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leverage-commentary · 3 years ago

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Leverage Season 3, Episode 4, The Scheherezade Job, Audio Commentary Transcript

John: From left to right on your radio dial this is John Rogers, executive producer.

Aldis: This is DJ Chocolate Skittles, also known as Aldis Hodge.

Chris: And this is Chris Downey, executive producer and writer of this episode, The Scheherazade Job.

John: Aldis has very kindly decided to join us for this commentary since he was-

Aldis: Hello!

John: He did a lot of work on this episode. This one rode-

Chris: Oh yeah

John: This was one of those ones where you're just like, ‘This actor's gonna be working his ass off for this.’

Aldis: Oh joy.

John: Well Chris, why don't you tell us the origin of this episode?

Chris: Ah well the origin came from a- my friend here to the left, Aldis, back in season one we were just talking about you know things we like to do in our spare time and Aldis mentioned that he loved the violin, he’d been studying it, it was the closest thing to the human voice for an instrument.

Aldis: Yes.

Chris: And coincidentally my wife is a violinist and at the time I said to you, ‘I'm gonna find a way in an episode of Leverage to have you play the violin’ and what did you say to me?

Aldis: I think I said, ‘Do it.’

[Laughter]

Chris: And then you laughed at me.

Aldis: Yeah, we were shooting what was that, the season finale?

Chris: Might've been the season finale

Aldis: That was- yeah, Pasadena?

John: Yup

Aldis: Yeah, yeah, I remember that conversation.

Chris: And this is Martha Boles, terrific actress from Los Angeles.

John: This is interesting actually, we had a- when we were setting up the bad guy here, we had an interesting conversation about- and this is one of those things you talk about in television. Should the reporter be white or not?

Chris: Yeah.

John: Yeah. We were looking at casting and we were like, no it should be a black reporter working with that. And then we got some, you know, feedback that's like, well now it's a white crew of criminals, apparently missing Aldis’s presence, helping out a black reporter.

Aldis: Don’t worry, they miss me all the time.

John: It's one of those- it’s tricky, it's one of those things where one of the reasons we kinda were leery of doing international crimes, first season and second season. And you kinda- because it's always a minefield, it just is. And now in third season, everyone’s comfortable and everyone knows the show well enough that you can kinda try to swing outside the box. I think Chris did a great job taking this outside the box for the first time on the show.

Chris: Yeah it was- it was interesting cause most- I think we talked about this, most episodes start with the bad guy and we kinda work our way from there. We kinda talk about ‘what's the bad guy, what does he want, what is his weaknesses’. And this is one of those episodes that started with a big idea late in the episode which was the orchestra heist, and we kinda worked from there to kind of try and figure out whose our bad guy? And that's- we decided- we hadn't done an African kleptocrat, we wanted to do that for a long time, and this seemed like a good opportunity to do that.

John: Now also when doing a straight heist, because we were coming at it as a straight heist, we wanted a small highly portable object. The cleaner the object, the cleaner the goal of the heist, the more you can work around the elegance of the heist itself. And when you're staring with an elegant heist, which is the music heist, you have to do something very clean, which was diamonds. And so it all sort of fed into this one storyline.

Chris: Yes, yes.

Aldis: Didn't you want to play the organ? At first I mean that's plain and portable and-

[Laughter]

John: Yes, originally it was a giant Wurlitzer organ.

Aldis: Yeah, just a whole thing.

John: This was a ton of fun, this was a great little fight scene.

Chris: Yeah.

Aldis: Kane had too much fun shooting this.

Chris: He had a lot of fun here. And these gentlemen are Garfield Wedderburn and- yeah, Garfield Wedderburn is the lead goon here; his name is goon.

Aldis: Goon.

[Laughter]

Chris: And there he is doing this- some kind of scary tai chi?

Aldis: That was actually a joke and it just made it on the reel, it was like-

John: You know what? We saw it in the dailies, we were gonna cut out of it but it was like- but the idea he would just scare the shit out of those guys to get them to go. ‘Can your dog do that?’ That was great.

Chris: ‘Can your dog do that?’

John: It is nice every now and then to remind people exactly why everyone on the team is there.

Chris: By the way, I love that you named the dog Megabyte.

Aldis: Megabyte, yeah, yes.

John: That was you, that’s right.

Chris: That was all you.

Aldis: If anybody can get that, Megabyte, yes. Now if one of those days we just see the dog, which will probably be a poofy little yorkie or something like that.

John: Dogs are too expensive; we can't afford them.

Chris: We can't afford them.

Aldis: We can't afford dogs.

Chris: We'll do a virtual dog.

Aldis: A virtual dog, yes.

John: That's sad.

Aldis: The little mechanical one with the batteries? Yeah.

Chris: Sure.

John: Now continuing the original conversation, so we knew we were working backwards towards an African kleptocrat, but how do you find a guy who’s like based in the states, so we’re not flying overseas, we’re not trying to fake a city you can't fake on our budget. And so that led us to the research and- did we find someone who was real, Chris?

Chris: Well, there's no similarities to persons living or dead. But, um-

John: We’d like to say for both legal reasons, and so we don't get shot in the face.

Chris: Yes, please.

John: Oh my god, this guy is real and he's horrible!

Chris: He's real, he's horrible. He's not a classical music fan, that was something we brought to it, to facilitate the story. But he is a very wealthy relative of an African kleptocrat who has a house here in the United States and in Paris and has a Bugatti and all the things you would imagine a kleptocrat would.

John: All the way down, actually, to the fact that the reason he does not fall under the- is not criminalized under some of the kleptocrat laws we have here in the States, with the same plot point we have in the show, which is he's been a friend in the war on terror.

Chris: Yes, yes that’s all true.

John: Which looks like he pretty much turns in political opponents.

Chris: Wow, we certainly don't want to say that he does that, but-

John: But oh come on.

Chris: And here we have-

John: Your name’s on the show, they're gonna kill you. I'm not too worried.

[Laughter]

John: And here's Elisabetta Canalis, the loveliest Elisabetta Canalis.

Aldis: Aldis Hodge was never here, was never here. This actually is the second time we've seen her in the entire arc of this third season. So now the audience is getting another taste of exactly who she is, because she just left us off with blackmail, and now, you know, we're digging into her story. Of course at the end of the show, we get to see that she's not as fair game as she comes up to be.

Chris: Yeah, and we wanted to make her kind of you know sexy and mysterious, and I like this scene cause-

Aldis: Sexy what? Sexy?

Chris: Yeah well she-

John: Well there's no reason we just shoot her legs in every scene.

[Laughter]

Aldis: Exactly, there's no reason to put her in heels and closeups on the face, no! Not at all.

John: This was a nice bit that you came up with: the idea that kind of flirting, sexy, dangerous. And Nate Ford being smart enough to realize it’s a very bad idea.

Chris: I love this, this is one of my favorite flashes.

John: It's one of my favorite zooms, it's a hypothetical zoom, it's something we never usually do.

Chris: I like it because right here she looks so bored,

[Laughter]

Chris: There's something about the insouciance of it, of her.

John: Oh another guy being garotted in front of me.

Chris: Oh stop the tape.

John: It's another Thursday for me.

Chris: And he was- Tim was great at, you know, holding his throat like that.

John: Yeah the- well the sort of implication, again, is again, it’s tricky the team has been playing a lot without ever being taken down themselves. Tim has to carry a lot of the weight acting because he's the one who interacts with Elizabetta the most, to convey the threat she portrays to make sure you take her seriously. And nice diagrams on the glass boards. I always love the glass boards

Aldis: Provided by…?

John: Who drew on that one? I don't think I drew on that one, I wasn't there for that one.

Aldis: Really?

John: No, that handwriting is too good that's not me. Usually- yeah, usually I spew the bullshit that goes up on the glass.

Chris: Now what's nice-

Aldis: And it- oh, sorry, go ahead

Chris: Oh I was gonna say it’s a nice opportunity to get a little bit into Eliot's backstory which we, in the early scene in the bar, he alludes to the fact that knows about these- what goes on in these countries, these Chinese- these child soldiers. And you know I think here you can kinda see this whole- this whole particular case is really, you know, affecting him directly.

John: Yeah it's part of the over the course of the arc, kind of peeling back everybodys past this season. And we gave Eliot you know- we really wanted to sort of reset and remind people for the finale that Eliot, you know Eliot killed people. Eliot was not a good guy and is trying to be a better guy.

Aldis: What I had to say was nowhere near as intuitive as that, but the prior scene a lot of- a lot of times you'll see Sophie wearing that dog tag, it’s blank. It's like a name tag, but it's blank, and that's an ode to the fact that she hasn't given Nate her real name. And it kind plays throughout the entire season so for those of you have paid attention-

John: We actually used it, we actually- the audience doesn't know those dog tags are blank because she doesnt show the dog tags. But when she told us she was doing it we wrote-

Aldis: Did I just give up a secret?

John: No, no, no it’s cool. What happened is: she wears them. And we were like, ‘What are those?’ And she told us dog tags are blank, it's a little private joke. So we wrote it into the show, that's why she gets the blank pendant in episode 13, cause we just thought that was really cool and that's something Gina came up with on her own.

Aldis: It's just gonna be a drinking game every time they spot the dog tags.

John: Sure, there's already a lot of drinking games.

Aldis: There are.

John: There are a lot on the web, you go on there's a lot of drinking games.

Aldis: Every time we say ‘seriously’, drink!

[Laughter]

Aldis: Not that we promote that here, no.

Chris: Not at all.

John: No, I don't do all of these with a beer in my hand.

Chris: No no drinking games.

Aldis: What is that you're drinking John, water?

John: It’s- yes, dark Irish water.

Aldis: Yes.

John: This was a nice again- we started splitting people up so we could- the coverage is a little easier. and it helped us remind- Third season we started taking a lot of the prep that was implied in act 0 of seasons 1 and 2 and moving it into act 1 and act 2 of this season. Where you see them doing the prep and putting together the plan on the fly as they get information.

Chris: Right.

John: Which both makes it more dynamic, and helps us with shooting.

Chris: Yeah, I mean this is a very plan-intensive episode, and you want to try and make the planning side interesting visually.

John: Yeah because there's so much pipe to lay in a believable way to get to that great fourth act. I mean you have to make sure the audience is utterly invested by that point.

Chris: I like this little bit with you guys right here.

Aldis: Me and Kane man, when we get together it's always a party.

Chris: But what's great about you guys is it's not always the bickering brothers, where you're yelling at each other that makes me laugh. It's just the little throwaway things of the two of you together.

Aldis: It's the little things that bring the sparkle to your eye, the little things.

[Laughter]

Chris: And they just the way we did this-

Aldis: This was a funny sequence to shoot.

John: Yeah this was great. This was- what did we name the reporter?

Chris: Guy Hamilton which is an ode to Mel Gibson's character in The Year of Living Dangerously.

[Laughter]

Chris: For all you folks out there keeping score. By the way, I forgot yesterday when we did Gone Fishing Job that you are- your names when you went into the bank and were Brody and Quinn from Jaws.

John: Because you're gonna need a bigger boat.

Chris: This looks great, by the way!

Aldis: I'm pretty sure you need another drink for that.

Chris: Look at that, he's there!

John: I've seen far less convincing stuff on CNN.

[Laughter]

John: I'm fairly sure, yeah

Chris: And there's Giancarlo Esposito fantastic.

John: Friend of Tim, came in and did this for us. Really really great, flew in.

Aldis: His daughters’ actually in the orchestra, they- one plays violin the other plays viola.

John: Oh cool.

Aldis: Yeah, so he had a lot to discuss.

John: I love seeing the evil dude Skype list; I just realized we could see it on there. It’s like ‘Lefou is away. Where is Lefou?’

Chris: Pizza Hut? Why does he have Pizza Hut on Skype?

John: On Skype? That's weird. And who is that lurking behind him?

Chris: Oh lurking behind him is Nnamdi Asomugha who is an all pro cornerback for the Oakland Raiders. Arguably the best cornerback in the NFL.

Aldis: And you have your Raiders ball here, it's perfect.

Chris: And I have my Raiders ball here to prove it.

John: Now how did he wind up on the show?

Chris: Well, you know, like any famous Hollywood story, it started at a hockey game.

[Laughter]

Chris: My- we have a mutual agent, and he invited me to a hockey game and said, ‘This is my friend Nnamdi.’ And although I am a big sports fan, for some reason the best cornerback in the NFL eluded me and I just met him as a guy. And we were chatting and found out he was- he acted and I asked him at the time, his families from Nigeria and I- this was a year ago, and I said, ‘Can you do a good African accent?’ He said, ‘Oh definitely.’ I said, ‘Alright, well if we get a part for, you know a big guy, menacing guy with an African accent I'll call you’. And lo and behold, episode came up and he did a fantastic job.

John: I think his family is from Ethiopia, actually.

Chris: No, I think he’s Nigerian.

John: Nigerian? Oh ok. And here- this is her playing Christie Connelly again.

Chris: Yes, yes.

John: Yes, this is why we started bringing back the- as we realized that they are gonna be roles that the- it also sort of came up as we did our research that con artists tend to settle into certain roles that they've done background on, and also that they've established the credentials to. We mention later actually on another episode that she's like, ‘I got seven years worth of work on this identity’, so she's doing a similar gig, so why not use the same name?

Chris: And let's be honest it's also our nod to James Garner, who was Jimmy Joe Meeker in multiple episodes of the Rockford Files.

John: Yes exactly, also she gets to use her native accent in this.

Chris: Yeah, that’s right!

John: Cause Gina is from New Zealand, not England. Most people- she grew up in England but she was born in New Zealand, and was a child in New Zealand, so she gets to use her kiwi accent here. Very kicky little gold chain going on there.

Chris: And I love this, this is a great kind of subtle sales pitch that she just sells so well.

John: Yeah. And again this is one of those great things in the show, not blowing smoke up our own skirts, but the fun of having great actors is you con, con, con, and then you park it on these little two-person scenes and it's fun, you know, it actually plays.

Chris: And here's- you know I like the idea that we've kind of developed with Hardison’s character that, you know, he's chafing a little bit around the crew, and, kind of, as the youngest member of the crew, kind of like, sees that he’d like to run his own crew someday and kind of expressing that here. I mean how did you approach this Aldis? Was that something that you kinda thought of for the character?

Aldis: I approached it, I stretched, I, uh, did a couple push ups.

John: Well we get a lot of emails from him ‘I should be the lead of the show,’ so it's a similar thing.

[Laughter]

Chris: But I know we had discussions about it not being a typical father/son kind of vibe. Right?

Aldis: Right, right, right. This is- this entire situation was newly presented to me in the script. That's when I found out that I was like, ‘OK, Hardison wants to step up.’ But I think that- I mean, it's a great premise and he is the youngest, so he has the most to learn because he hasn't figured out all of his bad habits just yet.

Chris: Right.

Aldis: And so he can sit back, watch his team, watch how they work, watch the mistakes they make, and then ten season later, hint hint, audience, hint hint-

Chris: Ten seasons when you'll be all of 35.

[Laughter]

Aldis: Exactly.

John: Then you'll be ready to lead the crew.

Aldis: Exactly.

John: Yeah no it's- we really played around with it. It's not father/son it's sort of- it’s really Paper Chase but for crime.

Chris: Yes, yes, very much, I think that's a great way of putting it. And I love, here, too, if I can blow some more smoke up you, that, you know, we play big characters in these cons that are, like, larger than life. I mean, I think, you know, the Ice Man Job character comes to mind-

Aldis: [Mimicking the accent he did] The Ice Man Job.

Chris: When you play a kind of a small reserved guy, all inside, it's such a nice change, and it’s like it adds a vulnerability to these con characters that I think is great.

Aldis: He's very not- he wasn't a meek character, but he's very, very humble.

Chris: Humble that's better.

Aldis: He came from a hard life, he knew how to appreciate what was there, he knows how to prioritize, you know, to put everything else before his own needs. And that's kinda where I felt this character was coming from. He couldn't be too big or else, you know, with all of the skills, his grandeur, he would have done something with that by now; he's a cab driver, so he's gotta be quiet about something.

John: And the- also, this was the first time I think we put- we had talked about the different skills, as you go into every season you talk about like, ‘How do we make sure we focus on the characters? How do we make sure nobody blends in the background?’ And one of the things is reminding everyone- and we did this really in the Jailbreak and especially in this one to set it up, Parker is great at three dimensional heists. Parker rotates objects in three dimensional space. So she's Nate's partner here; he might be able to cook up plans, but she's the one telling him the parameters of those plans with the physical heists.

Aldis: Right.

John: No one is better than her at physical insertion, and that's one of the things we kinda hammered during this season.

Aldis: I think our skills- I mean we’re all necessary to one another, but our skills kinda levy a system of checks and balances-

John: Yeah.

Aldis: The way the government should do it. But we can do one thing and take it only so far and then pass it off, then the next team member polishes it up and takes you to the very next level.

John: What- Chris why don't you talk about how we structured the heist?

Chris: Well you know the- back when we were trying to break the story the initial idea behind it was that there would be two levels of tension in the big act, in the big heist. There would be part of the team breaking in to steal the object, and there would be Hardison on stage sweating out having to play this impossible solo in front of people. And the problem that I was running into was: why did these two things have to happen at the same time? Why now? Why can't they be breaking in on a Wednesday, you know, when Hardison's not scheduled to play this. And John, you said- thought about it for a minute, and you said, ‘Well obviously it's the only time that they can do the heist is when there’s- when the orchestra is playing because that's when they have to turn off the motion detectors.’

Aldis: Because John has stolen from an orchestra before, when they-

[Laughter]

Aldis: He speaks from personal experience.

Chris: And I took a minute and I said, ‘I could kiss you on the mouth.’

[Laughter]

John: That was one of those ‘what's in the Arclight’ days? I contributed almost nothing else to this episode. I was busy off doing the season opener. We were banging these out before the rest of the staff- and I came up with that bit and I'm like, ‘You're gold, go have fun, I’m out.’ I got that, and then we basically- knowing the motion detectors couldn't be beaten and played us back into the other security measures, and created this impossible vault. And that was also fun, we started for the first time throwing stuff at the team where it's like, ‘yeah there's some stuff you just can't beat,’ you know, that you have to go sideways.

Aldis: I’d like to note here that I'm wearing every possible shade of gray that there is known to man.

[Laughter]

John: Why is that? Is that an emotional choice? Is that about his ambivalence about his role in the con? Or is that-?

Aldis: I have no idea

John: Always say- you know what? Do the thing I just did with him, start with ‘obviously’ it's a good way- when you wanna throw up an enormous amount of bullshit just start with ‘Obviously.’

Aldis: Obviously!

John: And then just, people buy it.

Aldis: What we wanted to do was confuse the audience.

John: Oh Scheherezade, exactly how'd you choose Scheherezade?

Chris: Well we needed- we needed a piece that was public domain, as a practical matter, because we have budget constraints in this show. And that ended on a violin solo. And it was- I forgot what the other candidates were, but my wife, I have to give her credit at least a little, fantastic violinist, picked Scheherezade and said, ‘You gotta listen to this.’ And I listened to the last 7 minutes because I knew we needed it to kind of roll out in real time over the course of the heist. And the solo just kinda like dropped me, I thought, ‘Oh my god, this is gonna be fantastic.’ And then when I did a little research on Scheherezade’s story, how she was the wife of a- in the story of the Arabian Nights he killed- every night he married a different wife, and killed them the next morning. And then Scheherezade walked in and figured she'd be finished, but every night she told him a story, and the story kept him on- you know, on the edge of his seat, she never told him the ending and finally after 1001 nights he married her. So I said OK, that’s the first grifter in history’. And that just kinda fit in thematically with the whole episode, and that's when we knew we had to use that piece.

John: And our music guy Joe Deluca putting a lovely little sort of spin, sort of-

Chris: Yeah he had a very nice-

John: -Arabian Nights spin on the score there. Now, you play violin. What did you think when we dropped Scheherezade on your lap?

Aldis: Well I was screaming inside, running for my life.

[Laughter]

Aldis: Jesus I've only been playing just for- not even five years, and when I took the music to my music teacher, she like- lord have mercy, she had a heart attack. She was like- she had been playing professionally for 20 years before she tackled Scheherezade. My other teacher had been playing, also, I believe between 20 and 30 years before she tackled Scheherezade so I had no confidence whatsoever. No, kidding, obviously I was very impressed with the piece. It's a beautiful piece. I love the song and I was actually very open to the challenge. I just wanted to make sure I did it well enough to do the song some justice. Now shooting these scenes being surrounded by actual musicians was awe-inspiring and-

John: Really? You really? Oh.

Aldis: Man, it was terrifying.

Chris: Yeah where did this rank among the scarier things you've done on the show? Where would you put this?

Aldis: This is the top right here.

Chris: This is the top right here.

John: So not running on top of a moving train.

[Laughter]

Aldis: Not at all man.

John: Really? That was fine, but this? This was terrifying.

Aldis: I'm a nut man, I'm a nut. I can do that because-

John: I can tell you as your executive producer with an insurance policy on you, you can do this whenever you want, don't do the train again.

Aldis: I shan't! I shall not.

Chris: And this actor, Michael Winther, fantastic New York stage actor who came in and did an amazing job. It was originally written I think he was Spanish and then I asked Michael-

John: Well you were kinda basing it on Dudamel.

Chris: Exactly it was based on Gustavo Dudamel who was the Venezuelan, kind of, rockstar conductor of the LA Philharmonic.

Aldis: Oh yeah.

Chris: Yeah, and Michael said that he could do German and I thought well there's nothing more intimidating than someone talking to you with a German accent.

Aldis: German accent, yeah.

John: Really?

Chris: And he was just great.

John: Even if it's like ‘I would like some hugs now,’ still it's creepy, it's not- yeah.

[Laughter]

John: Apologies, and now the angry letters from people with a German accent will be coming in.

Aldis: Exactly, you'll be getting a letter from the government.

John: A nice stall, you can't get it too far. And, you know, this again is kinda focusing on how everyone does things. Parker needs paper. Parker needs plans. Parker needs drawings. This is how she thinks. She was trained by an old school thief, and it's cool cause we're kinda hinting at the thing you're gonna find out in episode 5, like how she was trained, you know, trained by an old school thief, she thinks like an old school thief.

Aldis: Yeah

John: And then we do the fun- and this is, when you're constructing something based on a high concept, the fun of it was we have an impossible heist, stuff rolls back from that. Okay if it's impossible, that means we have to see the planning, we have to see the surveillance, we have to see the surveillance to establish to the audience the rules of the heist.

Chris: Right.

John: Cause you had already said, and I will say the first thing you said to me was ‘I wanna do a heist where there's no words.’

Chris: Yes.

John: And I said ‘You're out of your mind and it's unshootable’. I actually utterly dismissed you, and then you came back like, ‘We do it this way.’ And I was like, ‘Alright, that’s slightly less insane.’ But that required the rest of the episode to do an enormous amount of work.

Chris: Yeah, you need to know- once you got to the heist, you need to know exactly what people were doing and why, without any dialogue. And so- and that kinda required that the heist needed to be fairly simple.

John: Yes.

Chris: So, you know, that kinda was a little bit liberating for me, cause once I realized, OK, I drew this corridor, you know, we had to get past this keypad, and then there was a room, we had to blow a hole in the floor, it was like from a to b to c, as long as I made it fairly simple and easy to remember in the planning stages, we could carry it out.

John: And this is also one of the great things about physical production. You actually flew up and scouted this, right?

Chris: Yeah, we did.

John: You adjusted the heist based around the physical location.

Chris: Yeah well, we built this hallway here-

John: Is that a build? I thought it was a-

Chris: This is the hardest working hallway in show business.

John: I thought it was the hallway on the other side of the concert hall?

Chris: No, no.

Aldis: No, me and Chrisitan built it ourselves.

John: Oh that's where Elizabetta was. That's right, there you go.

Chris: That’s right.

John: Yeah, now we're establishing the rules, and a little hint there that Nnamdi is not your ordinary thug.

Chris: Yeah.

Aldis: Yes.

John: Yeah, just that little wince.

Chris: And here, again, you know, it was we had plans in front of Tim that he could actually trace the line and that's exactly where you were going. Those are the plans of the set.

John: Those are the plans for the set?

Chris: Yeah.

Aldis: Yeah!

John: That’s great!

Chris: I mean that showed him, he could draw- I showed him here's where you draw the hole, that’s where it’s gonna be.

John: Yeah and big props to Bekka Melino and everybody in production design this year. That vault looked gorgeous.

Chris: Yeah, it did.

John: Everything looked gorgeous, you know, set dec.

Chris: I have to give her credit for something else in that too. In the original script, the locker numbers in the vault were numbered; they were just numbered. And she called me up and said, ‘What do you think if we made like some kind of symbol or something for them, and maybe like musical terms?’ And I said, ‘That's fantastic.’ And it kinda helped build the character of Moto as someone who is just, you know, obsessed with music.

Aldis: Appreciates music.

John: Yeah.

Chris: And here's where-

Aldis: This is a tough thing, a tough deal for me. Not me personally, but for Hardison because of the fact that- I mean, this is a big deal trying to walk away from a mission with such reasonable cause.

Chris: Right.

Aldis: Only because of the fact that he's afraid, it's not because his life is endangered, it's simply because he's afraid.

Chris: Did you feel like that was- I mean, but performing without being prepared is like the, sort of, go to nightmare that people have, right?

John: Only if you were pantless could this be worse.

Aldis: Exactly, it's also the fact that if he performs poorly he could mess up the entire heist.

Chris: Yes

Aldis: But he was more afraid of himself performing badly then messing up the heist. And-

John: It's an interesting look into the character, because he's a perfectionist and he tends to- he’s tended to take the path he has in life because he's been able to be good at it.

Aldis: Yes.

Chris: Right.

John: You know, it's always interesting once you're past school and once you're an adult when you try to do things, you try to learn a new skill once you're out of your teens, and you realize ‘Oh, this is very hard.‘

Aldis: Yeah it's like learning violin.

John: Yeah exactly.

Aldis: As an adult, as I am doing now.

John: Really hard. But no, you just couldn't drop Scheherezade on you.

Chris: Here's a great-

John: This is a great shot actually, because we actually never shot this. This was footage of them actually getting into place.

Chris: Yes.

John: From the dailies that we had when we rolled the camera on. And that we wound up assembling together into a shot and then digitally placing the conductor into the middle of it.

Chris: Oh yeah, when we get to the later shot of the conductor there, that was- that’s totally digital. This the- orchestra is Marshall Tuttle is the conductor of the orchestra, it’s a local Portland community college orchestra. And they, you know, I have to give a lot of props to them because they got the music and they had to mock play the piece, but that meant they had to prepare for it, they had to know.

Aldis: Yeah I actually learned from them that day the rest of the piece. I mean all I knew up to that point was the solo. Until they said- and I knew bits and pieces of the other music until they said, ‘Hey, so we actually wanna shoot you playing the, you know, the bit before stuff.’ I’m like, ‘Right now, guys?’

John: Oh yes, a surprise by the way.

Aldis: Surprise!

John: This quick thing, they're gonna pop the camera on you there as you do this thing you just learned how to do.

Aldis: So I was just watching my fellow musicians around me as we shot, I was just watching their fingers and going off of them but hopefully you can’t tell.

John: That's a great little shake, that head shake like, ‘No, let's not get too heavily invested’.

Aldis: That was a real head shake that was ‘I do not wanna shoot this scene right now.’

[Laughter]

John: Could we please stop?

Aldis: None of the trepidation in this is faked, it’s real fear people. Real fear.

[Laughter]

Aldis: I dreaded this more than anything.

Chris: So there was less acting in this than typical episodes because you actually had fear.

Aldis: The fear yes, no acting at all, man, it was not hard to be afraid. At all. Whatsoever.

John: And here's Elizabetta, and it was interesting- I will be totally honest we knew we needed stuff for the finale-

Chris: Yeah.

John: And no idea what we needed it to be yet.

Chris: Right and right. And also to a certain degree, you know, when you have a MacGuffin, you know an item I want you to get, and you struggle as to what it could be, and we did struggle, we argued what is- what's in the envelope? And ultimately it's pretty cool when you don't know what it is.

John: Yeah it's point blank. It’s- yeah.

Chris: And you know we don't want to give anything away, but it did help us in the finale.

John: Yeah, well they've seen it by now, in theory.

Chris: Oh, okay.

John: Usually they watch all the way through and then do the commentaries.

Chris: That’s fine then. So that's fine, I'm not a spoiler.

Aldis: So what was in the envelope, fellows?

John: In the envelope is the evidence that the Italian needs because she's part of the shadowy international intelligence organization that launders money through Moto’s blood diamond accounts.

Chris: Yes.

John: And yeah that's actually- if you do a lot of research in money laundering, we did a lot of money laundering this year.

Aldis: Yes we did.

John: You find out that a lot of sort of black ops stuff, and a lot of the governments- there's a reason it's still around. You know governments find it useful, you know, and certain parts of governments find money laundering, international money laundering useful.

Chris: And here we go now we start- we start the clock and the dialogue is about to end pretty quickly.

John: Yeah I think we did like two touches, two clarifying things once we test screened it.

Chris: Yeah.

Aldis: We did an entire fourth act with just pure music.

Chris: Yeah, this is it here, we go.

John: Yeah this is it. Nnamdi did a great job in this, by the way, I want to say, because he's acting without dialogue and that's hard, you know, for a young actor.

Aldis: It’s like stare at this paper bag and make it interesting.

John: Yeah, exactly.

Chris: And I have to give Brian Gonosey here, our editor, a lot of credit here, too, because this was like editing a music video, because this was- we had to kinda time this stuff to the music, and this was, you know, this- in listening to the piece, you know, in my mind I had punching in numbers for this part, cause I could hear it in my head, and-

Aldis: Now this-

Chris: And now- oh.

Aldis: No, I’m sorry, go ahead.

Chris: Well this is just when you have an all pro quarterback from the NFL on your show, and you have Christian Kane who is a gigantic football fan, you're gonna have him knock him down in full run.

Aldis: Now Christian really took that hit.

Chris: He sure did folks.

John: He hit that wall hard, baby!

Aldis: This man is paid to hit people.

[Laughter]

John: Beth took this hit too.

Aldis: Yeah.

Chris: She did take that hit.

Aldis: She took it like a trooper.

John: Wait where'd- Chris played football for a while, what was he, tailback? What was Chris?

Chris: Well I know, back in high school, yeah.

Aldis: He played in it, and he wrestled, too. Nnamdi is a big guy.

John: Nnamdi is a big guy.

Aldis: He's like 6’ 4” something, 6’ 6”?

Chris: And he wanted to do all his own stunts and we were like, ‘Please, we do not want Al Davis on our ass.’

[Laughter]

John: ‘I'm sorry, did you hurt the greatest quarterback in the NFL in your little pretend show this weekend?’

Chris: He's like, ‘You know what the stunt mans doing? I can do that!’ And we said, ‘We know! Please don’t!’

Aldis: Now the NFL owns Leverage.

John: We’d have a bigger budget, that'd be alright.

[Laughter]

John: And then now down through the floor, this was fun playing around with- thank you Mythbusters, playing around with directional blowouts, and thermite and all the other sort of how to- oh that's a- and Nnamdi won't go down.

Chris: No, he won’t.

John: We were- this- he’s the thug who ate his Wheaties.

Aldis: I think that's a great part about this entire sequence and just the character in general is: cause he finally- somebody gave Eliot a challenge, a real challenge you know. It was kinda like the season finale for the first season.

John: But that guy had technique, you know, that was the thing. What Eliot is facing right now is another dude who kills people professionally.

Aldis: Yeah.

John: You know, and just with power. It's also fun cause it’s- all Eliot/Parker scenes are inherently fun.

Chris: And here, and this was all built around the music. We knew this was gonna- we were gonna build to- there's a giant gong hit here and that was gonna be- that was the whole thing was timed to the explosion and now one of the words ‘boom’.

Aldis: We really blew a hole in a floor and let Nnamdi fall through? He was a trooper, he took it?

John: Yes, please don’t tell the Raiders.

Chris: Please don't tell Al Davis.

Aldis: I'm kidding, guys. Kinda.

John: This was actually shot later, we actually rebuilt the ceiling and then dropped it in later.

Chris: Yeah, it’s great.

John: They did a great job because they- it was like ‘We need you to build that ceiling that we built a couple episodes, but put a hole in it.’ Like, ‘Alright.’ Yeah. And Nate being in the middle of it unexpectedly is a wonderful development.

Chris: Even this, all this all the editing was just timed perfectly to the music as he pulls, Walle is his character, pulls into the corner. And here it is.

John: That's a nice beat, actually, was Sophie- that's a nice choice by Gina, Sophie being totally confident because she knows, she's already in on the hypnosis thing. So she's already ahead of it, and what that was meant to be encouraging.

Chris: Now here it is.

Aldis: [Humming the song]

Chris: And, you know, I have to say my wife, violinist, gives you huge props here for your fingering and your bow work.

Aldis: Thank you. You do realize this song haunted me as I was practicing and preparing for it? It literally was playing in my head when no other sound was on in the room. I painted a picture called The Scheherazade. I painted the notes themselves because I had to get it outta my head. It was-

Chris: That’s great.

John: Where's the painting?

Aldis: It’s still back in Portland waiting for me to get back to it.

John: Nice.

Chris: Now what kind of response did you get from people when this aired?

Aldis: A lot of musicians actually said I did a good job, which I was proud about. I was- I was more concerned about how musicians would take it. Because they know what to look for, and as I watched I was like, ‘Alright,’ you know, cringing, but a lot of them they really, really dug it.

John: Well you always see the flaws in your performance, you know.

Aldis: Yeah of course because I’m looking for it, as the actor. By the way, this scene when Beth has the tear, that wasn't a tear she just had allergies, but played to her strengths and- right there the yeah.

John: It's just the smoke and stuff, the allergies.

Aldis: Very dusty, you know, we just kept it, we kept it. I’m kidding Beth’s a great actress, she did that on her own.

Chris: She’s fantastic. She did that, I mean, that's pretty amazing.

Aldis: Yeah was that her choice there?

Chris: Yeah.

John: Yeah, that wasn’t in the script.

Chris: And we didn't have a lot of time for that, too, we were really running out of time for that scene and they, boy were they great reacting to it.

Aldis: The boy did it! Uh!

[Laughter]

Aldis: Y'all know what this is! Sexual chocolate!

John: We’re gonna have to make t-shirts now, I hope.

Aldis: We are gonna have to make t-shirts.

Chris: Now in the original script, you got a girl's phone number; we had to cut it for time but there was.

John: Sexy violinists.

Aldis: It's alright, Hardison gets numbers.

Chris: You know, Hardison, we've been trying to hook you up and I'm sorry we ran out of time.

John: Well, you know that's alright, there's- I don't think the fans would like the girl.

Aldis: I think if I ever got hooked up, fans would just murder Hardison because-

John: They would not be happy.

Aldis: They're waiting on Parker.

John: Well also, you know, and what's interesting is: you've kind of changed looks since the first season. You were a very skinny kid when you came in that first season. You turned 21 the night we hired you.

Aldis: Yeah 21, I'm 24 now.

John: Yeah, you put a little man weight on you now.

Aldis: Man weight, shaved the whiskers a little bit, try to give you a little something different each year. Next year I'm gonna come in about 250 pounds.

John: Nice, maybe with a cane cause you can't quite walk, you got the gout.

Aldis: Cankles baby.

John: Rock the gout. This is brutal- just looking for the rematch.

Chris: I love the look.

John: Every time I see this, I try to figure out a way to bring that character back.

Chris: Can we bring him back?

John: Seriously man, that look as he rolls forward is like, I want that rematch.

Chris: You know he makes more money than everyone in- you know, I mean he's- he’ll fly out on a private jet and come do it.

John: Just I gotta figure out something. And then I remember cause it was great, cause- I was actually out of town and then you shot this, and I didn’t see anything until I saw the first cut of this. I didn't see any dailies and so I saw the first cut of this and when he rolled forward that time I'm like ‘Oh! No wait, I know there's no rematch’ but-

Aldis: Yeah.

John: It’s- it was fun it was being able to watch this episode as a fan was a big treat.

Chris: Yeah, and here it was trying to pay off the Scheherezade story by having Nate make up something on the fly.

John: Yeah, it's the- thematically it yeah it starts with a con, it has a heist in the middle, and ends with a con.

Chris: Ends with a con.

Aldis: Yeah.

John: And you just the balls- the sheer stones it takes, ‘I have no idea what's in this.’

Chris: Yeah, right?

John: Just absolute sheer stones. To just bet on a sealed deck. We actually talked about that, we had played around with poker episodes and just what kind of- we talked at length- and it's one of those things that will never wind up in the show but we wind up talking in the room, what kind of gambler Nate is. And Nate is a guy who will bet on whole cards he hasn't seen.

Chris: Right, yes.

John: Yeah which is not necessarily the smartest thing in the world, but that’s that guy.

Aldis: He's the kind of guy who loses all his money first at the table, but eventually gains a couple chips back.

John: Yeah, yeah. Or manages to just be luckier than smarter, but smart enough to know he's lucky.

Chris: And I have to say Marcel Davis here played Simian Moto the president, and did an amazing job. I mean he's a local Portland actor.

John: Yeah, really- Portland. Never disappoints, Portland is a great place with great actors.

Chris: Now you can kinda see Gina slipping in there. It was- I know we had a couple of comments.

John: We had ten people on that set!

Chris: It was hard.

John: She's that black shape that kinda moves in with the secret service.

Aldis: I just saw her slip in there, keep your eyes open.

Chris: Keep your eyes open folks. She had- apparently she had a great time assembling this gun.

John: She was kinda rocking out the Helen Mirren in RED there.

Chris: She was.

John: She was really kinda- that was hot. She did- I watched the dailies on that like eight times, come on, she's very good at this. And the gloat, the drag out, the gloat.

Chris: The gloat and the drag away.

John: Very nice and the president. Oh Nnamdi wants to go! Let them go! Let them fight! That drinking game for Enter the Dragon. It’s like every time.

Chris: There we go, another time we’ll bring him back.

Aldis: Let's just send this out to all the Oakland raiders fans and see if they put in a vote, do you want Nnamdi back?

Chris: Do you wanna see Nnamdi back, please?

Aldis: Let's see what happens.

John: Promised by the DVD. Yeah.

Aldis: I feel it'll be promising.

John: And this was a nice set up, and again it was interesting because she had such the upper hand in the first episode, this is the one where Chris really kinda reset that, yeah, Nate Ford is not a patsy.

Chris: Yeah.

John: You know he is- there's a reason they’re using him. He's a dangerous guy, and he's become more of a dangerous guy this year because he's acknowledged who he is. Last year this would've played out differently.

Chris: Yeah, no it was- you know, the sequence was flirty, dangerous, a little bit of banter then she puts the screws to him and then he puts the screws to her here.

John: Yeah cause he knows. He knows, he dealt with these types of people, you know, he's not ignorant of exactly how big a game he's playing in right now. Great, great shot. She- this is a 1960s shot, that shot right there, I really love this. And she's got a very classic late 60s look and that was interesting because we used it- we actually called the character the Italian as shorthand because it was an archetype from the 60s, and then when she came on the show we were trying to come up with a name it's like, we're not gonna beat The Italian.

Chris: No no, it’s the best.

John: Just keep it there. And it kinda kept her in the headspace, when we wrote the scripts it kept her in that zone.

Aldis: And when she happened to actually be Italian!

John: We started with that, that was the-

Aldis: Ahhh, ohhh, ahhhh!

John: Did we not explain that to you?

Aldis: Ahhhh!

John: We just happened to get Elisabetta. Yeah, there you go.

Aldis: There go- ahhh!

Chris: And this is a nice kind of close out to, you know we sort of set up earlier that Eliot has some regrets of things that he may have done back when he was a soldier. Things he saw in Africa. And I thought Tim had a nice ad lib here, cause he kinda indicated that it was Eliot's idea to provide money for kids in the community based on them selling the violin.

John: And that's- and yeah it was another thing, too, as we moved into the third season of, why are these people still together. You know the second year they had realized they were family but were not emotionally evolved enough to explain, to acknowledge that. Third year where they are together and you begin to see- you know Hardison sees this as his crime college. And he loves these people, but this is his crime college. You know, Eliot is beginning to see the path to his redemption. You know, Nate is the acknowledgement of his identity. Parker is becoming a human being. You know, everyone has their reason they're there. You know, Sophie's reason to be there is basically, she had come back to run the crew while Nate was in prison. And to be acknowledged as the co-lead. This is a great scene. By the way, you play this wonderfully, this is a big turn here.

Chris: Yeah.

Aldis: Thanks.

Chris: It was- you know this was a tricky reveal here because- and I'll say that on the hypnosis front I consulted with a hypnotist-

[Laughter]

Chris: This is not just me making stuff up out of thin air.

John: I'm the one to make stuff up out of thin air, Chris actually researches shit.

Chris: And in fact, the hypnotist said to me that if somebody had a- was extremely proficient in something at an early age, whether it was athletics or music, that he could put someone in a deep trance state and return them to their ability, that their life experience is kinda what's gotten in the way of their ability, that it's all up there in their head. And that's all that we’re saying here, we’re not saying that he made you- Nate made Hardison able to play, Hardison always knew how to play, it was just cleaning out the cobwebs to get you back.

Aldis: Right.

John: Also Sophie's- Gina's playing that complicitness in a really nice way, which is she went with it, she didn't like it, and she doesn't necessarily like what Nate’s become. Also fun, you had really focused on this is, during the research, the idea that prison is a bad idea for most criminals. Most criminals just go in and become better criminals. It's- they call it crime college, you know, and what tricks had Nate picked up while he was inside.

Chris: And look ultimately that the one of the things that makes Nate able to run this crew from- is that he's not a nice guy. And that he will push any button to get whatever he wants done. And that makes him, I think, a better leader, and a more interesting character than if he's just you know got your back every time you're in trouble.

John: We cannot say this enough: Nate Ford is not a nice man.

Chris: Yeah.

Aldis: Right.

John: But that's what's required in the world that we set up in this show. And that's Scheherezade Job! Amazing job, both of you. I really wanna say this, I came to this as a viewer and this is one of my favorite episodes of the season, and of the entire run.

Aldis: It's one of my favorites.

John: I told the first time I watched this, I told Chris I wish my name was on it. I wish that I had the ‘Written by’ credit.

Chris: And you, you know I made a little comment to you back in season one, and boy did you make me happy.

Aldis: It happened.

John: It’s great.

Aldis: Well thank you man I enjoyed it. The script was one of my best scripts, one of my favorite scripts from the entire three seasons, so.

John: Thanks man.

Chris: Thanks.

John: Alright stay tuned more coming up.

Aldis: Peace.

#Leverage #Leverage TNT #Leverage Audio Commentary Transcripts #Audio Commentary #Transcripts #Parker #Alec Hardison #Elliot Spencer #Nate Ford #Sophie Deveraux #Season 3 #Episode 4 #Season 3 Episode 4 #The Scheherazade Job

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bat-losers-inc · 3 years ago

Text

Song of Cassandra: Chapter 2

Warnings: Family Drama, Family Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Baggage, and Child Neglect

Summary: What is Batman without a Robin? Everyone in the family makes jokes about the ‘dead robins club’, but Dick and Jason really do have measures set in place for the day Bruce loses sight of what’s really important. They won’t let Bruce sacrifice another Robin for the cause, even if that means separating Robin from Batman for good.

Pairings: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, and Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

_____________________________________

Half a year later saw them performing a feat of brotherly bonding he’d never imagined possible: robbing Penguin together.

They’d left the Tricorner district behind in a streak of burnt rubber and a barrage of gunfire and ditched the getaway van in Chinatown at the first available 24-hour parking facility on the other side of the bridge. It was slower going on foot, but Chinatown’s busy night scene, combined with the heavy triad presence in this district, would make Penguin’s men hesitate before going in guns blazing. That was all the time they needed to slip away unseen.

Now, as they emerged from the darkness of the parking deck, Dick yanked the balaclava off his head. He grunted something unintelligible as he shouldered his way through the cluster of pedestrians that crowded the sidewalk.

“What?” asked Jason, pulling his own half-mask down from around his neck and jogging to catch up.

“I said, you’re a real bastard. You promised me this was would be easy!”

Jason glanced at him. He wanted to be sympathetic but he just couldn’t when Dick was glaring at him with that staticky mop of hair. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice when he replied, “You’re the one who said we shouldn’t leave a paper trail! This is about as easy as stealing from Penguin’s bagman gets.”

In truth, he thought they were complaining just for the sake of complaining. After six months they both knew that pulling off this heist was less a matter of choice and more a matter of necessity. Failure meant returning to the storage locker Dick had procured outside of Port Adams and staring down their measly little bat-trust-fund: six safehouses, fifteen rolls of Kevlar fabric, a small arsenal, twenty-seven contacts typed into a Word document, and $5,025 split five ways. But what use would kevlar suits be if their siblings couldn’t afford to keep a roof over their heads? No, without the cash it was worth fuck-all.

Dick looked like he wanted to argue the point further but at that moment a convoy of police vehicles shot past them, sirens wailing and horns blaring loud enough to deafen a person. No doubt by now Penguin’s men had informed their boss about the botched exchange and pinned the blame on their nearest rivals, the Ghost Dragons. If that was the case, then Chinatown was a powder keg ready to explode into a minor gang war at any moment.

A flash of light reflected off the windows of a nearby apartment building. Jason stepped in between two parked cars to get a better look and found himself staring up at the cloud-heavy night sky illuminated in the glow of the bat signal.

He gripped the heavy duffel bag full of stolen cash closer to his chest like he expected Gotham’s dark knight to swoop down at any moment and tear it from his shoulder.

“Hey,” Dick tugged at his arm. “time to go.”

Batman was on the way and like the best of Gotham’s criminals, Jason and Dick made themselves scarce.

It took nearly forty minutes and three subway lines to make their way back to the self-storage facility. By then a pale glow had crept up from the horizon and spread across the water. Around them, the street lights began to shut off one after another. In the distance, Jason could just make out a tugboat as it pushed a barge out towards the open ocean.

By the time Dick pulled the storage locker door down behind them, they were tired-eyed and footsore.

Jason threw the duffel bag onto a table and propped himself against it as he fished one-handed under his t-shirt to undo the straps of his protective vest. He sighed in relief as the weight lifted off his shoulders. “How the hell did you stand wearing these things when you were on the force? Even with the undershirt, the chaffing is god-awful.”

“You get used to it,” Dick replied, making quick work of removing his own gear.

Jason doubted it but he was too tired to argue his point further. Instead, he found the six-pack that he’d stashed under the table earlier that day and snapped off a can.

“Heads up,” he called, as he pitched a can underhand to Dick who caught it against his chest.

Dick held it up for inspection. “Warm beer. What I’ve always wanted.”

“Oh shut up and celebrate with me, you asshole.”

He extended his arm across the table. Dick knocked beer cans with him and completely failed at hiding the shy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, though god bless him he tried. “Cheers.”

Jason watched him crack open the top and chuckled as he hurriedly slurped at the foam that erupted over the rim. He knew that this morally gray lifestyle didn’t come easy to Dick but he couldn’t deny that he was happy he had stuck around with him for this long. He didn’t dare to say it out loud, but they actually made good partners.

He took a long drink from his own beer can before putting it aside. “Ok, come on. The faster we count this cash the sooner we can go to bed.”

Jason upturned the duffel bags, sending stacks of cash sliding out onto the metal tabletop while Dick pulled the banknote counter from the corner and lugged the machine up next to the pile. Together they started slipping the currency bands loose and feeding the stacks of cash into the machine, watching eagerly as the sum continued to tick upwards.

“Soo…” Jason drummed his thumbs on the table as the numbers continued to flash on the small screen, “How are things going with you and Babs?”

“What?” Dick’s eyebrows drew together. “Why?”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m a little curious about what she thinks you do when you’re out late all the time… also, I’m bored.”

“You’re weird, is what you are.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Seriously? We’ve only spent the past six months together moonlighting as vigilante survivalists and I can’t ask one time how your love life is going.”

“No, no. Sorry, you’re right.” Dick held up a hand. “I told her I’ve been helping you out with an undercover case for a couple of months now. Said I owed you a favor.”

Jason grinned at him. “Well, that’s not a lie. Quite a few actually, but who’s counting.”

Dick punched him in the shoulder. “Actually, I should call her. Reassure her you didn’t get me killed before she calls in a search party.”

Jason chuckled and went back to the task of feeding bills into the machine as Dick rummaged through the backpack and fished out his phone.

“Hey, uhh...”

Jason glanced up and took in Dick’s furrowed expression as he stared down at his phone. He put down the stack of cash he was holding. “What’s the matter?”

“Something happened while we were out. I — shit I don’t know how to explain it but I’ve got like 15 missed messages from Barbara and Alfred. Did you bring your phone with you?”

Jason grabbed his backpack where his own phone was stashed and opened it to find a similar mass of missed calls and incoherently excited messages cluttering the screen. Some of the numbers he recognized, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred were all saved in his phone, but a few were from unknown senders. If he had to venture some guesses he’d say Cass, Duke… maybe Harper? Fuck, he never realized this many bat brats had his number. “I don’t get it… something about Tim? What about hell?”

“I’m calling Babs.”

Jason was aware of how uncomfortably loud their breathing sounded in the small storage locker as they stood around the table waiting for Dick’s call to connect.

“Dick?” Barbara’s voice asked loudly through the speaker. “Thank God! Where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling you.”

“Sorry, undercover mission, remember? What’s the big emergency? I didn’t get anything from Bruce.”

“You need to get back to the manor. Bruce found Tim!”

That didn’t make any sense. “What? You mean Bruce found Tim’s remains?”

Jason smacked his arm. “His remains? Are you fucking serious? What remains could Bruce possibly find after a death like that?”

“I don’t know, bone fragments—”

Dick’s argument sounded flimsy the moment it left his mouth and they both knew it. Jason just really hated to be the one who had to say it.

“If the heat from that explosion didn’t finish him off entirely then the pounding impact of like a hundred thousand missiles definitely did in whatever remains might have been left.”

“Guys—” called Babs.

“Oh, so you’re a forensic scientist now? You don’t know that—“

“Yes, I do!” He slammed a hand down on the table, his anger flaring. He really couldn’t do this backslide back into denial with Dick again. “There’s a reason we buried an empty box. Tim is literally dust in the wind.”

“Jesus Christ!” Barbara’s voice erupted loudly through the speakerphone. “Kill it with the broody back and forth already and actually listen to me, would you? I’m not talking about bone fragments or anything like that. I’m saying Bruce found Tim. Tim! He’s alive.”

Jason met Dick’s eyes over the phone, confusion written as starkly across Dick’s face as it must have been on his own. “What? I— What?”

“I really don’t understand it all myself. But Tim said he’s been held captive by Mr. Oz in another dimension for this whole time. Can you believe it? All this time we thought he was dead and...”

Jason didn’t catch that last bit. He was too busy bent over the table as all the blood rushed to his head.

He was gonna hurl. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

They’d all given up on the hope of Tim miraculously surviving a long time ago and this sudden news felt like he was experiencing emotional whiplash. This had to be some kind of sick joke or a trick... a doppelganger sent by the newest enemy on the rise against Batman.

Dick’s thoughts were apparently spiraling in the same direction as his own for he ran a hand roughly across his mouth and asked, “You saw him yourself? You’re sure it’s him, our Tim?”

But it wasn’t a big cosmic joke. As much as Jason couldn’t believe it, it wasn’t and that was made clear with every new piece of information Babs gave them.

“Yes, he was standing right in front of me only an hour ago — crying and hugging everyone.”

Dick turned to look at Jason, but he was already rounding the table and yanking Dick into a bruising hug.

“He’s alive,” Dick cried into the shoulder of his t-shirt. His voice overflowed with the most contagiously hysterical mixture of joy. Jason laughed through his own tears. “You bet your ass he is!”

He couldn’t explain what had come over him. He and Dick had never really been close — and they definitely weren’t huggers — but the last few months had been so full of this gnawing air of anxiety — their family continuing to fracture, the resources running dry — that the full realization was starting to hit them that this plan might have been formed too late to do any real good. They could feel the clock running out and they were both expecting the other shoe to drop any day now but then out of the blue… this.

Dick pushed away from him suddenly and wiped at his eyes.

“Uh…” he tried to clear his throat. “We, uh, we should get back to the cave and go see him for ourselves. Babs, he still there, right?”

“Yeah, Bruce is debriefing him.”

And just like that, Jason’s joy seized painfully in his chest. It hurt the way a seatbelt does in a car crash, knocking the air out of your lungs and bringing you up short. He watched Dick rush around him, grabbing up his belongings in a disorganized fashion.

“Dick, I can’t come with you.”

“What?” Dick asked, breathless. He turned back from the door. “Yes, you can. C’mon, get your stuff, the money can wait till tomorrow.”

Jason shook his head. Fuck, how the hell was he supposed to explain this to him without looking like the one asshole member of this family who didn’t want to visit his little brother recently brought back from the dead.

Dick paused, his hand dropping from the door handle. “What? Because of what happened between you and Bruce?”

I was a fool for ever believing in you. Even now Bruce’s words lingered at the back of his head. An invisible brand that still held its heat.

“Jason, I know what went down between you and Bruce was… heavy, to say the least, but you’re still family. You do know that, right? You’re still my family and if you want to see Tim, Bruce can do fuck-all to stop it. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jason could only huff a sad laugh at that because God did he want to believe that too, but he knew it wasn’t that simple. Tim would always be his family, but Bruce… he’d crossed a point of no return with Bruce on the night that the fortress was destroyed. The violence of his assault had done more than break a few bones— it had finally shattered that last shred of trust he’d stupidly harbored in him that when push came to shove Bruce would value the son over the soldier. I broke his rules for the last time and now he sees me as nothing more than an unredeemable criminal that escaped Batman’s justice. One of his little soldiers gone AWOL.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… I can’t face him yet— I—” he trailed off. He’d been laying low since his return to Gotham, but even still Jason thought the only reason he’d survived this long was because Bruce was too consumed with Tim’s death to spend a spare thought on him. He wasn’t ready to walk into that cave tonight and find out what would happen now that Tim was back in the picture and Bruce’s anger focused back on him.

It felt like a horrible selfish thing to think about saving his own skin when his little brother had come back from the dead, but as his eyes lingered at the collection of items piled around the storage locker he was reminded that no one was going to do it for him. After all, that was how this plan had all started right? Someone had to be the one to craft the safety net for the next Robin to fall of Batman’s mighty pedestal.

“You should go. Tell Tim I’m glad he inherited my cockroach-like ability to not stay dead.”

“Jason…” Dick twisted the jacket he held in his hands.

“Go.” It came out sharper than he’d intended, despite his best efforts to push his emotions down. He was quick to try to smooth it over with a tight smile that he knew fooled neither of them. “I’ll stop by his apartment tomorrow once all the hype has died down. Besides, someone needs to finish up here.”

He nodded at the banknote counter.

The one thing he’d always valued about Dick, more than his caring nature, was that he knew when to stop pushing an issue.

“Alright,” Dick shifted his grip on his jacket again. His phone was chiming once more in the back pocket of his jeans. No doubt another family member asking where he was. “I’ll call you tomorrow to check in.”

“Sure.”

After the door to the storage locker fell shut, Jason let his gaze travel around the room again. So Tim was back, alive and well as far as any of them were concerned. A nagging part of Jason’s mind wondered worriedly if gaining him back would slowly undo all the plans they had made together. Would Dick continue to worry about the next crisis to befall their little family or would Tim’s return renew his neverending faith in the impossible until he eventually forgot what it was that drove him to his breaking point?

Jason picked up another stack of banknotes and slid it into the machine. As the numbers continued to rise once more he did his best to prepare himself for the idea that he would be alone in this mission once more. Another bitter pill to swallow but he couldn’t do it. It lodged itself raw and unpleasant at the back of his throat.

18 notes · View notes

flatstarcarcosa · 3 years ago

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favors and heists

notes: i gave myself brain worms while roping @dadbodsandbots into my mass effect insert shenanigans by using her mans so I had to shake some of them loose. this turned out to be kinda fun, actually, for a change :3

also tags @jackals-ships while making pspspsps noises

summary: what's the point of your best friend dating a galaxy-renown mercenary if not for the favors you can squeeze out of the deal?

zaeed takes a charity case.

ship(s): stubborn goddamn jackasses, cat/digs (boomcat? harcat?)

******

The door alarm has been chiming for four minutes. Pressing the override button on his omni-tool shuts it off for a few scarce seconds, only for whoever is outside to activate it again. Finally, Zaeed gives up on ignoring it and wrenches the damn thing open manually. The metal squeals in protest before the hydraulics correct themselves.

"The hell do you want?" he asks, frowning. Cat stands in the door way with barely contained tears in her eyes.

"My final thesis is due next week and the whole argument hinges on this 18th century painting and-"

"Dooooon't care," Zaeed drawls as he goes to manually pull the door shut again. She lunges forward, getting a shoulder and half a leg across before the safety catch feels an obstruction and stops.

"-and it got stolen and if I have to report it to my boss I'm not only gonna fail the program but I'll never work in this industry again!" she blurts. Zaeed has already turned his back towards her and is cussing at his omni-tool's refusal to force the door shut.

"Don't caaaaaaaaare," he says.

"You gotta help me get it back!" she cries, "That fucking asshole Harkness stole it and if he gets too far I'll never see it again!"

Zaeed stops, shoulders sagging. He holds up a finger and turns.

"When you say Harkness-"

"Yeah, Digger," Cat sniffs. "You know, Captain Boom-"

"Will willingly shoot my other eye out before I call him that, thanks," says Zaeed. He goes silent for a moment, and then lets out a frustrated growl and runs a hand over his face. "All right, fine. But only because I've still got a grudge against that jackass I've been meaning to settle."

She looks up, elation flashing across her face.

"Really?! I mean, I can hire you, too, so-"

Zaeed snorts.

"You don't make near enough to hire me," he says. "Especially not if you want him alive, although honestly, that part isn't up to you." He steps out of sight into the other room, and Cat wanders into the kitchen to blow her nose on a wad of paper towels.

"Where was he last?" Zaeed asks.

"I mean, my office," she calls back. He steps back around the corner, the top half of his armor undersuit hanging around his waist.

"I meant where was he before he stole the painting?"

"Oh!" she pauses. "I...dunno, some hotel down on Silversun."

Zaeed hums, and pulls his arm through the sleeve on his suit. He drags a footlocker over to the sofa and plops down, bending over to unlock the lid.

"How'd Harkness get into your office, anyway?" he asks. "It's not exactly publicly accessible."

"Uh- I...I don't know," she stammers, "he's a thief, that's what he does!"

Zaeed quirks an eyebrow at her as he laces his boots.

"Uh-huh," he says. "And he just happened to have decided to specifically case your office for one painting..."

"Yeah."

"Your office, which is in a moderately secured area in the Citadel Tower," he continues. He raises an eyebrow at her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

"Yeah," she says again, voice tight. "Why?"

"No reason," he says. Motorized armor joints lock into place with mechanical whirring, and she watches him strap a pistol and a sniper rifle in place. "Here's the thing, if he's already jumped ship and left the Citadel, I'm not chasing him all over. This lasts until I decide the amusement isn't worth the lack of money. Matter of fact, you knowing Reese is the only reason I didn't tell you to fuck off and throw you out."

"A fact which I am heavily aware of," says Cat.

"Long as we're on the same page," says Zaeed. "Might as well wait here, I doubt this is gonna take too long."

"Hey," says Cat, "wait a second. How do you know him, anyway?"

Zaeed clicks his tongue.

"Got unlucky enough to be on a job with him once," he says. "Stupid little fuck nearly got me killed. Spent four weeks healing from that."

"Oh," she says.

"Granted, wasn't the same as getting half my face blown off," he adds, "but it was still enough that I've had it in for him ever since."

"You're not actually going to kill him, are you?" she asks. Zaeed shrugs as the door slides open.

"That depends on him, love," he says.

"Oh," she says. Before she can get another word out, Zaeed steps into the hall and leaves her alone. She sighs and sits down on the sofa. "Well, that's just fucking great."

******

It takes less than five hours to track Harkness down. After checking out of his hotel earlier that morning, he'd stuck around the Silversun Strip rather than booking a flight off the Citadel.

For some reason that Zaeed can only chock up to the man being an absolute fucking idiot, he didn't consider that wandering around with a medium sized painting under his arm was going to make him stick out to the residents.

Only on the Silversun Strip would one get away with that without C-Sec getting called and dropping down on your ass. Try it up on the Presidium and every rich asshole with a penthouse would be ringing the emergency numbers for 'suspicious activity' while triple locking their doors.

Tucked away in a back alley and away from the main attractions of the Strip is a little pawn shop run by, who Zaeed assumes, are the only Batarians to have a permanent residence on the Citadel. There's an old fashioned bell hanging above the door and it jingles when he walks through. It catches his attention for a moment, and he glances up at it, wondering where the aliens picked up that detail about human stores.

Behind the sales counter, a bored looking Batarian is standing with his arms crossed over his chest and glowering with all four eyes at the man in front of him.

"Come on mate," says the Australian. He's leaning over the painting, so focused on his attempts at hocking it that he either didn't hear the door bell, or isn't interested enough to turn around. Zaeed catches the gaze of the sales clerk, and holds a finger to his lips.

"I said no," the Batarian growls, looking back at the would-be customer.

"All right, fine, screw giving me what it's worth," the man continues, "we'll settle for 60% and then I can be on me way."

"You think I'm so stupid or naive I don't know stolen merch when I see it?" asks the Batarian. "I know enough about you humans and your squabbles to know there's no amount of credits worth getting involved in this kinda shit.

"Harkness, why don't you do something useful and stop pestering this poor Batarian?" Zaeed asks, interjecting only when he's close enough to Digger Harkness that the sound of his voice makes the man jump. "Bad enough the poor bastard has to walk around looking like that every day of his life, he doesn't need you coming in here and cocking everything up for him."

The Batarian sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Is it asshole human day today and no one told me?" he asks. "Oh wait, I suppose that's every day, isn't it?"

"Goddamn right it is," Zaeed says. Harkness turns around, nervousness clear on his face.

"Zaeed," he says, slowly, "well, I'll be...funny running into you out here, eh?" He reaches behind himself, fumbling his hand across the counter as he searches blindly for the painting. Zaeed is faster, and snatches it out from under him.

"Lets go," he says, gesturing towards the door. "You know why I'm here."

"Aw, c'mon-" Harkness' protest is cut short by Zaeed grabbing his wrists and slapping a pair of electrified cuffs on them. He shoves the man forward, and then tosses a credit chit down onto the counter.

"You see a couple of human males today?" he asks the Batarian. The alien grunts, considering him for a moment before reaching down and snapping up the chit.

"Been a slow day, I haven't seen anybody," he says, shrugging. Zaeed nods.

"Good man," he says. He shoves Harkness towards the door again. "Get moving."

The bell above the door rings as the two leave, and Harkness turns, walking backwards with his arms locked in front of him as he addresses Zaeed.

"Well, I'm simply stumped," he says, "can't for the life o' me figure who I pissed off enough to hire you." Zaeed says nothing, and simply motions with his pistol for him to keep walking.

Harkness faces foward and catches sight of the skycar parked at the end of the alley. It's not the best area to try and make a mad dash for freedom, but that doesn't mean he's not gonna give it a go.

"How'd you even get into the Citadel Tower to get a hold of something like this, anyway?" Zaeed asks, holding the painting up to get a good look at it. He's never understood fuck all about art and it's not one of those especially famous pieces that he'd even recognize anyway, so he doesn't bother theorizing on why it's so important to Cat's thesis.

"Oh, you know," says Harkness, "made a friend."

"Find that hard to believe," Zaeed drawls as he tucks the painting back under his arm.

"Oi, I'm quite suave when I want to be!" Harkness stops walking again, turning with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Though, some people are just easier to woo."

"Yeah, that sounds more like you, doesn't it?" Zaeed narrows his eyes. "Making a mark out of some poor girl that always sees the best in people."

Harkness blinks.

"Hang on," he breathes, "how do you know that? Don't tell me she's the one that hired you!"

"Course not," Zaeed snorts, "like I told her, she can't afford to hire me. This is a favor for a friend."

"Well shit mate! In that case, why don't you an' I work out a deal, yeah?" The grin is back, and Zaeed makes a point of ignoring him as he opens the skycar door and lays the painting in the back seat. "You ain't on an official contract, I see no reason why you an' I as two consummate professionals can't come to some sort of arrangement that benefits us both!"

"There's an exhaustive list of reasons why that won't be happening," Zaeed says, crossing his arms. "At the top of which is simply the fact that I can't goddamn stand you."

"Fair enough," says Harkness, "But Zaeed, come on, mate! As it happens right now, you're not making any money on this! That's a problem for you, and I can fix that real easy. You just slip these bracelets off me, let me be on my merry way, and recoup credits for your time. Anyone asks, I was too slippery to get a hold of, we all move on."

"No," Zaeed says. "Get in the goddamn car before I knock you out and shove you in the trunk."

Harkness groans, and bounces on the balls of his feet in frustration.

"Come on," he says again, "we both know at the end of the day lining your pockets is the only thing you really care about, so why don't you-"

Zaeed lunges faster than a half blind old merc has any right to move, and Harkness lets out a strangled yell as he punches him in the kidney with enough force to knock the wind out of him. He's wheezing as Zaeed shoves him into the alley wall, hanging onto him by the collar of his coat and lifting him off the ground.

"Listen to me, you stupid fucking jackass," Zaeed growls, "I'm not remotely young enough or stupid enough to not know exactly how you got access to Cat's office. That girl is the only person Reese knows that isn't a killer or a junkie or some fucked up combination of both, and the last thing she needs is to be caught up with likes of you and I."

Harkness says nothing as he gasps again, and waits on his lungs to remember how to take in air.

"I care about her well-being for my own selfish reasons because of her proximity to Reese, and I recognize that doesn't put me in a position of dictating to her who she spends her time with," Zaeed continues, "but so help me, you cause so much as a minor inconvenience for her and I will carve out your goddamn eyes, sew your mouth shut and sell you to Batarians as discounted slave labor, are we goddamn clear?"

Harkness manages half of a choked, garbled word and gets his head bounced off the wall for his effort.

"That didn't sound like a yes to me," Zaeed growls.

"Y-yes," he says. Zaeed slams him against the wall once more for good measure before dropping him.

"Get in the goddamn car."

******

The rental apartment Reese and Zaeed have been staying in isn't much to come home to. Far from the worst place they've ever holed up, sure, but that's never been a very high bar to begin with.

Regardless, as he pushes Harkness through the doorway and pauses long enough to set the painting down on an end table, he does reflect on the warm lightning in the corners and the smell of a beef roast being pulled out of the oven.

It's temporary and it's barely big enough for the two of them to move without tripping over each other, but it is home.

"You found it!" Cat appears in the archway to the kitchen, and Reese looks up over the counter. Their eyes glance between Zaeed and Harkness and the painting, and they quirk an eyebrow in his direction. Zaeed responds with a subtle shake of his head.

Later, he mouths, reaching up to undo the clasps on his armor.

"Wasn't too much trouble," he says aloud. "Helps when you're being sent after a goddamn moron. I should take more offers like this, actually."

"Caaaaaat," Harkness purrs. He goes to hold out his arms, and stops when he meets the resistance from the cuffs. She bypasses him entirely to scoop up the painting and make sure it hasn't been damaged.

"You know, on a hunch I looked into something on the way to the Strip," Zaeed says casually. "C-Sec has multiple active bounties on him at the moment. Cashing in on just one of them would likely pay more than, well...whatever it is you even do currently."

Harkness lets out a nervous laugh and looks between Zaeed and Cat. She sets the painting down and regards him for a moment.

"Right now I'm more worried with getting this back before anyone notices it was gone," she says, causing Harkness to puff up slightly. He winks at Zaeed, only to stop at the look the other man sends his way. "It's unlucky for me the building is locked down for the day, though..."

"Sounds to me like you could use someone who knows his way 'round security systems," Harkness offers. Zaeed snorts, and Cat frowns. Silence stretches out for a moment, broken only by the sound of Reese turning on an electric carving knife.

"Okay, fine," Cat says when they've turned the knife back off. "But know that if we get caught, I'm telling them you kidnapped me and I can cry on command."

"Well now you're just talkin' dirty to me," Harkness says.

"Really?" Reese barks from the kitchen. "Some of us still gotta eat tonight."

Zaeed remains silent and utterly unreadable as he taps at his omni-tool. The handcuffs beep a few times before popping open and falling off. Harkness massages at one of his wrists, and manages to ignore the bait when Zaeed shoves into him on the way to the kitchen.

"If we leave now we should make it in and out without too much trouble," Cat says. Reese offers a wave.

"Call me when you get in," they say, "mostly so I know if anyone's gotta kill him later."

"Sure!" says Cat. She tucks the painting safely under an arm, and drags Harkness out into the hall by the collar of his coat. The door beeps as the automatic lock powers on, and Reese turns to lean against the kitchen counter.

"What?" Zaeed asks, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of beer.

"Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not."

Reese rolls their eyes and turns their attention back to the roast. "I leave for 20 minutes to get fucking dinner, and I swear to Christ..." they say, trailing off when Zaeed reaches around and snags a slice of beef.

"You do realize she's got absolutely horrid taste in men, right?" he asks. The top of the beer bottle pops with a resounding hssss, and he flicks it across the kitchen into the garbage can.

"Yeah, well, that's just something we got in common, I guess," Reese says.

"Oi," Zaeed protests. He takes a swallow of beer and reaches for another slice of meat, then stops. "Hang on, she can cry on command?"

"Yeah, fucking wild actually," says Reese. They frown. "Why?"

Zaeed is silent for a moment as he takes another sip of beer before answering.

"Goddammit."

#reese.fic #ship: stubborn goddamn jackasses #others: boomcat

9 notes · View notes

writingmyanxietyaway · 4 years ago

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Doctor Love | Berlin

Requested by anon: So okay okay, I had this idea a few days ago, and since your requests are open I'm gonna slide in real quick :)is it okay if I request a little scenario where like, u know when Berlino does that dumb thing of self sacrificing becuz he's gonna die anyway? What if his girlfriend/reader has been searching for a cure for his illness and before he can get himself killed she goes in the bank and tells him and somehow they manage to escape from the bank? No pressure if the idea doesn't appeal u! Ily!!

Word count: 2.4k

Warning: spoilers of season 2! maybe swearing, mentions of violence, guns, the whole shabang

Note: not my gif! Okay, so I’m in love with this request!! It took me a little longer to write, because I wanted to get it perfect. Let me just say I’m not a doctor, so I have no idea if there is a cure for the illness he has, but Imma try! Hope you like it darling! Thanks for the request and love you too! xx

------------

‘I’m sick. I have an illness called Helmer’s myopathy. It’s a muscle degenerative disease, which means that my muscles get weaker and weaker until my heart muscles can’t keep up anymore. If I’m lucky I have four months left,’ he told you like it was nothing; like it was answer to a question on a pubquiz. He held your hands in his, knowing it would break your heart and dreams of a future with him.

‘Andrés..’ you whispered, ‘why didn’t you tell me sooner?’ He sighed and gently shook his head.

‘It’s uncurable, princess. I have medicine that I have to take every few hours that make it somewhat acceptable, but I wanted you to know.’

You visibly broke down. Even though you were always someone who never wanted to show any emotion besides happiness and anger, but this was different shit. Your hands were shaking, body trembing as you tried to understand that everything you had imagined yourself doing with Andrés would be nothing more than a dream. It simply didn’t make sence. Being together with Andrés for more than six months, you’d hoped he would be more open towards you and share what was going on with him. You felt your throat closing up, eyes filling with tears.

This illness was just the cherry on top for him. The man had done terrible things in his life and could mark off just about any sin in the Bible. Stealing, robbing, charming women. Karma was getting her way back to him and all he could do was accept his fate. It came across as cold to you. All this time you planned this whole life for you two together, but he knew that would never come true.

‘No! This is cruel! You let me believe we would be together for the rest of our lives, hell, you told me you wanted to marry me when you got out! You knew even if you made it out alive, you wouldn’t live longer than summer. You’ve done some terrible things in your life Andrés, but this..’ you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air. ‘This is just rude.’

The sadness you felt quickly turned into anger as you kept yelling at him, hitting him in the chest. He knew better than to interrupt you and tell you that everything would be okay, because he just now realized it wouldn’t be okay. He would die and leave you behind. Period.

‘I knew you were a self-centred bastard! You always play these mind games and somehow make everyone get on their knees for you! Is that all I am to you, huh?! Some game to find how far you can go? Because let me tell you Andrés, this game is finished. Game. Over,’ you hissed. You threw your hands up in the air and stormed out.

That was more than four weeks ago. In the meantime you had spoken again and this time the anger had disappeared and just cried. That was all you could do. You had accepted that you would most likely be a widdow before summer and that broke your heart, but you also wanted to fight. Andrés told you there was no cure to his illness, but there was hope burning inside you and you did everything in your power to still find that cure. Whether it meant getting no sleep for the next few weeks or not.

Andrés would soon be leaving for the big robbery and you had spent every second of the day being with him and holding him close. The times where you would have rough sex the entire day were over; it was now making love. He was gentle to you, making you breakfast in bed even though he could easily ask one of the maids to do it and even buying you nice dresses in colours that matched your eyes.

Without him knowing, you contacted one of your best friends who worked at the lab of a university and asked him if he could do more research on medicine for muscle-related illnesses. He said he had some information that he wanted to share with you, but that meant you had to visit him.

‘Babe, I’m gonna have to run to Macy really quickly. Think you’ll be okay?’ you asked. Macy was your sister and seven months pregnant, so it often happened that you visited her to help her with something. That way he wouldn’t suspect a thing. You had no idea how he did it, but he always seemed to know what you were up to.

‘Of course, princess. Give her a kiss for me, okay?’ he winked, giving you a kiss on the lips. You lightly slapped his chest.

‘Be back for dinner,’ you told him. Out of the blue, he grabbed you by your waist and pulled you against him. He leaned down and you could feel his breath on your neck. Shivers send down your spine.

‘Your ass looks great in those jeans,’ he whispered, placing a light kiss on your neck and slapping you on the bottom. You giggled and pushed yourself away from him.

‘Bye!’ you called, waving him goodbye and walking out the door. You soon arrived at the university and was met by your friend who was waiting for you outside. You greeted each other with a hug and quickly got to work. He told you about the compositions of the different medications and what effect they had on what part of the muscle.

‘Isn’t there any way we could find a way to make this medicine last longer? This is the medication he uses now to keep it under control for a few hours,’ you gave him a syringe filled with the medicine and he studied it. He took the bottle from you and studied it contents.

‘There are some elements of this medicine that also appear in this,’ he pointed to a beaker filled with a milky white liquid. ‘I should be able to find a connection that makes this last longer.’

‘Is there anything I can do? I feel so hopeless not being able to do anything,’ you mumbled.

‘You did a great job already by giving me this. Is it okay if I keep the syringe? I need something that we know works, even if it isn’t permanent,’ he said. You nodded and waved your hand.

‘Of course. Anything to help find a cure. Thank you for doing this. I can’t even explain how much this means to me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t at least tried,’ you told him. He turned to look at you and gave you a hug.

‘That’s what I’m here for. If I find anything, I’ll let you know, okay?’

It was the fifth day of the heist. Andrés had been gone for almost three weeks now, being busy with training and all. He obviously knew about the plan already, but being the passionate man he is, wanted to go over every single detail again. He couldn’t afford making any mistakes. The goodbye was hard. You cried loudly as he held you close, whispering little reasuring words in your ear. You were thankful for Sergio. He kept you updated on everything that was going on, but didn’t tell you any details or steps of the plan. You didn’t want to either; it was scary enough without knowing how everything went down in there.

It was now wednesday and you were sitting on the couch. You hadn’t heard from Sergio in two days and it started to worry you. The news wasn’t exactly uplifting too. Andrés’ face was displayed all over every tv channel, name heard on every radio station and seen on every wall in Spain. Your heart fell even lower when the news announced he was sick. The smug inspector worked on you nerves as she spoke about him like he was an animal. Sure, the man had done things that broke the law, but he never killed anyone nor hurt any woman.

‘Fuck,’ you cursed under your breath. Suddenly your phone rang and the called ID showed Alex, your friend at the lab. Your heartbeat increased and you were anxious about what he was about to say. You picked up the phone and heard his loud voice. A tearful smile made it’s way on your face as you heard him say those three words you so desperately longed to hear.

‘I have it! I have the cure!’ he yelled. You jumped up and raced towards the university where he was already waiting on you. The hug you shared was one filled with hapiness.

‘Okay, he needs to inject this like he did with the other medicine. This is enough to last until november. I have some of it still in the lab so I produce more and work more on the duration of it. I can’t promise it will work for the rest of his life, but for now it’ll do,’ he spoke. You said goodbye and rushed to Sergio’s hide-out. The medicine you held in your hands would give him at least eight more months and until then Alex had a better cure. You burst through the doors and Sergio jumped up. You could see the whole that had been dug in the floor. You turned to Sergio and burst into tears of joy.

‘He’s not leaving us, Sergio. He’s staying. With you, with me. He’s staying,’ you rushed. Your heart was beating loudly in your ears and the rush of adrenaline was so high, you thought you’d pass out. Your words seemed to land as he slowly moved towards you. His gaze fell on the little box you were holding and his eyes flickered from the black object to the hole in the floor and tears welled in his eyes.

‘I have to get it to him, Sergio. He needs to know there is something out here for him. You and I both you the man is up to something. Let me go in there, please!’ you pleaded. He quickly snapped out his trance and gave you a red suit and black boots to finish the look.

‘When you get to the indside, wait inside the vault. No one knows you’re getting in and that way you won’t get attacked. Take this with you,’ he pushed a fake gun in your hands and you placed it in the holster on your thigh. ‘Goodluck.’

When you were about to enter, you heard a lot of noise coming from the computer. The police had broken in. He nodded to you and you ran as quickly as you could through the tunnel. When you entered the vault, you were met by two people. A young man with dark hair and a woman with blonde curls. They looked suprised to see you and the man pointed a gun at you.

‘Serg- El Professor send me. I’m Berlin’s girl,’ you quickly said, stumbling over your words. Sure, you were carrying a gun with you, but it was a fake. Having a real gun pointed at you made you nearly shit your pants. When the girl pointed out I was carrying a gun and came through the only way out, he lowered the gun and craweled through the tunnel. It wasn’t hard to find Berlin as he came running in the direction of where you were coming from. You caught the stares of the other people who nodded at you and went on with their duties.

‘Berlin, babe!’ you called, making him freeze.

‘What are you doing here, princess? It’s not safe for you. They’ll come running through those halls any minute now,’ he sternly said, turning around and grabbing you firmly by the arm. ‘Leave, now!’

‘No, I’m not leaving. I came here to tell you I found a cure,’ you breathed and everyone around you froze. ‘You didn’t know, but I’ve been doing research for a medicine and I’ve found it. The first dose should work ‘till November. After that I’ll have a much stronger and longer working dose.’

‘Princess, I told you to leave,’ he said more firmly this time. You didn’t move.

‘Like I said, I’m not leaving. Not without you anyway. You promised me a life that I could only dream of and now we can have it. I love you with all my heart. I can’t loose you. Not now, not ever.’ Tears cascaded down your cheeks as you begged the man you loved so much to trust you and come with you.

‘Leave, now. Helsinki, take her with you,’ he ordered the bulky man behind you, but he didn’t move.

‘Love is a passionate thing, Berlin. I don’t know this woman, but she found a cure for your uncurable disease. That’s literally doing the impossible. You have five seconds to decide to leave with this woman or I’ll take you with me. Don’t look away when you have everything in front of you,’ he spoke. He turned his attention to you and you gave him a grateful smile. He smiled back and nodded.

‘Will you please come with me? If you don’t come with me, I’ll stay with you. I either die with you or leave with you, you decide,’ you stated. He looked at the box you held in your hand and realized how much he loved you. Moving towards you, he passionately smashed his lips to yours. The kiss wasn’t filled with lust, but relief and gratefulness.

‘As soon as we walk out those doors, I’m marrying you. No exceptions,’ he mumbled against your lips. You nodded and held him closer.

‘That was the plan.’

You heard the policemen run behind you and Helsinki was quick to throw a grenade. Berlin pushed you all inside and bowed your head in his chest. Once the grenade had exploded, you all rushed back and blew up the tunnel. You joined Sergio and Helsinki in the back of the truck, leaning against Andrés.

‘There are no words to explain how much I love you, princess. No words.’

The two of you left to Cuba, where you got married soon after you arrived. The wedding was on the beach, your white dress flowing around you while you stared at the man you could finally call your husband. Only a month after the wedding you surprised Andrés by telling you were pregnant.

‘You are my heart, my soul and my everything. Thank you for being my wife and everything I’ve ever wished for.’

.. .. .. .. ..

Berlin Taglist

@nkjktk - @michaellangdonenthusiast - @hamiltonsofcrap

#la casa de papel #lcdp imagine #berlin x reader #berlin imagine #pedro alonso #lcdp x reader #lcdp

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atinybitofau · 5 years ago

Text

S E O N G H W A ⭇ art thief au

WHO COULD PUT A PRICE ON FINE ART?

a/n: had a little fun with this one hehet

• “A little more to the left.. a little more... there! That’s perfect.”

• now I know this sounds boring.

• —you being one of the most elite art exhibit planners in the country.

• except you find it more worth while than anyone else normally would.

• art being more important to you than a menial article of praise.

• art was a gift—

• a skill no less.

• that shouldn’t be auctioned for money hungry fools.

• but for people with a taste.

• though you don’t give yourself enough credit.

• not like anyone gives it to you in any how.

• “Y/n, Mr. Jung won’t be making it tonight. The finalized list of visitors will be printed and in your hands before doors open.”

• you smile your assistant away, fumbling with white tulips in a priceless vase.

• “One less of a burden anyway. We can open doors at 7.”

• things at the exhibit were perfect.

• after all, it was you who planned it.

• artists from far and wide just thieving for your expertise.

• the expertise of setting their art up.

• time was almost near,

• you, yourself presenting like an art piece from the pop up.

• but lights blind you as you check yourself in the mirror.

• halls eerily quiet.

• till you hear a hushed glass shatter over your breath.

• you run on your 5 inch heels thinking,

• how could you have been so unprepared?

• you, a widely known exhibit planner,

• to be robbed minutes before the exhibit even begins.

• you gasp,

• when the lights flicker on.

• a man like Spider-Man hanging lopsided from a rope, only lips shown to you.

• vice and like an art form itself.

• the way it mocked you and your excellence.

• “You’ve done an outstanding job, Ms. y/n. With your over the top art events— I couldn’t help but drop by and steal a glance of my own.”

• your jaw tightens and you’re eye locked with the masked robber.

• “A man like you shouldn’t feel honored.”

• “That may be so. But I’m definitely honored by the art pieces you have put out here today. One in particular I seem to be granted on.”

• he’s talking about you.

• though hiding behind a mask,

• feeling tempted to reveal himself in your presence.

• “My staff... what have you done with them?”

• “Oh? The poorly rooted crew you call your staff? Those little pesks would believe any voice out of your given ear pieces. Even if it were my own.”

• “Of all exhibits, why mine?” you ask the thief, eyes still unruly drawn to his.

• more tempted to pull the mask right off his face.

• if not for the visible gun and knife at his collar.

• “Now, Miss. That’s no way to credit yourself. You’re the most enviable art host in all of South Korea. Not at all tasteless. And maybe a little bit uptight but that’s no ridicule. I would steal your art auctions faster than you could say you’ll spite me for it.”

• “Is it too late?”

• “Depends. Turn around and we’ll see.”

• you reach to slap him when he graces on his rope like a stripper.

• lips smirking at you through his ski mask.

• and you visibly shudder, gulping.

• eyes watering when every single painting, sculpture, and art form disappeared while you had been conversing with the thief himself.

• “Y-you’re gonna pay for this.”

• “Will I?”

• the lights flicker again and you’re left in an empty space.

• no beauty.

• no art.

• no skills left to present.

• you were helpless because of a damn thief.

• and after paying your dues,

• a kind sue despite it being your fault,

• now jobless at the will of the devil,

• close to committing suicide for losing your whole life.

• just from one hell of a heist.

• “Y/n, there’s a check for you in the mail.”

• you look up concerned, letter now in your hands.

• it’s a check for half of a million.

• you noticing the only hint at the corner of the letter.

• an address?

• and a note hidden inside as well.

• ‘though you don’t give yourself enough credit, miss, you did take part in the most successful heist in South Korea’s crime syndicate. here’s your share. if it doesn’t tickle your fancy, why don’t you give my little art exhibit a visit? Maybe we could negotiate a price more reasonable for you.’

• your fingers play with the check.

• all of your debts solved if you do accept it.

• classless money.

• though...

• you had to admit that you were tempted to give yourself the credit.

• after all?

• wasn’t it you who set up the most successful art heist in the world?

• “Woah, girly. You’re at the wrong art exhibit.”

• shakily, you try to make out the lips on this handsome man.

• not the man you’re looking for, you think.

• not the art form you couldn’t stop thinking about for the past months on end.

• not the one who robbed your life away in a light’s flash.

• “Who sent me this?” you ask another man whose lips also had no resemblance to the lips you look for. “I need to beat the shit out of them.”

• one on the stair railing, eyes of glass shards smirks at you poking interest.

• “Brave for someone who rudely walked into a fox’s home.” the blond sings quoting the thief of animals. “As a past art collector, don’t you think you could give the home’s residents a little more class? Like complimenting the art on the wall. The least you could do, Ms. y/n.”

• he’s not him.

• speaks like him.

• acts like him.

• but he’s not.

• “I know you’re trying to deceive me. But I’m here to thank your little boss. Someone a little less tasteless.”

• he’s impressed.

• thinks you’re as graceful as they come.

• no doubt the woman his boss has been pining for.

• an art that he’d insist on stealing if it didn’t come to him fatefully.

• “What makes you think I’m not him?”

• “I’m an art collector, didn’t you say?” you taunt the petty thief, other’s joining in on the show. “I have a knack of weeding out the grotesque virtues.”

• “It’s a wonder why you haven’t joined us yet.” the blonde jumps off nodding towards the highest level of the building. “Doing quite well stealing the hearts of men, why not the art on people’s walls that they don’t deserve?”

• he makes one hell of a statement though.

• for someone who knew very little of you.

• that you’d have a knack of doing what they do.

• “Go on then. The art piece you’re looking for’s up there.”

• you shove the cash check into his chest before storming up,

• for the moment,

• for the first time in your life ignoring the paintings on the walls.

• sighted on a more particular object of beauty.

• “Ms. y/n.”

• you stare at the curves of his back.

• as he stands in front of clear glass panes that face a city.

• like a truly priceless art form.

• “Finally giving yourself the credit you deserve?”

• you take a deep breath before saying, “Depends. Turn around and we’ll see.”

• so he does.

• and you think you need to give yourself more credit too.

• for finding the most beautiful art piece in the world more definitely being a vice you shouldn’t be shameful for. but proud of.

• “Yeah.” your lips twitch. “I should give myself more credit.”

• his eyes spoke more than it should.

• like something out of a museum.

• history of unspeakable truths.

• you wanted to keep it for yourself.

• an art you didn’t want to sell even if your life depended on it.

• “Ms. y/n. I hope you didn’t show up here to return what you insisted I’d pay for?”

• you let him enjoy mocking you.

• heels locked in place when he’s towering you the way he did on a rope not even a year ago.

• his head cocks in interest. “What’s this? You don’t seem unhappy. More enticed to see me actually. Now of all exhibits, why mine?”

• you’re in a time lapse.

• of hand crafted beauty at your disposal.

• but no one’s asking you to auction anything but yourself and your life.

• fully committed to using your skills for his bidding.

• “What you did to me deserves more than just a payment from selling you out the largest art heist in the world. I deserve more credit than that.”

• he’s bought.

• the way you look.

• the same way he did when he was robbed of his own life years ago.

• the vengeance and the vice.

• “That you do.” he glances to your lips. “Is this your way of saying you’d like to plan one of my heists, ms. y/n?”

• if this is how everyone feels about winning an auction.

• maybe you were wrong about the tasteless rejectables of high society.

• “Do you doubt my skills, fox thief?”

• “Give me none of that,” he chuckles lowly. “I am no fox. Just a man who craves the best art in the world.”

• “And I’m just a woman who came here to beat your ass.”

• he smiles at you.

• thinking you’re definitely the one art piece he left behind that day he should’ve stole over anything else.

• “And now?”

• “Now I just want kiss your ass. For giving me the credit I’ve always deserved.”

• you think he’s the greatest creation.

• for knowing true art and what’s valuable—

• the recognition.

• not the fame.

• “Did you get to look at the art downstairs? My exhibit that’s been needing a skillful planner like yourself.”

• your eyebrows frown. “More stern on finding you.”

• he smirks. “How sweet. Though... why don’t we take a second glance at them, shall we?”

• you follow him out.

• his hands interlaced with yours.

• as your greeted to 7 other smirking men at not only your disposal, at the bottom of the staircase.

• thieves in their natural habitat.

• surrounded by paintings that none other than you had painted years ago.

• that you thought you had sold to an anonymous collector.

• “Now about that heist we talked about. Let’s start by stealing what you really deserve.”

• he spins you around.

• arm locked up with yours.

• “How’s my heart sound? What kind of a price would you put on that?”

• “A price only I could afford, I’m sure.”

@atinybitofau

#ateez #seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez x reader #ateez preferences #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa oneshot #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa reactions #seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa art theif au #art thief #seonghwa au #ateez au #ateez seonghwa

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what-is-your-plan-today · 5 years ago

Text

Stark Spangled Banner Ch 58:You Have To Go Through The Worst To Get To The Best

Intro The Time Heist worked, but at a cost. Natasha gave her life for the Soul Stone. Following a promise to make her sacrifice worth something, the Avengers continued their plan and succeeded in reversing the Snap. But along with everyone else, the biggest threat the Avengers have ever faced re-appeared.

Thanos.

Now Steve and Katie, along with the rest of their team are locked in a fearsome battle, between light and dark, life and death. Simply put, it’s a battle which they cannot afford to lose because they’re in the Endgame now…

Warnings: “Language!”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist

Sorry for your loss.

4 words that Katie was already sick of hearing. Sorry. I mean...what did people have to be sorry for? It wasn’t like it was their fault. Still, she acknowledged the sympathies that came her way, completely automatically, almost emotionlessly. She barely registered the fact she had spoken to Fury and Hill, two people who had been dead 5 years ago, she didn’t have the energy to wish she could knock Ross’ head off his shoulders and had no idea how long she had walked what was left of the compound...maybe an hour or so? Who cared anyway? She simply did what people asked her to do to help out, whilst Steve hurried around organising everyone and barking orders.

Nevertheless, when the crowds of Emergency Services, Armed Forces and Support Staff that had flooded the Compound left, she suddenly felt alone and found herself in their compound apartment, sat on the bed, staring at the wall. Just staring. It was quiet, but her mind was anything but. Her brain was screaming all sorts at her, but she couldn’t really understand any of it. She simply felt broken.

“Katie…”

She looked up to see Steve in the doorway.

“Hey.” she gave him a soft smile. “Pepper just spoke to Happy…the kids are fine. All 3 fast asleep. He’s going to wake them in a few hours and bring them back.” “No.” Katie shook her head “I want him to bring them now.” “Honey its almost 4 am.” he said, and she frowned. Ok, so she’d been walking around a little longer than she thought, then. “Let them sleep. We can go, get cleaned up and…” “Plan how we tell them their Uncle is dead.” she said softly, gazing back down at her hands.

Steve took a shaky breath. He felt beyond guilty. Guilty that he got to go home to his kids because of the fact that Tony wouldn’t. Steeling himself, he made his way to the bed, sat down next to his wife and wrapped his arm around her as she lay her head on his shoulder.

“What’s everyone doing?” she asked softly.

“Rhodey is in with Ross and President Ellis…” “Ellis is here?” she frowned.

Steve nodded “Rhodey’s giving him a brief on what’s happened. They’re gonna need to put an announcement out so…”

“Suppose it was probably a shock everyone re-appearing again.” she said quietly. “What about everyone else?”

“Well Lang, Parker and Bruce already left.” he said as his hand gently rubbed up and down her arm. “And there’s a chopper on the way to take Pepper home and a couple more following to take the rest of us to the Tower. The roads are completely jammed, apparently there’s impromptu parties taking place all over. Might be a while before we can get back through to Brooklyn.” The thought of partying seemed alien to Katie, but as she thought about it, it wasn’t surprising. People would be greeting lost loved ones, celebrating the fact the world has returned to normal.

For them anyway.

“Clint will want to go home...” Katie nodded “He’ll be desperate to see Laura and the kids.” “We’ve got a jet on the way for him so he can go as soon as possible.”

If ever Katie was grateful for having a husband with Military organisational skills it was now. He’d literally thought of everything. She closed her eyes and nuzzled into him even more, seeking out comfort like a child, as they sat in silence until they were ready to leave.

****

“I guess this is strange for you too, huh?” Steve said as they made their way into the Tower, Bucky and Sam each carrying one of the bags of stuff they’d brought with them from the Compound, Steve the other. “Yeah you could say that.” Sam shrugged “one minute everyone was in Wakanda and then the next minute it was just us, and the jungle had changed and then that Strange dude turns up and tells us it’s been 5 years and we needed to go fight one last time…”

“Has it really been 5 years?” Bucky asked.

Katie nodded

“So now you’re older than me Stevie…” he grinned.

Steve chuckled a Katie gave a small smile. “Shut up.”

They made their way into the elevator and FRIDAY greeted them, somewhat forlornly, as Katie asked for their floor. The elevator fell silent as it scooted upwards, pinging open. Katie stepped out first, followed by Wanda then the men.

“Where do you want-“ Bucky began but he stopped dead, Sam bumping into him.

“What the hell Frosty?” he said, frowning as he followed Bucky’s eye line, his eyes growing wide. Wanda was also gazing, mouth open, and Steve immediately knew what they were looking at- the large framed photo on the wall in the living room.

Even though their home was in Brooklyn this was still very much their apartment. Katie sometimes stayed if she had a big meeting, or on occasions they would crash here when they grabbed a rare night out in Manhattan. And it was for that reason that the photos in the apartment had been updated as their lives had moved on. The wall their friends were gazing at contained two photos. The first was one taken by Katie at the hospital when Jamie was hours old, the same photo also adorned the wall in the lounge at home. It showed Steve asleep in the chair by her hospital bed, hair unkempt and he was unshaven with his baby son clutched to his chest as they both slept. He remembered the moment like it was yesterday, one snapshot moment out of God knows how many, all of which the 3 people stood in front of him had missed. The second showed a younger Emmy with her then 6 month old brother, both grinning at the camera as they sat on the sofa at home.

“You….” Sam gasped as Wanda and Bucky turned to them, mouth hanging open.

Steve nodded “Yeh, err, did no one tell you?” he asked, rubbing his neck.

“No.” Bucky breathed.

“But then it never really cropped up in conversation whilst we were fighting Thanos…” Sam said, a little sarcastically and Wanda thumped his arm.

“How old…” she asked.

“Emily is 16 this year.” Katie said, looking at the photos smiling softly “We adopted her after the snap…long story.”

She looked at Steve who smiled, knowing she was allowing him the task of revealing their boys names to two of the men he was named after.

“And Jamie’s 3.” he said, looking at Bucky.

“Jamie?” Bucky asked thickly.

“Or to give him his full name James.” Steve said, nodding at Bucky who swallowed as he looked back at his best friend. “Anthony-“ then Steve turned to Sam “Samuel.”

Bucky and Sam exchanged a look, the pair of them floundering for words.

“Cap…” Sam swallowed, his eyes misting over “Wow, I’m so happy for you guys.” “I can’t wait to meet them.” Wanda beamed.

“You might regret saying that.” Steve chuckled “He can be a handful. Stubborn, opinionated, won’t back down- don’t even say it.” he pointed at Bucky who had opened his mouth.

“He’s awesome.” Katie said softly “They both are.”

Her eyes moved round the apartment and fell on a photo of her and Tony taken at her wedding, and suddenly she couldn’t be there anymore. Excusing herself she headed into their bedroom. She shed her boots, cat suit and made her way straight into the en-suite now feeling utterly overwhelmed, and still struggling to make head or tail of her emotions. She should have been celebrating like everyone else in the streets was doing. Their friends and trillions of other people were saved, but she couldn’t because again, just like the other day when they had grieved for Natasha, there was one person who wasn’t coming back. Her brother.

She turned the shower on as hot as she could stand, an attempt to sooth the pain she now felt in every inch of her body. But whilst some of it was bruising from the multiple batterings she had taken, some of it was coming from inside. The pain of losing her brother was physical, and hard. Closing her eyes she lay her head against the tiles, allowing the water to beat down on her, lost in her memories. “I got full marks on my English essay Tone!” her 10 year old self grinned up at him as he leaned against the car, looking as effortlessly cool as ever.

“Get you, you little brainbox!” he ruffled her hair “That’s awesome, so awesome in fact I think we need to stop for pizza and a shit load of ice cream on the way home…sound good?” “You’re the best!” she beamed as he took her pink back-pack off her and dropped it into the trunk as she climbed into the passenger seat of his BWM.

“Oh no, you are not going out wearing that!” he said, standing up as she walked into the living room of the house.

16 year old Katie rolled her eyes “Tone its boiling hot outside, what you want me to wear? A pair of jeans and a fucking coat?” “Not that!” he scoffed, looking at the rather short denim skirt “Young lady,I can see what you had for breakfast.”

“Oh bite me Tony.” she shot back, hearing the guffaw that Rhodey gave out from the sofa before she shot out of the front door to greet her boyfriend who had just pulled up the drive.

Then she was 18, cruising along the cliff in Malibu, laughing, her hands on the steering wheel of her convertible bug, Tony in the passenger seat sipping an iced tea, the pair of them singing as loudly as they could to Drops of Jupiter- their song.

“Mr Rock and Roll over there, listen to you!” she laughed as the song finished and it changed to AC/DC Thunder.

“If you ever tell anyone about my love of Train I will kill you.” Tony looked at her over his sunglasses and she snorted, grinning.

“I’m so telling Pepper.”

“Err you know I can still pull my funding.” he glared “You can kiss goodbye to going to Oxford…” And speaking of Oxford, at 21, she was there, accepting her first class honours in English Literature and Mythology. As she smiled for the camera, she could see Tony stood up in the middle of the hall, whistling before he punched the air “That’s my girl!” he yelled “Katie Maria Stark. That’s my girl! No I won’t sit down...what did you just say?...” and he began arguing with the person behind him.

At 26 she was crying, tears of happiness as the ramp on the aircraft carrier opened to reveal her brother. His hair was longer, he looked thinner but he was alive. He was barely at the bottom before she flung herself at him, not caring that his arm was a sling.

“Hey Kiddo.” he said softly as she buried her face into his neck.

“You fucking ass hole!” she sobbed “next time, you ride with Rhodey, you got that?”

“Trust me, there will be no next time.” he chuckled as she pulled back “Afghanistan is a shit hole.”

A year later she was crying again, sobbing even, as Tony sat with his arms around her, gently shushing her as she sat up in her bed “How could he do that to me Tony?” she sniffed, her tears dampening her brother’s t-shirt as he rubbed her back, laying his head against hers. “I thought he loved me…but…” “He isn’t worth your tears kiddo.” he sighed “Grant cunt-face Ward doesn’t deserve them, or you. No one ever will…you got that? No one will ever be good enough for my Kiddo.”

And then she was walking up the aisle towards her future husband, her arm linked tightly around Tony’s. He pressed a kiss to her head.

“Just remember, just because I’m giving you away doesn’t mean I won’t kick his ass if he ever hurts you.” he mumbled and she snorted, turning to look at him. “I love you to the stars and back, Katie, remember that…” Like she could ever forget. Tony hadn’t been everyone’s cup of tea. Hell, at times they’d been completely at odds with one another, siblings estranged for 2 years at one point. But she had never, not once, stopped loving the man who had brought her up as his own. Her brother and father all rolled into one.

She finished washing her hair and stepped out of the shower, the tears still not arriving. She began to wonder if there was something wrong with her. She’d cried more when Natasha died. She pulled on a towel robe that was hanging behind the door and began to dry her hair, squeezing the water out of the long strands.

“I remember when you used to do that for me.” She grinned, watching Tony as he sat with Morgan between his legs on the lounger round the pool at her Brooklyn home, rubbing her wet hair ferociously with a pink beach towel, making the 3 year old cackle with laughter. I remember…but Morgan won’t.

And then the cry ripped from her chest, like someone had reached down her throat and pulled it from the very depths of her heart.

***** Steve made sure the guys were settled in the spare apartment, the three of them opting to share, none of them particularly wanting to be alone. Making his way back into theirs, he headed straight to the bedroom and heard Katie turn off the water to the shower. With a groan he stripped off the top half of his uniform, dropping the grubby item to the floor and then reached to pull off the compression shirt.

But before he got chance he heard a noise that chilled his every bone. It was a cry. A primal, raw, broken scream. Quick as flash he crossed the room and pushed open the door to the bathroom and found his wife slumped on her knees on the floor, screaming and crying uncontrollably.

“He’s gone…” she screamed “He’s gone, he’s gone…” He’d known this was coming and it broke his heart that he could do nothing to help, nothing to take away the utter desperation and pain and anger she was feeling. Without hesitation he dropped to his knees and she turned to him, fisting her hands around his top as he pulled her close, one arm round her back, the other in her hair.

“Let it out…”his voice was croaky as he rocked her, gently stroking her hair as his cheek pressed against the top of her head. “I got you…I got you…” How long they stayed there for, with Katie screaming and crying over the soft sounds of his soothing, Steve had no idea, but eventually her sobs became sniffles as she regained some form of composure.

“Steve…” she managed to stutter as she pulled back to look at him” He’s gone…he’s gone…” “Oh sweetheart…” his voice cracked, his own heart ached with grief and sympathy and love as he dropped a kiss to her forehead, pulling her onto his lap as he settled on the floor, making no attempts to move her. He buried his face into her hair, his own sobs catching in his throat.

Eventually she stopped crying, and she truly thought at that time her body had run out of tears to shed. She pulled back to look up at Steve, his eyes wet as she took a ragged, deep breath.

“All my life Tony has been there…” she said gently as he stroked her cheek with his thumb, brushing away her stray tears, “Even when we were apart those years I knew that if I needed him, he would be there…but now…he’s gone and I don’t know what to do.”

“You do what you always do.” he said gently “You get up, you dust yourself off and you act like the amazing, strong, beautiful woman you are. My wife, my baby momma.”

She gave a watery splutter of a laugh before she buried her face into his t-shirt again, and simply breathed him in. His warmth and familiar smell, even if he wasn’t as fresh as he could be after the exertion of battle, was a comfort, a balm to her broken soul. Tony was gone, she knew that, but she wasn’t on her own. She’d never be on her own as long as she had Steve.

****

“Don’t be sad Momma…” Jamie said, as Katie’s tears tickled down her cheeks, her son on her lap, Emmy sat on her father’s, despite her age meaning she was normally way past that stage, as she cried into his chest, his arms gently cradling her. “Uncle Nee isn’t on his own.” “What do you mean baby?” she asked, sniffing as he played with a strand of her hair.

He looked at her with his baby blue eyes and shrugged, as if the answer was obvious “Because he’s with Auntie Nat-Nat.”

“Yeah…” Katie said, a soft sob escaping her “You’re right. But I’m still sad, but you don’t need to be worried about that ok?” He nodded “I can kiss it better” he said, and she smiled as he leaned up connecting his lips to hers with a loud smacking noise.

“All better.” she smiled, wiping her eyes.

“When can we go home?” Emmy asked, sitting up slightly.

“Soon, I promise.” Steve said. “I think we’ll stay here for tonight, your mom and I both need a rest.”

Emmy nodded “I expect kicking alien butt for hours takes it out of you.” Steve snorted. “A little.” “You did it though.” She said softly “Everyone came back.” “Yeah, and on that note…” Katie picked up, “We have some people we’d like you to meet. That’s if you’re feeling up to it.” “Is it them? Bucky, Sam and Wanda?” Emmy asked, her wet brown eyes opening wide.

“Yeah.” Steve smiled “If it’s ok with you, we thought we could all have breakfast together…”

“Pancakes?” Jamie asked hopefully and Katie nodded, dropping a kiss to his head.

“Pancakes” she affirmed.

“Now?”

“Do you ever think about anything but this?” Katie chuckled, prodding his tummy. He pondered for a second.

“legos.” he said, nodding “I think about my legos sometime.”

Emmy snorted and Steve let out a laugh “Pancakes and legos eh son?” he reached out and ruffled Jamie’s hair “Sounds like a perfect combination.”

A short while later Steve, armed with a selection of his clothes and Katie’s for the 3 adults headed down to fetch them, whilst Katie started to make breakfast. Pepper, as caring and thoughtful as ever had sent Happy back with a selection of food knowing that Manhattan was in utter chaos and going out in public was the last thing Steve or Katie wanted for fear of being mobbed. That, combined with the stash they had in the kitchen meant it was easy for Katie to whip up a batch of batter and throw some bacon in the pan.

She set Emmy to work chopping fruit, and never one to miss out, she stood Jamie on a chair in front of her and gently guided his hand as he held the whisk to stir the batter. Katie was literally grabbing the ladle to drop the first load into the pan, the door to the apartment opened and Steve’s voice carried in to the kitchen.

“Hey guys…” Jamie squealed in excitement and Katie moved so he could get down. He shot out of the kitchen, barrelling into the lounge where he skidded to a halt by his dad and gazed up at the 3 strange adults in front of him.

The first thing that hit Bucky was just how like post-serum Steve the little boy was. Stocky, bright blue eyes and a shock of dark blonde hair. But his nose, his nose was distinctly like his mother’s.

“He looks like you.” he said, nodding to Steve.

Katie stepped into the room with Emmy and smiled.

“Jamie, Emmy….this is Bucky, Sam and Wanda.” Emmy raised her hand shyly “Nice to meet you all.”

Meanwhile, Jamie simply gazed up at Bucky, his attention focussed directly on his metal arm and Bucky suddenly began to worry that it would scare him. That was until Jamie stepped forward with all his usual boldness and pointed.

“Is that metal?” “Jamie…” Steve said, his tone soft. He couldn’t scald his son for being curious, but at the same time he had seen the apprehension in Bucky’s eyes. Apprehension that had now turned to amusement.

“Yeah it is.” He said, crouching down so he was eye level with his namesake. He held his left hand up, wiggling the fingers “Wanna touch it?” Jamie reached out and placed his palm against Bucky’s prosthetic and grinned, looking up.

“Dad…that’s really cool. Can I have one?”

“Absolutely not.” Steve shook his head with a grin.

“You think that’s cool you should see my wings.” Sam said, crouching next to Bucky.

“You have wings?” Jamie’s eyes grew wide “I want…”

“No!” Katie said with a snort.

“Fine I’ll just ask Santa.” Jamie shruggged and Sam let out a loud laugh.

“I like this kid!” he grinned, standing up.

“You can have him…” Katie winked, as Bucky stood up straight and grinned “Saves me sending him to Kiddie Prison.” “Morgan told me there’s no such place.” Jamie looked at his mother, and Steve let out a sigh. The threat of Kiddie Prison was their biggest bargaining chip when he was being naughty. Especially as the naughty step wasn’t an option, because the first (and last) time they tried that they caught him climbing up the staircase and sliding down the bannister nearly giving the pair of them a heart attack.

“I told you short stuff, it does.” Emmy said, with a roll of her eyes “I lived there before mom and dad adopted me. And all they give you to eat all day is slugs and slime…” Steve shared a look with Bucky and let out a loud laugh.

“Don’t…” Bucky shook his head with a grin.

“You gave Becca nightmares for days with that story!” Steve laughed as he recalled Bucky telling his sister about a hole in the ground where bad kids went “She wouldn’t go near a manhole for months!”

“I can still feel the blow round the ears my Pa gave me…” Bucky said, reaching up to rub at the back of his head. The chatter continued as they made their way into the kitchen. Steve went to brew the coffee as Sam, Wanda and Bucky took seats round the table with the kids, chatting away. Occasionally he caught the odd snippet as Jamie told Bucky about his toys at home, Sam all about his friend at nursery, whilst Emmy was chatting to Wanda about school and what she wanted to do in the future. But all the time the soldier had one eye on his wife as she stood, silently, cooking enough pancakes to feed a small army. Which, to be fair, was probably what they would need with 2 super soldiers and a hungry 3 year old to feed. He slipped his arms around her waist.

“You ok?” he asked, before he sighed “Sorry, stupid question.”

She chuckled and shook her head “No it’s not stupid. And no, I’m not. Not really. But I will be, in time. I hope.”

Steve dropped a kiss to her cheek and winced as a loud “GET A ROOM!” sounded across the kitchen and he turned to glare at his son, Bucky and Sam exchanging gleeful looks with one another. Steve raised his hand and pointed at Emmy accusingly. “That was not me!” she said, indignantly “It was Bucky that told him to say it…” “If this is the impression you have on my kids after all of 15 minutes James Buchanan Barnes then I’m going to have to seriously consider letting you near them again.” Katie said as she dropped the plate of pancakes into the middle of the table.

“Why did you just call him James?” Jamie asked, frowning

“Because my name is James too.” Bucky answered for Katie.

“No, it’s Bucky.” Jamie frowned.

“He only gets called James when he’s been bad, bit like you pal.” Steve chuckled, placing Jamie’s plate of food in front of him “Now eat that, and then you can show Buck your lego.”

“My legos are here?” Jamie said, grinning.

“Yeah they’re in your bag.” he dropped a kiss to his son’s head.

“What the hell is a Lego?” Bucky asked. The room feel silent as all eyes turned to the man who glanced around, suddenly feeling very self conscious. “What?” ****

“I know there is much speculation surrounding the events of the last 24 hours, and it is for that reason I find myself addressing you all once more, with regards to the Decimation…only this time I am happy to greet you all with much better news. Thanks to the brave actions of the Avengers and countless others who fought in a ferocious battle Upstate, the Vanished have been returned to us in the same state in which they left. But it isn’t without cost. Unfortunately, I do bring some sad news amongst the happy, as I can confirm the rumours are true. Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff both lost their lives in the mission to bring everyone back. My sincere condolences and thoughts are with the rest of the Avengers, in particular the Rogers and Stark families, and I’m sure I speak for the entire world when I say we will be forever indebted to the two fallen heroes for their brave sacrifices which ensured that friends and families across the globe could be reunited. To allow you all some time with those who have been returned to you, I’m declaring today and tomorrow a national holiday. So be with your loved ones. And now I speak to those who have been returned to us. For the past 5 years the world has become a very different place to the one you knew. Please be patient with us whilst we try to make sense of the fact you have all been returned to us and don’t be too hard on us if we seem a little, well, astounded. Thank you all, God Bless America, and God Bless the Avengers.”

President Ellis’ address rang out across the nation at 3pm that afternoon. On every TV and Radio channel there was. Rhodey had popped by to give them a heads up, and also inform Katie that they were talking about honouring both Tony and Natasha posthumously. Katie had merely shrugged, not entirely sure what Tony would have said about any of that, until Rhodey made her laugh about the last time he had received an honour, getting stabbed with the pin by the Senator awarding it to him. Senator Stern. Who had turned out to be Hydra.

That night fireworks exploded across the skies of Manhattan. The current occupants of the tower sat on the roof watching the symphony of colours and explosions as it light up the sky-line, Jamie opting to sit on Bucky’s knee instead of his father’s, because of course Bucky was now his favourite person on the planet. But Steve didn’t mind, well, not too much anyway.

The next few days passed them by in a bit of a blur. They moved back to the house in Brooklyn. Sam and Bucky came with them but, surprisingly to Steve (but not to Katie) Wanda opted to head to Clint’s after the archer called and offered her a room. Steve’s time was divided between speaking to the UN, various people in the senate and government along with Rhodey as they stared to make plans to help those people who had returned and found themselves in tricky situations. Some found their wives or husbands had re-married, others found themselves homeless as new occupants had moved into their flats post them being vacant in the past 5 years. Two of those people were Peter Parker and his Aunt May, who were now residing in the Tower until Katie could find them an apartment. And then there were the kids who had been adopted suddenly found themselves with two sets of parents, although Emmy’s foster family never came looking for her. And it was a good job, as they would have been met not only by her parents but a former deadly assassin and an ex Para Rescuer ready to kick the shit out of them having learned from Steve and Katie one evening about the girl’s past.

No, reversing the snap had swung up a whole cacophony of different problems, but for the time being Katie had no time or energy for anything other than planning Tony’s funeral with Pepper, and a service of sorts for Natasha with Clint. Natasha’s was to take place first, a small ceremony at Clint’s farm where they would be planting a red maple tree in her honour. Tony’s was slightly more tricky. The Billionaire had led a very public lifestyle and naturally (even if unfairly) was attracting the most public interest. They’d been approached by President Ellis, who had asked if they would be open to the service being shown on larger, outside Televisions across Manhattan to avoid public crowding the area. Katie had been horrified at first, until Pepper had snorted and reminded her that the Old Tony would have loved the attention and fuss. But New Tony wouldn’t. Which was why they compromised and chose to celebrate the two sides to Tony’s huge personality. For the Genius, Billionaire, Play-Boy, Philanthropist they would hold a service at St Patrick’s Cathedral and for the husband, father, brother, friend they would then hold a more intimate wake at the house. Pepper was also going to plant a tree by the lake house, where his ashes would be scattered eventually. And there was also the matter of his will to go through as well, but they decided that could wait.

It was draining, emotionally and physically, so it was no surprise that Katie was constantly tired and a little irritable, Steve feeling the harsh side of her tongue on more than one occasion. But he never bit back, he knew how she was feeling. He’d had to do it with his Ma. Instead he listened to her bounce ideas off him, helped with the organisation, and simply comforted her when she needed it.

On the 6th day post the return of the Vanished, things on the surface had returned to some kind of normal. Almost a half-way-house between what it had been like before the Snap and what they had become post the Snap. But what was noticeable to all of them was that they were persistently mobbed in the street, people wanting to thank them constantly. Jamie found the whole thing hilarious, waving to people as he walked with his Father one morning to the play-ground. Steve, however, after half an hour had returned home because he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“It’s mad.” he said with a sigh, flopping onto the sofa “I mean…”

“It’ll die down.” Katie yawned, “Just take a while.” “You still feeling crappy?” he asked, watching as Jamie sat on the rug with his trucks.

“A little.” she said

“You thrown up again?” “No” she shook her head “I don’t feel sick anymore just drained. I don’t think it’s anything serious. Probably just the stress of all the organising and stuff.”

But as she said the words something in her mind clicked.

Tiredness. Sickness. Haywire emotions.

“Shit…” she whispered, sitting bolt upright and he looked at her. “Bruce’s Snap…”

“What about it?”

“What if it brought everyone back?” “Well we know it did…” he said, not following her line of thought.

“No I mean…” she took his hand and placed it on her stomach “everyone…”

It took him a second to cotton on, and he blinked, looking into his wife’s wide eyes.

“Shit…” he stuttered.

“Language.” Jamie said, almost immediately, but both parents ignored him.

“I didn’t…” Steve swallowed “I mean, I didn’t even consider that a possibility…do you think…”

Katie took a deep breath “I dunno, I mean the first snap took it away…”

They stayed still for a moment, simply looking at each other, both thinking the same. If one snap had taken their baby, the second snap could quite as easily have brought it back.

“I think I need to go to the store.” Katie muttered. Less than an hour later husband and wife were stood in the bathroom looking down. Down at four different tests. Four different tests that all told them the same thing.

“I can’t believe it…” Steve whispered, looking at his wife as she glanced up at him, tears in her eyes.

“Me neither…” she whispered.

“I’m gonna be a daddy…again.” he reached out to Katie, his eyes shining as she gave him a smile.

“And I’m gonna be fat again.” There was a pause before Steve’s face cracked into a huge grin and he pulled her to him. She wrapped her arms round his neck and he hugged her close, the pair of them laughing through their tears.

“I like you fat with my kid.” he said, pulling away and wiping the tears that were trickling down her face with his thumbs. She smiled and returned the gesture, brushing the back of her hand over his wet cheeks.

“I love you. So fucking much, my baby momma.” he said softly as he dropped a kiss to her lips and she whispered into his mouth

“I love you too, my baby daddy.”

And for the first time in days, Katie’s heart felt a little less broken. Tags

@the-omni-princess @momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13 @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @navispalace @patzammit @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @icanfeelastormbrewing @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @disneylovingal @madzmilllz @sgtjaamesbaarnes

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers #captain america #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #sam wilson #falcon #tony stark #iron man #natasha romanoff #black widow #clint barton #hawkeye

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madamewriterofwrongs · 4 years ago

Note

Eddie and Christopher for the character asks?

I’m gonna try and do their relationship rather than their individual characters (because I could never think of a reason why I don’t like Christopher)

Why I like them they are a really adorable example of a perfectly imperfect father-son dynamic. They are physically affectionate, they make mistakes but try to be honest with one another.

Why I don’t this is mostly on the writers/time-constraints of the episode but I am constantly wondering how Eddie can afford things and where Christopher spends his time. Parenting as a single father is hard enough - parenting a child with a disability when you’re going from army benefits to a poorly paying city job...are we sure he had nothing to do with the diamond heist?

Favorite episode (scene if movie) THERE ARE SO MANY MOMENTS BETWEEN THEM! My favourite episode for them has to be Stuck (2x04). It was the first time we got a proper glimpse into their dynamic and home life. We saw how much Eddie loves his son, how much Christopher trusts his dad; their adorable morning routine lives in my heart.

Favorite season/movie despite that, Season 3 gave us a lot more. From Eddie’s flashbacks, we know how observant and innocent that kid is - holy shit - and Eddie’s talk with Christopher about how everyone has limitations + Christopher not wanting his dad to feel sad (AND EDDIE TELLING HIM THAT HIS EMOTIONS ARE VALID). I’m so glad all the kids became full cast members in S3 because we got more little moments like that.

Favorite line Favourite Interaction: “We still got each other which means we’re gonna be okay.” “I love you, daddy.” - the love and devotion of these two. Gah!

Favorite outfit What kind of question is this? The suits, obviously. Both of them in their dress pants and ties. Too cute to handle.

OTP I ship Eddie and Christopher with Happiness

Brotp Buck. Obvious answer. Remember that troll from Frozen that took one look at Kristoff and Sven as was like “cuties, I’m gonna keep you”. That’s what happened.

Head Canon the night of his first real heartbreak, he crawls into bed with his dad and in the morning, they go out for breakfast and order endless pancakes until Christopher finds his smile again.

Unpopular opinion “Superman” is not a nickname. It’s the name of the stretch Christopher was doing. Eddie does not call his son Superman.

A wish I want to see Eddie dealing with Christopher’s first S/O. Like, asking someone to the dance. Because a) mainstream television needs more help normalizing disabilities and everyday things, and b) watching Eddie freak out over his son and having the firefam calm him, will be the cutest thing ever.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen Not a single episode is allowed to hurt Christopher ever again. No high-stakes surgeries, no more going missing, nothing where they imply that he might die. Because I still trust these writers not to kill their main characters but if they break that in any way - or put too many children in danger - my heart will explode.

5 words to best describe them Trust. Unconditional. Hard-working. Love. Together.

My nickname for them My Babies! (to be fair: most of the firefam are my babies. But they are My Babies)

Character Ask

#character ask #cj answers things #911 fox #fyeahbuddie #love nikki

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

Mateo's Eight chapter 2 (Branjie) - athena2

Summary: Con artist Vanessa Mateo has just been released from prison, and she’s planning one last heist to erase her debts and start a new life for herself.

But for this to succeed, she needs the help of the very person who ratted her out to the cops: her ex-girlfriend, Brooke Lynn Hytes.

(An Ocean’s Eight AU)

Previously: Vanessa began setting up a heist and was forced to call her ex, who ratted her out to the cops Now: Brooke answers a phone call from Vanessa, who she hasn’t spoken to in six months

A/N: Thank you all so much for your feedback on chapter 1 and interest in this so far! It really helped encourage me and I hope you can leave some more on this chapter. Thank you to Writ for being the most amazing beta!

—

Brooke has a million reasons not to answer that phone.

Hell, she has a million reasons why she should have thrown the thing away in the first place.

But she didn’t.

She’s not only held on to the phone, but has also kept it fully charged in her bedside table, along with the pictures of her and Vanessa that hurt to look at, for six months.

Brooke had stared at it for hours after that day, the day when everything came crashing down around her. When the life they had imagined went up in smoke. After they released her from the police station, Brooke had dialed Vanessa’s number until her fingers ached and that number was the only thing in her head, trying to explain what happened, why she did it, even when she knew Vanessa wouldn’t answer, would never answer again because of what Brooke had done to her.

Brooke should have thrown the phone away then and there, killed her last connection to Vanessa, the same way she’s tried to kill her feelings. She’s succeeded for the most part, except for when she rolls over in bed, expecting to meet warmth and finding cold, empty space, when she goes four blocks out of her way to avoid the diner, when she automatically reaches for creamer in the grocery store even though she takes her coffee black.

She’s wide awake–Brooke doesn’t think she’s slept through the night in six months, when she started sleeping alone again–when the ringing tears through the room and makes her heart stop. That clunky Nokia would buzz in Brooke’s pocket and signal the start of a con, one they had built together in the diner, taking notes and picking steps apart as their feet in their scammed-for boots wrapped around each other under the table.

There’s no way anyone but Vanessa could be calling that phone. But why now? Why at all?

Brooke does some quick math in her head. It’s been six months since that day. Vanessa must be out of prison now. Could she really be calling Brooke after what she did? Brooke knows Vanessa won’t easily forgive something like that, if she’ll forgive it at all.

But she’s still calling, and there has to be a reason.

If this is a chance for Brooke to explain herself, tell Vanessa the secret she was hiding for all those months–the secret that forced her into confessing–she has to take it. At least it will help Brooke sleep better if Vanessa knows the truth.

“Who is this?”

—

Brooke frowns at the unfamiliar number on her phone screen. She barely answers the phone for people she does know, but she takes the chance and picks up anyway.

“Hello?” She asks.

“Brooke?”

“Yeah, um, who is this?” The voice is strangely familiar, with a roughness that makes Brooke’s heart pound.

“It’s Vanessa. You know, from the store?” Her question quirks up with hope at the end.

The phone almost slips through Brooke’s hands. She orders herself to stay calm despite the excitement burning through her, the endless possibilities on the other end of this call.

“Oh, hey, Vanessa,” Brooke says.

“Hey.” Is it just Brooke, or she can hear the smile in Vanessa’s voice? She pictures Vanessa’s bright teeth flashed in a grin for no one to see.

“So,” Brooke recovers herself quickly, “would you like to do something tonight?”

—

“How long have you been doing this stuff?” Brooke asks. Vanessa hovers around Brooke’s shoulder but is loud enough for Brooke to hear even with the honking cars and endless bustle of people.

“That day you found me was my first big one,” Vanessa admits sheepishly. “Before that it was just street stuff with my friend Silky. Three card Monte, that kinda thing.”

“Seriously?” Brooke asks. She leads Vanessa into a department store, their arms brushing quickly and making Brooke wish they could stay that way forever, that her arm could always feel the tingles of Vanessa against her. “I would’ve never guessed that was your first. You were so natural.”

“I was screamin’ on the inside, Mary,” Vanessa says. “I thought I was gonna piss myself a few times.”

Brooke snorts and nudges Vanessa toward the purses, gesturing at them all. “Pick a purse. Any purse.”

“You sound like a magician.” Vanessa giggles. “You got a magic wand and a cape somewhere?”

“Maybe,” Brooke teases. “I do have some tricks up my sleeve.”

“Will I ever get to see any of ‘em?” There’s a definite flirty tone to Vanessa’s question, one that makes Brooke’s cheeks flush and her mouth dry.

“Maybe,” she says with a nervous smile.

Vanessa raises her eyebrow and Brooke’s knees weaken. “Any purse I want?” Vanessa checks.

Brooke nods. She watches with a smile as Vanessa stalks among the purses like a lion after its prey, stroking the faux-leather and modelling them in the mirror. There’s such easy confidence in the way she moves, like she’s going to take up all the space she wants and everyone else just has to get out of her way. Brooke could watch her for days.

“This one.” Vanessa triumphantly hands Brooke a scarlet purse crisscrossed with little black studs.

Brooke peeks at the name and designer on the tag, blinking in shock at the number of zeros, then beckons Vanessa to follow her upstairs, looking down into the purse department from the second-floor balcony.

“Watch,” Brooke commands, enjoying herself maybe too much, wanting to show off a little for Vanessa. Vanessa’s brown eyes roam over her skin and Brooke’s whole body heats up.

Brooke calls the purse department, adjusts her voice, and begins. “Hi, this is Elizabeth Smith. Account number 415793. Can you get me this purse”–she gives the details she memorized from the tag– “and have it ready at the counter? My assistant will be there in a few minutes to pick it up. Just charge it to my store card. Sorry for the rush, it’s a present for someone and I’m late.”

Vanessa stares at her with an open mouth as the cashier takes the purse, rings it up, and bags it. Brooke then walks downstairs and pretends to be Elizabeth Smith’s assistant, returning upstairs and handing the bag to a still open-mouthed Vanessa. Brooke can’t help but smile. She’s never had someone else to share in the thrill of it all with her, someone to put her skills to use for.

“You must’ve been at this a while, then,” Vanessa says finally.

“A few months.” Brooke doesn’t want to talk about what stole her hope and pushed her into this, why she has so many bills. She doesn’t want to talk about the box under her bed where she stashes money in the hopes of affording a good lawyer one day. She’s just not ready for Vanessa to know yet.

“Well, you’re a pro.”

“I like the planning of it, I guess,” Brooke says, face flushing at the praise. Planning and organizing has calmed her since she was a kid, rearranging stuffed animals and alphabetizing books to drown out her parents arguing. A way of getting the control she didn’t have in her big, cold house. “Writing it all out, making sure it’ll work. That’s how I came up with this one. I was here yesterday. I heard Elizabeth Smith giving her info at the counter and planned it out,” Brooke explains.

“Holy shit,” Vanessa mumbles. “Well, thank you.”

Her awestruck eyes look up at Brooke, and the sheer joy of making Vanessa happy hits right in Brooke’s heart. It’s something she wants to experience forever.

“Hey,” Brooke says. “Um, next week, do you–can I take you on a date? A real date, with dinner and no scams?”

Vanessa smiles. “I’d like that.”

—

“I have something planned,” Vanessa says.

That’s the absolute last thing Brooke expected, especially when Vanessa hasn’t even been out of prison 24 hours yet, and it’s a few seconds before she can muster up words through her shock.

“No.” Brooke has given all that up, given up the schemes and lies and the designer clothes she scammed herself into. She’s lived a perfectly normal, perfectly safe (perfectly boring) life the past six months, another way to separate herself from the old life she had with Vanessa. She told herself she would never con again, that she would just chip away at her debts and the ever-rising interest rates using her paycheck from the dance studio like everyone else. No cons, no scams, no lies. (And no hope of ever freeing herself of those bills).

“It’s the biggest thing I’ve ever thought of. I need you to see this through.”

Vanessa needs her.

Those words would have once sent Brooke running no matter what time it was or what Vanessa needed. There were mornings when she woke early and the sun hit Vanessa’s face just right, and suddenly an angel was wrapped in the white sheets of Brooke’s bed. It was times like those that Brooke would have harnessed the damn moon and pulled it down if that was what Vanessa wanted.

“No.”

“I know you still have bills. They could all be gone in one night.” Vanessa was always quicker to show her emotions than Brooke was, feelings passing across her face and bursting in each word. She’s trying to keep them out here, trying to lure Brooke in with cool logic, but there’s a hint of desperation in her tone that she can’t quite conceal.

All her bills gone in one night. Brooke can’t let herself consider that possibility, because she doesn’t need this danger. But the relief of having her bills paid off, never having to worry about how to pay for groceries and electricity, is growing too great to resist. She’s been conning almost two years, saving money where she can in the hopes of paying things off, all of it feeling like one huge battle she’ll never win. One night could end that battle.

Brooke feels the itch tugging at her fingers, the thrill pulsing in her heart, the urge in her to just forget her boring life and rob someone blind, to send a giant middle finger to the universe that let her sink into tens of thousands of dollars in debt for medical bills when the assholes she conned had garages full of collectible million-dollar cars that collected nothing but dust.

Some part of her wants to do it, wants to fight for something again, wants to win. She didn’t fight hard enough when it counted in court, wasn’t able to win against her ex-husband, and he took the person she loves more than anyone. Vanessa is promising big money, probably enough for her to take him back to court and win.

But if this is the biggest thing Vanessa’s ever thought of, the risk must be astronomical. Vanessa always saw the reward, jumping into danger for the rush of the prize. Brooke was always stuck with the responsibility of seeing the risk, putting a net under each of Vanessa’s jumps, preparing for a fall. It had suited her–suited them–Vanessa with the drive to make it happen and Brooke with the meticulous nature to make sure it would work.

“No,” Brooke says for the third time, cursing herself inwardly for her stupid idea that Vanessa called to hear her side of things, that there was even a chance Vanessa still loves her. But it’s a lot harder for that refusal to come out than the other two.

“I didn’t want to do this…” Vanessa sighs, “but who’s to say I don’t go back to the cops and let them know who my accomplice was?”

Brooke stills, heartbeat in her ears. “You wouldn’t do that,” she manages around the lump of fear in her throat. The normal life she created for herself, the future she sometimes allows herself to dream of, everything she’s worked for, would all be ruined, just like that. Just like she had ruined Vanessa’s life.

Vanessa laughs bitterly. “Wouldn’t I? ‘Cause you did the exact same thing to me. After you promised you would always protect me.” Vanessa’s anger jumps through the phone and slaps Brooke in the face, but there’s a touch of pain under there. A touch of hurt in trusting the wrong person.

Brooke deserves it, she knows she does. But she can’t bear to have Vanessa in pain, especially when she caused it, even if she knows she had to do what she did. If only she could explain it, try to make Vanessa understand that Brooke never wanted to hurt her.

“Vanessa, I—”

“You help me, you get the money, and I stay quiet. I think you kind of owe me, don’t you?” Vanessa poses the final blow, and Brooke’s resolve crumbles. If she can do this for Vanessa, they can at least be even after what happened last August. They’ll each get their money and go their separate ways, though hearing Vanessa’s voice again makes Brooke realize how much she’s missed it, and she’s not sure she wants to go her separate way.

“How much?” Brooke asks.

Vanessa whispers the number in her ear.

Damn it. With that kind of money she can get rid of her debts once and for all, even with the interest. She won’t ever have to choose between paying the water or electricity bill, or silence her rumbling stomach when she smells fresh bread from a bakery. She can buy a nice house, set up a flower garden and a vegetable patch–hell, with that money she could buy a mansion with a freaking fountain in front–away from the dust and noise of the city, instead of this apartment that smells like fish and is barely big enough to fit her, sometimes suffocating in its size. It’s more than enough for a strong lawyer to help get Zoey back.

Brooke looks at the picture on her nightstand, blonde hair and blue eyes smiling back at her.

“I’m in,” Brooke says.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #akeria davenport #silky nutmeg ganache #yvie oddly #scarlet envy #nina west #branjie #lesbian au #angst #oceans 8 au #mateos 8 #athena2 #concrit welcome #submission

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darknessfactor · 7 years ago

Note

Prompt: Post-CW. Romanogers. Steve has saved Bucky, and he's rescued his friends, but Natasha is still eluding him, and he realizes that he would tear apart the whole world to find her.

A/N: It’s been 84 years… actually I don’t even remember when I got this prompt because Tumblr asks don’t have timestamps. Anyway! I was supposed to write this a LONG time ago and I… didn’t. So I’m doing it now.

Steve starts in Moscow.

It’s a little bit on-the-nose, but going to the Barton farm is out of the question (especially since Clint’s there, on house arrest), and he doesn’t know any of Nat’s other haunts. If she’d ever talked about the months after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., he might have a better idea of where to look.

Nat’s never been the talkative type, though.

So, Moscow it is. One of the fake IDs from T’Challa is enough to get him across the border and into Russia, and his dyed hair and stubble is enough for most people to not look at him twice. He’s thinking he’ll let the beard grow a bit, to keep his face from being recognized. He keeps a careful eye out for cameras as he walks down the street, checking in at a little hostel where the receptionist is only a little bit critical of his accented Russian.

(It’s almost easier to speak Russian than it is the other languages he’s amassed over time. Natasha had been teaching him, and would slip into it at random moments to keep him on his toes. She’s said that his accent probably can’t be helped. “But at least you can ask where the bathroom is,” she’d said, smirking.)

He’s playing the part of a tourist, but one that was born in Russia, whose parents moved to Switzerland shortly after his birth. That’s how he explains the accent when one of the women in the communal kitchen asks him about it. He’s able to chat amiably enough with the other hostel residents, asking them about the sights in Moscow and where he ought to go.

Someone mentions the Bolshoi, and his mind clicks. He asks directions to the theatre, giving a nod of thanks at the man who tells him. He heads there, wearing his customary baseball cap to keep the sun out of his eyes and a light jacket.

Steve doesn’t find anything at the Bolshoi Theatre, which doesn’t surprise him. He knew that expecting Natasha to be in Moscow was a long shot, but he also knew that he had to start somewhere. He stays in the city a few more days, wandering around, trying to find some kind of clue as to where Natasha might be, but there’s nothing.

After day four, he leaves. He can’t afford to stay in one place for long, anymore.

Steve is a bit more suited to life on the run than he thought he’d be.

The only other time he’s had to deal with it was in D.C., and then it had felt wrong, as though he were sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s easier now - easier to roll with it, to use his ‘natural awkwardness’ (Natasha’s words) to his advantage. Most people look at him and see a good-looking, kind of bumbling guy, and it works, somehow.

He has a couple of close calls. He’s fairly sure he gets made in Monaco, but he books it over to Nice on a bus before he can see who’s after him. He takes a ferry to Moracco and loses himself in the blistering sun for a while. There’s still no hide nor hair of Nat, but everyone else has checked in with him multiple times.

Wanda is somewhere in Hong Kong, apparently with a shaved head, color contacts, and heavier makeup. She explains that it’s a disguise that she and Natasha worked out before everything went to shit, and Steve rolls his eyes at Natasha’s ‘creative streak’.

“You probably could’ve found something a little more low-key,” he points out.

“I am told that that is ‘no fun’.”

Sharon’s playing things close to the chest, slipping back to America and keeping a low profile in Chicago, of all places. Their conversations are friendly, and she gets a laugh out of Steve more than once, but it settles into something more like friendship than what he thought it might be back in Berlin. Either way, he’s always glad to hear she’s doing alright.

Clint and Scott don’t check in - too risky for their families. Sam, however, is currently running around in Cape Town, enjoying the sights, but also keeping an eye out.

“Last person to see her that we know is probably Tony,” he says, during his phone call. “And even then I doubt she said ‘hey Stark, I’m going on the run now, you can reach me at this address’. Not exactly her style, you know?”

Steve snorts. “Nah, her style is more ‘see you never’ and then jumping out a window.”

“Kinda like you?”

“I wouldn’t open the window first.”

“What makes you think she would?”

Steve huffs a laugh.

“Look, man… I doubt we’re gonna find her unless she wants to be found. No news is good news - if we’ve heard nothing, then it means that she’s probably fine. Sitting on a beach somewhere, drinking vodka cranberries. Something with vodka. So why are you so hung up on finding her?”

Steve pauses for a moment, and lets out a long breath. “She didn’t have to do what she did,” he says. “She risked everything to help me and Bucky. Her heart was in the right place more than any of us, and it feels wrong that I just… left her to the consequences.”

“She got out,” Sam says quietly. “She must have. It’d be all over the headlines if she hadn’t.”

“I know.”

“Look,” Sam says. “My advice? Be patient. When she wants you to find her, she’ll let you know.”

Steve’s about five months in to his status as a fugitive when the rumors start. He’s started to build connections outside of the law, even though some of the characters he meets are… less than savory. Still, it makes it easier to have contacts that know the goings-on of the international underworld.

If any of them recognize him, they never show it. Instead, they start nicknaming him ‘Nomad’.

“Big guy like you,” says Rajiv, his contact in India, “you could probably pick up a few jobs. Make some money.”

Steve has been gathering money from various caches that Natasha had insisted he set up after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, but even though he’s been frugal it’s starting to run dry. He considers the idea - mercenary work isn’t exactly all that different than avenging, although it often involves more dirty work. But when he’s playing cards with his contact in Vancouver, he hears some interesting news.

“There’s a new merc on the scene,” Mina tells him. She owns the bar they’re sitting in, and runs guns through it. “Rising star, gaining infamy fast. Like, crazy fast. Never fails a job. She’s good.”

Steve pauses, glancing at his cards. He’s shit at poker, but it’s the best way to loosen Mina’s tongue. “Uh-huh?”

Mina smirks. “All the ones who get their weaponry from me are pissed to hell and back. Lotta people want to give the best jobs to her. Never gives a proper name, though, so everyone just calls her Recluse. Kinda funny, huh, Nomad.”

“Maybe she copied me,” Steve says blandly.

“Maybe, if you’d actually taken any jobs,” Mina retorts. “C’mon, Nomad, everyone who’s worth anything can see that you’re good in a fight. I got a few clients around here who’d be willing to pay you some good money.”

“Recluse, huh?” Steve asks. “I’ll think about it.”

Later, he’s the one to contact Sam. Sam’s voice is groggy, like Steve had just woken him up, but Steve doesn’t give him time to recover. “What’ve you got on a merc named Recluse?”

“A merc?” Sam groaned. “What, are we gonna be vigilantes, now? We taking out big-name mercs?”

“Not sure yet.”

Sam grumbles for a moment, but his voice is more alert when he speaks next. “Recluse, huh? You know, I think I have heard the name come up a few times. No one knows her name, but she’s good. Doesn’t fail a job. She’s getting expensive quickly.”

“Yeah, that’s what I heard, too,” Steve says. “You think it might be…?”

Sam pauses, then starts laughing. Steve opens his mouth to explain his reasoning, but Sam beats him to the punch.

“Nah, sorry,” he says, still laughing. “I’m not laughing because - because I think it’s ridiculous, it’s just - “ He chortles some more. “You ever heard of the recluse spider?”

‘Nomad’ ends up taking a job in Amsterdam. He’s just starting out, so he’s aware that he doesn’t have too many choices, but he manages to get a job taking out a human trafficking boss, and he doesn’t feel all that guilty for that.

It’s fairly simple - he pulls on a mask, beats the shit out of the guy’s security, and breaks the guy’s neck. He grimaces afterwards, but the job is done, and at least it was quick. He would’ve preferred to detain the guy, but he’s had to get his hands dirty before, and now that he’s a ghost, it’s harder to avoid it.

He gets a hefty sum for his work (in cash, thankfully), and a slap on the back from his contact in the city. It’s the first building block for his reputation, and the more jobs he takes, the more people are buzzing about him. He’s careful to dial down his strength as much as he can, so that the various agencies in the world looking for Steve Rogers hear about Nomad and only think about a dangerous but normal mercenary.

“Kicking ass and taking names, Cap,” Sam says, during his next call. “Man, what will people say?”

“A guy’s gotta eat,” Steve answers.

Eventually, he gets asked for by Samia, a retired mercenary living in Algiers, who tells him that she’s got ‘a real big score’ lined up for him. He scouts out around her house before he rings the doorbell, but it’s not Samia who answers.

He feels like he’s been expecting this moment for months, but it still takes him by surprise.

The hair is the biggest change. It’s a platinum blond, now, and it’s short again. The green tac suit is new, too, as are the unusual batons she’s wielding. The smirk she’s wearing as she looks at him, though, is familiar.

“‘Bout time, Nomad,” she teases, waving him inside.

Steve nods at her. “Recluse.”

She looks pleased.

Samia’s eyeing the two of them from the entrance to her kitchen, but she doesn’t seem that alarmed by their exchange. “Didn’t know you two knew each other,” she says.

“We don’t,” they say at the same time.

The job is more of a heist than anything else, but Natasha makes it look natural. They break into a mansion in Malta that has more security than most agency buildings, grab a flash drive from the owner’s bedroom (with the owner sleeping, in the bed, not five feet away from the safe they crack). They’re in and out, no one’s the wiser, and they split their earnings between them.

Steve half-expects... well, he isn’t sure what to expect. He’s grateful, though, when Natasha doesn’t disappear on him, instead accompanying him back to the hotel he’s staying in. He sends her an exhausted, but grateful, smile when she suggests she go buy them some celebratory vodka.

“I know you like vodka,” she calls as she leaves, having changed into street clothes. “Even if it can’t get you drunk.”

Steve takes the time to shower as quickly as possible (the water in his bathroom isn’t always guaranteed to work), and changes into jeans and a sweater just before Natasha gets back. Her eyes are warm as she waves the bottle at him, holding up two glasses.

“Where’d you get those?” Steve asks.

“Borrowed ‘em.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

Even though it’s been nearly a year since they last saw each other (and that hadn’t been under the best of circumstances), their conversation is light and casual. When he relaxes enough it feels like she’s never been gone, and it’s only when he remembers that that he realizes just how much he missed her.

“So,” he says, pouring himself another shot. “Mercenary work?”

Natasha shrugged. “It’s familiar,” she said. At his raised eyebrow, she elaborated, “it’s what I did before S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Thought you were with the K.G.B.”

“I was.” Natasha paused, a haunted look appearing in her eyes. “This was... in-between, I guess. I burned down the Red Room and ran away, and becoming a merc was the only thing I could think of to survive. It was a rough time. Kinda surprised that you picked it up, though.”

Steve chuckled. “Sam figured it out, and I couldn’t really think of a better way to send a message back. Figured you’d know it was me.”

“Big, buff guy named Nomad pulls off jobs with ruthless efficiency only a little bit after I started building a new rep?” She elbows him lightly. “Yeah, it wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“It’s not so terrible,” Steve admitted. “Nice to be able to pick and choose stuff. Most of the time.”

They fell silent, after that. Their glasses forgotten, they opted instead to pass the bottle back and forth between them. Natasha didn’t seem to be the least bit affected by the alcohol, something that Steve had learned not to question.

Steve finally musters the courage to say, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For leaving you to deal with the fallout. At Leipzig.”

Natasha shrugs. “I had it handled. Stark gave me a head start. Which, he was smart enough to know that giving me any kind of head start meant that he wouldn’t be able to find me.”

“Still,” Steve says. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that on your own.”

Natasha’s smile is hollow, this time. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

The smart thing to do would be for them to split up after Algiers - to go their separate ways so that they have less of a chance of being caught.

They don’t.

Instead, Steve and Natasha end up masquerading everywhere as a tourist couple. Either that, or (when they find a job worth their time) they partner up for work. It reminds Steve of back when they were partners at S.H.I.E.L.D., even though that feels like a lifetime ago.

Pretending to be a couple is almost ridiculously easy - mostly because they like to try to one-up each other with how sickeningly in love their covers are. Natasha’s currently winning, having actually recited poetry while they watched the sunset. (It was somewhat ruined by Steve almost falling over laughing, once they were back at their hotel and away from prying ears.)

Doing mercenary work is even easier. They barely have to talk to anticipate each other’s moves, and planning the jobs is familiar, a relic from their days leading the Avengers together. It’s comfortable, but they’re both careful to keep it from getting too comfortable - always moving on, never quite trusting their contacts in the underworld.

Steve calls Sam two weeks into their partnership.

“Told you so,” Sam says, when Steve explains.

“Hi Sam,” Nat says into the receiver, appearing out of nowhere next to Steve and making him jump and glare at her. She wiggles her fingers at him and then heads to the bathroom to shower.

“Hi Nat,” Sam says, sounding amused.

They’re in a hotel in Tokyo when something shifts. Steve isn’t sure what it is, only that suddenly their hotel room is too confining, and he tells Natasha that he’s going for a quick walk. The streets in Ikebukuro aren’t as brightly lit as other parts of the city, but they calm his sudden anxiety, and he takes longer than he’d expected, wandering the city.

When he gets back, Natasha’s somehow managed to fit herself on the windowsill, staring down at the street below them. She turns her head and shoots him a tired smile.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” he says.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Sleep for Natasha doesn’t seem to happen very often, from what he’s noticed, but this is the first time she’s admitted it out loud. Before he can put too much thought into what he’s doing, he settles himself on his bed and pats the space beside him. It’s not much, but it should be enough room for Natasha.

She raises an eyebrow at him, but Steve just gazes at her. After a long moment, she uncurls from the windowsill and lies down next to him, unreserved as she presses into his side. He wraps an arm around her waist.

It takes maybe half an hour, but eventually he hears a light snore from her, and smiles.

Steve wakes up to find Natasha wearing a hole in the floor.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Natasha proclaims.

Steve pauses in folding his socks. “Uh...”

She stops pacing, and turns towards him, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You. I like you.”

“I like you too...?”

Natasha makes a frustrated noise, and then takes two steps forward and kisses him.

It’s not exactly new - they’ve been kissing each other whenever they’re in public, selling the idea that they’re a couple. But this feels more honest than that, and Steve relaxes, settling his hands on her hips. When she pulls back, she looks a little bit less nonplussed.

They stare at each other, breathing heavily for a few seconds, when Steve says, “You actually had me thinking you were, like... smooth when it came to romance, or something.”

Natasha snorts. “What gave you that idea?”

“Yeah, obviously I should’ve known better. Now I’m just grateful that you never actually succeeding at setting me up with someone, seeing as how it obviously would’ve ended in disaster - “

She shuts him up. Steve doesn’t mind.

#stagpotter #romanogers #romanogers fic #steve x natasha #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #mcu #mcu fic #my fic #amaya writes fanfiction #i'm sorry this is so late maggie #like SO LATE #i'm sorryyyyyyy #also i'm a little rusty on how i like to write their dynamic #unedited

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anarchetypalarchive · 7 years ago

Text

a little more spark

aka that christian/eric pool hustling/heist au fic only like three people knew i was writing and very few people are here to read, i am in rarepair hell rated m for allusions to sexual acts i guess content: christian’s a big-time conman and thief, eric hustles pool, deliberately vague details, christian’s grumpy and eric’s insufferable and they both find that endearing about each other on ao3 excerpt:

“I can’t— I hustle pool, I don’t do this, this is way out of my comfort zone—”

Christian slips his hand into Eric’s and pulls him from the main entrance into a side corridor, gets his back against the wall and brackets him in, arms on either side of him. To anyone passing by, hopefully it’ll look more like a tipsy tryst than a pre-job pep talk.

“Look at me.”

“Uh, kind of hard not to,” Eric says, laughing, but his tone is pinched and anxious even still. “Are we about to make out. Like, I’m totally down for that, but give a guy some warning—”

“I know you’re out of your comfort zone,” Christian says, steamrolling over Eric’s babbling before he gets too carried away with himself. “That’s why we’re here. This is low-stakes. A practice run. This can become your comfort zone.”

It’s not the type of bar Christian usually finds himself in.

Well. Correction: It’s not the type of bar Christian usually finds himself dragged to by his more extroverted friends for a job or ‘for fun, Christian, don’t you remember how to have fun?’”

It’s quiet, for one, maybe unsurprisingly since it’s well past midnight on a Tuesday. The music that’s playing is more of a ‘background-noise’ situation than a ‘deafening EDM with a baseline he can feel in his dick’ situation, which he can’t say he’s complaining about. He’s tired, and parking himself on a bar stool and nursing a drink for an hour sounds about his speed.

He had a flight out of the city scheduled to take off a couple hours ago. Because the universe isn’t inclined to make his life easy, he arrived at the airport to find his flight delayed by a good few hours.

There isn’t much to do in a near-empty airport in the middle of the night, he discovers.

The guy working at the service desk mentioned there was a bar about a five-minute walk away, and it beat going through security and finding a chair to park his ass in for the next few hours.

The bartender—a tall woman with a buzzcut who introduces herself as Jazzmyne, tells him cheerfully that he looks like shit, and adds that she’s got a cocktail called Flight Delay for specifically his type of misery—mentions that the bar pretty much only sees out-of-towners: people waiting out layovers and delayed or missed flights.

“We’re the Two-Hour Hookup destination of the state,” she says, grinning. “Guaranteed to get your rocks off before your plane leaves the ground.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I think I’ll just stick with the cocktail.”

When he texts Aria about the delay, he gets back a string of angry-face emojis and little else. They’ve got a low-stakes jewelry heist planned, and Aria tends to be a loosely-contained bundle of nerves even when everything goes off without a hitch.

‘The jewelry’s not going anywhere,’ Christian replies. ‘I’ll be there before we need to leave. Stop panicking.’ He tucks his phone into his pocket before he can see Aria’s inevitable message about how he is not panicking, thank you very much, he is just concerned, about the fact that Christian is not here yet, and there’s nothing wrong with that, and—

Christian likes Aria. He really does. Aria’s one of his best friends. But he always gets a little unbearably cagey in the twenty-four hours before a job.

It’s not a big heist, but Aria says he’s got something bigger planned for next month, and they can use the cash from selling the jewelry on this job to put towards making the next one happen.

Aria’s always got something planned. Christian can’t complain. Makes for an interesting life and a full wallet.

He swivels on the stool to aimlessly people-watch—not that there are many people to look at. A handful of people scattered at different tables, mostly alone, all hunched over nursing drinks in the general fashion of I’d rather be on my flight but since I can’t be on my flight I’m going to drink grumpily.

Maybe that’s why Christian notices him almost right away.

The guy leaning against the pool table off to the side looks relatively unbothered. Cheerful, almost. If he missed a flight or he’s waiting out a layover, he doesn’t seem annoyed about it. Looks content enough to amuse himself with the table playing alone.

He’s...not very good, unless he’s trying to miss half the shots he takes, sends stripes and solids alike bouncing off the felt edges nowhere near the pockets of the table.

He’s not bad to watch, though, and that’s not just because the guy looks good, dressed for a casual night out, his shock of black hair in a disarray that somehow complements his haven’t-shaved-in-a-few-days stubble.

Christian might have a thing for hot messes.

When the guy accidentally pops the cue ball into the air and sends it flying off the table, Christian gives in and laughs. He hops off his stool and stops the ball with his foot before it can roll clear to the other side of the bar.

“Sorry!” The guy’s smiling apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck as he walks over. “I was trying to do a trick shot.”

“A trick shot where you cave in someone’s skull with a billiard ball?” Christian asks as he picks the ball up off the floor and hands it over, but he finds himself smiling, too.

The guy scrunches his nose. “No, like— You know, like when you jump the white ball over another ball? I saw it in a movie once.”

“Maybe you should focus on just getting the balls in the pockets before you start getting fancy with it.”

The guy grins. “Oh, okay, and I suppose you’re an expert?”

“I mean, I can keep the balls on the table and get them into the pockets without hurtling them across the bar.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “I should probably just stick to drinking. Not much fun playing alone, anyway.”

“You here on a layover or something?” Christian asks, settling back on his stool. Small talk isn’t his strongest suit, but this beats drinking and sulking by himself for the next few hours.

“Nah, I live on the other side of town. Was supposed to meet a few friends here but they bailed on me.” He shrugs. “Drove all the way out here, though, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to hang for a while. What about you?”

“Flight got delayed.” Technically, Christian lives around here, too, but the only reason he’s at the bar is to stave off the boredom before his plane takes off.

The guy gives him a mildly sympathetic look. “Sucks. You gonna be late for something?”

Christian shakes his head and lies easily: “Just visiting family for the week. Could be worse.”

There’s the dull sound of a full glass against polished wood. “Hey, here’s your drink.”

Christian turns in time to see Jazzmyne sliding a frighteningly green cocktail down the bar towards him. “Jesus Christ.”

“That’ll be ten bucks.”

“Jesus Christ!”

She shrugs. “You’d be paying like fifteen at the airport bar.”

“The airport bar wouldn’t give me something that looks radioactive.”

She laughs. “Just drink it. You’ll like it.”

“You can put it on my tab,” the guy says suddenly.

Christian looks over at him, brow furrowing. “What? No, it’s fine, it’s not like I can’t afford it.”

“C’mon, I insist.” The guy gives him a charming smile and hands him the pool ball. “One drink in exchange for a lesson in how to ‘keep the balls on the table and get them into the pockets without hurtling them across the bar’.”

He can’t help but laugh. It doesn’t take long to make a decision, and to be honest he wouldn’t mind a harmless, better view of the guy bending over the pool table.

It’s late, he’s had a rough night, he wants to look at a cute guy’s ass for an hour. Sue him.

“Fine,” he agrees, sliding off the stool.

The guy picks up the cocktail and takes a sip of it before handing it over to Christian, eyebrows raised almost in challenge, biting down on a smile. “I’m Eric. By the way.”

Christian takes the glass and eyes the print Eric’s lip balm left on the rim. Laughs. “Christian,” he says in reply, and knocks back half the cocktail in a few neat swallows. Jazzmyne’s right—it’s not bad. “Grab a pool cue.”

——

Eric’s not totally hopeless, but it’s a close goddamn thing.

“No, that’s the eight ball, you’re not supposed to—” Christian breaks off with a laughing groan. “Of course you actually managed to sink that one.”

“You said I’m playing solids!” Eric looks affronted.

“Yeah, but not the eight ball, you’re supposed to leave that one for last, that’s the whole point of the— You know what, don’t worry about it. You got it in, congratulations. I’m very proud. I have no idea how you even did that, with the way you’re holding the cue stick.”

Eric furrows his brow. “What’s wrong with the way I’m holding it?”

“Other than the fact that you look like you’re about to use it as a weapon? Nothing.”

Eric laughs and jabs the stick in Christian’s direction with mock forcefulness. “En garde?”

“That’s not the way you’re supposed to hold a fencing foil, either.”

Eric stares at him and laughs again. “Pool expert, fencing master— Is there anything you can’t do?” He bats his eyelashes dramatically.

“Shut up and let me show you how to hold it right, oh my god.”

Eric looks smug, which Christian doesn’t understand until Eric’s somehow managed to idiot himself into forcing Christian to press up against his back and reach around to show Eric exactly how to hold the stupid thing, like this is a Dirty Dancing knockoff and Christian has to fucking hold him tenderly.

“I feel like you could’ve figured this out without me having to dramatically embrace you.”

Christian can feel him laughing.

“This is more fun,” Eric says, and Christian can’t really argue with that. He’s a few drinks in at this point and the closeness isn’t exactly unwanted.

Proper form doesn’t seem to help much, though; Eric’s still missing a sense of aim or care or patience or all three, and he can’t manage to sink a ball more than once in a blue moon.

To be fair, Eric’s had a few drinks, too. Christian discovers he’s an energetic, playful, giggly drunk, and all the laughter isn’t doing much for his aim.

Or his decision-making, as it turns out.

“C’mon, c’mon, I get it now! Watch. Watch me sink that one. The eight ball. Uh, right corner pocket.”

Christian blinks. “You’re pointing to your left.”

“Left corner pocket. Two hundred bucks. Bet you I can make it.”

Laughing, Christian shakes his head. “Bullshit.”

“You don’t think I can do it? Are you doubting your teaching skills?”

“I think my teaching skills are great. But you don’t even know right from left right now.” Christian sets his own pool cue down and checks the time on his phone. “I gotta get back to the airport, anyway.”

Eric clutches at his chest dramatically. “You’re doubting me?”

“Sure am.”

“Christian!” Eric struggles to put on a sulking expression, but he’s laughing. “C’mon, instill some confidence in me. There’s two hundred dollars on the line.”

Christian smiles and rolls his eyes. “I’d feel bad taking money from a drunk man.”

“Confidence, Christian, please.”

Christian throws his hands in the air. “Fine! Fine. Your loss. Go for it.” He leans against the wall and folds his arms over his chest, watching, appreciating the way Eric stretches and bends over the table.

And that’s when Eric seems to find his talent.

Meaning he sinks the eight ball into the left corner pocket like it barely takes any effort at all.

“Oh, holy shit! Did you see that?” Eric says, straightening up and turning around, eyes bright with excitement.

Christian’s staring, stunned. “Yeah, I saw that.” He’d be suspicious, but Eric looks genuinely delighted. He reaches into his pocket for his wallet.

“What? No, no, c’mon, you don’t have to do that.”

Christian shrugs. “You said two hundred bucks and I agreed.” They’re starting to get looks from the few people in the bar, anyway, and Christian doesn’t want to look like the jackass who skipped out on a bet just because he lost.

He hands over a bundle of twenties and Eric takes it hesitantly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course. Glad my teaching skills actually got through to you.”

Eric laughs. “Well, hey, thanks. This was fun. You said you have to get back to the airport, so—as much as I want to, I won’t take any more of your time.”

“Or my money?” Christian puts in, but he’s mildly amused.

Eric grins at him, looks him up and down. “Maybe next time you’re in town.”

Christian doesn’t get the chance to say he only lives about a fifteen minute drive from the bar before Eric’s paying off his tab and ducking out with a cheerful wave.

The second the door swings shut, laughter erupts from behind the bar.

Christian turns, frowning a little, to see Jazzmyne shaking her head, still grinning. “What?”

“Boy,” she says, “you just got played hard.”

“What?”

Jazzmyne leans against the bar, amused. “Eric’s in here every week taking money just like that from guys just like you.”

“Are you serious?” Christian turns towards the door, but. What the hell is he gonna do, chase down the kid and mug him for his own money back?

“Don’t bother,” Jazzmyne says, as if reading his mind. “He always leaves in an uber.”

Christian, embarrassed and frustrated, turns his irritation on her. “You couldn’t have told me?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Alright, one, it’s not my fault your dick clouded your judgement, and two, that’s the most entertaining thing that’s happened here all night, so you can’t blame me for sitting back to watch you trip over yourself.”

Christian blames the heat in his cheeks on the alcohol. “I wasn’t— My dick didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Jazzmyne looks, somehow, even less impressed. “He had you wrapped around his finger.”

He did. Christian’s really annoyed about it.

Jazzmyne can tell, and that only seems to make her more amused. “You’re not the first or the last to empty your wallet to him. No shame in it.” She pauses. “Two hundred bucks is a lot more than he generally tries to get out of people, though. Maybe a little shame in that.”

Christian frowns at her. She laughs. Frustrated, he downs the remainder of his last drink and sets it on the bar. Takes a moment to debate. The money, that’s not a huge deal, but the fact of the matter is this kid hustled a seasoned con artist out of two hundred bucks and got away clean. Christian’s embarrassed, sure, but he can’t say he’s not at least a little curious, too. “You said he’s here every week?”

“Mhm. Usually weekends, but sometimes in the middle of the week.” She looks entertained. “What, are you gonna fly back into town over two hundred dollars?”

“I’m gonna make a fifteen-minute drive over two hundred bucks. I live here in town.”

Jazzmyne sobers slightly. Seems to consider him for a moment. “Yeah, okay, I’m gonna have to get in your business for a second, then. You planning on hurting him?”

“What? Christ, no,” Christian says, taken aback. “I’m gonna talk to him. Why, does he— Has he gotten into shit before?”

“He’s hustling people on a regular basis. Take a wild guess.”

Christian throws up his hands. “Why are you letting him do this? Can’t you kick him out?”

Jazzmyne laughs. “He’d just go to some other bar. Eric’s my friend; at least I can keep an eye on him here.” She leans forward conspiratorially, eyes bright with mischief. “Plus, I get a cut of the profits.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, man, I’ve got rent to pay! Morals don’t pay rent.” She picks up his cocktail glass. “You wanna come talk to him, go ahead, but I’m gonna suggest you don’t put a hand on him.” She says it casually, but her expression makes Christian put his hands up in surrender.

“I don’t want to hurt him. Just wanna talk to him.”

Jazzmyne shrugs. “Be my guest, then.” She pauses. Grins. “Just don’t let your dick think for you again.”

——

The jewelry heist goes off without a hitch.

“There hasn’t even been enough time for anything to show up on the news yet,” Christian says, amused and exasperated.

Aria’s sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning forward towards the television of their hotel suite with a remote in his hands and flicking through channels. “You never know!”

“At least take the night off to celebrate and, you know, breathe,” Christian says, opening the bottle of champagne they got from room service with a satisfying pop.

Aria laughs, tossing the remote down and walking over to grab one of the champagne flutes Christian fills. “I’m breathing. I’m celebrating. I feel great. I feel so great I wanna talk to you about this next job.”

Christian groans, setting the bottle down, and gives in.

The main issue with the job, he discovers, is that it’s not a two-person thing. Aria says they need at least two more people. He’s bringing in his friend Fernando, but they need someone to come in and be a combination distraction, grifter, and honeypot—someone that can keep people distracted and happy even as they’re getting robbed blind.

Christian snorts. “From what you’ve told me, Fernando’s, like, the ultimate honeypot.”

Aria waggles his eyebrows and grins. “He knows how to catch an eye, yeah. But I need him for something else. Which is why I was wondering if you know anybody who’d fit the bill?”

Christian doesn’t know too many people in this business. Hell, the people he does know, he met through Aria in the first place.

That being said...

“Actually, I may know a guy that could help us out.”

Aria perks up. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Christian laughs a little. “He owes me, anyway.*

“Owes you for what?” Aria asks, looking mildly intrigued.

“For not chasing him down and kicking his ass after he hustled two hundred bucks from me in a stupid bet.”

“What?”

“Don’t ask. Give me like a week and I’ll let you know if he can work with us.”

——

Christian’s back in the bar a few days later. It’s a weekend, so the place is a bit more packed this time, but he spots Eric seconds after walking through the door.

The kid’s mid-hustle and the sucker he targeted doesn’t have any clue, if the scene Christian’s watching is anything to go by.

The guy is almost a stereotypical college jock, hair gelled to shit and in a tank top that shows off gym-earned muscles. He’s drunk, or at least getting there fast, and Christian’s too far away to hear them but it looks like he’s making fun of the way Eric’s holding his pool cue.

Eric laughs along and holds the stick out, and the guy takes it and shows him the proper form. God, Christian hopes he wasn’t that much of an oblivious idiot when Eric was pulling the same thing on him.

He watches them for a few minutes, trying to decide how to best approach Eric—and then Eric does him a favor by handing off the pool cue again and gesturing towards the bathroom with a smile before heading in that direction.

Christian follows.

Eric looks over his shoulder when Christian enters the bathroom, shuts the door, and slides the lock into place with a snap of finality. Christian’s caught him at nearly his most vulnerable, hands on his fly as he’s settling in front of a urinal—his eyes land on Christian’s face and widen in recognition a moment later.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Christian says mildly, leaning against the door and folding his arms over his chest. He doesn’t often like to play the ‘stoic, muscley asshole’ card, but then he’s not often put in a situation like this when he isn’t working.

He’s got to give Eric some credit—the kid doesn’t immediately fold under the first sign of pressure.

“Christian!” he says, smiling widely and turning towards him completely. “Back in town so soon?”

Christian can’t say he’s in the mood for small talk. “Your hustle looks like it’s going well. Dude was staring at you more than the table.”

Eric blanches slightly. “Uh, hustle?” he repeats, smile tightening a little at the edges.

“We can play the ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ game if you want, man, but it’s gonna end with you giving me my two hundred bucks back either way.” He can’t say he’s not curious as to how this’ll play out, but he keeps his expression even regardless.

Eric laughs, a little too high-pitched to be anything but nervous. “C’mon, Christian, I thought we were friends.”

“Oh, we are. Which is why I’m not gonna kick your ass and you’re gonna hand over the money before I have to get mean about it.”

“Whoa, whoa, okay, calm down.” Eric puts his hands up in surrender and takes a couple steps towards him—

Which is ballsy. Christian’s kind of impressed.

“Look, I don’t...exactly have the money, like, on hand.” Eric takes a couple more steps towards him, laughs a little. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. But…” And a couple steps more. Christian could easily reach out and touch him. “I bet we could figure out some kind of...arrangement, don’t you think?”

Oh, the kid is good. Aria’s gonna love him.

Christian takes a moment to give Eric a self-indulgent once-over, then huffs out a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “I think we could.”

He catches a brief flicker of smugness on Eric’s face, and that just won’t do. Time to burst his bubble.

He puts a hand on Eric’s chest before he can move any closer. “You don’t have the money? Fine. You’re gonna go out there and make some.”

Eric blinks, thrown off. “I— What?”

“You’re gonna go out there and finish your hustle, and then you’re gonna give me the money you cheat out of him. And if you don’t get enough from him, well. I don’t have anything going on tonight. You can go ahead and move onto the next sucker. And the next. Until I’ve got two hundred bucks in my hands and you’ve learned a lesson about sloppy conning.”

That seems to make Eric pause. He gives Christian a once-over of his own, like he’s really reading Christian for the first time. “Yeah? What do you know about sloppy conning?”

That’s not a conversation Christian’s ready to have yet. “Enough to get you cornered in a dirty bar bathroom.”

It looks like Eric’s holding back a grin. “That’s a nice watch,” he says, gesturing to Christian’s left wrist. “Where’d you get it.”

From a pile of jewelry he and Aria lifted from a mansion in Hollywood four days ago. “I inherited it from my grandfather.”

Eric doesn’t bother to hold back the grin this time, like he doesn’t believe a word of it but is willing to play along. “So you want me to hustle people for you.”

What Christian wants is to see what Eric’s capable of, how he works, if he’ll be a good fit for this job Aria’s planning, but he nods anyway. “You’ve got until the bar closes. Five hours.”

Eric laughs. “I’ll do it in three.”

——-

Jazzmyne wasn’t lying when she said Eric’s gotten into shit before.

The con looks like it’s going to run clean, but either Eric isn’t smooth enough, the guy isn’t drunk enough, or the guy just doesn’t want to swallow his pride and give up his cash.

Christian’s watching from less of a distance now, so he gets there just in time to intercept the guy before he can grab Eric by the collar, grabbing his wrist neatly as his hand stretches out.

“Everything okay over here?” he asks conversationally, even as he squeezes the guy’s wrist tight enough that he winces before turning his pissed off gaze on Christian, who just smiles at him pleasantly. Squeezes a little harder.

Eric is staring at him, wide-eyed in surprise and confusion.

The guy doesn’t seem keen to back down. “This little fucker hustled me.”

“Did he?” Christian raises his eyebrows. “Looks like you agreed to a bet. And he won. I was watching,” he says, and then gestures with his free hand towards the rest of the bar at large. “Plenty of people were watching.”

That seems to get through to him. The guy scowls, but drops his gaze, and stuffs his free hand into his pocket and shoves a fistful of bills in Eric’s direction, drops them at Eric’s feet. “Here,” he spits. “Take it. You’re lucky I’m late for a flight.”

Christian wants to gently insist that the guy pick the money up and hand it over like a fucking gentleman, but Eric’s already kneeling down and gathering it. He still looks a little shaken, more at Christian’s interference than the threat itself.

With a growl, the guy wrenches his wrist from Christian’s grip and storms out of the bar.

“I could’ve handled him,” Eric says quietly, smoothing out the crumpled bills and organizing them into a stack, evidently over his shock.

Christian snorts. “I think you meant, Thank you, Christian, for saving me from getting my ass kicked in public.”

“I could’ve handled it!”

“He had fifty pounds and half a foot on you. He would’ve crushed you like a bug on a car windshield.”

“Whatever,” Eric huffs. Christian’s hesitant to label a grown man as ‘sulking,’ but. Eric’s definitely sulking. He holds out the money to Christian dramatically, hand out flat with the bills laying across his palm.

Taking mildly exasperated pity on him, Christian reaches out and closes Eric’s fingers shut over the money securely. “I don’t want it.”

Eric stares at him. “What do you mean, you don’t want it? What the hell was all that for, then?”

Christian pauses. Considers his options. “Follow me outside.”

“Ohhh, no, I’ve fallen for that before, nuh-uh, I’m staying right here where there are witnesses.”

“I’m not— Eric, for fuck’s sake, I’m not trying to kill you, I’m trying to talk to you, just—” Patience thin, he snags Eric by the collar and drags him through the bar to the door.

He stumbles along, protesting the whole way. “Hey— Hey— Jazzmyne!” he calls out, waving frantically. “Jazz! Help!”

Jazzmyne looks up from where she’s wiping down the bartop. “Yeah, I would, but I’m totally swamped over here,” she says, looking entirely unconcerned—and not swamped in the slightest.

“You are not!”

“So busy, very unfortunate, bye Eric, have fun.”

Grumbling, Eric allows Christian to pull him out the door and around the corner into the alley. “If I die, I’m haunting your ass. You’ll never have a moment’s peace. I’ll—”

“Jesus Christ, Eric, shut up, I’m trying to give you a job offer!”

Eric falls silent and blinks at Christian in surprise. “Wait, what? You are?”

“If you’d shut up for five seconds, yeah.”

“What kind of job offer?”

Christian huffs and rolls back his left sleeve up to his elbow—trying to ignore how Eric stares unabashedly. He lifts his wrist up to Eric’s face, nearly touching his nose. “You pointed out my watch earlier.”

Eric goes a little cross-eyed trying to look at it. “Uh-huh.”

“It probably costs more than your car.”

“I don’t have a car.”

“You don’t have— How broke are you?”

“Plenty of people don’t have cars in this city! That doesn’t make them poor!”

“Then you’re not broke?”

Eric shifts. “Well—”

Christian waves his free hand dismissively. “Never mind. Point is, I didn’t inherit the watch from my grandfather.”

“I mean, that was kind of obvious.”

“I stole it. Along with enough jewelry to buy a jet.”

That seems to get Eric’s attention. He tears his gaze away from the watch and looks at Christian, brow furrowed. “No shit?”

“I pull jobs a lot bigger than that, too. I’ve got something lined up, but we need another guy.”

“And I’m your guy?” Eric looks baffled.

“I’m thinking about it. I want to see you do your thing a few more times—but not here. A place with higher stakes, with people who don’t fall for that kind of shit so easy. I need to know you can handle yourself under pressure and talk your way out of a tight situation.” Christian raises an eyebrow. “And not by offering sexual favors.”

Eric grins at him. “You were thinking about taking the offer, though.”

“Consider this an...extended job interview. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night—since you don’t have a goddamn car—and take you somewhere you can really spread your wings. Show me what you’re capable of.” He backs out of Eric’s personal space and shrugs. “If you’re interested.”

Eric looks a little dazed with all the information, but to his credit seems to take it well enough in stride. That’s good; they need someone who’s quick to react. “Interested? Dude, this is the best offer I’ve gotten in my whole life— I could kiss you.”

“Take it easy.” But Christian’s struggling not to smile. “You have to show me you can handle the kind of work we do. I can’t be there to save your ass. Do a good job tomorrow, and I’ll introduce you to the guy planning the heist.”

“The heist,” Eric echoes, voice dramatic. “Is this gonna be some kind of Ocean’s Eleven deal?”

“Ideally, it’ll be even bigger.”

——

“What are you wearing?”

“What are you wearing?” Eric is gaping at him.

Christian looks down at himself. “A suit? I told you to wear something nice.”

“This is nice!”

“Eric, those jeans are so tight they look like somebody painted them on.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“This is a black tie event.”

Eric frowns and looks down at his outfit, twisting this way and that in the doorway. The jeans are a deep, almost black blue, and he’s sporting a leather jacket that looks like it was thrifted from the 1980s over a grey shirt. He doesn’t look bad, is the thing. He looks good. It’s a perfect outfit for an off-the-highway bar or casual club.

But they’re going to a formal event uptown, and he’s going to stick out like a big, flaming hot thumb.

“Change. Right now.”

“Yeah, no, trust me, I don’t have anything like that in my closet.” Eric jabs a finger at Christian’s suit.

“It’s just a suit!”

“No, it’s like. It’s a Suit, capital S.” Eric draws the letter in midair with his finger. “You look like— James Bond’s American cousin or something.”

“...Thank you?”

“Say ‘shaken, not stirred.’”

“Eric.”

“Just once, just humor me—”

“Eric, go change.”

“Fine! Fine. Fun-sucker.” Eric turns and walks back into his apartment, leaving the door open. Christian takes that as an invitation inside, and follows behind him awkwardly. Eric disappears down the hall and Christian waits in the living room on a misshapen but surprisingly comfortable couch.

Ten minutes later, Eric returns, looking frazzled.

“I can’t— This is so stupid, how— I haven’t worn a tie since my bar mitzvah.”

It shows.

“Jesus,” Christian says, getting to his feet and struggling not to laugh. “Okay, stop— Stop, you’re gonna mangle it, just let me do it.”

Eric’s sulking again. He lets his hands drop to his sides as Christian settles in front of him.

“Chin up,” Christian says.

Eric offers him a weak smile.

Christian snorts. “No, I mean— Literally, lift your chin up, look up so I can fix your tie.”

“Oh.” Going faintly pink, Eric tips his head back.

Christian tries to focus less on the bare expanse of his throat and more on making him look presentable. It’s not a bad suit; it’s not high-quality by any means, but Eric’ll blend in, and that’s what matters. There’s a time and place for standing out and tonight isn’t it.

“Okay,” Christian says, sliding his hand down Eric’s chest over the tie to smooth it out. “All set.”

Eric steps back and strikes a pose. “How do I look? On a scale of one to James Bond.”

Christian shakes his head and laughs. “You’ll do in a pinch.”

When they finally get out the door, Eric’s gaping again.

“Is that your car?”

“Are you kidding? It’s a rental. We’re literally going out to commit a crime. You think I’d take my own car?”

“Oh.” Eric deflates a little, but he’s still looking at the car in awe. “If it’s just a rental, can I drive?”

“Nope.”

“I’m a good driver!”

“Not happening.”

“Just around the block?”

“Eric, just get in the car.”

——

Eric starts the drive looking relaxed enough, but by the time Christian’s parked on the street where the party’s happening, he looks more than a little cagey.

“You good?” Christian says quietly, walking shoulder to shoulder with Eric up to the house—not quite a mansion, but probably the nicest house Eric’s ever been in.

Eric nods. It’s not super convincing, but Christian’s not going to press it. Everybody in this business has their own way of dealing with nerves.

He gets a little more concerned when they’re waved into the house and Eric practically suction-cups himself to Christian’s side.

“Christian,” he says lowly.

“Take a deep breath,” Christian says, voice even, smiling at a small group of people they pass by as if it’ll distract them from Eric’s wide-eyed, nervous expression.

“I can’t— I hustle pool, I don’t do this, this is way out of my comfort zone—”

“Look at me.”

“Uh, kind of hard not to,” Eric says, laughing, but his tone is pinched and anxious even still. “Are we about to make out. Like, I’m totally down for that, but give a guy some warning—”

For once, it seems, Eric has nothing to say. He looks at Christian, expression unreadable, for a long moment, then takes a breath.

“Yeah,” he sighs out. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll be watching the whole time,” Christian reassures him—and isn’t that weird, how quickly he’s gone from wanting to hit the kid over two hundred bucks to automatically trying to reassure him.

It seems to help, regardless. Eric takes another breath and seems to mentally shake himself off. He gives Christian a grin. “Then I’ll be sure to give you something worthwhile to look at,” he says, and gives Christian a delicate little push away.

Christian watches him walk back into the main room and shakes his head with a smile before following.

With a confidence boost and some reassurance, Eric does just fine, melding into the crowd and schmoozing like he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth just the same as all the people he’s charming. Christian’s feeling increasingly more certain about him.

The goal is for Eric to lift the VIP pass off one of the guys at the party—Jordan Mahoney, a trust fund kid whose last name alone gets him into places like these. It’ll test a small handful of Eric’s skills, and Christian has to admit to being eager to see him perform on a stage that’s really worth his time.

Maybe a little too eager.

Eric approaches him after maybe twenty minutes. At first he thinks something’s wrong, but Eric’s fighting back a smile.

“Christian,” he says, “you’re making it really hard for me to work.”

That’s admittedly not what Christian was expecting to hear. “What? How?”

“Half the people here don’t want to talk to me, let alone Mahoney.”

“How is that my fault?”

“Because you’re standing in the corner staring at me intensely like a spurned, brooding boyfriend.”

“I— What?”

Eric’s outright laughing at him now. “I thought you said you’re a professional.”

Christian can feel his face going hot. “I am a professional, you ass—”

“Then give me some space so people don’t think you’re gonna throw hands if they even look at me.” Eric gives him an annoyingly charming smile and walks off again before Christian can think of a reply.

“I’m not staring at you like a brooding boyfriend,” he mutters to no one in particular.

Even so, he makes a point of wandering to the other side of the room and making agonizingly boring small talk with a group of people he has next to nothing in common with.

He goes through a few glasses of champagne and a few fancy hors d'oeuvres before Eric appears at his side again.

“Guess who has two thumbs and someone else’s special access ID?” Eric says, a little giddy, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Christian resists the urge to cover Eric’s mouth with his hand. “Go ahead and say it a little louder, why don’t you.”

Eric ducks his head apologetically, but he’s laughing, high off the energy of a successful lift. “Sorry, sorry.”

Maybe it’s the champagne, but Christian’s a little giddy, too. He’s proud of Eric, eager to tell Aria about him, excited about what this means for the future.

They leave through the back, walking past a few people sneaking puffs of cigarettes and joints on the porch, and head along the side of the house through tall, wet grass towards the street.

“That was— I mean, that was a rush,” Eric says a little breathlessly. “I haven’t felt like this since I first started hustling people at the bar.”

“I told you there was nothing to worry about,” Christian replies—a little too soon.

“Hey!”

Christian spins on his heel, fight-or-flight reflexes kicking in automatically. He hears Eric swear quietly next to him.

Mahoney’s storming through the grass towards them, four other guys following behind like some kind of tipsy, angry parade procession.

“Whoa, hey, what’s the problem?” Christian says, forcing himself to look bewildered and concerned.

Mahoney jabs a finger at Eric, ignoring Christian completely. “You think you’re funny? Think this is some kind of joke? Give me my shit before I kick your goddamn teeth in.”

Eric fumbles for the pass immediately. “Okay, okay, take it easy! It was just— I was just messing around, I was gonna give it back—”

Mahoney steps forward and snatches the card from Eric’s hand the second he gets it from his pocket. Eric stumbles back, and Christian’s holding his breath, praying that’ll be the end of it.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Christian says calmly. He doesn’t like their odds; it’d be five drunk, angry guys against him and Eric, and he’s pretty sure Eric isn’t exactly a brawler. There’s a chance they can get out of this if they stay relaxed and non-confrontational and—

And of course that’s when Mahoney grabs Eric by the lapels of his suit and slams him up against the side of the house.

Christian sighs. “Okay,” he says evenly, and makes damn sure he throws the first punch.

——

“So, uh. That could’ve gone better.”

Christian huffs out a laugh, wiping at a still-bleeding cut on his lip. “Probably, yeah.”

They’re back in the rental car, assessing the worst of the damage from what was, admittedly, not Christian’s best fight. They’re both a little banged up, but luckily most of the guys were too drunk to put too much effort into it, so other than some scrapes and bruises, there’s not much to worry about.

Eric can handle himself in a fight better than Christian anticipated. He’s not big, but he’s scrappy, and gave as good as he got. He’s rubbing at a bruise on his jaw and his suit’s ripped in a couple of places.

“Wasn’t a total loss, though,” he says suddenly.

Christian snorts. “How was that not a total loss.”

“I mean,” Eric says, and Christian looks over to see him pull something leather and bulky from his suit pocket. “He got his pass back, but I grabbed his wallet, so.”

Christian stares at him. “What.”

Eric’s going through the contents of the wallet cheerfully. “There’s like five hundred bucks in here. And a gift card to Lush!” He looks over at Christian and waves the card at him. “You like bath bombs?”

Christian keeps staring, exasperation building alongside begrudging but intense fondness.

Eric furrows his brow. “What?”

“You are,” Christian says, “fucking unbelievable,” and he grabs Eric by the lapels of his torn suit and hauls him in and kisses him breathless.

Eric goes still in shock, then practically climbs over the center console in his eagerness to kiss him back. Which is—entirely unsurprising, really.

Christian has to pull away sooner than he’d like, wincing and touching his tongue to his split lip. “You got the job,” he says, voice a little rough, still catching his breath.

“Huh?” Eric looks dazed and giddy and hungry and it takes a lot of effort not to drag him back in.

“The heist. You’re in.” God, Christian’s hands itch to grab him again. He grabs his phone instead, sends Aria a quick text to let him know they officially have a fourth man for the job.

It takes Eric a moment to catch up. “What, even though I fucked up?”

“Are you kidding? You charmed half the people at that party, blended in perfectly, did a nearly flawless lift, then managed to steal a guy’s wallet while he was beating the shit out of you. That was amazing.”

“Okay, well, that’s a little harsh, I got a few punches in—”

Christian raises an eyebrow at him.

“I did! Sorry if you didn’t see because you were too busy getting hit in the face—”

“Okay, smartass, I took on four guys at once—”

“Go ahead and call me names; you still kissed me, so what’s that say about you?”

“That I have horrible taste.”

“Christian!”

#anarchetypal writes #shipfeed #can't remember if there's an official name for this particular pairing or not oh well #i'd apologize for all the rarepair content but i'm not that sorry #join me in hell #this has seen little to no editing whoops

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years ago

Text

Countless Roads - Chapter 13

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 13 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

———————————————————————————

Mick has been driving himself spare trying to investigate the attempts to kill Len of the past few months, and it’s starting to show in the way he broods over the topic any time there’s a moment to do so.

"At least whoever’s behind it haven't made any new tries recently," Len offers on the drive home from STAR Labs, where they’d dropped Jax off for a day of what Team Flash called ‘orientation’ and Len called ‘Caitlin running baseline tests while Cisco shows off their cool villain archives and tries to think of a decent villain name while Barry is at work’. Jax finally managed to finish the extended summer hours he promised to put in at the autoshop this week, so he’s ready to start getting involved in the Rogues at last. Besides, the delay meant that Len’s leg is fully healed by now. "The last one was all the way back on Black Hole Day. That’s something, ain’t it?"

"People don't order assassins – "

"Amateur assassins at best – "

"People don't order any type of assassins and then stop, Len," Mick replies. "There's something we're missing."

"I'm sure," Len says. "But we’ve been over it half a dozen times. I don’t know what else you think we can do.”

“If we sent out the ghosts –”

“To do what?” Len asks practically. “The ghosts are useful, but only to a certain degree, and only when they’re given orders. You know most of them aren’t stable enough to focus on a serious search like this.”

“I know, I know. S’why I’ve only been using the good ones. But –”

“Mick. If there was something I could think of, some angle, I would. But I don’t know why they started, and I don’t know why they stopped, either – and I don’t know why they shifted over to wanting me alive, either.”

“Assuming they didn’t always,” Mick grumbles. “Goddamn amateurs. I went back and double-checked, by the way – they were using Santini guns and bullets, every single time. Even that usher in the theater; I checked the bullet casings and there’s no doubt.”

“So we're back to thinking it was a frame-up job?”

“Guess it has to be. Why someone intent on framing a Family would only hire amateurs, though, I don’t know.”

“Maybe the goal is to have us go up against the Santinis, cause them trouble?”

“Nah. Even the Santinis have been answering our questions since we explained the whole hired killer thing; the Dons seem to be taking it as a personal insult that someone’s been handing out their guns.”

“Of course that’s what they care about,” Len says, shaking his head. From his perspective, he’s worried about the issue enough; there's nothing good ruminating on it further would do. They just have to wait for the next attempt, and that's that. “Anyway, to change the subject, I was thinking, for the Rogues, might be worth it to have a good getaway man."

"Thought that's why we had Jax?"

"He's only one guy, and you don't let me drive anymore," Len reminds Mick.

Mick shrugs. "If the unquiet dead attack you one more time while you’re behind the wheel, you'll lose your license for epilepsy anyway. I'm just preempting it."

"My license is fake, Mick."

"Consider me your DMV, then. How many people in your family history do you want to bet died of falling off their horses, huh?"

"Horses – "

"Don't knock horses. Horses are scary."

“Mick. Why are we talking about horses?” Len asks, because honestly he has no idea when that happened. It’s not that he disagrees – there was an incident when he was younger, when Lisa got it in her head that she wanted to go horseback riding and they’d been scared off by the sheer size of the beasts – but seriously, how had the horses entered the conversation?

“Because you won’t tell me the real reason you want to recruit someone new.”

Len groans. "I want someone else on the Rogues that's closer to Jax's age. You happy now?"

"See, that's a good reason. Who were you thinking?"

"Webber. He could use the money, and he's a speed demon."

Mick hums thoughtfully, then turns on the wrong exit to go home, but the right exit to take them over to Keystone – and the drag racing tracks.

"I'll take that as a yes," Len says, satisfied.

They find Webber counting up his cash at the end of a race, no car in sight, and looking anxious, which isn't an uncommon sight these days.

"Hey, WWW," Len says, leaning out of the car window. "How's the mom?"

Webber looks up, with a wry smile. "Still sick," he says. "But better. Not so much nausea anymore. Tell me you've got a won't-go-wrong job that needs a driver."

"Better," Len says. "How do you feel about trying to out-race a speedster through skill alone?"

Webber's eyes all but glow with excitement. "I can't afford to get arrested for it," he warns, because he sometimes remembers to be level-headed. "And I need money, not just speed."

"Cut of our profits or a flat fee each time, whatever's bigger," Len says. "You wear a mask, and the Flash has promised to make sure you don't get tossed in the clink if you obey a certain set of rules – no killing people, best efforts to hurt anyone, pick the targets carefully, that sort of thing. I run the show and you listen to me."

"The Flash promises? Man, I don't know what con you're running, but I want in."

"Adrenaline hog," Len says fondly. It takes one to know one. "Hop in, we'll give you a lift since you lost your keys."

"That obvious, huh? Jonesy’s crew won my ride, but I'm gonna buy it back."

"Wait till tomorrow," Mick advises. "He'll think you're not as desperate and drop the price a bit to make sure you buy it."

Webber climbs into the car. "True," he says. "But without you guys, I wouldn't have a way home otherwise, so I was desperate. Anyway, doesn’t matter now. Tell me about your newest scam."

"It's not a scam," Len objects. "It's – media managing, s'all. The real game goes on."

Webber arches his eyebrows.

"The way it works is this – "

It turns out that Jax has finished Team Flash orientation and is waiting for them back at what they’re currently using as the Rogues safehouse, which makes everything easier.

"Jax, meet Webber," Len says. "You'll be our go-to car guys, so bond. Learn each other's tricks. I want a well-oiled machine out of the two of you. Proper pumping engine."

"He knows literally nothing about cars," Webber tells Jax.

"No kidding," Jax says with a snort. "He doesn't even drive."

"I drive!" Len protests.

"Barely," both young men chorus, then smile at each other.

Len rolls his eyes. "I'm conceding the point only to encourage team morale."

"Wait, that works?" Mick asks. "I've got some other points for you to concede on – it'd certainly raise my morale – "

"No."

"My name's Jefferson Jackson," Jax tells Webber, ignoring Mick and Len. "Everyone calls me Jax."

"I think I remember you," Webber says. "Football QB for Bradley High, right? You kicked the Bobcats' ass up and down the field."

"You were a Bobcat?"

"Not on the team, but the school, yeah. I'll just apologize in advance."

"Nah, man, I'll apologize to you. That's the rowdiest school in the whole district – unless you count Holy Angels, and – "

"— no one ever counts Holy Angels," they conclude in unison with identical smirks.

Len shares bewildered glances with Mick. High school drama is something Len will never get. Real sports, even college ball, sure, but high school?

Webber sticks out a hand. "Wally West," he says. Jax shakes his hand, smiling.

"Webber, your real name is Wall-E?" Len says dubiously. "Like the robot movie?"

"No, you dweeb of a supervillain," Webber says, rolling his eyes. "As in, short for Wallace."

"Why do they call you Webber?" Jax asks.

"It's one of my racing handles in Keystone," Webber says, shaking his head. "See, my full name's actually Wallace Wickham West..."

"It is?" Len says, not without some real horror. "And here I thought Snart was bad."

"Snart is bad," Mick says, pulling out a beer from the fridge.

"I get it," Jax says, laughing. "World Wide Web, huh? WWW?"

"And from that, Webber," Webber says. "Either that or Wally’s fine. What brings you to these crazy bastards?"

"College tuition. You?"

"Mom's medical bills. I'm still hoping to scholarship my way into college."

"Tough road, man. Sorry about your mom. It bad?"

"Yeah, cancer."

"Shit. Let me tell my mom, she'll probably want to drop off a casserole. Or ten."

Webber cracks another grin. "Yeah, my mom used to do that, I know exactly what you mean. Yeah. That'd be good. A bunch of mom's friends ditched when she started getting really sick, and my dad’s not in the picture. She could use some company."

"I'll tell my mom tonight," Jax promises.

"And when you're done with that," Len says, "maybe you could go try out the cars out back and see if you think they need to be tuned up for the heist we're pulling on Friday."

"Friday? Short notice."

"Need to get the Rogues plan into action," Len says firmly. “No reason for delay.”

"Also, he's invited the Flash and Co. over for a potluck on Saturday to celebrate our new supervillain-superhero alliance and just realized how much money feeding a speedster's gonna cost," Mick says dryly. "Well. I realized, since I'm gonna be doing the feeding."

"I can't wait to actually meet the Flash," Jax says, bouncing a little, Webber nodding along.

"He's just a nerd in a red costume," Len warns them, but that doesn't seem to dim their enthusiasm one bit.

Especially not after he promises that after a few months of successful heists they’d be able to pick their own villain themes, with Cisco’s assistance.

The heist goes well enough – they get lots of publicity right next to the awful tenements near old McFeely Park, Flash lets them get away with about half the cash they'd lifted – the physical form of a wire transfer, Monsanto money being shipped in from the local farmers, and the farmers' obligations being done once they paid meant the loss was all on the corporation – and the potluck goes well, too.

Jax brings casseroles for everyone. "I have another three out back," he says to Webber, who'd brought soda. "You don’t want to know. Even my Great Aunt Josephine got in on the action when she heard the words 'speedster metabolism'. Your mom's gonna be descended on by an army, just warning you."

"She could use an army," Webber says, eyes suspiciously wet. "Thanks."

Barry brought pizza. Twenty-seven boxes of pizza.

"You're a crazy person," Webber tells him, opening one of the boxes which has the weirdest pizza toppings Len's ever seen. "But you've got great taste."

"You're all crazy," Len says. "Barry, this here's Webber – or Wally, whatever – and he's gonna be a junior Rogue, too."

"Nice to meet you," Barry says, shaking Webber's hand. "This is Caitlin Snow, her husband Ronnie Raymond, Cisco Ramon, Iris West, and my ghost-mom, Nora Allen."

"Ghost-mom?" Webber asks.

"Did Len not tell you about the ghost thing?" Iris asks. "It's a hell of a story."

"No, I just know the basics – hey, wait, you said your last name is West?"

"Yeah, Iris West."

"Cool," Webber says. "I'm Wally West."

"Nice! Last name bros!"

"Maybe we're related," Webber says. "Cousins or something. That'd be awesome – god, this is gonna be so awkward for first time meeting conversation, but my mom's sick – cancer – she needs a bone marrow transplant and I'm not compatible, so we’ve been asking people – "

"I'd be happy to get tested," Iris says immediately. "Absolutely. My mom died when I was a kid, when I was too young to really remember, so – yeah. Happy to help."

"You're awesome," Webber says happily. "I'll ask her about maybe-cousins when I next see her."

"My dad's working tonight – he's a cop and he doesn't want to officially come to hang out with criminals – but I'll ask him, too. That would be so cool; I've always wanted a little cousin!"

“Cop, huh? He come down hard on drag racing?”

“Nah,” Iris says, laughing. “He doesn’t really care; says it’s better than drugs. My fiancé – also a cop, also not attending – says it’s a bad habit, but that he’ll only arrest you if you’re racing somewhere there could be collateral casualties.”

“No problem, then. That’s not my scene…”

"Food's almost ready," Mick calls from the kitchen. "Ghosts are laying it out as we speak."

"Kind of rude not to invite them to eat if they're serving, isn't it?" Cisco asks Len.

"I'm not made of life energy," Len snipes back, then pauses. "Well, technically – "

Cisco snickers. "Wish I'd known about the ghost stuff when I named you."

"The 'Captain' bit kinda covers the 'having a group to order about' stuff. Also, how would you fit it in with the cold theme? Don’t say Chillbones."

"Don’t be so down on it, it’s a good name! Maybe – Ghost Cold?"

"Sounds like a disease."

"Yeah, I’m not feeling it. Let me think about it a bit more."

"Don't waste your brainpower. Let's discuss what we’ll be naming our Little League Rogue Squad..."

"The food looks fantastic," Caitlin tells Mick.

"Thanks," he replies. "Say, you're the doc, right?"

"Uh, yes."

"Great. I'd like to talk to you about getting some updated scans of Len's brain -"

"He's had another attack?"

"We fought it off before it got severe, but the unquiet dead are causing more problems – there's been more and more of them coming to Central as Len's power increases and since friendlies are more likely to pass on eventually, the proportion’s getting worse."

"Yes, I see the problem. When was the last time he got scanned..?"

"So you're Firestorm, huh?" Jax asks Ronnie. "That's pretty neat. You and – what's his name, the grey-haired professor?"

"We're actually hoping to find another Firestorm," Ronnie tells him. "Right now, my partner, Martin Stein – he couldn't be here tonight; his wife was attending a dinner and he went with her – he and I are bound together."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, there's a mild psychic component, but the principal thing is that we need to merge on a semi-regular basis or else, boom. But if we had a third Firestorm – not even a third one in the actual merge, just someone else capable of doing it – we think that could lighten the load. Basically, we think that might mean we could stabilize it further meaning that we wouldn't have to merge all the time – "

"I think I get it," Jax says. "Triads are more stable than pair-bonds."

"Exactly! You're into chemistry?"

"Hoping to be a mechanical engineer, actually."

"That was my major! What program were you thinking? CCU?"

"Nearest and cheapest."

"The engineering program's not shabby at all, actually; it cleans up pretty good nation-wide. Were you thinking of any specializations? Professor Babasijibomi is great – "

“I haven’t even started thinking about that, but that’s good to know…”

Len looks around the room, ghosts floating in with grins as they watch the bickering, living people chattering and eating, Cisco talking to Lisa over Skype –

All in all, things are going pretty well.

“Never ask me for another favor ever again,” Len tells Barry a month or so later. "Ever."

“You think I’m happy about this?” Barry asks, making a face. “They’re my parents. Besides, you have no place to talk, you also regularly sleep with a dead guy!”

“I’ve never given anyone life so they can have ‘released from prison’ sex,” Len says. “I feel dirty now.”

“You’re a thief.”

“This is worse.”

“…yeah,” Barry concedes, shaking his head. “So, what do you think? About Zoom and the breaches?”

“I think you’re a lot more tolerable now that you’ve stopped blaming yourself for it,” Len replies, willing to take any conversation shift away from what he just empowered Nora to do. Also, he’s right.

Barry rolls his eyes. “I still think it’s kind of my fault, since I did cause the singularity by powering up the Accelerator before deciding against going into the past, but I have accepted – how did you call it – my role as a pawn in Wells’ scheme, and now I’m working on internalizing the idea. That wasn’t what I meant, though. Jay says –”

“I don’t like him.”

“Thank you! I don’t either but everyone’s just saying that I’m being too suspicious because of the whole thing with Wells.”

“You’re being reasonable,” Len says. “Listen, at your age, a lot of people look for a mentor, and there’s a lot of people willing to take advantage of that – especially if they have access to your powers as a result.”

“Jay doesn’t need it, though,” Barry says reluctantly. “He’s the Flash on his own world.”

“So he’s a speedster?”

“…no, he lost his powers when Zoom threw him through the breach.”

Len arches his eyebrows. “A speedster who lost his speedster powers, who now wants to mentor you? Sounds a bit familiar, don’t it?”

Barry makes a face. “What do I do, though? There’s definitely an Earth-2, and this Zoom guy is definitely sending metas through to our world with orders to kill me.”

“I’ll have Mick send some of my better ghosts with you as guards,” Len decides. “Pick one to be your go-to ghost, whichever one you like best, and they can monitor the others, maybe help you keep track of this Jay guy, see what he gets up to on his own, if you know what I mean. He doesn’t know about the ghost thing yet, so that’s an advantage we have.”

Barry nods. “Thanks,” he says. “That’ll help a lot. And can’t I just use Mom?”

“If your mom keeps getting everything she’s ever wanted, she’s going to have no regrets in no time, at which point she passes on,” Len reminds Barry. “And that’s a good thing. You want her to pass on.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Barry sighs. “I’ll pick someone, then, and have Mom train them up; that’ll give us a bit more time with her.”

“She worries about you,” Len says. “But passing on is really the best thing for ghosts. They all seem to really like it, even the unquiet ones.”

“So we’ll keep an eye on Jay,” Barry says. “That makes me feel better already, actually. Trust but verify.”

“I’m also going to assign the Junior Squad to cover you with these new metas,” Len decides. “A few minor confrontations the next few weeks – they can plan them out themselves with you over texts – give you some eyes on the outside.”

Barry nods. “What about you? Any word on the Santini thing?”

“Not a peep, but then again, no new murder attempts, either. I’m taking it as a win.”

“Mick isn’t,” Barry says knowingly.

Len sighs. “Yeah, well, can’t have everything. You go figure out this Zoom business. Say, have you considered checking this Garrick’s story?”

“Checking it? What do you mean?”

“Set Cisco and Stein on figuring out a way to get you to Earth-2 and back and check the guy’s story. You know, credentials, birth certificate, shit like that. And while you’re there, well, maybe you can find Zoom before he finds you.”

“They’re already working on stabilizing the breaches to get Jay home,” Barry says, brightening. “And if I take the fight to Zoom –”

“Less collateral damage here,” Len says, nodding. “Let me know if you need help; we can team up to fight off the outsider.” He taps his cold gun. “I specialize in speedsters, after all.”

“Thanks,” Barry says sincerely, hopping up. “I’ll let you know.”

With a crackle of lightning and a gust of wind, he’s gone.

Shaking his head in amusement, Len texts the new instructions to Jax and Wally – they’ve done a handful of heists with him now, they should be ready to strike out on their own, especially with Barry’s willing assistance – and contemplates, for the first time in quite a while, a more or less entirely free weekend.

More or less.

“Hey, boss,” Mick says, coming through the door. “We still hitting the cashier’s cage at the racetrack tomorrow?”

“Indeed we are,” Len says. “Let’s go pick up Lisa at the train station, treat her to dinner. Tomorrow’s going to be back to the basics, family only.”

“Good,” Mick says. “We could use something nice and simple.”

Maybe they were just tempting fate, saying something like that, because the cashier’s cage went sweet and easy, no problem, but a parked van’s doors snapping open and people in dark masks swinging batons and smashing them down on their heads is an entirely unexpected twist.

Len sees Lisa go down, hears Mick yelling, and lunges forward, only to hear a crackle of electricity – similar, yet subtly different from the Flash’s – and then everything goes dark.

Len hates tasers.

He wakes up –

He’s not sure where he is. The trunk of a car, judging by the way he’s been stuffed inside and the bumping and shaking as they drive. A car, not the van from earlier.

It’s strangely quiet.

All of his joints hurt, electricity having done them no good, and his head hurts, too. His head especially, actually; the back of the skull feels like he got bashed instead of shocked.

He’s not bound, which is perhaps the most surprising part.

It’s quiet.

Len’s not sure why he keeps thinking that. The road keeps rattling, there’s a ringing in his ears…

It’s still too quiet.

The car shudders to a halt.

There’s a slammed door.

Footsteps.

Len tenses, waiting to see what would greet him when the trunk opened – to make the split-second decision whether to leap out aggressively or to hang back, make a few snide remarks, and find out what whoever-it-is knows and wants before attacking.

The trunk is popped open.

And then –

All of Len’s muscles seize up at once, the memory of old terrors hitting him straight in the gut.

“Hello, son,” Lewis says.

#dccoldwave #mick rory #leonard snart #jefferson jax jackson #wally west #iris west #Ronnie raymond #barry allen #deadfic #my fic

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theficbuddies · 7 years ago

Text

Guardian Angel

Hey, it’s nyrandrea and themarginalartist back at it with another chapter!

Once again, this story is inspired by @thelostmoongazer‘s Mob Boss Bendy AU and features @the-vampire-inside-me‘s character, Abel the Angel!

Without further ado, please enjoy!

Chapter 2 - The Middle

Abel could feel the effects of the alcohol start to take over, his head felt very light, and his thoughts were starting to swirl against each other, making him feel pretty nauseous.

The toon put a hand to his head as he kept walking down the cold, dark and empty street, the only light source that guided him towards his destination were the dimly lit, flickering street lamps.

He puffed out another cloud of smoke from his worn out cigar, and watched the wisps float away into the night air. He smirked slightly, smoking was the only thing that seemed to calm him down these days.

However, the cigar still couldn’t help him get that mental image of the little human girl out of his mind, the tattered light pink dress, the frazzled reddish brown braids, the little silver locket…

“God damn it…” He bitterly muttered under his breath. The distant sound of slurred shouting barely caught his attention, but it managed to distract him for a small moment.

‘Another drunken brawl…’ He lazily thought to himself. ‘Figures.’ The angel didn’t even stop to investigate, he honestly couldn’t even be bothered, he just wanted to get home.

As Abel continued down the path, his mind wandered back to her again.

‘Oh come on…!’ He scolded to himself. ‘She had to go, they all had to go, I did the right thing!’

‘I did the right thing…’

The mental image of the little girl changed into one of a little boy.

‘Damn it…’

It was late afternoon, Abel was passing through the shopping district on his way to go see Elymas. He was lost in his thoughts, preparing for the next heist he was going to pull, a new shipment of ink was due in a few days, and it was going to get him a rather fat stack of cash if everything went as planned. Which it wasn't likely that it wouldn't. He was good at what he did, a small smirk tugged at his lips.

Maybe a little too good.

As he walked down the district, he couldn��t help but have a little glance around the place, many of the shops had outdoor displays out. Coats, dresses, tops, hats, and many other articles of clothing were out on public display. He barely paid them any mind, content to continue on his path, until something caught the corner of his eye, that was when he saw him. A little boy, of African descent, sneaking around the clothing racks.

Abel couldn’t help but blink in surprise.

‘What the hell? Another kid?’ He quickly glanced around, it appeared as if nobody else had noticed the child yet.

He slowed down, watching the boy’s movements carefully from behind, wondering what the heck the kid was after, given he had bypassed the boy's clothes from a nearby rack. Abel quietly moved around to the other side of the racks, keeping far enough behind the kid so that he wouldn't notice him.

‘Looks as though the kid needs some new clothes badly, but what on earth is he looking for?’ The angel internally questioned himself.

The back of the kid’s navy blue t-shirt looked to be nearly shredded, his khaki colored shorts were completely coated in dirt and had frayed hems, and his legs and arms were coated in faded and frayed bandages. A turn of the boy's head revealed another one plastered to the bridge of his nose. His dark brown, curly hair was also pretty mangled and messy, just like the little girl’s that he had previously met about a week ago.

Abel kept observing the little boy closely as he looked around from the rack he was near, and when the boy thought the coast was clear, he returned his focus to the rack. It was filled with small dresses, definitely not what the kid needed. A light clicking noise suddenly caught Abel’s attention, he looked up and noticed a toon nearby adjusting the racks, who he assumed was the shopkeeper, but it seemed as though the kid was completely oblivious as to what was about to happen.

Abel reacted quickly, silently coming up from behind the boy and let his wings draw around them as he snatched the kid up and pulled him into the back of a nearby alley. The child struggled hard against his grip, but to no avail as Abel held on tight enough to make sure the boy wouldn't get away just yet.

“What the Hell do you think you're doing, kid?” Abel questioned in a quiet but stern tone, but he didn’t get an answer as the little boy simply kept struggling against him. The toon sighed and looked around to make sure nobody was nearby, before unfolding his wings and setting the child down.

The kid tried to take the opportunity to escape, but Abel kept a firm grasp on his thin wrist to prevent him from getting any further, resulting in a panicked response from the young one as he grabbed and tried to pull the gloved hand off.

“P-please mister…” The boy muttered with a cracked voice. “I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

“Yeah, but you were about to, weren’t ya? You shouldn’t steal, kid. It ain’t…” He trailed off.

The angel’s poker face instantly melted into one of sympathy as the child looked up at him with wide eyes, and continued to struggle against him, looking absolutely petrified. The boy started to claw at Abel’s hand in a frenzied manner, though it hardly did much of anything, he was pretty small and very weak, the poor thing didn’t stand a chance.

‘Ah geez…’ The toon inwardly cringed as the boy kept trying to attack him. ‘Should probably try and calm the poor kid down.’

He loosened his grip and knelt down to get on the little boy’s level, before placing both hands gently on the child’s scrawny shoulders. The poor thing looked like he needed a decent meal, which made Abel wonder, where were these children coming from? There was that girl from the week before, and now this.

‘Huh...it is pretty weird.’ He inwardly shrugged. ‘Eh, it’s probably just coincidence.’

The toon was snapped out of his thoughts however, as he felt a sudden trembling against his hands, and glanced down to the kid, he frowned at what he saw. The little boy looked as though he was on the brink of tears.

“Hey, there’s no need for that now.” He tried to coax with a smile. “Yer fine, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” This seemed to ease the human slightly, as he rubbed his eyes with his small hands and shuffled slightly.

“You’re...you’re not?” The little boy asked timidly. Abel smirked in a friendly manner and lifted a hand to lightly ruffle his curly, tangled hair but stopped when he noticed that the kid flinched, his emerald eyes widening in fear slightly. So he simply lowered his hand again to rest it on the child’s shoulder.

“Nah. ‘Course not.” The angel replied with a reassuring smile, before frowning slightly. “But ya can’t steal from that shop, alright? Or any other shop for that matter, it ain’t right. You’re lucky I caught you instead of another toon.” This earned a curious look from the kid.

“What...What do you mean, mister?” This made Abel cringe slightly, he wasn’t really sure how to explain the fact that toons were wary of humans for convoluted reasons to a kid that looked no older than six.

“Look kid, you can’t exactly stick around in this town, the folks here, they uh, don’t really take too well to your kind.” He tried to explain in the simplest way possible.

The child only responded by casting his eyes down to the ground.

“So...it’s just like those other guys…” The boy murmured, making Abel raise an eyebrow.

“Other guys?” He questioned, hoping for a more specific answer.

The child nodded his head, his expression still downcast, “Yeah...the grown ups.” The angel frowned as he quickly caught onto what he meant.

‘Once again, the humans treat their own kind like crap, even the little kids.’ Abel bitterly thought. ‘Typical.’

“Look kid, if you're looking for something warm then let me get ya a shirt or something, a dress ain't gonna cut it, they weren't your size anyway.” Abel said, subtly trying to get the kid to explain himself.

The boy flicked his eyes to meet Abel’s briefly before looking back down, Abel saw the kid’s lips move but couldn't hear the quiet, mumbled words. “I didn't quite catch that kid, what did you say?” He asked with a raised brow.

“Nothing!” Came the all too fast, wide eyed reply, Abel had to fight the rising urge to roll his eyes, he could feel himself starting to get slightly impatient.

‘Damn, I could really go for a cigar and brandy right about now.’ But he brushed the thought to the side, now was not the time.

“Kid…” The toon sighed in defeat and rubbed his temples. “Fine, how about this? I get you a coat or something, and then you get outta town.” It was subtle but his eyes caught the little boy flinch at the request, making the angel frown in sympathy once again. “Hey... y’know I'm not trying to be mean kid, but... it's for your own safety.” Abel sighed, this was the little girl all over again.

‘Dammit, don't get attached Abel.’ He couldn't afford this, he just couldn’t. He couldn't be a bleeding heart, the safety of the other toons had to come first. Besides, he also had his reputation to uphold.

He got up from his kneeling position and gestured for the child to stay where he was. “Stay here kid, and I'd stick back here behind the cans and crates if I were you, I'll be back in a minute.”

Abel straightened up, the small human’s green eyes cautiously tracking his movements. The toon walked towards the front of the alley, listening closely for a moment to make sure the boy wasn't about to leave the safety of the alley. Once he was absolutely sure, he made his way back towards the shops, and went straight to browsing the shirt racks first.

But as he raked through the shirts, he cringed slightly as he suddenly realised an important point. ‘Shit, I gotta make this look like it's for me.’ He thought as he continued searching, his hands quickly going through the various selections.

‘While a shirt would be better, I got these big wings, the shirt would have holes and it would completely defeat the damn purpose…’ He stopped as his eye caught something. ‘Hhmmm…’

He lifted his head to have a proper look.

‘Maybe… Yeah, that’ll work.’ Abel moved from the shirt section and towards the nearby coat rack, and started browsing through the jackets. ‘Yeah this one should do just fine.’ He mentally smirked as he looked at his soon to be new purchase.

Abel went into the shop and was soon back out again after the quick transaction, he watched his surroundings carefully to make sure that no one would spot him, before ducking back into the alley. He made his way to the rear, before a light rustling behind the cans and crates alerted him to the child.

“Kid, it's only me.” He gently coaxed with a smile. There was a moment of silence before a tiny, browned hand poked out, slowly followed by the boy's face, his emerald eyes wide in a look of confusion and surprise.

“Hey, I got ya something.” Abel said as he started to rustle the bag, the boy stepped out again and stood a little bit away from the angel.

“I... didn't think you were coming back…” Abel just caught the delicately whispered words and frowned slightly, before he gave a small but confident smirk.

“Hey, come one, ya gotta trust this old angel. I said I was gonna get you something, didn’t I?” This made the little boy blink in mild surprise.

“Y-yeah, you did...but-” The child was cut off as Abel swiftly brought out a medium sized, lightly tanned trenchcoat and smoothly draped it over the small boy’s thin figure. The coat looked pretty large on the kid as it completely covered him while the bottom half dragged along the ground.

“Eh…” Abel crossed his arms and gave the boy a slightly amused look. “It’s pretty big on ya but at least it’ll keep ya warm, besides, you’ll grow into it.” The angel inwardly scolded himself at that last part, he doubted the boy was going to even last that long, not with the poorly condition he was in.

‘He might last if ya help him.’ A seething voice of self doubt commented.

The toon shook his head, as much as he wanted to, he just...couldn’t.

He looked back down to see that the little boy was looking over his new piece of clothing with a look of awe in his face, Abel’s brow furrowed.

‘God...he’s amazed at a damn coat, of all things…’

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted however, when the child looked up to him with a small smile on his face.

“Geez...mister, this is really cool, thanks a lot...” The boy said with a genuine tone. Abel rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his wings twitched as his thoughts and morals clashed once again.

“...It’s no problem kid, but uh...I’m afraid ya gotta hit the road now.” The angel quickly said as he turned to walk away, before continuing, “However the hell you got in, use it to get back out, understand?”

“But-”

Abel turned his head quickly and narrowed his eyes. “Ya don’t wanna argue with me, kid.” He said in a calm but threatening tone.

The child’s eyes widened slightly as he took a small step back and silently nodded his head quickly.

“Good. Now beat it.” Abel nonchalantly said as he reached into his hammerspace for a cigar and lighter, his hands trembling slightly while doing so.

“...You were the one she made those drawings for...the angel…” The boy’s quiet voice whispered, Abel’s eyes widened slightly.

“Wait, what did you just-” He quickly turned around, only to find that the child was gone. “...say…?” He trailed off.

A chilly wind ruffled the feathers of his wings as he simply stared into the empty alley.

‘I did the right thing, dammit!’ Abel inwardly scolded himself.

First there was the little girl, and then the boy and then…

He chuckled to himself as he lit up a new cigar.

Then there was the fierce one.

Woot, woot! Second chapter out! We are on a roll with this!

Let us know what y’all think!

#bendy and the ink machine #mob boss! bendy #abel the angel #thelostmoongazer #the-vampire-inside-me #nyrandrea #themarginalartist #fanfiction

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ladytrollfishes · 7 years ago

Text

Heist. Pt 1

It takes you ages to plan. You're agitated constantly; your attention skips and jumps, you zone out, you get frustrated, you give up. But you have to get back on it, so you do. It's hard to concentrate with the imps around. You don't know them, not really. You don't trust them even half as much as Herlyn and Mysmus. They have the advantage in case it came to combat. It would not be all that difficult for them to tear you apart and you have a some difficulties controlling your imagination when you think about how easy it would be for any one of them to kill you. Tomie isn't so bad at least. He's an open book and his psi isn't offensive. You could probably pre-empt an attack and disappear. Nanako bounces around cheerily, but you're fairly certain she could crush your skull with a punch, much faster than you could run or even turn invisible. Vadaya's the worst. He's unreadable, and the ways he could kill you are basically only limited by imagination, which you have a lot of. You wouldn't have a chance as long as you were inside his range, which you were going to be. A lot. You don't exactly sleep the first day out of the base, and it takes about a week for you to finally trust they weren't planning on turning around and slitting your throat. And while you get why they're following you, you're not entirely sure why they don't bolt once they have Vadaya out of the base, and make their own way out. You know you're competent, most of the time, but you'd think highbloods would have a hard time taking orders from a younger, flinchy, hemoanon. You miss Mysmus. His absence was a serious ache. You missed his quiet humor, his steady presence, even the Heyfel sayings you were pretty certain he was just making up at this point to watch your nose wrinkle. You missed being able to reach out and grab onto that coat of his and tuck yourself into it when you were panicking, or afraid or really just because you felt like it. Between him and Herlyn, you actually felt safe.

But you don't exactly have room to complain. You did this to yourself, after all. You just didn't really expect it to turn out like this, when you burst in to rescue Vadaya. You didn't think it through and you have no one to blame but yourself. You just... panicked, really, at the idea that your side was doing something that terrible, insisted you do something about it and as they usually did, Herlyn and Mysmus followed. They were coming more frequently now, the panic attacks. When you're traveling, there's fewer places to escape to, when you feel the panic coming, and it's a whole new set of people you don't trust trying to learn your triggers. You don't explain why you can't bring yourself to eat rice or white fish, or drink soup. Nanako caught you once, when you tripped, which resulted in an immediate panic attack, and Herlyn had to get you somewhere quiet and tucked away from what you were sure prying eyes. It doesn't start an immediate coup, like you expected. Tomie insists on helping, up until Vadaya tells him to stop bothering you. Nanako doesn't say much about it, just puts herself between you and everyone else and makes sure you can get peace and quiet when you need it. After that it gets easier to trust them. You told Vadaya what happened to you, when you were trying to make him believe you wouldn't hurt Tomie. You're not sure if he told the others, and you're not sure if you should be grateful if he did. It's not exactly a walk in the park for him either. He's stopped taking care of his appearance. When you had found him he still had his hair trimmed and his beard shaved. He's got scruff now, and you don't think he's touched a hairbrush except when Nanako fusses at him.

He also gets about as much sleep as you do, you're pretty sure. You can't afford to sleep one to a room, not on your dwindling funds. The second Herlyn snores, or Tomie rolls over, you're awake. Sometimes you'll hear Vadaya sit up, after you both jerk awake, and you'll hear Vadaya shuffle quietly into the hall. Coffee is an investment, for the both of you. You settle into a schedule. You rarely stay in one place for more than a night. You separate and walk somewhat apart from each other so you don't look like one big group. Too many adults in one place draws attention, especially when none of them are in imperial dress. They look like draft dodgers than anything else. You keep to big cities where adults aren't uncommon, and you go out quite often with just Herlyn for company. You think you're boring the imps. When you do need them, it's a lot of standing watch thirty feet away from you as you talk to your various contacts. You have them handle some of the transactions- it'd look to weird for the child of a group to be making the decisions, but otherwise, there's not so much to do. You think Nanako is at least getting very antsy. But despite your doubts, you'll have something to do for them soon. You're pulling together a plan but first you're going to need some funds. You're running low. You clear your throat when you enter the hotel room you've rented out, and you see four pairs of eyes turn towards you. "I have a plan," you say quietly. "And I'm going to need help. You take a deep breath to try and ease away the nerves. "You're all okay with assisting me in the field, right?" you ask. "Of course, lah!" Nanako exclaims, her leg bobbling as she leans back in her chair. "We here for a reason, yes? Let us off the leash!" She gives an excited clap and grins at you. Tomie nods eagerly, and when you glance at Vadaya, he nods, impassive as ever. You really wish you knew what was going on inside his head sometimes. Herlyn just gives you a thumbs up and a grin. "Alright," you say, taking a seat yourself. "Our target is Gastra Hilben. She's the CEO of a security company that specializes in storage. She's got a couple private vaults in just about every major city. But she's got her headquarters here."

Tomie grins widely at the mention of vaults. "Never met a safe I couldn't crack! We're gonna steal all her stuff then yeah? Looking for something in particular?" You shake your head. "We're going to take her reputation," you say. "We don't have enough time to worry about fencing stuff." "Time? We're running out of time?" Tomie asks, looking mildly alarmed. "We've got enough money to stay here for a little less than a week," you say. "Then its sleeping on the streets for all of us." You really don't want that to happen. You and Vadaya wouldn't be sleeping at all, if that was the case. "Oh," Tomie says, deflating. "The goal here is primarily money," you say quietly. "But we're looking at an excellent opportunity for blackmail. Hilben has a lot of different clients who use her services to hide their secrets. Discretion is a big part of her business model." "Double pronged blackmail," Herlyn says, nodding approvingly. "You blackmail Hilben with her own clients." "They won't be very happy with her, for letting their secrets escape," you say quietly. Nanako shakes her head, clicking her tongue. "Scary, lah," she says. "Security will not be easy! How we getting in?" "We need recon first," you say. "First she had to let us in. Vadaya, can you make something that weighs and feels like a gold coin?" You look at him, and his brow furrows just slightly, pausing a moment, before he says, "I have not attempted such a thing." "Can you try?" You're not surprised. His constructs are all purple, there's been no point in trying to figure out if he can mimic something else. He focuses for a moment before he forms a large purple coin in his hand, his flesh one. He frowns, and it disappears before he tries again. This time, he seems satisfied and holds it out to you. You take the coin and consider it in your hand, nodding. You turn the coin over in your fingers and take a deep breath, then take the leap of faith. With a flourish of your own psi, you paint its purple color over with gold. Metallics and their shine are a little harder than just a color change, but it's nothing you can't handle. "Oh shit!" Tomie exclaims. "Was that psi? What did you do? Can I see?" You toss the coin over to him, keeping focus on it, and he ooos and aaahs and hands it over to Nanako, who bites it, then squints. "I have illusion psi," you say. "It's not actually gold. But whatever Vadaya can construct, I can make look real." You watch their faces as they nod. Tomie looks excited, Nanako a little more pensive, and Vadaya, who simply nods. "I'm asking you guys to keep this a secret," you say. "There aren't too many people outside this room who know about my power." "Not even the other rebels?" Tomie asks, and you shake your head. "Sipara knows I have psi," you say. "She just doesn't know what it does." "Secret illusions stay secret when no one thinks, ah! Little one makes illusions, lah," Nanako says, nodding. "We keep your secret." She looks to the others, who nod in turn. You take a shaky breath and try to believe they'll actually do it.

"Okay," you say. "So here's the plan."

#Daginy drabbles #reverse bad End au #heist pt 1

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loving-jack-kelly · 8 years ago

Note

TALK TO ME ABOUT AUS FRIEND

LET’S GO I’ve had this one for a while and I talked to @lesmizteries about it yesterday while we talked about AUs we had but I’ve never posted it! so!

If you know me, follow me, have scrolled through my blog for ten seconds you know

love

Spot Conlon

so much

but I also enjoy giving him (progressively more) tragic backstories in every au involving him

For example, the Kayla AU, which is my go to background/modern setting for any Spot related thing

i can’t find it to link it but it was sad anyway

this one is no exception to the “let’s hurt spot to see how it affects his character” rule i seem to have adopted

so let’s go!

read more ‘cause I already know this is gonna be long

Spot!

as in most of my aus, he’s a smart guy

very smart in this case, like super genius kinda smart

but

he grew up pretty much homeless

like technically there was an apartment he could go to? but he’d rather sleep in a shelter or if it was warm outside because his dad hated him and he hated his dad

his mom was a woman who met his dad because he was a drug dealer, but she was on probation when she got pregnant and couldn’t tell anyone who’s the baby was because she wasn’t supposed to be seeing him

and then handed Spot off to his dad and said “good luck he’s yours now”

so Spot grew up in Chicago, pretty much homeless

the only useful things his dad taught him were how to read, how to beg, how to pick pockets, and how to steal

the only good person who cared about spot was Romeo, his half brother, but we’ll get into that later

anyway

when Spot was around twelve his dad packed up and moved them to new york, where it was pretty much same deal, different streets, different people

but he’s eventually like, no, i’m going to school, i’m making myself better than what i am

so he goes to school these years don’t matter as much to the story

graduates hs early

graduates college early

gets several degrees

now on with the story!

by the time he’s twenty, he’s already a semi-public figure, cause he’s a twenty-year-old genius with a bunch of degrees and he’s like Dr. Conlon

and he and one of his friends from college, Davey, have a small lab together and then everthing kinda explodes because they patent a medical machine that’s revolutionary

and they get really rich, really fast, and really public, really fast

and Spot gets really good at circumlocuting around questions about his childhood so he doesn’t have to talk about it

but every time he does, he remembers

he remembers being a tiny, hungry kid, sitting on a corner in chicago watching the rich people go past. the people with obviously fat wallets in their front pockets, in fancy suits with huge watches on their wrists, and those people were the ones who tossed him a quarter and acted like it was a hundred dollars, like a gumball would fill his stomach

and then the people a step up from him, the blue collar workers, the people who were wearing fast food uniforms, they were the ones who pulled out a nearly empty wallet and handed him five, ten, twenty dollars if they could and pointed him towards the nearest McDonald’s

and that didn’t seem right, not when he was a kid and not once he had money and could afford to help

it seemed like the people with money should be helping the most, right? they’re able to, why shouldn’t they? and yet, they don’t

and every time he thinks about it, he gets mad.

especially at the parties. god, the parties, where the rich old men are hailed as gods among men, like they do so much to help while standing in their huge mansions in front of their classical art and museum worthy statues and vases

and one night he’s at a party at the home of media giant Joseph Pulitzer, forced to watch him stand in front of a newly acquired Monet painting talking about how much it cost and everything just reaches a boiling point which leads to him planning his first heist since he was like, fourteen and raiding the school for computer stuff and food

and he grabs the painting

but then he’s like, “shit. what the fuck do i do with a huge ass monet. i don’t know any fences, i haven’t had to fence anything since i was a kid, what the fuck do i do now?” so he ends up just literally leaving the painting in a shelter and hoping for the best

and what happened was Pulitzer got the painting back unharmed but the shelter also got attention and thus funds, but that put suspicion on the shelter, which is never what Spot wanted

so he went to Chicago to meet!

Romeo!

his half brother!

runs a ring of pick pockets and petty thieves, is an all around pretty neat guy, protects the kids who work for him with his life

also knows e v e r y o n e worth knowing in the criminal world

so he’s like “yeah i know some good fences. Kat and Saz are the best, girlfriends, loyal to those loyal to them, can sell anything. Kat works out of New York, Saz from Paris”

doesn’t quite mention Kat is Pulitzer’s daughter? Spot finds out when he goes to meet her and can’t contain his “Katherine?!”

which leads to Katherine laughing like crazy bc

a) her father had tried to set her up with Spot

b) the tiny little super genius had stolen her father’s painting completely successfully but couldn’t figure out how to sell it

also eventually Romeo kind of accidently reveals that Davey and Saz are twins, which leads to Dave being brought in on it for the second heist

the second heist is a bust, an old, valuable bust, and several smaller things from other media giant, Hearst’s, mansion. the smaller things were fenced off and the money used to pay Kat, Saz, and Dave and to give away, and the bust was left the same way the monet was

this kept going for a while, Spot recruits Crutchie after catching his IT guy breaking into his safe and learning that he was really, really good with tech and all he wanted was enough money for he and his husband to adopt

which also led to Jack being recruited as an art forger

eventually, Race hears about them and tries so hard to contact them to help that they let him, and he’s also a thief, so Race and Spot do the actual breaking in while the others take care of the details

and somewhere along the way, they got the idea to leave a calling card, so the people trying to do what they were doing couldn’t claim they were the real thieves behind the good they were doing

and Jack noted the similarity to them and robin hood, so they left a super specific arrow behind at every scene, signed “the Merry Men”

the normal people at least kind of accept what’s going on, because most people can see that some good it being done

the rich people obviously don’t

to stay secretive, Spot even steals from himself a few times, no more or less than the other rich people

now not in every version of this au? but for your consideration:

Spot gets caught somehow

he refuses to give up anyone else and even tells Dave to essentially disown him so Dave is in charge of their labs and everything so it can keep functioning

but his trial becomes legendary because he does admit to every crime committed by the Merry Men, but he shows no remorse at all

and at first nobody comments on it, but finally somebody does, and asks him, “Do you feel bad for what you did?”

and his response is never forgotten. he leans forward, makes direct eye contact, and says quietly

“Why should I feel bad, when they continue to live rich, happy lives, minus a painting? While people go hungry on the streets, while kids freeze and starve, and they have the money to help, and they don’t? Why should I feel bad when stealing a few paintings that almost all got returned unharmed fed hundreds of people? Clothed hundreds of people? I called myself the Merry Men for a reason. Steal from the rich, give to the poor, what happened to Robin Hood being the hero? I was Robin Hood, I helped people with my machines, with my money, with my means, and by taking from those who could afford it. No, I don’t feel bad, and no, I never will. Not when I know what hunger and cold feel like, and not when I know that I helped people.”

and after that he stops talking in his trial

#newsies hc #modern robin hood au #merry men au #yeah i started this as soon as i got it #and then my computer crashed #soooo #Anonymous

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casuallyglitterykryptonite · 8 years ago

Text

A New Life (Sam Drake)

Hey!

Here is my latest Sam X Reader requested by utara-north ! Sorry if this took awhile I’ve been swamped with my classes lately since this semester is almost over. I hope everyone has a happy Friday night! :)

Characters: Sam x Reader

Warning: none

Word Count: 2,665

——————————————————————————————-

“I’ll have a black coffee”

“Uh, just water with lemon.” Sam turned to me a look of confusion on his face.

“You okay?” His eyes were fixed on me as if I was a crazy person.

“Yes.” I said adamantly

“Well I’ll have that right out for you two.” Our usual waiter disappeared back into the restaurant.

“Why no coffee? We come to this place because you love their cappuccinos.”

“I’m just not in the mood today.” I shrugged casting my eyes back down to the menu that I already had memorized. Sam and I came here almost every Sunday for brunch. Other couples had date night but we did brunch on Sundays which then consisted of us going on a walk around town. We would window shop and then he would drag me to some museum or historical sight that had to due with his up and coming job. My favorite’s were the art museums because Sam didn’t usually have as much to say ‘Art speaks for itself’, he would always tell me. The two of us had been together almost 4 years now but we have been married 2. We started out as young lovers until life caught up with us and I was a full time college student and he was off doing what the Drake’s do. I never thought I would see him again, he was always the one that got away until we stumbled upon each other at an art auction in Venice. To my dismay he dragged me into his heist and from then on I never looked back. Now it’s 4 years later and we are sitting here at our usual cafe, eating our usual food, talking about which stores I wanted to stop into and what historical sight he would be taking me to today. The only difference now is that I’m pregnant with Samuel Drake’s child and he had no clue.

“Are you listening?” I quickly looked back at Sam his brow furrowed in annoyance. He turned around looking behind him at the people walking past us and then to the cars passing by. “What are you looking at?” He questioned looking around in the warm summer air again as if he missed something.

“Nothing, sorry I zoned out.”

“So this is what it feels like when I don’t listen.” Rolling my eyes he smirked that charming smirk of his. This was all to true.

The day was perfect, it was just the right temperature, the sun was out, we had gotten our favorite seat in the outdoor section of the restaurant, our food was better than usual. Everything was perfect, this would be the ideal moment to tell my husband I was pregnant but I just couldn’t get myself to do it. I was scared. Sam and I never really talked about having a family, I just assumed it might not happen because he loved to travel and hated the idea of staying in one place for to long. I never pictured myself having kids and I know Sam was the same way, but now this was a reality the two of us had to face. I just had to tell him that his whole life was about to change.

“You feeling okay today babe?” I turned to my lovely husband who had been complaining about the price of the shoes I had in hand.

“Yeah, why?” I asked placing the box back.

“No, no, no, you’re getting those I saw how your eyes lit up when you saw them.” Sam picked the box back up “It’s like you’ve been in a daze all day, I feel like I’ve been talking to a wall.”

“Sorry sweetie” I kissed his cheek feeling his stubble against my lips. His toned arm wrapped around my waist stopping me as I tried to walk away.

“You know avoiding the question isn’t helpful.”

“These heels are gonna look great with that little black dress of mine.” I mumbled against his neck not wanting to discuss this right now.

“Maybe you can show me when we get home?” I shivered as his voice became low and gravely. “Then after you can tell me what the fuck is wrong.” He stepped back looking at me seriously now.

“Samuel” I warned. He knew how I was, yet he always pushed when it came to me being upset, almost like he needed to know.

“Babe, I worry.” His vice turned back to its normal tone no longer gruff.

“I know.” A sigh fell from his lips as I ran my fingers through my soft hair.

“Come, lets by the shoes then we can go to home.”

“No museum?” I called after Sam as he walked to the register.

“I’d much rather see you in these heels and that black dress.”

My body felt limp and hot as I lay in my bed covers covering my naked body. I turned my head looking out the window at the beautiful summer day that was coming to a close. The sky was turning purple, orange peeking through the transparent clouds. It was humid in our small apartment our AC was broken leaving both me and my Sam in a constant sweaty state, even more so right now. This apartment is going to be too small to raise a child in, we are gonna have to move. Fuck, can we even afford to move? Do we have the proper finances to raise a kid, you know give them, it a good life. Am I gonna get fat? Shit, I’m gonna get fat.

“That was amazing.” Sam’s sleepy voice mumbled against my ear as he pulled me closer to his warmth, our bodies intertwined. “What are you thinking about?” His voice was so hushed and loving I just wanted to cry out of frustration. Having a child is not something that can be taken lightly, our lives were going to change dramatically and it’s not like we had the choice to give it back if we didn’t want to be parents anymore.

“About how much I love you.” I turned to face him seeing a little smile on his lips, his hazel eyes hidden from his drowsiness.

“Hm, me too.” I could see the sleep taking over his rugged, handsome, perfect, tan, peaceful face. Wow, I love this man. Maybe having a child with him won’t be a bad thing.

“I’m gonna get started on dinner.” I kissed his face slipping out of bed. “You can stay in here and rest I know you’re tired.” He grunted in response sleep taking over his body.

I couldn’t help but admire his toned body along with his handsome face.

“No stay” He groaned out.

“Sam-“

“Food can wait I want to hold you.” His offer was impossible to refuse. Crawling back into bed I laid there in his warm embrace our sweat soaked skin sticking together as our heart beats synched. He was the love of my life despite, the smoking, grumpiness when stressed, the distance when he was away for work, and the obsession with pirates, I still loved him endlessly. It took a toll but nothing could make this man anything but perfect. Another week went by and I found myself at the same restaurant in our favorite seats outside the summer air humid casing my hair to frizz. The only difference now was I was throwing up in the bathroom from morning sickness. I was walking back from the bathroom when I noticed Sam had ordered my drinks for me.

“You okay? You look pale.” He didn’t wait for a response as he quickly turned his attention to the drinks on the table “They had mimosa’s as a special today so I got you one.” He smiled at me clearly proud of himself. I couldn’t help the wave of guilt that came over my body. Sam was being so thoughtful, he knew I loved mimosa’s, well alcohol in general, but I couldn’t drink while pregnant. “Maybe if I get you drunk enough I’ll get laid.” He joked as I took my seat.

“Thank you so much sweetie, but I’m not really feeling alcohol today.” I placed my hand on his but the smile on his face didn’t falter.

“I had a feeling you’d say that so I ordered you a cappuccino too.” How did I get so lucky to have a man who thought this far in advance. “I’m really trying to get laid here.” His hand moved so he was now holding mine. His eyes were bright as the sun as he gazed at me making my body run hot.

“I, uh-“ I took a breath “I’m not really in the mood for coffee either” I shot him a guilty look as his face fell, all traces of happiness lost.

“Am I doing something wrong babe?” He searched my face for the answer because he knew I would lie.

“No not at all! You’re being such a sweetheart I just haven’t had the same taste recently.” I squeezed his hand for reassurance.

“Okay good, you’ve been worrying me. First you don’t want coffee, then you didn’t want eggs cuz the smell has been making you nauseous, and now you don’t want alcohol. It’s like your pregnant.” He laughed to himself. Sweat needed on my forehead at his words. I stared at him speechless. My face must have given me away because I watched as Sam’s face fell. “Wait you’re not pregnant are you?” My eyes began to well with tears as a dead give away.

“I uh-“ Then the hot tears started to roll down my flushed cheeks. The summer air stung as my vision became blurry.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, why are you crying!” Sam’s chair scraped against the ground as he moved towards me. “Do you not want kids?” His voice was closer as he was by my side.

“Sam I think we are making a scene can we talk about this later.” I pleaded trying to contain my light sobs. The feeling of his hand on my back gave me a slight sense of comfort but I was not ready to come face to face with Sam.

“Am I not suppose to be excited?” My head whipped to my husband who was kneeling beside pure joy radiating off of him.

“You’re actually happy?” I whispered in disbelief. He laughed standing back up, placing a firm kiss on my forehead.

“Of course I’m happy” and with that he took his seat. “We’ve been married for 2 years I kind of assumed you would start wanting kids. I know I use to say that was the last thing on my mind but having a kid or two doesn’t seem like an awful idea anymore.” Both of his hands were holding mine as I tried to gain my composure again. “Are you not happy?” His hands squeezed mine as if he was begging me to say I was.

“Yes I’m happy. I’ve just been scared to tell you.” I sighed feeling the weight of the world leave my shoulders.

“Holy shit, I’m going to be a dad! How long have you known?”

“You remember that day we went to Nate and Elena’s and she told you I was crying because we watched a sad movie? Well while you and Nate were setting up the grill I told Elena I was late and she made me take a pregnancy test.” I shrugged not being able to look at Sam but I could feel his fiery eyes on me.

“That was a month ago.” There was a long pause. “Shit we are gonna have to get a bigger place!” He sat back in his chair, running his finger through his chestnut hair our eyes meeting again. “Can we get him a trampoline when he’s old enough. I always wanted one as a kid.” Once again my eyes filled with tears at Sam’s words, I don’t think realized how cute he was.

“Yes of course we can! But he might be a she Sam.” I smiled unable to contain my joy at Sam’s reaction.

“Why are you crying?” concern filled his voice again.

“I’m just happy you’re happy.”

“Of course I’m happy!” His words rang through my ears as the final confirmation I needed “If its a boy we should name him Samuel and if it’s a girl then we can name her Samantha.”

“Isn’t that just a little vain” I laughed wiping my tears away. Sam grabbed my mimosa and quickly finished it in one quick swoop. “Slow down there mister if I can’t drink you can’t either.” His eyes widened in amusement.

“You’re really gonna make me have the same diet as you while you’re pregnant.”

“You’re suffering with me! You caused this!” I gestured to my stomach

“Oh, cmon-“

“That also means the smoking’s gotta go.” A smile spread across my lips as Sam reached into his back pocket and handed me his packet of cigarettes.

“It’s done. As of today it’s completely done.” Sam took out his wallet next and dropped a twenty on the table. “C’mon I wanna take you somewhere.” With that he stood up grabbing my hand and whisking me out of the restaurant.

I was still hungry but the curiosity of where Sam was taking me was out weighing the hunger. Wherever he was taking me was clearly not in walking distance because the two of us sat on the train heading towards the center of downtown. He had his arm around me as he told me all the amazing things he was going to do as a dad. We passed the stop that was suppose to be for downtown, now the train was taking us out of the congested part of the city towards the residential neighborhoods. The train pulled to a halt in an area I didn’t know too well.

“C’mon” Sam said as he grabbed my hand leading me off the train. We walked for awhile until he stopped us in front of a white rundown house with a for sale sign in the front yard. It had a large red sticker across the white sign that read ‘SOLD’ in big red letters. I looked from Sam to the two story colonial style house, butterflies filling my stomach. It was small and quaint with a decently sized front yard. The shutters were falling off and the paint was peeling. “I know it doesn’t look like much but Nathan said he’d help me fix it up.” Turning to my husband I stared at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“I was planning on fixing it up. I wanted to surprise you for our anniversary.” I was speechless.

“You bought me a house.” I stated deadpan.

“Yeah, you said you always wanted a white two story house preferably colonial style with black shutters, a red door, and a yard you could grow flowers in, but you didn’t want to leave the city. So here you’re still in the city but the residential part.” He paused staring at me for a reaction. “There’s a bakery a few blocks away and a park a few blocks that way.” He pointed in the direction of the house “When he, or she, is old enough I could be their soccer coach or something dadish like that.” Turning to Sam I could see my future is his eyes. “Do you like it? I know it’s not-“ Before he could finish his sentence I had jumped into his arms wrapping my own around his neck.

“This is beyond enough! this is more than enough! You are perfect!” I pretty much yelled as his arms wrapped around my waist holding me up.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna be a dad!” His excitement boomed through the summer air. Pulling back I saw tears in Sam’s eyes for the first time since our wedding day.

“We are having a baby” I whispered against his lips.

“We are gonna be parents” his voice cracked

#Sam Drake #Samuel Drake #Uncharted 4 #Same x Reader #Sam Drake x Reader #Nathan Drake #Nate Drake #Elena Fisher #Uncharted

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