… she thinks she’s… dead?”

You gape. Then, as quietly as you can manage (given the circumstances), you exclaim, “What the fuck!”

“Keep your voice down!” your uncle hisses, gesturing wildly in panic. He looks over his shoulder, then when he’s certain no one overheard you, he sighs and looks back to you. “Look, it’s a long story—”

“I’m sure it fucking is!” You cross your arms over your chest when he winces. “How is it that you know your secret lovechild is alive, but Alex doesn’t? What, did she just abandon her?”

“No, no—”

“Didn’t think so. So what the fuck happened?”

He sighs, shoulder slumping, and runs one hand through his already disheveled hair. “Look –long story short, the people who ‘made’ Alex took the baby—”

“Artemis. Her daughter. Your daughter.”

He purses his lips, but concedes with a nod. “They took her away after she was born and told Alex she was dead –and that’s actually what prompted her to get out, but that’s another story for another day—”

“Okay, hang on a second.” You squeeze your eyes shut and hold up one hand. “Alex thinks her baby is dead –probably one of the most traumatic things in her whole life. You’ve known that she’s alive…” You open your eyes again and fix your uncle with a stern stare. “Okay, how long have you known for?”

He grimaces and shifts uncomfortably. “…well, the US took her, but she didn’t present early, so they turned her loose into the foster system because she didn’t have potential as an ‘asset’—”

“How fucking long?”

He ducks his head, carefully avoiding your gaze. “…tracked her down when she was ten.”

Your eyes widen –and then you slug him in the shoulder. “You fucking colossal asshole!”

He panics again, motioning for you to keep it down while checking over his shoulder. “Shut the fuck up!”

“No! Not only have you lied to Alex for decades—”

“She never asked—”

“A lie by omission is still a fucking lie!” you snap in a gravelly whisper. “So, not only did you lie to her, but you also abandoned your daughter to the mercies of the US foster care system!”

“My life wasn’t safe to keep a kid around!” he hisses back at you. “I couldn’t take care of you, and I couldn’t take care of her! If anything, it was safer for her if the government thought I didn’t know she was alive!”

You sigh, pinch the bridge of your nose, and wave dismissively with your other hand. “Okay –fine. That still doesn’t justify the whole lying thing, but whatever. Does Artemis know that you and Alex are her parents?”

“…Yes. She tracked me down when she was in her twenties and I told her the truth.”

“Well, it sounds like determination runs in the family,” you mutter. “But at least you two have kept in touch…” You look up, see your uncle’s grimace, and sigh. “You didn’t keep in touch with her.”

He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. “I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Pretty sure ‘not like that’ is a good answer.” You sigh again, then shrug and put your hands on your hips. “Well, you’ve probably solved your own problem. She’ll probably just tell Alex who she is just to spite you, assuming she got the ‘petty vengeance’ gene too.”

Your uncle’s eyebrows spike to his hairline, and his expression goes through the five stages of grief in a matter of seconds. “She –she can’t—”

“She can and she probably will.”

He hunches over, crouching, and grips the back of his head. “Shitfuckshitfuckshitfuckshitfuck—”

“Myshka?”

You and your uncle both jump, then whirl in unison and give your husband your best convincing, “we’re totally not talking about long lost, hidden family members and other poor life choices” smiles that you can each manage.

(Consider that you don’t look like you just shit your pants, you win.)

Piotr’s forehead wrinkles with concern. “What… is everything alright?”

“Just fine, baby,” you assure him, subtly kicking your uncle so he relaxes. “Just talking about what happens next.”

Piotr nods after a moment, likely picking up on that whatever’s going on right now isn’t life or death and that you’ll fill him in later. “I actually came to find you,” he says, gesturing to your uncle. “Professor Xavier still cannot reach Allison’s lawyer. He has asked for your assistance.”

“Right. Absolutely. On it,” your uncle says with a none-too-convincing smile. He shoots your husband a pair of finger guns, then books it out of the hall and towards the medical wing of the mansion.

Piotr stares after him, then shoots you a confused frown. “Is he okay?”

You shrug. “He’s doing about his usual.” You decide to further sidestep the issue by ambling over to him and giving him a gentle hug. “How are you?” Are doing okay?”

Piotr wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. “I am fine now. Just a little sore.”

“Me too.” You nuzzle your cheek against his burly chest. “We really should invest in that hot tub we keep talking about getting. It’d be great for post-mission recovery.”

“Hot tubs are expensive, myshka,” he chuckles.

“Yes, but we’re not getting any younger. It’d be a good investment in taking care of our bodies.” You tilt your head back and grin up at him. “I thought you were all about that life.”

He sighs and shakes his head, feigning exasperation, but his amused smile is a dead giveaway. “Whatever shall I do with you, myshka?”

You grin wider. “You could kiss me.”

Piotr grins back, then dips his head and presses his lips against yours—

Mikhail appears next to you out of thin air. “Ah. Gross. Big meeting is happening. All hands on deck.”

Piotr rolls his eyes when his elder brother teleports away once more, then looks back down at you and strokes your cheek with his thumb. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, baby.” You unwind your arms from his massive trunk of a torso, then slide your fingers between his as the two of you walk towards the medical wing.

…

“—I am telling you, Charles, not being able to reach this kid’s lawyer is a bad fucking sign.”

You and Piotr walk into a conference room to find your uncle and Professor Xavier locked in a heated argument.

Wade, Nate, and Neena are leaning against the table to watch, occasionally leaning over to whisper bits of commentary to each other (or, in Wade’s case, speak at normal volume).

In the corner of the room, where a couple of armchairs are positioned, Nikolai sits with his two other children; they’re speaking in hushed Russian, but none of them seem too concerned about everything else going on.

“As I previously stated,” Xavier says, words clipped, “we cannot release Miss Ricci without speaking first to her attorney. The X-Men operate as a special law enforcement service, and failure to comply with criminal and civil statutes will have enormous consequences for the Institute—”

“There’s going to be a bunch of fucking ‘enormous consequences’ for the Institute,” your uncle interrupts, growling through clenched teeth, “if you don’t evacuate this building right fucking now! Fuck’s sake, Charles –you hired me as a security advisor; just listen to me.”

Piotr frowns and curls one hand over your shoulder. “What is happening?”

“What’s happening,” a new, strong, feminine voice interjects from the hall, “is that we’re leaving.” Artemis shoulders past your husband –a feat not easily achieved by many—with Allison in tow, then holds up the teen’s arm that has the repression cuff still attached. She glares at Xavier (and God, she really looks like Alex when she does that), then spits out through gritted, bared teeth, “Get this fucking thing off my kid.”

There’s a longsuffering sigh in the hall, and then Alex steps into the doorway. “She has that cuff on for her own safety –as I already told you—”

Artemis whirls, face contorted by a vicious scowl, and snaps, “I didn’t fucking ask for you input!”

(Boy, if that doesn’t just scream ‘repressed trauma and mommy issues.’)

Your uncle looks like he’s about to pass out again, but Alex seems remarkably nonplussed. She merely raises one eyebrow at Artemis, as if to say ‘that’s all you got?’

There’s no way she knows, you think as you watch the two stare each other down. Not with how much she cares about her kids. There’s no fucking way—

“Actually, we’ve got bigger problems,” your uncle pipes up, voice quavering slightly before he clears his throat. “We can’t reach your kid’s shark.”

“They have other clients,” Artemis retorts, upper lip curling in a derisive sneer. Her dark eyes smolder with barely constrained hatred as she tosses a withering glance in his direction (daddy issues, too, this chick won the whole lottery). “Or maybe they got stuck in traffic.”

Your uncle narrows his eyes at that (and now the two of them look so much alike, overcome by ire as they are). “You cannot possibly be that fucking stupid.”

Artemis sucks a breath through her teeth, eyes widening with rage and hurt. “You fucking dick—”

In the corner of the room, Illyana bolts upright before going stock still. Then, she gasps and reaches out towards her mother. “Mama!”

(The way Artemis’s face mars with a pained grimace makes your heart ache.)

Alex tenses, eyes glowing gold as she starts scanning the horizon (presumably checking for heat signatures). “Gde?”

The room goes quiet –and then you hear it.

The sound of engines rumbling –multiple engines—and car wheels crunching against gravel. Doors thumping open and shut, followed by footsteps. Hushed voices.

You scamper over to the nearest window and float up, just enough to see several men clad in black and Kevlar and carrying rifles stalking towards the front door and around the sides of the house in groups. “Guys with guns. Lots of them.”

“Then get down!” Nate hisses before yanking you back from the window.

“Lights out,” Alex orders before hitting the switch herself. “Get everyone to a reinforced room.”

“There’s a safe room at the end of the hall,” Xavier says before wheeling himself towards the door.

Allison clings to Artemis’s sleeve, much like a baby koala. “What’s going on? What’s going to happen?”

“Go with the Professor,” Artemis says. She quickly –but gently—frees her arm, then clasps the teen’s face with both hands. “Look at me. Listen to the Professor, and stay put until I come get you. Okay?”

Allison’s forehead puckers, and her lower lip starts trembling. “But—”

“Is alright,” Nikolai interjects with a kind, reassuring smile. He gently ushers Allison towards the door, then down the hall before she can protest further.

A few doors down, Karen pokes her head out of the room where she and Frank have holed up. She frowns as she takes in the chaos. “What’s going on?”

“Mafia men with guns!” Wade chirps as he half-skips, half-jogs towards the mansion’s entryway. “Tell your boy to suit up!”

“There’s a safe room at the end of the hall,” Neena adds as she runs after Wade.

Frank squeezes around Karen and kisses her temple before falling in line behind the two assassins.

You step to the side so Karen can run past you, then turn and press a hasty kiss against Piotr’s cheek. “Love you.”

He kisses your cheek in return, equally as brief. “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.”

And then the two of you run towards the danger bearing down on your home.

***

In all the firefights you’ve been in, there’s always this moment of silence. A calm before the storm. A moment where everything goes still, while both sides wait for the other to make a move.

You duck behind a wall as the mafia gunmen continue hammering away at the front door, tucking yourself in a shadow. Your stomach tenses, breathing going quick and hard as your mind starts putting a plan together. Don’t want to risk collapsing part of the house by doing a pressure vacuum. Best option is to probably knock them to the ground so the others can jump them.

The door rattles. The wooden portal splits on one side, sending jagged splinters poking out into the air.

You slow your breathing, forcing yourself into a calm, focused state. Wait for them to get past the entryway so you can hit as many of them as possible.

In the back of the house, near the kitchen, you hear glass shatter.

They’re in. You clench your fists at your sides, watching as the front door slowly gives way. Three… two… one…

The door breaks open, swinging inwards as the first gunmen step into the foyer—

And then the door snaps off its hinges and slams into the men, taking them out like bowling pins.

Strike, a small, inane part of your brain giggles.

Shouts go up through the house. You can hear the sounds of rushed footsteps, shattering glass, and what sounds like people being bodyslammed through tables (and, given the type of people fighting for your side, it just might be that). Gunfire pierces the air –and is accompanied by the telltale, metallic plinks of the bullets ricocheting off your husband’s armor.

Angry screams emanate from the front step. Men barge in, firing down the hall, towards some unseen target (likely Alex or Nate, given the door trick).

You wait until as many men are piled into the foyer as possible, then send down a downdraft that blows out the windows on either side of the door.

The gunmen tumble to the floor, swearing in a mixture of English and Italian.

Nate, Wade, and Neena swoop in. They descend upon the mafia men like a pack of wolves, breaking bones, dislocating joints, and cracking skulls as they disarm –and, in some cases “un-alive”—the gunmen.

“It’s raining men!” Wade sings as he runs one of his katanas through the gut of one assailant. “Hallelujah! It’s raining men!” He ramps off a nearby wall, then t-bags another man before stabbing him through the temple. “Amen!”

You crouch, tracking the movement of the scuffle. You tense when you see a couple of the men jump Nathan, then charge towards the railing and dive over when a few more try to break past to run down the hallway. You flip in the air, land in the hallway ahead of them, and unleash a blast of wind right in their faces.

The mafia men fly out through the front door. They sail over half the front drive, then bounce off the gravel surface and roll several times before coming to a stop.

You let out a harsh breath, then dart down the hall towards the kitchen when you hear glass shattering and the sound of Frank bellowing angrily.

The kitchen and rec room are a mess. Glass shards from shattered windows coat the floor, glittering before being crushed underfoot. Doors are cracked from having people slammed into them. The rec room couch is overturned –and is sagging suspiciously on one side, hinting at a cracked frame. The entertainment system is shattered, with smoking bullet holes littering the TV, speakers, and media systems.

Frank has one of the guys pinned down over the sink. He’s snarling as he uses the lip of the sink to choke the guy out. There’s blood smeared his lips and chins, trailing back up to his chin.

Another gunman stalks in through the dining room, gun trained on Frank’s head.

You whip a blast of air at the second man, sending him sailing into the wall so hard the drywall cracks.

He drops to the ground, unconscious.

There’s some terrified shrieking –and then a gunman is punted up and out of the basement stairwell. He sails through the kitchen window headfirst, crumpling in a heap in the hedges outside.

Your husband storms up the staircase, teeth bared in an angry snarl. The waning daylight glints off his metal exterior, almost making him look like some sort of avenging angel. He stops short when he sees you, though; his irate expression vanishes, replaced by concern. “Ty v poryadke?”

You manage a smile and flash him a thumbs up—

And then a truck with a Gatling gun strapped to the roof rolls up to the back door.

“Get down!” Frank hollers before tackling you to the ground behind the kitchen island.

The room explodes into chaos. Bullets plow into the walls, sending up spurts of drywall dust in their wake. Wooden doorframes and floorboards crack, unleashing cascades of splinters in every direction. Glass shatters, raining down upon everything in its reach.

Frank positions himself over you, shielding you as fragmented bullets rain down upon your both. He cups your head with his hands, doing his best to protect you from the hellfire.

Over the din, you can just make out a loud, angry bellow –and then the sound of bullets hitting metal. Heavy, deliberate stomps make the floor shake.

The gunfire cuts off. A shriek pierces the air just before you hear what sounds like a car being tossed into a tree.

(As you’ll discover later, that’s precisely what you heard.)

Frank lifts his head, then carefully rolls off you. He crouches next to you and holds out a hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Your ears are ringing, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got glass shards and splinters in your hair, but you’ve been worse. You take his hand, flinching when you hear the sound of more gunfire outside.

Frank peers over the lip of the island. “Reinforcements. At least five more cars headed our way.”

You suck in a breath. “Piotr—”

“Is holding his own for now,” Frank says.

“I’m gonna help him,” you rasp out. “Make sure everyone in the house that’s not on our side… stays down. And that we’ve still got all our people.”

Frank nods, then runs off towards the foyer.

You catch your breath, then creep towards the back door (better safe than sorry). You flatten yourself against the wall next to the doorway, then peer around the broken frame.

Piotr’s facing off against the new influx of cars. He’s got one hand on the hood of one Range Rover, arm extended out like he’s fending off a five-year-old. With his other hand, he flips another SUV over, causing the thing to land on its roof and putting the vehicle squarely out of commission.

Your stomach sinks when five more Range Rovers tear across the lawn, leaving deep, muddy tracks in their wake –and are followed by three more trucks with Gatling guns attached to the roofs. You sprint out the door, take a flying leap over Piotr, then send out a shockwave of air when you land on the ground.

A few of the cars fly backwards, rolling across the lawn like tumbleweeds. A majority of them, however, manage to stay upright or bump into each other and recover.

Your eyes widen when one of the Gatling gun operators aims directly at you. Shit.

Piotr leaps in front of you, whirling so his back is to the gun. He curls his body over yours, shielding you as gunfire rains down on you both.

You grit your teeth, grunting. You can feel the impact of the gunfire resonating through your husband’s metal body. Worry clutches at your heart when Piotr lets out sharp, ragged groans; he’s largely invulnerable in his armor, not to mention his sense of touch is severely dulled, but you know that with shit like this he’s still feeling some sort of pain –and there’s nothing you can do. You’re both pinned down, and as powerful as your shockwaves are, they’re not enough to stop or even skew the trajectory of a bullet—

Blue light washes over both of you. The sound of the gunfire wanes, replaced by warbling, pinging noises instead.

You peer around Piotr’s side to see Illyana standing between the two of you and the oncoming cars. She has her arms outstretched, palms facing the onslaught of adversaries. A shimmering, sky blue shield with various magical incantations floating through it surrounds all of you, stretching into the sky for at least forty feet.

Illyana grunts. She’s being shoved backwards from the force of impact from the bullets. Her feet are digging into the ground, leaving ruts as she tries to hold her stance. “We need new plan!”

“How about ‘stay alive?’” Piotr shouts back as he digs shrapnel out of the grooves on his arms.

Wade, Neena, Nate, and Frank come barreling out the back door, faces streaked with soot and blood. They dive for the ground, covering the backs of their heads and necks with their hands—

An explosion goes off inside the mansion. The shockwave shatters windows on both the first and second floor, blowing out window frames and trim.

Piotr covers your body with his once more. He cups your head with his hand, shielding you from the falling debris and the worst of the shockwave.

You cough and hack as smoke billows out the broken windows and doors. You do your best to make a vortex to suck the smoke away and send it up into the air. Your lungs burn, and your ears are ringing like a bell from all the gunfire and the explosion—

Four more gunmen emerge from the smoke pouring out the back door.

You snarl, then whip blasts of air at them, slamming them into the exterior walls of the house.

One of them goes down, while the other three are merely stunned.

Mikhail comes barreling out next. He lets out a guttural battle cry, then sucker punches one of the men in the back of the head before aiming a blast of rust colored energy at another’s gut.

The man screams as he sails into the air, arcing over the tree line and disappearing somewhere in the canopies.

The third man aims his gun at Mikhail –then staggers and drops to the ground when a beam of golden energy sears through his chest.

Alex storms out of the smoke with Artemis and your uncle trailing close behind her. She glares down the remaining gunmen and cars, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Blood is flecked across her face and spattered over her leather jacket. “House is clear!”

“Yeah, except now we’re about to be cleared out!” Wade hollers back. “As in, ‘all sales final, no returns, no exchanges!’”

“If we could make plan,” Illyana screams, voice strained with the effort of holding the shield, “would be very great!”

You look over to Alex –and see her eyes widen. You whirl towards the gunmen just in time to see one of them aim a rocket launcher at all of you. “Oh, for the love of—”

The first hit is technically deflected by Illyana’s shield, insomuch that the projectile and the shield both shatter the moment they meet. The force of the magic breaking sends out a shockwave of blue energy that flies backwards into all of you, knocking those who managed to get up back off their feet and stunning the rest of you.

You groan, head reeling. Your vision clears slowly, casting double images when you move too quickly. Shit.

You can make out Piotr, just next to you. He’s lying face down on the lawn, grunting and moving in slow, clumsy movements. He turns his head, brow furrowing when he sees you, and reaches out towards you.

You extend your hand to grab his –but he’s just out of your reach, no matter how far you strain. Your body feels heavy with fatigue and pain; everything inside you is screaming to get up, to fight, to keep moving because death is knocking right on your door, and you’ll be damned if this is how you go out—

Alex recovers first –no surprise there. She shoves herself to her feet, seething and growling like a feral beast. She hurls a blast of energy at one of the cars –and, from the sounds of the carnage, makes a direct hit. She storms towards the sea of mafia men like an avenging angel, hell bound on vengeance and blood.

Audible gasps go up from the amassed assassins.

You lift your head to see several of the gunmen backing away from the mansion and crossing themselves with shaking hands. You chalk it up to Alex being Alex, and make to drop your head back against the ground once more—

And then you see Allison standing in the ruined doorway.

She’s glaring down the gunmen with a viciousness that doesn’t suit the youthful roundness of her face. Her brows are knit together, and her mouth is twisted into an ugly scowl. Her eyes are glowing a brilliant shade of blue and give off little wisps of azure colored smoke. Her skin and hair are smoking as well, creating an aura around her body. Blood drips down from her nose and onto her shirt –which is stained with ash and soot. There are burn marks and indents on her wrists from where the repression cuff and the handcuffs used to be, respectively, but the restraints themselves are gone.

The ground begins to shake. Two patches of cerulean light appear underneath the grass, growing larger until they form swirling vortexes of magical energy. The ground begins to crumble at the edges of the portals, eroding away and growing wider until they make gaping tunnels that channel so deeply into the earth there’s no telling how far they truly go.

You recoil when the smell of sulfur and smoke blenches forth from the tunnels. Shit, did she hit a gas line? Fucking dammit, like this day can get any worse—

Echoing, blood-chilling howls emanate from the tunnels.

Your eyes widen –and then your heart starts working overtime when you see two, then four massive hellhounds (like the ones Allison summoned at the mall) crawl out of the tunnels.

Shrieks of terror sound from the gunmen. Several take off running, while others try to shoot the beasts.

The hounds snap and snarl at the gunmen, then charge at the group. Two of them go off after the runners, while the other two start lunging after the assassins like they’re rabbits.

You stare at the chaos in disbelief –and then a set of strong hands grab you underneath the arms.

“Get up.” You uncle tugs you to your feet, keeping you steady when you stumble. “You can’t be in the flow of traffic for this.”

Behind you, Allison is panting like she’s run a marathon. The aura of blue smoke is growing around her, trailing into the air and floating over the ground. Veins of light spread across her face and arms, glowing the same shade of vibrant blue as her eyes. Her breathing grows louder and more ragged, until she’s growling and shaking with each exhale— and then she screams.

Much like the first confrontation in the cemetery, all those months ago, the scream unleashes a shockwave of blue energy. This time, though, the shockwave is far from a decoy for escape. It washes over you, the X-Force, your uncle, the other Rasputins, Frank, and Artemis harmlessly enough –then slams into the mafia forces and vehicles like the wall of a hurricane.

Alex charges after the shockwave, carefully trailing behind it. She waits until it clears the first line of gunmen, then slams her fist into the face of the man closest to her. She blocks his attempt to strike her, then twists his arm –dislocating the shoulder, which makes him shriek in pain. Then, she wrenches his rifle away from him. She shoots him once in the center of his forehead, then turns the firearm on his fellow men and keeps firing.

Mikhail and Artemis go after the one surviving Gatling gun. Mikhail teleports onto the truck bed; he sweeps the back of one man’s jacket over his head, effectively blinding him, then kicks the other man present in the balls before shoving him over the side of the truck.

Artemis, on the other hand, stops a few feet away from the truck. She uses her telekinesis to rip the Gatling gun off its mount, then yanks the driver out through the windscreen –headfirst, no less—and dumps him on the lawn.

He doesn’t get back up.

“Come on,” your uncle says, pointing towards the further reaches of the property, where some of the gunmen are still trying to outrun the hellhounds. “Let’s give the dogs a helping hand.”

The two of you reach out, creating a wind current that slices through the air and slams into the stragglers.

The men careen into nearby hedges –and the hellhounds have it from there.

The familiar sonic blast of Nathan’s gun rips through the air. The shot slams into the last remaining SUV, rendering the vehicle to little more than glass shards and mangled metal.

The back lawn and gardens fall silent, save for the sounds of groans of pain and the hellhounds chewing on various gunmen.

Mikhail takes a fall off the back of the truck bed. He flops onto the ruined grass below, limbs splaying like a rag doll’s. “Alright. Is time for nap. Wake me… never.”

Illyana scoffs from where she’s sat next to a smoldering bush. She picks up a nearby stone, then chucks it at her eldest brother’s head (and hits her target, no less). “There is still clean up. Bezdel'nik.”

Mikhail flips her off, then groans as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

“She’s right,” Alex lectures her eldest as she picks her way through the carnage. She nudges one body with the toe of her combat boot, then shoots him through the temple when he groans.

“Mama!” Piotr gapes at her, expression scandalized. He sputters, looking between her and the body at her feet.

“Chto? Vy khotite yego zhivym? Chtoby on mog dolozhit' svoim khozyayevam? Chtoby on mog obrushit' adskiy ogon' na etu shkolu i vsekh, kogo vy lyubite? No –no.” She holds up her index finger and stares sternly at Piotr when he tries to argue. “You do not leave enemies on your six o’clock, medvezhonok. First rule of survival.”

Piotr swallows hard, then says softly, “X-Men do not kill.”

Alex shrugs. “And I am not an X-Man.”

“We’ll handle it,” Nathan says. He holds his hand out for Alex’s rifle, nodding when she hands it to him after a moment’s hesitation.

(Wade and Frank are already working their way through the sea of dead and wounded. Frank’s traversing the chaos methodically, sticking to minimal shots to kill the survivors, while Wade’s alternating between singing “Dancing Queen” and getting post-mortem revenge.

“You shot my dick off inside!” Wade gasps as he peers down at a –slightly chewed on—corpse. “Extra bullets for you!” He then shoots the dead body several times before resuming his pitchy serenade.)

“What now?” Allison asks, staring out at the carnage with a slightly shocked expression.

“‘What now?’” Artemis repeats, laughing incredulously. She stomps towards Allison, pulling a pack of tissues out of her inner jacket pocket. “What the hell are you even doing out here? You were supposed to stay in the safe room—”

“They had cameras in there,” Allison says with a roll of her eyes, as if that justifies her decision to join the fracas. “You guys were getting your asses kicked.”

“We would’ve handled it.”

“Yeah, except you weren’t,” Allison fires back. She scrunches up her face when Artemis starts wiping the blood off her face, but otherwise takes the mothering without any complaint.

“It’s not your responsibility to deal with this shit,” Artemis says, voice and expression softening for a moment. She cleans up Allison’s face –then scowls. “And where the fuck are your cuffs? How did you even get out of them?”

Allison shrugs. “I used my powers to short the repression cuff out and ash it off.”

Illyana’s, Alex’s, and your uncle’s heads all snap around to stare at Allison.

“Are you kidding me?” Artemis hisses through clenched teeth. “You could’ve fucking killed yourself!”

“Or caused magical paradox that ripped hole in space-time continuum,” Illyana snaps.

“Ruptured blood vessels in your brain and caused an aneurysm, made the cuff deliver a lethal electrical shock, turned your magic against your own body and rendered yourself to ash,” your uncle continues, ticking off items on his fingers.

“Well, I didn’t do any of that!” Allison snarls, glaring at the others while Artemis keeps cleaning up her face. “And I made sure you losers won the fight –so fuck off!”

“Get her something to eat and drink,” Alex says. “Her blood sugar is bound to be low after pulling a stunt like that.”

Artemis glares at Alex and opens her mouth to respond—

Across the yard, Wade lets out a pained shriek. “My balls are not fetch toys! Bad Fido! Bad!”

Your eyes widen as you watch one of the hellhounds swing Wade around by his legs. You bite down on your lip, holding in a shock-induced laugh.

“Where’s this mutt’s off-switch –hey, hey! No!” Wade wriggles in the hellhound’s mouth, panicking as another beast bounds towards him. “My spine is not a tug toy! Can someone get rid of Fido and Rufus before they rip me in half!”

Allison snorts –then, before anyone can stop her, holds out her hand and flicks her wrist.

All four hellhounds melt back into the ground, disappearing to the depths of hell from whence they came.

Artemis swears under her breath, then catches the teen when she stumbles. She moves frantically, grabbing more tissues as blood starts pouring out of Allison’s nose once more. “You fucking idiot. Why the fuck did you do that? When are you going to fucking learn that you’re not invincible—”

Allison lets out a sharp, hoarse laugh –then passes out.

…

The wreckage inside the mansion is heartbreaking.

You stare at the ruined furniture, the scorched walls, the splintered doors, the ruined rec room and kitchen, and you have to wonder what was the fucking point?

Part of you understands that the mafia came prepared for war; they were going up against powerful mutants, so –naturally—they would want to be prepared. Having the strongest, most powerful weapons available increased their chances of success. Logically –from a strictly tactical standpoint—it makes sense.

Glass crunches under your shoes. You stare down at a litany of fallen picture frames, heart wrenching as you stare at the ruined pictures of graduates, students, and workers inside. We’re just a school. We work with kids. What was the point of trying to wipe us out?

Piotr ambles up behind you. He puts his arms around your shoulders and kisses the top of your head. “Cleaners and repairmen will be here in less than one hour.”

You feel numb. You place your hand on his arm. “That’s good.”

“We have back ups of pictures,” he murmurs. He kisses your cheek. “Insurance to cover replacing damaged items. We will be fine.”

“I know.” You sigh, leaning back against your husband’s chest. “We’re just a school. What… what was the point? Why try to wipe us out?”

“I do not know.” Piotr kisses your other cheek, hugging you reassuringly. “Perhaps they believed we knew information about ‘family business.’ Or that we were protecting Allison for some reason.”

“She’s just a kid,” you argue, voice breaking as your grief and exhaustion wells up and threatens to overtake you. “She’s only thirteen…”

Piotr says nothing, merely holds you closer.

You sigh—

And then a door slams. Hurried stomps echo down the hall. There’s creaking as a door opens again, followed by more footsteps and exasperated shouts.

Allison storms past you and Piotr, heading towards the kitchen. Her jaw is set, fists clenched at her sides.

You and Piotr look at each other –then follow after her, if only to be sure that nothing else is going to explode today.

She slams her hands down on the island counter –and, on the opposite side, Frank and Karen both flinch and stare at her warily.

Allison glares at Frank, jaw working convulsively. Her shoulders heave with each breath she takes. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, making the bags underneath seem darker and deeper by comparison. She trembles, expression flickering wildly between grief, white hot rage, and the neutral mask she’s trying so desperately to hold. She sucks in a breath that sounds more like a pained sob, then stares Frank down and spits out through gritted teeth, “You leave my people alone, I leave yours alone. Deal?”

Frank sighs. He nods, expression heavy with grief and eyes shining with remorse. “Yeah, kid. You got a deal.”

Allison clenches the edge of the island so hard her hands go white. She lets out a strangled, angry laugh as the tears finally start to fall. She ducks her head briefly, then glares back up at Frank. “I fucking hate you.”

Frank grimaces, but nods and says, “I know kid. It’s okay. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“That ain’t worth shit.”

“I know… believe me, I know.”

Artemis –who’d previously been watching at the kitchen threshold—steps forward and puts her arm around Allison’s shoulders. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

Allison clenches her teeth together, but still lets out a choked sob. She presses her lips together, looking around the room to try and regain her composure, to stop the flow of tears. She manages a deep breath, then takes one last look at Frank and snarls, “If I have to see your fucking face again, I’m ripping out your guts,” before storming out of the room.

Frank, to his credit, doesn’t respond (though you suspect he feels too guilty to even consider arguing). He merely hangs his head, expression that of a kicked dog.

Karen leans against him. She interlocks her fingers with his, murmuring in his ear (likely about how it isn’t his fault, and while it looks like that may technically be the case, you’re glad you don’t have to walk the spider’s silk of a line those facts lie upon).

What a shitshow.

Piotr puts an arm around your shoulders and gently leads you out of the kitchen. “Come on, myshka. Let’s go find spot to rest.”

…

Frank and Karen leave shortly after “making the deal” with Allison.

Allison and Artemis hang back for a bit to talk to Xavier. You don’t get all the gorey details but from what you can tell, it’s essentially an offer to help train Allison’s powers so she doesn’t hurt herself rolled in with a warning to keep her nose clean, stay on the straight and narrow, etcetera etcetera.

The sun’s just starting its descent from the sky before the two of them walk out of the meeting room.

Allison is wearing Artemis’s jacket and looks downright haggard.

Artemis has her arm around the teen and is gently guiding her while she talks to Xavier (though, perhaps the term “talk” is too generous, considering most of her responses are nods or terse, one-to-two word replies).

The rest of the Rasputin family, you, Piotr, and your uncle are all gathered in the foyer to make sure Allison and Artemis leave without too much trouble (or causing more trouble themselves).

Your uncle is sweating bullets and looks like he just shit his pants; he’s glancing between Alex and their daughter so fast it’s a miracle he hasn’t given himself a headache yet.

Now or never, you think, watching him with pursed lips. Tell your secrets before they’re told for you.

Alex kneels down next to Allison. “Are you okay?”

Allison’s gaze doesn’t leave the floor. “The fuck do you think?”

She quirks her mouth to the side. “Not all that good.” Alex ducks her head lower, trying to catch Allison’s gaze. “You remember what we talked about?”

Allison’s eyes narrow. She moves her gaze away from Alex. “Go to hell. I know what I know.”

“Sometimes… it’s better to not,” Alex says. She stares at Allison for a moment longer, then pats her shoulder before standing and walking away.

Artemis stares after Alex, expression morphing rapidly between fury and shock. She sputters for a moment before snapping, “What –that’s all you have to fucking say?”

Alex pauses, turning slightly so she can see Artemis. She raises one eyebrow, otherwise looking unbothered. “Is there something else I should be saying?”

“You don’t have anything to say to me?” Artemis presses, crossing her arms over her chest. “Nothing at all?”

“Is there something you want me to say to you?” Alex fires back, smirking slightly.

Artemis stares at Alex for a long, hard moment. She shakes her head, eyes welling up with tears, then turns her glare onto your uncle. “You really didn’t fucking tell her.”

“What?” Alex’s expression sobers, going wary as she looks between your uncle and Artemis. “What didn’t you—”

“This really isn’t the time or place—” Your uncle tries.

And here it goes.

“I’ve gotta do all the work, then,” Artemis snarls with a vicious smile. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense, considering I’m not your favorite,” she tacks on with an angry glare towards you. She storms towards Alex, one hand outstretched, with a cruel, angry smile stretched across her face. “Hey, mom. How’s it going?”

Alex’s eyes widen. She stares at Artemis, eyes tracking over the younger woman’s face. “What…”

“You fucking heard me.”

Illyana, Piotr, and Mikhail look at each other, then at Alex, then at Nikolai. They explode into confused Russian, gesturing between their parents, Artemis, and your uncle—

Realization dawns in Alex’s dark eyes. Her expression trembles, tears welling up in her eyes as she stares at Artemis’s face.

And then she uses her telekinesis to yank your uncle over and decks him.

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XXX

February 11, 2278.

Ten fifteen in the evening.

I loaded my shotgun and watched the rear, gunfire bursting as the tin cans yelled. This was supposed to be a stealth operation. If only DeLoria hadn’t tripped on that one guard…

Truth be told, this was an absolutely fucking stupid plan. Taking away a comatose patient from the Citadel isn’t the brightest idea DeLoria and I came up with, but we had no other choice. Whatever secret about Percy that Dr. Li wanted us to protect, it seemed important. Seeing how Lyons figured out that she’s a living atomic weapon, I understand her.

DeLoria looks goddamn constipated as he helped me push the gurney with my partner in tow, secured with leather straps so she wouldn’t fly off. In the front, Fawkes soaks up most of the damage.

Of course we had a Plan B if the stealthy approach didn’t work. Thank fuck Fawkes is willing to cooperate, too. This wasn’t the first time we worked together to help Percy out of the tight spot. Then again, Percy got us out of our predicaments first. Knowing her, when she wakes up, she’ll scold us for risking ourselves for her, and for coming up with this awful plan.

Too bad. She can’t stop us now.

“Charon, what now? I only brought a pistol,” Butch yelps, narrowly missing fire.

“We’re gonna let Fawkes soak up the brunt of the gunfire, and we keep pressing forward and watch his six,” I grunted in return.

“Shit, this is a bad idea man! What if they hit Percy?”

“That’s why we’re fucking here to shield her! Are you scared of a little gunfire, DeLoria?!”

The younger man gulped and kept pushing. Our group kept pushing forward, already at the courtyard. How we managed to pull this off is beyond me. I expected to be dead right now.

“Hold your fire!”

Whoever issued the command is old, judging from their voice. Almost immediately, the tin cans stopped shooting.

“Father, what’s the meaning of this?” a more feminine voice called out. “They’re kidnapping a comatose patient! An honorary member of the Lyons Pride! I-”

“Sarah, please, enough. I’ll talk to them,” the Elder says, emerging from the crowd.

Another one of the tin cans interrupts. “Elder, they let in a Super Mutant in Citadel grounds! We-”

The old man gives the soldier a stern gaze, and he backs off. Coming face to face with Fawkes, the elder looks up, a neutral expression on his face.

“Please explain the meaning of this.”

DeLoria rushes over from the rear, facing the old man. “We’re getting our friend out of here! Clearly you assholes haven’t been doing her any good, so we’re transferring her to another hospital.”

“Another hospital?” the younger Lyons interrupts. “Listen kid, the Citadel is one of the few places on the Wasteland equipped to handle Zhou’s injuries.” Armor clinking, she marches towards the greaser, a livid expression on her face.

“What makes you think that whatever ‘hospital’ you’ll be transferring her to is equipped to help her, huh?”

A shouting match erupts between those two. Before things get ugly, Elder Lyons intervenes again, placing himself in front of the greaser and his daughter. Grumbling, I reach out and pull DeLoria back.

“I’ll take it from here,” I griped, and shoved past Sarah Lyons. I came face to face with the Elder, and I folded my arms.

“Before she left, Dr. Li told us she doesn’t think that whatever tests you’re running on Percy isn’t for her best interests. Percy trusted that doctor, so I trust her.”

Blondie scoffs, about to go off on us again, but she stops in her tracks, looking at something, or someone, behind us.

“Then, why don’t you ask Zhou herself, if she wants to stay here or not?”

My eyes widen, and I turn around and see Percy, sitting up on the bed, her restraints loose. I checked again, and no, they weren’t loosened. They were pulled away from the bed, and she’s gripping the leather straps.

My breath caught in my throat.

“Percy,” I mumble, taking slow, tentative steps towards her.

She’s looking blankly ahead, eyes glassy. No. Oh no.

What the fuck is happening?

Rough and calloused, my fingers brush against her arm, and her eyes flick towards me. “Percy? Are you there?”

Letting go of the leather strap, her small hand grips mine, and she exhales sharply, panic rousing within her. Through her hospital gown, I see a sickly green glow pulsing below her throat, at her chest.

Barreling her way through, Sarah Lyons points a minigun at my partner, ready to fire.

“Everyone, get back! She’s going to blow!”

“No!” I screamed at her, and instinct kicking in, I scoop Percy’s frail body in my arms and started to run to the exit.

“Move, fucking move aside!”

My lungs are burning as I run through the Citadel gates, Percy still pressed to my chest, unnaturally warm to the touch. Fawkes is following closely behind, footsteps pounding.

Away from the people, I gently laid Percy to the ground, the green glow emanating from her searing now, and covered her body with mine. If I’m gonna go, I’m gonna go holding her.

Screwing my eyes shut, I wait for the inevitable.

Instead, I was pulled aside, and Fawkes crouches over Percy’s body, careful not to crush her.

A bright, blinding light flashes from Percy’s body, and Fawkes covers her completely. Her body erupts, heat and energy bursting outwards, and Fawkes just absorbed all that. I watched the explosion barely made a dent on the mutant’s thick skin, and the mushroom cloud that billows towards the dark sky.

He pulls back, and Percy lies there, hospital gown in tatters.

I rushed to her side, checking for breathing, and felt my heart drop as I heard none.

“We need a medic, get a medic!” I snarl at the bystanders who witnessed the entire ordeal. After the initial shock has worn off, DeLoria weaves through the crowd and runs towards us, kneeling beside Percy.

“Shit man, shit! She’s not breathing, she needs CPR, oh my fucking God I don’t remember how to do it,” he babbles, tears pooling at the edge of his eyes.

Gnashing my teeth, I try to remember whatever first aid I learned from observing Percy in the past. I pulled away Percy’s hospital gown, and with my palms together, I pressed between her nipples, pumping and hearing her ribs crack underneath her skin.

I tilt her head, pinch her nose, press my ruined lips against hers, and blow. Twice.

Then, I go back into giving her chest compressions, and I look over my shoulder. I must’ve looked so feral at that moment.

“Where the fuck’s that medic?!”

I turned back to my partner, and after another set of compressions, I breathed into her again.

“Percy, remember what you told me when you got captured by the Enclave, huh?!” I rasped, gritting my teeth.

“Well, it’s your goddamn turn to listen to me now!”

January 14, 2278.

Fingers clacking on the keyboard, Percy hacked away at the terminal. Once given access, she terminates the hostile creatures in the other holding cells. I wince as I watch one particularly screwed up creature burst into flame, high pitched, inhuman squeals coming out of its… mouth?

Jesus Christ. I don’t want to think about it, ugh.

Then, Percy selects another command in the console, and the doors hiss open.

My partner turned around, footsteps urgent, and I followed her closely behind. Fawkes emerges from his cell, carefully, like an animal let loose from a trap, and he turns to us, towering us both.

“Thank you,” he boomed, and though his voice sounded rough, I felt his gratitude for Percy. “As promised, I will retrieve the GECK for you. This is a debt I am most happy to pay, my friends. Follow me!”

Percy smiles and nods, and she turns to me, looking over her shoulder with a pleased expression.

“See Charon? He isn’t bad at all,” she starts, and I only grumble in response. Percy senses the apprehension that lingered in me, and chuckles.

“To be frank Charon, the first time I met you in Underworld, I might have felt the same thing,” she says, and I look down with a questioning look.

“Dad told me to judge other people by what they looked like, but even then, I felt kind of uneasy around you. Then I heard you beat up Patchwork, and I was really angry for a while.”

I gulped. I never thought about what she thinks of me during that time. It was an entirely different reality back then; her thoughts, or anyone else’s, didn’t matter. Only Ahzrukhal’s did.

“But what Tulip said to me about you being Ahzrukhal’s employee really challenged my perspective. Getting back at you would only end in me getting hurt. You were at Ahzrukhal’s mercy as much as Patchwork was.”

“So is that why you bought my contract back then? You felt sorry?”

“No. I felt your frustration at being powerless. So, I bought your contract to create an opportunity to seize that back. Of course it wasn’t easy after that,” Percy chuckles sheepishly, and I sigh, remembering all the times I struggled with the contract’s hold over me.

But it’s gone, right?

No sense in dwelling over that.

“So, where were you going with this, Percy?”

“Give Fawkes a chance.”

I stop in my tracks, feeling guilty as hell. All this time, all I thought about is Percy, and myself. Meanwhile, she tries to consider everyone around her.

“Fine, Angel, I will.”

I felt a light jab on my ribs; Percy elbowed it playfully. “Whatever, big guy.”

“I don’t think that nickname suits me anymore, Percy. We’ve got a bigger guy now,” I tease her, pointing at Fawkes, who’s taking our conversation in stride as he pummeled a dumb mutie in our way.

“Nah. Fawkes doesn’t need a nickname anymore.  You’re my big guy,” Percy teases back.

Is this flirting? Is Percy flirting with me? Goddammit. If I had more skin left on my cheeks, I would have blushed.

I almost ran into Fawkes when he stopped walking. I look to the right, and see the sickly green glow of the irradiated room that the GECK is in.

“Alright. You better not enter, human. This radiation is lethal to you. Stay here, and I will fulfill my end of the bargain,” he grunts, and my partner nods at him.

“Thank you, Fawkes.”

“No. Thank you, human.”

He turns around, and enters the room. On her tiptoes, Percy watches him inside through the window, while I keep watch, guarding her six just in case. Soon after, Fawkes returns carrying a briefcase.

That’s the GECK? What the hell?

“You got it!” Percy exclaims, taking the briefcase off of the super mutant’s hands gingerly. “Again, thank you so much Fawkes. You wouldn’t believe how important this is to us.”

“It’s my pleasure, Percy. Now, I believe this is farewell.”

Farewell?

I turn to Percy and see her somber expression. Good grief, don’t tell me she’s already getting attached to him. This happened with the Big Town kids too.

“Farewell? Fawkes, why don’t you come with us?”

Okay. Okay, I am definitely accepting that Fawkes indeed is good and that I shouldn’t judge him because of him being a super mutant, or metahuman, but this? Had Percy gone mad? Travelling with him could get us killed!

Before I can open my mouth and say something that might possibly anger her, Fawkes already took care of the problem.

“Sorry, I’m afraid a Super Mutant wouldn’t be welcome in the places you frequent.”

“But you said it yourself, you’re a metahuman! You’re different from the other mutants we-”

“All I would do is cause you undue attention and probably get you killed,” Fawkes interrupts, a tinge of sorrow in his grating voice.

“I- you’re right,” Percy sighs, relenting.

“Take care of yourself, friend.”

And with that, we parted ways.

I can tell Percy is sad by the slump in her shoulders. As much as it pains me to see her like this, it’s for the better. The Brotherhood can barely tolerate my presence. Fawkes? They’d shoot him on sight. It’s definitely for his safety too.

“Do you think we’ll see him again, Charon?”

“I don’t think we’ll see him anytime soon.”

“I’m worried.”

“Worry about yourself, angel. Have you seen him? He pummeled that other mutie no problem, like a kid throwing a teddy bear.”

“I guess you’re right. I- Charon, get down.”

Out of instinct, I listen to her. Percy pulls up her PipBoy, and a worried expression is etched on her features. “So many red dots… Charon, I think we’re about to encounter a huge group of muties.”

“Should we go back and get Fawkes?”

Gripping her rifle, she checks the magazine, then she pats at the ammo pouches on her waist. I proceed to check my own ammunition too. Just two boxes of shotgun shells left, and a grenade; the same grenade Percy gave me when she first hired me. I haven’t used it yet, after all these months.

We’re running low on ammo.

“No, no. Stay low. We’ll sneak out of here,” Percy tells me, and she crouches low, the helmet of her stealth suit protracting over her face, then her suit’s stealth mechanism activates. All I can see is a faint silver-white outline.

“I’ll scout ahead. If I raise a fist, move to my location.”

I nod, and she proceeds.

Cautiously, Percy moves through the hall. My grip on my shotgun remains steady, watching her inch slowly but surely to the open area ahead.

Then, the unthinkable happened.

A pulse grenade drops from the ceiling.

It felt like time slowed all around us. Percy sees the grenade landing near her foot, and turns around, movement abrupt, her helmet retracting from her head and revealing her panicked gaze. Her eyes are wide in terror, lips trembling as she yelled at me.

“Charon!”

My feet are ready to take me to her, but what she screamed before the grenade fried her suit’s systems and took her down made me freeze in my spot.

“I order you to live!”

The pulse grenade burst, and so did the walls of the vault. The rubble flew at Percy, who was falling backwards, her helmet thumping against the metal flooring as she hit the ground. Losing consciousness, the GECK escapes her grasp, and skitters a few feet away from her.

From the newly formed hole in the wall, a man emerges. Colonel Autumn. I thought that asshole was dead!

The Enclave is here.

Heart in my throat, I didn’t know what to do. At that moment, I forgot the contract was gone. I turned around, and obeyed, fleeing from the scene with Percy’s words echoing in my head.

“Charon! I order you to live!”

“I order you to live!”

“Live!”

Live.