#but the last time I opened that file (years ago) I was in shambles and had flashbacks everyday for months | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years ago

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Take My Hand (Part Six)

Summary: rafael returns and things only get more complicated as the Davis case begins

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Reader, Rafael Barba x Reader

Word Count: 8,240

Song: There's an ache in you put there by the ache in me / But if it's all the same to you / It's the same to me (coney island by taylor swift)

Warnings: T, swearing, the angst is back, lot of soft parts, but a lot of difficult emotions to detangle, “sightless in a savage land” (22x04) is used as background (but i also f*cked with the timeline to make things easier for me), also the v*rus doesn’t exist b/c i don’t want to live in reality.

A/N: ok, things are happening, and i want to saw those of you who spot all the little parallels w/i the fic i love you. thank you to those who have stuck with the series and have reblogged and commented!! as always, thank you to @laneygthememequeen and @bucky-of-the-opera for being the best beta readers!!

You would be lying if you said you didn’t imagine this moment.

The moment you saw Rafael again. It was a thought that haunted the recesses of your mind — stuffed away with all memories of him — one that wriggled to the forefront when your thoughts had quelled in the silence and stillness. And you wondered what he would say. And what you would say.

And now you didn’t have to wonder.

"What are you—" the question deflates on your lips — stupid question — so you ask another, "when did you get back?"

"A few days ago," Rafael jerks his head to pull you aside, an easy smile on his lips, too easy. It wasn't easy when you both started dating. It wasn't easy when you left. It wasn't easy when he proposed. And it wasn't easy to say no. Nothing was easy when it came to this. But there he was, "my mother is moving down to Florida."

You raise your eyebrows, "Finally retiring? Did you have to pry the keys of her charter school out of her fingers?"

He gives a wry smile, "No, but helping her find a replacement and helping her pick out a place down there made it easier. That and promising to help her move."

"You're a good son," he was good — a good son, a good friend, a good prosecutor—

But he wasn’t good for you.

"Well I am a man of many talents," he crosses his arms, “with a few notable exceptions.”

And you know where this is going — to a place you don’t want it to.

He opens his mouth to speak again, but you cut him off, “Are you representing Davis?”

The words stuck in his throat, his mouth opening and closing, before he swallows them, “I am,”

“I didn’t know you did defense work,”

He tilts his head, “Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there? I assume you’re here because Noble-Gordon wants the case?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Keeping tabs on me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” the teasing is so routine — the banter clicks into place — picking up right where you both left off, smoothing over broken hearts and hurt feelings. Hiding behind quick witted barbs because it was easier than untangling ensnared feelings.

“Rafael—”

“I met with Jack,” he admits, holding his hands up, “I asked about you. Can you blame me for being curious?”

No. No, you couldn’t — not when you had asked Jack about him.

“I can try,” you want to bite the inside of your cheek when he smirks, “why do you want this case?”

“Off the record? Liv and Fin,” he slides his hands inside his pocket, “I suspect they didn’t know your firm would want the case for themselves, but,” he adds, “there’s a way this could work for both of us.”

“How?”

“How about a partnership?”

“A partnership?”

“Your firm gets their name on the case, and I need financial support,” and you furrow your brow, “but I have some terms.”

“Of course you would,” you sigh, “what are they?”

“One, I do the actual defense work in court, two, your firm’s involvement is limited to only a few employees — I don’t want your partners’ politics to be running the case — and three, you’re on the case with me,” and you raise your eyebrows, “before you say no—”

“Before I say no?” you repeat, “Rafael with everything that happened—”

“Before anything happened, we worked cases together, and even after everything happened, we did,” he shifts from foot to foot, “we know how the other works, we know our strengths and weaknesses, and I need someone I trust to work this case on — so I can walk into that courtroom for the first time since—” he sighs, biting his lip before speaking again, softer, “I want your help, and I know I have no right to ask for it, but I am. And that term is negotiable, but I’m pretty sure your firm will agree. You’re the best person to work this case.”

“But—”

“And before you ask,” he says, gaze soft, “this isn’t a ploy to win you back.”

You blink, “I know,”

Did you? You wished you could tell your heart because now it’s thumping against your ribcage, “I know I missed my chance, and I don’t want to cross any boundaries,” he reassures you, “this will be professional.”

“‘Professional,’” you repeat, the taste of the word disconcerting with just how unprofessional this felt, “Rafael—”

“Just think about it,” he tilts his head, “meet with Davis — trust me, he needs our help,” and then he pauses, “and you know that we’ll be facing—”

“I know Sonny is the A.D.A. on the case,” and he’s also my boyfriend. The words want to leave your tongue, but the sheer awkwardness is as disconcerting as working with Rafael — “Look—”

“Don’t give me an answer yet, just talk to your firm,” he checks his watch, “I have to go, but I’ll email you.”

“And where’d you get my email?” he shrugs.

“You can blame your firm for that one — firm’s website lists you,” and he begins to walk past you before pausing to look back, “it was nice to see you...counselor.”

How was it that he walked into your life as easily as you had left his? How was it that you wanted to hate him, but it was so easy to like him? How was it that everything was so easy — when it was him?

“It was nice to see you too,” and you spared one last glance at his retreating back, as the guard buzzed you in.

And that wouldn’t be the last time you’d see him.

Sonny was beginning to doubt any of this would ever get easier. Checking his watch, it was well past 3:00 PM and he hadn’t even eaten yet — typical. He spares a glance at the whiteboard — littered with schedules, case numbers, and statuses of cases.

But there was still so much to do.

He checks his phone — you had texted him, the messages bunched together, but his eyes fall back to the files stacked on the conference table. He begins placing them in a case box. It would have to wait.

“Carisi?” and he pauses at a voice — a voice he hadn’t heard in quite a while. He’s grizzled — different from the clean cut A.D.A. he once was, but he’s also lighter — again, different from the broken man who left his city with his reputation in shambles.

His words, not Sonny’s.

But now Sonny knows, knows that he wasn’t only broken because of the case, of having to leave his city, but because of you — the you that Barba had been with for years, the you whose heart he broke, the you who said no when he proposed.

And now you were dating Sonny.

Him, not Barba.

He stands in his doorway, “How’s the eighth floor treating you?”

But this was the same man that was his mentor, his friend — so he smiles.

“No differently than any other junior A.D.A.,” and Rafael gives a knowing smile, as Sonny continues to put away the files.

“They want you to cover their ass all the time? Never lose a case?” he knew it well — because he had lived it.

“Pretty much,” Barba crosses his arms, as Sonny grabs the box and brushes past him, “it’s good to see you, Barba. If you came to taunt me, I got all day.”

And it was good to see him — why wouldn’t it be? He would be lying if he didn’t wish before that Rafael was his boss instead — it would have been easier if nothing else. But not now.

“Huh, they gave you an office,” Barba remarks, glancing around his shoebox of an office, peering out his window to look at the paralegals at their desks, “nice view.”

Sonny places the box down, snorting, “I had to move the xerox machine and four filing cabinets just to get the desk in,” and then move them back. It wasn’t much — but it took him this long to get it — glorified closet or not, it was his.

“So you caught the Mickey Davis case?” He’s standing by the window, and Sonny sighs — the case had been all over the news, the media were having a field day, and so were his bosses upstairs. These were different times — and this was a dangerous case — vigilantism wasn’t something to be taken lightly. But it wasn’t something that was simple — not in this case.

“Oh, yeah,” Sonny sighs, leaning against his desk, “horror story.”

“What are you charging?”

Sonny almost scoffs, “The guy brought a gun to court, he followed the vic to transport, and shot him at point-blank range. What do you think?”

“I think the guy's got a Purple Heart, titanium leg, and PTS,” Sonny blinks — what was this?

“That doesn’t change what he did,” Sonny says slowly — Barba knew that — killing is still killing, no matter how justified it may seem.

He said it himself best — otherwise we might as well let the blood flow in the streets.

“He was betrayed by the V.A. and A.C.S., even the eighth floor has to know this is a dog,” Barba says, stepping forward, a ghost of a chuckle on his lips.

“Maybe,” Sonny admits, “but they still want him to do time.”

“That has to be negotiable,” and that’s when it clicks.

Sonny pauses, his mouth parted, as Barba meets his gaze, “Hold on,” he says slowly, “before we continue—”

“Mm-hmm,”

“Are you representing Mickey Davis?” And it’s Barba’s turn to pause, and he’s searching Sonny’s gaze — and he doesn’t know for what.

“I am,”

Sonny scoffs — that would have been nice to know from the start, “Okay,” Sonny gets to his feet, shutting his door and rounding the table to sit behind his desk — time to get down to business, “What kind of deal are you looking for?”

“No way you want to put this guy on trial,”

“Three and half years? No, but thank you,” Barba sits across from him, and Sonny knows he’s playing hard ball — he always played hard ball, but this time, they weren’t on the same team.

“Barba, we both know this wasn’t heat of the moment,”

“Maybe to you, not to Mr. Davis,”

Sonny raises an eyebrow, there was defending your client and then there was plain hubris,“There's security cam video. There's multiple eyewitnesses. Mickey broke the law—”

“A jury might see that as defending his daughter when no one else did,” Sonny narrows his eyes — jury nullification — did he get that strategy from Calhoun or Buchanan?

“Get the jury to ignore the law?” Sonny knew he wouldn’t make easy on him “That's a slippery slope, Rafael.”

He smiles, he’s almost proud, “You really have become a lawyer,”

Sonny wrinkles his brow, “What does that mean?”

“Mickey Davis is a human being. So are the jurors,” Rafael rises to his feet, as Sonny calls after him.

“You going for insanity?” He half-expects him not to answer — that would be the smart thing to do — but Rafael’s pride always trumped any strategy.

“I'm going for straight-up not guilty,” Rafael opens the door, turning, “and my co-counsel may be in touch as well.”

“Co-counsel?” Sonny leans back in his seat — he didn’t know Barba needed a second chair, “who’s that?”

And your name leaves his lips, “Excuse me?”

“Looks like you’ll be facing both of your mentors, Carisi,” and he knew that Rafael hadn’t seen the picture of you on his desk — “I’ll make sure to relay the offer as well. See you at arraignment.”

Sonny stares at the closed door, before his phone vibrates again, and he glances to see another text message from you: Hey, checking in on you. Can I drop by?

And Sonny knows, he knows you would never cheat. He knew this doesn’t change the year you had spent together, he knew it doesn’t change that you loved him, he knew it didn’t change anything, but — another text comes through: I miss you — it was complicated.

Not right now. Busy.

And he sighs, but it also didn’t change how he felt about you.

I miss you too.

The lights in the D.A.’s office had long ago dimmed — the barely lit fluorescents flickering as you passed the empty line of desks before finally reaching it. You knock at his office door, leaning against the doorframe, watching him work, his brow furrowed in thought, pen flicking as he scribbled notes.

“You forget about me?” Sonny barely looks up from his work, tight lipped, and your smile begins to slide off your lips, “Sonny?”

“Sorry, got caught up in work,” he leans back in his chair, just as you step forward, “what time is it?”

“Way past dinner,” you round his desk, leaning against it as you tilt your head, “you okay?”

You reach for him, but he moves away, crossing his arms, “Barba dropped by,” and his eyes fall on you — and you wonder if this was what it felt like to be interrogated — the pages of the book snapped shut, his cards resting against the table, and his face blank, “He wanted to discuss the Davis case—”

Your heart drops, “Sonny—”

“—and apparently you’re his co-counsel?” he shakes his head, sighing, his eyes falling to his desk, “When were you going to tell me that you met with Barba?”

You frown, “I wanted to tell you, I was going to tell you before I went to meet him — but I couldn’t reach you. You know my partners wanted to score some points—”

“Because of the Thompson case, I know—” but his brow is still furrowed, “but how did you end up calling point on the case?”

“I had to meet with Davis to discuss the details of the case,” you explain how your partners were too busy to go down and handle it nor did they trust any of the associates to do it, “we need this case — it’s a high profile case involving a vet? We had to jump on it, but when I got to Rikers, it turned out someone else got the jump on it first.”

He scoffs, “Barba,”

“He had already met with Davis, he offered to work in partnership with my firm, granted I handle the case and he gets to be in the courtroom,” and Sonny raises his eyebrows.

“He asked for you specifically to work the case with him?”

“Because he knows how I work,” your hand reaches for him slowly, “nothing more than that. Sonny, please don’t be mad — it was a coincidence.”

“I’m not mad,” he sighs, eyes finally meeting yours, his fingers intertwining with yours, “Would have been nice to know you two decided to work the case together,”

“I was going to tell you — I was just about to—”

“I know,” and he’s pulling you into his lap, “Just don’t let me find out you’re working with your ex from your ex,”

“I won’t,” you whisper, pressing your lips to him softly, “I promise. I didn’t mean for this—”

“I know,” he kisses you again, his arms wrapping around your middle, “what about us?”

Your lips purse, “What about us?”

“Our relationship — will we have to disclose?” it hadn’t been a problem since the cases you handled fell out of Sonny’s jurisdiction most times and when it didn’t, you delegated the work to someone else, “it seems like professional responsibility 101,”

“Well, I already told Mr. Davis, I got his written consent in writing when I met with him, just in case I end up handling the case,” you bite your lip, “as for the judge, it shouldn’t be a problem as long as we have the consent of my client.”

Your hand runs over his cheek, and he turns his head to press a kiss to your palm, “Are you going to work the case?”

“I have to talk to my firm, see what everyone wants to do,” your fingers run over his face, “but if they do want me to handle the case, are you okay with that?”

“You know I can’t make that call for you,” his hand rests on the small of your back, “it’s yours to make, sweetheart.”

“But I don’t want to make it without knowing you’re okay with me working with him—” you lean down to press a kiss to his temple, “are you okay with it?”

“I am,” he says softly, “are you?”

“The firm needs the case — and this could be my shot at making partner,” his lips press butterfly kisses to your neck, and you sigh, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Sleep on it?” he murmurs against his skin, “always how the best decisions are made.”

“Says who?”

“Me,” he replies.

And you chuckle, noses brushing, as you lean closer, “As long it’s from a reliable source,” and your lips meet again, he pulls away, but you give chase, until you’re pressing him into the seat, fingers sliding along his shoulders, your hand finding the back of his neck, swallowing his moan with ease.

“Doll,” his lips are kiss ruined, eyes fluttering, and you trail kisses along his jaw, “you’ll be the end of me,”

And the double meaning isn’t lost on you — “I would be happy to end with you,”

He smiles, and it’s enough. For now. You rest your forehead against his for a moment in the relative silence, only broken by the hum of the fluorescents and the quiet sound of your breathing.

Until his stomach growls.

And you blink, a grin breaking across your lips, “Hungry?”

“It depends,” and you slide off his lap, offering your hand to him, and he cocks his head, “did you cook?”

You huff at him, “You’ll be glad to know I ordered takeout right before I got here,” and he gets to his feet, taking your hand, “but just for that, I’m cooking for the next week.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” he wraps his arm around you, grabbing his bag, before flicking off the light.

And after you got back to the apartment, eating dinner, and slipping into bed, you lied awake, his quiet snores filling your ears, and you turned to look at him — barely illuminated in the moonlight that peeked through the parted shutters. His eyes shut, his breathing steady, his freshly washed hair falling against his forehead.

You turn away, reaching for your phone — finding the email from Rafael, disclosing the details of the case — a question ending the email: Are you in?

And you glance back at Sonny — only you didn’t know the answer.

He was okay with you taking the case, right? You scoot a little closer, nestling yourself beside him a moment, he said he was okay with it.

You shut your eyes. He was okay, and you would be okay.

Right?

“Wow, this is a nice upgrade from your office at the D.A.’s,” Rafael remarks at your office door, taking a moment to examine the room.

You barely look up from your work — a dozen cases, associates’ work to check, and several arraignments to do, “That’s because someone took the only nice office, and stuck me in a closet off of yours,”

“Bureaucracy at work,” he replies, shutting your door and taking stock, “how’s defense work treating you?”

“The same way it has been I left the D.A.’s office,” you spare a small smile, “wonderfully.”

“Found your calling?” you shrug.

“You could say that,” you sigh, placing your pen down, “what about you?”

“What about me?” he raises an eyebrow, and you roll your eyes. Always had to work for it when it came to Rafael Barba.

“What have you been up to?”

“Looking something I lost a few years ago,” and you furrow your brow, and he smiles, “don’t flatter yourself, counselor — I meant a calling,”

Your cheeks burn, “You came to talk arraignment? Thought you could handle that yourself, Mr. Innocence Project,”

“I wanted to talk deal,” Rafael crossed his arms, “there was one thing I didn’t disclose to you in that email and that’s my meeting with Carisi,” and you blink, only you knew about that already, “I met with him yesterday — he offered man 2.”

Sonny didn’t mention that, but then again it was better that he didn’t, “But you don’t want to take it?”

“I don’t,” he slides into a chair, pulling a legal pad out, leg folded over his knee, “I think we can do better — I think we can get not guilty.”

You raise your brow, “Do you want to—”

“I want to go for jury nullification,” he crosses his arms, shrugging, “we have a strong case for it.”

“And we have a man who literally shot another point blank on security footage, and who brought a gun with him to court,” you shake your head, “we have to at least consider it,”

“What’s there to consider? Mr. Davis doesn’t want to take the deal,” and you pause, and Rafael nearly wavers, adding, “I may have discussed it with him—”

“Before asking me about it?”

“You only told me this morning you were on board,” Rafael holds up his hands, “I had a duty to relay it to him,”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he didn’t want to deal — he wanted his day in court,” he tilts his head.

“Did he? Or did you?”

“What are you implying?”

“Did he come to this conclusion on his own or did you help him along?” and he pauses — all the answer you needed, “Rafael, this is our client, we have to be realistic—”

“He’s a vet with—”

“Awards and a prosthetic leg I know, but he also could go to jail for murder — and never see his daughter again,” and he opens his mouth to speak, “so I’m asking you, are you taking this to trial for him or for you?”

His lips are a thin line, “First of all, this is for him — I wouldn’t take this trial if I didn’t think there wasn’t a good chance of winning and if I knew this wasn’t what he wanted,” and he sits up, “and what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Your firm probably wants this to go to trial — need the publicity of a trial for this to work — for you to get the break you need, isn’t it?” Rafael argues the same way he does in court — his words pointed and true, aimed for the chinks in someone’s armor, “sounds like we’re on the same page.”

You glare at him, “Don’t question my motives,”

“Then don’t question mine,” the words are terse, a period at the end of a paragraph that is still left hanging, until he chooses to start a new one, “Is this about the case? Or is this about us?”

You scoff, “So much for keeping it professional,”

Your name leaves his mouth soft, but firm, and your eyes meet his, “Is it going to be like this?” he asks, crossing his arms, “throughout the entire trial?”

“Like what?”

And he sighs, running a hand over his bristled chin, “I know I’ve made mistakes, I know, you know, but I can’t change what I’ve done,” his voice grows soft, “and I’m sorry, I wish I could — I wish I didn’t hurt you, but I did, and I take responsibility for that,” your gaze falls and he continues, “but if this is too hard, if you don’t want to do this, if you’re still angry, like you have every right to be—”

“I do,” the words leave your lips, “I do want to work with this case with you — it’s just—” you break off. You had meticulously tucked away any feelings for Rafael Barba away along with any reminder of him, including the man himself. It was easy, it was clearcut, but this wasn’t easy — because now your feelings were leaking, slipping from your careful control, and where there was a leak, there was a flood. And you were bound to get hurt.

“It’s hard,” he swallows, and you blink.

“It’s hard for you?” the words leave your lips harshly, and he flinches, “I didn’t mean—”

“No,” he gives a rueful smile, “I deserved that, after everything I put you through,” he shrugs, pressing his lips together, “I did love you, I did, I was just afraid.”

“What were you so afraid of?”

And he shakes his head, “I saw so many relationships fall apart around me — my own, my parents, our cases—” he breaks off, “I didn’t want us to hate each other, I didn’t want to regret you,” a bitter chuckle leaves his lips, “but you ended up regretting me.”

You frown, “I don’t regret you,” and his brow furrows, “You’re surprised by that?”

“If I were you...I’d regret me,” and you sigh, hands wringing under your desk.

“Rafael, I loved you, even though it hurt, I can’t regret that. Do I wish things turned out differently? Maybe, but,” your voice softens, glancing at the picture of Sonny on your desk, and you gesture around you, shrugging, “it also got me to where I am.”

And you know you should tell him — you should tell him that you’ve moved on, you should tell him that you’re with Sonny, but the words are lodged in the back of your throat, and you can’t bring yourself to say them before he’s already speaking.

“Well,” he clears his throat, licking his lips, before smiling, “I’m glad, for that much at least,” and he sits back again, “So—”

“So?”

“Are we taking this to trial?” and you bite your lip — jury nullification was a risky move — for both the policy ramifications and the risk involved — but, that wasn’t your responsibility anymore, your duty and your only duty is to your client.

“Are you sure this is what Mr. Davis wants?” and Rafael nods.

“I would give you his exact words, but there are some obscenities,” and you snort, shaking your head.

“And you’re sure about putting him on the stand?”

“Not at all,” he scoffs, “he’s questionable at best, and a loose cannon at worst.”

You rub your temples, “That’s going to play well during cross,”

“We’ll prep him well — let’s just get through arraignment,” he sighs, flipping to a fresh page, “Carisi is going to ask for remand, how should we play it?”

“We ask for R.O.R. — he’s a father of a young girl who was just raped and impregnated, he’s a decorated veteran who needs physical therapy, and he’s not a flight risk.”

Rafael chuckles, “And when we don’t get it?”

“Honestly, I’ll take anything over remand,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “we should schedule a psych eval, start on gathering information on his tours, interview character witnesses and especially those who can testify to what he saw—” your words fall short when you see Rafael is smiling, “what?”

“Nothing,” he waves you off, pressing the tip of his pen to his lips, “Go on.”

And you blink, before going on — not noticing the way his smile returned when your eyes fell away.

Running late from the office — be there soon. Your text comes in just as Sonny’s food arrives at the table, and he’s about to order for you when a voice draws his attention away.

“Mr. Carisi,” Sonny’s head snaps up his phone to find Jack McCoy smiling at him, “am I interrupting?”

His mouth is dry, and he shakes his head, “No, not at all,” he gestures for him to join him, and Jack does, not bothering to look at a menu, “so I suppose this isn’t a social call?”

“I wanted to ask your progress on the Davis case,” he crosses his arms.

And he blinks, wondering why he hadn’t bothered to ask whether you had told his boss if a) you two were dating, and b) if he knew you were on this case, “Discovery is ongoing — I’ve handed my materials over per the new discovery rules within 15 days, and now I’m waiting on the defense to turn over their evidence.”

Jack shakes his head, “New York law catching up with the modern days — a damn fine day for defense attorneys — before we could sandbag the day before, not that I ever did that,” he gives a wry smile, before his eyes fall to Sonny’s phone, vibrating, “you need to get that?”

“No, sir,” Sonny waves it off, “What’s your interest in the Davis case?”

“Well, I am your boss, I’m interested in all your cases,” he replies, before smiling, “I did hear who the defense attorneys for the case are.”

And Sonny picks at his food, “Oh?”

“I am just curious how prepared you are to tackle a case against both of your old mentors,” Jack says, as Sonny chooses then to sip at his drink, “and your partner for that matter.”

He chokes, “Who—”

“It was obvious — at least to me,” Jack shrugs, “don’t pretend you haven’t heard the rumors about me,” he adds, furrowing his brow, “one piece of advice, son—”

“We are planning on disclosing to the judge—”

“Not that,” he says sharply, “you’ve been good together — the two of you. But it’s easy to let a case get between you,”

“Is this about Diana Hawthorne?”

And Jack raises an eyebrow, “Did—”

“Rumor mill isn’t just about me, sir,” he shrugs, “I heard it a while ago, that case was tough,”

“Made tougher by our relationship,” he sighs, “I think sometimes if we hadn’t been together, maybe things—” he cuts off, “my point is, you two have done a good job of keeping professional and personal from mixing so far, but when you both start bringing this case home—”

“We won’t,” Sonny says, and Jack raises an eyebrow, “we won’t.”

And Jack relaxes, before shoving his hands in his pockets, “How long have you two been—”

“Over a year now,” Jack smiles softly.

“Are you both happy?”

And is he happy? When he’s with you, he feels at peace for once — the world and its horrors slipping away, until he feels nothing but you in his arms. You challenge him to grow — even when he doesn’t want to. And he would do anything for you — he would give you the life you wanted, give the family you want, give you his best — if only he could give you the same peace you give him.

“We are,” Sonny smiles softly, hand slipping into his pocket, thumbing the ring box in his pocket, “in fact—”

“Hey,” you arrive, glancing between him and Jack, furrowing your brow — and he knows you hadn’t told Jack, “Jack, Sonny — what a—”

“Cat’s out of the bag, sweetheart,” Sonny slips his arm around your waist, and you tilt your head, before realization washes over you, relaxing into his touch, “care to join us?”

“You’ll be joining him,” Jack slips from the booth, “like I said, this wasn’t a social call,” he smiles between the two of you, “we should set up a lunch.”

“Will do,” you nod, “I’ll call you."

With a nod, he leaves, and you slip into the booth beside him, "Hi," you kiss him, "menu?"

"I would have ordered for you, but I got interrupted,” and you bump his shoulder.

You snort, “I wouldn’t have ordered if my boss was grilling me about my relationship,”

“You didn’t tell him?

“Should I have?” he’s frowning, and you’re shaking your head, “it’s not that I didn’t want to,” you bite your lip, “sorry, I’m not explaining this well,” you sigh, placing the menu down, “it’s just Jack had me and Rafael figured out from the second we…”

Sonny is shaking his head, sipping at his drink, “Yeah, well looks like not much has changed,”

“Well, he didn’t exactly approve of me and Rafael, which is why I was worried what he’d say to you,” you purse your lips, shifting in your seat, “did he say anything?”

Sonny pauses, “No I don’t think so,” and Sonny’s biting back a smile, remembering Jack’s words — he approved.

And now you’re bumping his shoulder, “Why so smug, counselor?”

“No reason,” and you’re stealing one of his fries, “I’m just glad I’m not on his bad side.”

“No one would want to be,” you say as the waiter comes order, taking your order, as well as the menu from your hand.

“Did you tell him?”

“Jack? I just told—”

“No, I mean,” he licks his lips, “did you tell Rafael that we were dating?”

And he was hoping he wouldn’t see your brow knit together like that, see your fingers wringing in your lap, “I didn’t,”

His mouth is dry, and he’s turning his body to face you, “Why?”

“I didn’t know how to bring it up — to just say, ‘by the way, I’m dating Sonny, just thought you should know,’” and doubt begins to creep in, “we were trying to keep things professional—”

“I understand,” and your lips are twisting and he knows you don’t believe him — hell, he doesn’t believe him.

“Do you want me to tell him?” and he doesn’t know what to say — he wants him to know, but why does he want him to know? You weren’t his property — he didn’t own you, he knew you wouldn’t do anything. He trusted you.

Didn’t he?

“I’ll tell him, Sonny,” and Sonny’s gaze snaps to you, “he’s picking up files from me at the office, and I’ll let him know—” Sonny opens his mouth, but you cut him off with his lips, “we have to disclose to the judge on Monday anyway before jury selection, it’s necessary.”

“I don’t want to make you—”

“I know,” you silence him with another kiss, soft, comforting, and his guilt settles, instead peace seeps in, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” his heart warms, as the waitress brings over your meal, and Sonny’s check, and he checks his watch, “and I gotta go. See you tonight?” and you shake your head.

“I got to work late tonight and I have arraignments early in the morning — but I get off early tomorrow and I’ll be waiting to make it up to you,” you kiss him again, before pressing chaste kisses along his jaw.

“Looking forward to that,” and he wants to ask — ask why you won’t consider moving in, why you brush it off, and the question burns on his lips, until the words are seared into his tongue — but he doesn’t, “call me?”

“I will,” and he kisses you one last time, before slipping from the booth.

And he wonders, fingers finding the velvet box in his pocket — if you won’t move in with him, will you even marry him?

Can you do me a favor? Rafael’s text comes in as soon as you’re leaving from court, and you’re sighing at your phone screen.

And another: Please?

He really must be desperate. What’s up?

Can you drop the files off somewhere for me? I can’t make it to your office today — something came up.

Is something wrong?

Only with my mother’s cable service — they were supposed to be by today to disconnect the service.

You snort, Then sue them.

Civil is not my area of expertise, and then he adds, but I may be willing to learn if they take any longer. Can you please drop the files off?

You raise an eyebrow — ‘please’ — he really must be desperate.

You bite your lip — you wanted to get home early, but you also needed to tell Rafael about you and Sonny. You glance at the time, sighing, before replying to him.

I’ll drop by with the files — text me the address now.

A tax ride later — you had arrived at a place you thought you would never be again. You couldn’t but stare at the door of Lucia’s place. You had been here five years ago — first and last time you had met his mother. And it was the first time you had realized you had to break up with Rafael.

It was over the moment you left here — even though neither of you wanted to admit it. His kisses could no longer patch your heart because it was no longer cracked — it was broken.

But it didn’t make it any easier to leave him.

You shake yourself from your thoughts, knocking on the door — but you had.

And so did he.

You hear his voice from within the apartment — a muffled coming — and some stumbling, until finally you hear the telltale sounds of the chain, bolt, and locks.

He opens the door, wiping his face with a towel — and he’s clean shaven. And you blink — he smiles at you, the very same smile he always gave you, “You shaved,”

“And you’re observant,” and he finds you staring at him, “Does it look bad?”

“No, no,” he steps aside, letting you inside the apartment, before shutting the door and locking it, “you look good.”

And his lips are curving in a grin now, “I look good?”

Your cheeks burn — always a dog with a bone, “Don’t push your luck, Barba,”

“Ouch,” he snorts, “you used to be much more accommodating to my self-esteem.”

“That was when I worked with you,” you cross your arms, taking a survey of the apartment — more boxes than apartment at this point, you could barely take a step before tripping, “men work better with their ego stroked,” You find your way to the kitchen table — his makeshift office from the looks of it — complete with two cups of coffee, “Old habits die hard, huh?”

“They often do,” he sips at the coffee, holding it by the rim with the tips of his fingers, “everyone is allowed to have their vices.”

“And here is your other one—” you pull the files from your bag, “I brought everything you asked for — you should be well prepped for jury selection.”

He nods, flipping through the materials, “You’ll be there right?”

“Of course,” you blink, “any reason you ask?”

“I may run a little late on Monday, but it shouldn’t be an issue—” Rafael waves it off, before setting it down, “can I make you a cup of coffee to thank you?”

You offer a small smile, “No, I probably should get home, but I’ll see you on Monday,” and you swallow your nerves, squeezing the handle of your bag, “but there is something I wanted to tell you—”

And that’s when you hear the lock clicking, “Rafi, how many times have I told you to just leave the door unlocked?” heels clicking against the hardwood, arms full of bags. Rafael slips from his chair, rounding the kitchen table.

“And how many times have I told you that’s not safe?” he replies, taking the bags from her arms, and then she spots you, blinking, “Mami, you remember—”

“Oh!” she walks over, pulling you into a tight hug, “it’s so wonderful to see you again, dear,”

“Lucia, it’s great to see you too,” you smile, awkwardness smoothed over the warmth of her smile, as her hands found yours, squeezing, “it’s been far too long.”

“I’ll say,” she shoots a glare at her son, before her eyes find yours and soften again, “I had warned him not to let you get away, and did he listen?”

Rafael is rubbing his temple, “Mami, please—”

“Oh,” she looks between the two of you, raising a brow, “if you’re here does that mean—”

“No,” he clears his throat, the tips of his ears red now, “I told you we’re on this case together. I needed some files dropped off—”

“You must join us for lunch,” and both you and Rafael open your mouths, “I insist, please. This will be the last time for a while I will be up north for a bit. Let me impose.”

And your eyes flicker between Rafael and his mother, before Rafael speaks, “We can’t impose on any plans—”

“I’ll stay,” and his eyes fall on you, as your phone feels heavier in your pocket with guilt — knowing you would be late, “it’s fine, how can I say no?”

Lucia squeezes your hand. And how could you say no to this?

After lunch, you’re helping Lucia clean up, when Rafael is in the bathroom, washing the dishes while she dried, “Are you looking forward to moving down to Florida?”

“I am, even though I’ll miss my work and my students,” she sighs, her shoulders much lighter, “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life living the same — I want to have time for myself, I want to experience new things, not like my mother,” her voice grows smaller, the plates clinking in the dish rack, “I don’t know how much Rafael told you about her—”

“I knew that she had passed, while Rafael and I were together,” he had been a mess — he wasn’t sleeping, he was barely eating, you had to ply him to get him away from the office —- when he wasn’t working, he was drinking. He had blamed himself for his grandmother’s death for so long — and even now you wondered if he had ever stopped, “she was a wonderful woman.”

“I wish you could have met her,” she sniffs, “she would have loved you,” and you nod, silent, and you feel her eyeing you, “what happened with you and Rafi anyway?”

“It just didn’t work out,” you knew she wasn’t going to let it go that easily.

“You two loved each other,” Lucia replies, “that just doesn’t go away.”

And you did — you had loved him, you would have married him, you would have started a family with him — but he didn’t want that. And you did.

“It doesn’t,” you wanted to brush it off, you wanted to tell her you were with someone else, you wanted to say something to make her stop pushing, but you couldn’t, “I did love your son, Lucia. I really did, but it wasn’t the right time for us.”

“You made him happy—happier than I’ve ever seen him, even now,” and you meet her gaze, “you can’t tell me you don’t feel something for him now? Can you?”

And you waver, no words coming to mind, “Lucia, I—”

But then the bathroom door is creaking open, and you jolt, continuing to wash dishes, tongue tied and cheeks burning in shame — why didn’t you mention Sonny? Why didn’t you just tell her you loved someone else? But another question nagged at you, as the object of the question appeared before you — and you turned at the sound of your name to find him smiling at you.

Why couldn’t you say that you didn’t have feelings for Rafael?

“Ma, we should probably let your hostage go now,” he tilts his head, hands in his pockets, “I’m sorry if we stepped on your plans—”

You clear your throat, “No, no, it’s fine—” And you move to grab your coat and bag, “but I really should get going.”

Lucia holds out her arms, wrapping you in a hug, “It was wonderful to see you dear,”

“You too,” you smiled, despite the interrogation that rivaled your son’s, “if I don’t see you again, please have a safe trip to Florida,”

“Thank you, and good luck on your case,” she presses a kiss to your cheek, as Rafael stands by, arms crossed.

“I’ll walk you out,” he nods at his mom, before slipping out of the apartment with you, as the door clicks behind you, and he walks you to the elevator, “I’m sorry my mom shanghaied you—”

“It’s fine,” you wave him off, as you press the call button, “I enjoy being shanghaied when it involves your mom’s cooking,”

“But still, I don’t want you to think that was my intention—”

“Rafael?” you cut him off, “it’s fine.”

And the elevator dings, the doors sliding open, “Are you sure?”

You smile at him, sighing, stepping in, “If it’s not, I’ll just sue you,” and he scoffs, “I’ll see you Monday, Raf.”

The nickname slips out before you can help it, and the doors close shut, as you step back, back of your head leaning against the wall.

What the fuck were you doing?

~~~

Rafael slips back inside, shutting the door behind him, “So what was that stunt you pulled to get—”

“How much of our conversation did you hear?” Lucia replies, wiping her hands off, and crossing her arms. His gaze softens, “you still have a chance, mijo.”

“Mami—”

She finds her way over to her son, “Do you miss—”

He sighs, “You know I do,” but he shakes his head, turning away from her, “but it’s over, I can’t cross that line again—”

“Can’t or won’t?” she places her hands on her hips, “you heard us — couldn’t deny having feelings for you still, and you — I’ve seen you since you’ve been working the case, you’re happier.”

And he doesn’t want to admit it — it hurt to see you again, after you had rejected him, but more because of the way he had treated you. You were a reminder of yet another way he had failed, but also a reminder that he wanted to be so much better. And he did, and he was.

He wasn’t the same person — he had grown, and so had you.

And maybe, for once the timing was right — your mouth wrapped around his nickname, the way it used to be, still ringing in his ears.

He turns to face his mother, “Now I’ll ask one more time, did you hear our conversation?”

And he smiles, “I heard everything.”

And he knew what he had to do.

“Where is your co-counsel?” Judge Harper asks sharply, and you stand twisting your fingers, “Counselor—”

“I apologize, Your Honor,” you are texting Rafael for the sixth time, asking him where he is, “Mr. Barba is not responding to my attempts to get into contact with him. He had told me he may be a little late—” not twenty minutes late, but— “if you could give us a few more minutes—”

“The People have no objection,” Sonny adds, sparing you a sympathetic look.

“Even so, this is wasting the jurors’ time,” Judge Harper sighs, “Can you proceed without him?”

Fuck — you still needed to disclose to Judge Harper.

Proceeding without disclosure would be a violation of your duties, and your eyes slide to Sonny who purses his lips, not to mention Sonny’s. Well no time like the present, “Yes, but I would like to enter chambers before then,”

Judge Harper blinks, but agrees, rising to enter her chambers, and just as you round the defense table, Rafael arrives through the double doors, harried and rushing, “I apologize, Your Honor, I—”

And he's glancing at all of you on your feet, halfway across the courtroom floor, and Judge Harper speaks first, "You're just in time to join us in chambers, counselor,”

Rafael’s eyes flicker between you and Sonny, a questioning brow raised, but he follows, and your heart sinks.

Fuck.

He needed to know — you just didn’t want him to find out this way. You had opportunities — you had your chance, and you had lost it.

Just like he lost his — with you.

The doors close behind you, as Judge Harper settles behind her desk for a moment, “Now, what is this about?”

The uncomfortable feeling of everyone’s gaze settles over you, and Rafael’s gaze feels sharper than the others.

But why did it feel sharper?

It had been years since you had been together, years since you had ever— and why would he care if you were dating Carisi? Why did it feel like his gaze was carving into your mind and he could see the truth written across your forehead? But you still didn’t know — you didn’t know why you cared.

Why did you care?

Your throat was tight, and you still couldn’t think of an answer to your own question.

“I wanted to disclose something — something that’s already been disclosed to my client with his consent in writing from the very start,” you swallow the lump in your throat, unable to meet Rafael’s eyes,

“We wanted to disclose,” Sonny cuts in, “We were waiting for the trial to start, since we didn’t find any need to disclose to the arraignment judge, since Mr. Barba and I handled that.”

“Disclose what?” And you still can’t bring yourself to look at Rafael.

You hand her the paperwork, glancing at Sonny, “I’m currently in a relationship with A.D.A. Carisi.”

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagines #sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagines #law and order svu #svu imagines #svu #law and order: svu

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bellakitse · 3 years ago

Text

Take Me Back to the Start

“I thought our fight was going to be our last words to each other,” he whispers, his eyes filling up. “I’m so damn sorry, baby.”

Carlos looks into those green eyes, wet with unshed tears and relief, and frowns. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” he asks and watches with growing dread as those eyes widen with shock and fear.

Carlos is in a car accident and forgets the last three and half years of his life.

M | 15.4K | AO3

Everything hurts.

That’s the first real thought Carlos has as he squints up at the lights over his bed through sore eyes. He can’t remember ever aching this much everywhere at once. He’s pretty sure even his hair aches, something he didn’t think was medically possible, but here he is, lying on what he’s sure is a hospital bed, and everything fucking hurts.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he tries to take inventory of the damage. His head is pounding, and when he moves it, he feels a tug over his brow that tells him there is a bandage there. Looking down without trying to lift his head, he catches a glimpse of a soft cast on his left arm from his wrist to his elbow. He tries to sit up to take in the rest of his body, only to let out a hiss when his ribs scream in protest at his sudden movement. Focusing on his breathing, it takes him a second to realize there is someone else in the room with him with their hand on his shoulder, helping him lay back down.

“Hey, hey, hey, slowly, Carlos,” he’s told with a gentle but urgent voice. “You have three cracked ribs from the accident. You can’t be moving like that right now.”

“Accident?” he questions through gritted teeth waiting for the wave of pain to pass. He gets a wince in return for his question.

“You flipped your car,” is the answer he receives. “The roads were wet, and we think an animal crossed your path. You swerved to avoid it, lost control of the Camaro, went off the side of the road, and flipped.”

“Jesus,” he whispers. He clenches his right hand as he tries to recall the accident described to him and comes up empty.

“I really thought I lost you.”

He turns his head at the words, finding beautiful green eyes pained and worried as they stare back at him.

“When I got the call,” he continues, letting out a shaky breath while running an even more trembling hand through his brown hair. “I thought our fight was going to be our last words to each other,” he whispers, his eyes filling up. “I’m so damn sorry, baby.”

Carlos looks into those green eyes, wet with unshed tears and relief, and frowns. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” he asks and watches with growing dread as those eyes widen with shock and fear.

֎֎֎

His retrograde amnesia, the doctors say, is brought on by his head injury during the accident. They have high hopes it’s temporary, but they can’t know for sure.

All they can do is wait, he’s told in hopeful tones, and while he can appreciate the optimism, all that means to Carlos right now is that he’s lost years of his life. He woke up thinking it was 2019, and instead, it’s 2023.

He gets the cliff notes version of the state of the world. Global pandemic in 2020, bad. Trump lost reelection, awesome. Michelle found Iris alive, a miracle. She left town to go help others like her sister, admirable.

The guy with the pretty green eyes sits in the corner of his hospital room silently while Carlos’ parents catch him up on things. Carlos’ eyes stray to him more than once, always finding his gaze on him as he nervously bites down on his lip.

“Do you know who TK is, son?” his father asks softly, turning towards the man in question. His mother has walked over to stand next to this TK, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he flinches when Carlos shakes his head, letting them know he doesn’t.

It’s strange and frustrating. It’s evident by the sympathetic looks they give the stranger and how his mother rubs his back that the man is someone they care about. Someone who is connected to Carlos, and no one needs to say out loud how for him to read between the lines.

TK’s broken expression as he stares at him – what he’d said when Carlos first woke up, lets him know what he needs to know. He and TK are involved.

That part isn’t necessarily shocking. His life might be suddenly turned upside down and his memory in shambles, but he has eyes, and TK is breathtakingly beautiful. He imagines that he took one look into those pretty green eyes and lost all thought of anything else.

What’s hard to imagine is a relationship where his parents are obviously well acquainted with someone he’s involved with.

“I don’t remember,” he says softly, feeling horrible at the choked sound TK lets out as he stands up from his chair. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, staring at the man across the room with regret.

“It’s okay,” TK answers with a wobbly smile that fools no one in the room. Finally, he exhales loudly, his eyes straying for the door. “I think I need some air,” he says, already turning on his heel, ignoring Carlos’ parents when they both say his name, leaving them alone in Carlos’ room.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos repeats quietly as the room is left in silence after TK’s abrupt exit.

His mother comes over to him while his father shakes his head at him. “Don’t apologize, mijo,” he says gently. “This isn’t your fault, and no one understands that better than TK. No one blames you for this.”

“He’s hurting,” Carlos points out. He might not remember TK, but the man’s expression hides nothing. On the contrary, his pain has been visible since the moment Carlos first opened his eyes.

“He loves you, Carlitos,” his mother says instead of denying his words. Her expression is achingly sad as she takes his hand, giving it a soft pat. “And he’s scared.”

Carlos doesn’t say out loud he’s scared too. There is a gaping hole in his memory in the shape of a man his mother claims loves him, a man who pulls at him in a way he can’t understand, and Carlos is terrified he’ll never know if he can’t remember him.

֎֎֎

A slew of unfamiliar faces visits him. Paul, Marjan, Nancy, Mateo, Tommy, and TK’s father, Owen. He politely answers when they ask him how he’s doing and apologizes when he has trouble remembering their names. He gets waved off in return as they smile compassionately and tell him they’re just glad he’s okay. That it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know them even though they’re supposedly his friends – they’re just happy he’s alive.

He gets visited by Judd and Grace Ryder, and while he does remember them, it startles him to realize they are his friends now too. He remembers Judd from the 126 and is struck when he’s told the old crew is all gone. He can’t imagine what that must have been like for Judd, and he tells him so.

The tall man gives him a saddened smile that tells Carlos it’s still a pain that lingers. Judd tells him having his new team helps with that grief and how thankful he is that Owen and TK Strand decided to come to Austin years ago to rebuild the firehouse, giving Judd and the others a new family.

He sits up straighter at the mention of TK. He hasn’t seen much of him in the last few days, at least not while he’s awake. The guy is obviously giving Carlos space, but Carlos has caught him more than once at night when he is half-asleep checking in on him.

Carlos has taken to playing possum to not scare him off.

“Is that how we met?” he asks Judd. “Me and TK,” he clears up when Judd gives him a confused squint of his eyes. “Did he and I meet on the job?”

Judd and Grace share a look between each other.

“You really don’t remember anything about him, sweetheart?” Grace asks softly, her eyes pitying when he shakes his head.

“Man, I can’t imagine what that must feel like,” Judd says with a harsh exhale. “Poor kid must be losing his mind without you.”

He must make a face at that because Grace elbows Judd in his side hard in response.

“Not that it’s your fault, man,” Judd rushes to comfort him. “This was just really shitty luck. But you and TK have been through worse. You’ll get through this.”

Carlos swallows hard at the conviction in his friend’s voice. “My mother says he loves me,” he questions, still having a hard time believing it himself. While parts are missing from his mind, he does remember that there was never anyone serious in his life. No one who stuck around long enough for him to love, let alone love him back.

“He does, very much,” Grace says with a smile on her pretty face. “And you love him back just as much.”

“You’re actually pretty sickeningly cute together,” Judd tells him. “Always in your own little world where only the two of you exist,” he continues, getting a fond eye-roll from his wife. “It makes the rest of us want to pour water over the two of you, but after three years, we’ve learned to live with it.”

“Judson,” Grace scolds her husband softly, but Carlos tunes them out as he files away another piece of the puzzle.

Three years.

֎֎֎

He gets discharged from the hospital two weeks later. His ribs are bruised but healing, as is his arm. The scratches and bruises on his body are mostly faded. He greets the news of his release with barely restrained glee – already half out of his mind after spending so many days in the hospital.

“You’ll come stay with us, Carlitos,” his mother says with a smile that feels over the top. “It will be so nice to spoil you.”

He looks from her to his father and then finally to TK, who is actually there during his waking hours for once. He takes in his rod-straight posture as he stands at the end of his bed, his jaw clenched.

Carlos raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re okay with me going home with my parents and not you?” he challenges, barely holding back a sharp grin when it startles the man in question.

“I want you to feel comfortable,” TK answers after a moment.

“You’re my boyfriend,” he shoots back, only slightly stumbling over the last word. “I should be comfortable with you, shouldn’t I?”

“You don’t know me,” TK points out, his jaw tightening even further, and Carlos has the urge to touch at the edges, to run his thumb over the smooth-looking skin until TK stops grinding his teeth.

Instead of soothing him, though, Carlos shrugs a shoulder at him, seeming more unbothered than he actually feels. “Maybe if you didn’t just visit me when you think I’m asleep these last two weeks, I’d know you.”

TK’s mouth drops, his eyes going wide as he sputters, and Carlos has to ignore the little vicious voice in his head that cheers at the reaction. Instead, he turns to his parents, giving them a shake of his head.

“If I’m going to remember my life, then I should probably start living that life,” he reasons, holding up a hand when his mother tries to speak. “And as far as I know, I wasn’t living with my parents when the accident happened,” he lets the statement hang, waiting to see if anyone will correct him. “I thought so. I’m going home, to my home.”

He looks back over at TK, finding his eyes locked on him once more. There is so much going on behind those eyes. Too much for Carlos to read it all when the man continues to be a stranger to him, but there is one thing Carlos does recognize. Tentative hope.

“So,” he starts, raising his eyebrow once more as he drags out the word. “Are you gonna give me a ride back to our place or not?”

֎֎֎

“This isn’t the way home,” he points out the next day from the passenger’s seat of TK’s Ranger. The ride has been mostly silent except for the radio playing. His discharge had also been quiet, his parents doing most of the talking while they waited for his doctors to sign off on his papers. They’d made TK and him promise to call if they needed anything while also letting them know they would be checking in on them often. “You missed the turn on Lynwood,” he says, pointing back at the avenue.

TK makes a face, something very much like a grimace. “Yeah,” he starts to say slowly. “We don’t live there anymore – haven’t for a while actually.”

“We moved?” he questions, surprised. His place had been big enough for two people. More than enough for a couple just starting to live together. “Did you not like it?”

“I loved that house,” TK answers, turning to look at him. “I was so happy when you asked me to move in,” he continues softly. He gives him a sad smile. “But there was a fire, and we lost it.”

“A fire?” he repeats, swallowing hard at the sudden inexplicable fear he feels. TK looks over at him again, going instantly on alert. He takes a hand off the wheel, reaching halfway towards Carlos before coming to a halt.

Carlos watches as the hand hangs mid-air for a moment, feeling a twinge under his ribcage when TK drops it back on his lap instead of touching Carlos.

“We were in it,” he realizes, sure of it as something flashes through his mind, and he swears he can feel the heat and smell the smoke.

TK bites down on his bottom lip, his eyes focused on the road. Then, finally, he gives him a sharp nod but says nothing.

“We almost didn’t make it,” he continues, exhaling slowly, trying to bring his racing heart back down. “It messed me up for a while, didn’t it?”

TK pulls into a quiet street with modest two-story houses. He passes four of them before turning into the driveway of a moss-green house with a brown roof. Turning off the car, TK twists in his seat to look at him. “It did,” he answers honestly. “It got really close, and we almost didn’t make it out. We were shaken up for a long time, and as a result, there is a fire extinguisher in just about every room of this house, which you have me check to make sure they’re all in working order every couple of months.”

TK lets out a breath, raising a hand to run it through his hair. “But we got through it, and we found this place,” he points at the house. “And we fell in love with making new memories in it.”

Memories Carlos can’t remember. Neither have to say it out loud; the words ring out through the car regardless.

“It’s green,” he points out for lack of anything else to say. TK smiles, and for the first time since Carlos opened his eyes, it’s not brittle at the edges.

“To match my eyes,” he says softly, his voice sounding far away. He shrugs at him when Carlos gives him a questioning glance. “Your words, man,” he says, smiling again when Carlos wrinkles his nose at him. “Yeah, you’re kind of a sap that way. Come on.”

Carlos follows TK out of the car and up the steps of the house. Standing on the porch, he spots a swing. “My parents’ house has one of those,” he points at the padded bench. “I always wanted one for my house too.”

“I know,” TK says with a slight smile as he looks over at the porch swing. “You told me when we were looking for a new place to live. So I had it installed a few days before we officially moved in to surprise you.”

TK’s smile grows as he gets lost in the memory. “We spent most of our first night here on it instead of opening boxes. Eventually, I started to fall asleep on you, and you – “

TK trails off frowning, shaking his head at himself as he turns back to open the door.

“I what?” he asks. He puts his hand on TK’s forearm to keep him from turning the lock, swallowing when TK’s eyes thunder up to look at him, surprised by his touch. Carlos realizes he hasn’t done that before and resists the instinct to take his hand off. “I what, TK?” he asks again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You carried me inside and put me to bed,” TK whispers back. He blinks, but that doesn’t keep Carlos from seeing the sudden sheen in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he turns towards the door once more, opening it. “You’ve always been really good about taking care of me.”

TK takes a step forward, and Carlos lets his hold on him slip away. Following him, he finds himself in the middle of a living room painted in light colors instead of the dark walls he remembers from his other place. There are pictures and knick-knacks everywhere, plants at each corner of the room. The place looks well lived-in and busier than his usual style. His face must show some of what he’s thinking because TK snickers.

“Yeah,” he says with a smirk. “It took you a while to get used to my particular brand of chaos.”

Carlos walks over to the fireplace, finding it full of little trinkets. “This is all you?” he questions.

“You have bought me a lot of them,” TK answers with a shrug. He points at a small bronze bee next to a detailed firetruck. “That one you got for me because you thought it matched my tattoo.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at him as TK just shrugs at him again.

“Like I said, you’ve gotten used to my love for random stuff.”

“You mean I’ve gotten used to the fact that you’re a hoarder,” he tells him, smiling when TK lets out an offended gasp.

“Rude,” TK grumbles, but Carlos is pleased to see it’s said with a smile. TK hasn’t done much of that around him, understandably, and it makes Carlos ridiculously happy to be the cause of it now. It must show by the way TK’s expression softens as he looks at him.

“Do you want me to show you the rest of the house, or do you want to eat something first?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “You haven’t eaten since the hospital this morning.”

“I could eat,” Carlos answers with a nod, his stomach grumbling at the suggestion. All he had this morning was the muffin on his food tray, too anxious to leave the hospital to eat anything else.

TK nods for him to follow him, leading him towards the kitchen. “You’re in luck. Grace dropped off a casserole last night, so you won’t be subjected to my cooking.”

Carlos leans against a marble counter, looking around at the beautiful kitchen, not a pot out of place, and knows instantly it’s his domain.

“You don’t cook?” he asks, getting a face back as TK pulls a glass dish out of the fridge.

“I mean, I wouldn’t starve,” he says as he turns on the oven, flashing him an amused grin over his shoulder. “And I have picked up some tricks from you. But we’ve both agreed it’s safer for our house and stomachs if you do the bulk of the cooking.”

Carlos smiles at the comment, entertained by it.

“This will take a bit to heat up,” TK gestures towards the oven. “Let me show you the upstairs.”

Carlos nods, trailing TK back out of the kitchen and up a set of stairs. He follows him as he shows him a room that seems to be part guestroom, part library, before continuing towards the end of the hall towards a master bedroom with a large bathroom attached.

“This bedroom is yours. I’ll be sleeping in the other room for now,” TK comments, standing back as Carlos looks around. From the open closet displaying their clothes together to the top of a black drawer with a series of pictures of them. Everything about the room tells the story of their life together.

Carlos picks up a picture frame. In it is a picture of him and TK on vacation going off the beach in the background. TK has a big silly hat on and a coconut drink in his hand, while Carlos has his arm wrapped around him, pressing a kiss into the man’s cheek. Both are smiling wide.

“That was Cancun a year ago,” TK says softly as he comes to stand next to him, looking down at the picture with him. “I surprised you with the trip and had to practically tape my mouth shut to not spill the beans before everything was ready. I’m not very good at keeping secrets, much less from you.”

Carlos looks over at TK, giving him a once-over. “You have no poker face,” he realizes, sure of it. TK proves him right by the startled look he gives him, letting out a huff a moment later.

“You always say that,” he tells him with an eye roll. “I just don’t see a reason to keep anything from my best friend and the love of my life.”

Carlos’ breath catches at TK’s description of him. “Is that what I am to you?”

“Yes,” TK answers without hesitation.

“We look so happy,” he says as he looks back down at the picture. There is no doubt in his mind as he looks at their smiles that he is in love with the man in the photograph.

“We are happy,” TK answers. He wavers for a second but then covers his hand holding the frame, and Carlos feels a shock go through him at the touch. “We have our moments like any other couple, sure, but we’re so damn happy, Carlos.”

Carlos twists towards TK, turning his hand to hold onto his. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out desperately, blinking back the stinging in his eyes at the loss he feels acutely, even if he can’t recall what he’s lost. “I’m sorry I can’t remember us.”

TK shakes his head at him, pulling him into his arms, careful of Carlos’ cast. “This is not your fault,” TK whispers firmly in his ear as he cradles the back of his head. Carlos sinks into his embrace, taking comfort in it. “We’re going to figure this out, Carlos,” TK continues as he pulls back to look at him. “I’m not saying it’s easy to look in your eyes and see very little recognition, but I’m not giving up on you or us.”

Carlos doesn’t know what to say to that, and it seems he doesn’t have to. TK gives him a small smile, pulling out of their hug while Carlos has to bite his tongue to keep from protesting as he loses TK’s touch, leaving him feeling cold.

“Come on,” he says softly, taking a step back. “The casserole should be warmed up by now.”

He follows TK back downstairs, watching him as he moves around their kitchen, serving up their meal, grabbing glasses when he points at the cabinet where they’re kept.

They sit down to eat the casserole quietly. It’s good, but Carlos barely tastes it, more preoccupied with sneaking looks at TK.

“You’re burning holes into me, Reyes,” TK says dryly as he looks up from his plate. “You know you can ask me whatever you want, right?” he questions gently. “I’m an open book. You just have to ask.”

“How did we meet?” Carlos questions instantly, dozens of questions ready to go on the tip of his tongue. TK seems to realize this by the smile on his face.

“On the job,” he says softly. “There was a car accident, a mother and son. We were the answering firehouse; you were the cop on the scene.”

“How long have you been a firefighter?” he asks, causing TK to wrinkle his nose at him.

“I’m not one anymore,” he answers. “I was one for over seven years between New York and here. But after almost a year in Austin, I switched from Fire to Rescue. I’m a paramedic now with Nancy and Tommy. You met them, right?”

Carlos nods, recalling the two women visiting him at the hospital.

“Tommy is my Captain, Nancy, my partner,” he continues with a smile that speaks of fondness for the women in question. “I became a firefighter in large part because I wanted to be like my dad, and I loved being one, but I always felt like something was missing. Becoming a paramedic was like finding the missing piece to the puzzle, you know?”

Carlos gives TK an understanding look, pausing for a moment before he asks his next question. “Did I ask you out, or did you ask me out?”

“Oh man,” TK chuckles, his cheeks turning slightly pink. Reaching for his glass, he takes a sip of water. “You need to understand that we didn’t start so easily as going on a date.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at that, earning another smile from TK, this one bashful.

“Okay,” he starts, exhaling loudly. “So our story goes like this – ”

Carlos listens as TK tells him of Michelle inviting his team to the local honky-tonk after rescuing the mother and child from the car accident. He tells him about Carlos walking up to him in a ridiculously tight shirt and asking him to dance. He blushes as TK shoots him a look, telling him he looked so hot. And blushes even further when TK tells him of the two of them sneaking off to make out in the bar bathroom, exchanging numbers after kissing each other senselessly before seeing each other two days later and having sex on the floor of Carlos’ old living room.

“Not much time for courting,” he says dryly, unable to keep the smile off his face as TK grins back at him.

“In your defense, you did try to court me,” TK says gently, affection shining in his eyes. “You invited me to a midnight dinner the next night.”

“Oh,” Carlos says, relieved. “That’s better.”

TK winces slightly in return.

“Or not?” he questions, getting a nod back from TK.

“I kind of freaked out on you,” he says, looking deeply sorry. Carlos can’t imagine it could have been so bad if three years later they’re still together, but he waits for TK to explain.

“I had gone through a horrible breakup back home – I was getting ready to propose, and he was cheating on me with some guy from the gym. I wasn’t looking for anything other than some harmless sex, so when you made this lovely dinner for me with flowers and candles, and you looking so fine in a dress shirt and slacks. I turned into a jerk, and the dinner was a bust.”

Carlos quietly processes what TK has just told him. He feels a pang in his chest at the knowledge that TK loved someone else enough to consider marriage. He scoffs quietly at the silly jealousy he feels from it. It’s completely ridiculous to be jealous of some random man from TK’s past when TK is here now in their home with him. He tries not to think too hard about what it means to feel this way when TK is still essentially a stranger to him.

“How did we recover from that?”

TK cringes again, and Carlos has to keep from reaching out and poking his nose as it wrinkles adorably.

“I got arrested, and you were the officer to process me?” TK says in the form of a question, groaning when Carlos’ eyebrows both go up.

“That sounds like a conflict of interest.”

“That’s what I said to you!” TK exclaims, waving a hand at him. “Thank you for finally agreeing with me!”

“Maybe I made sure to get your paperwork when you were brought in,” he suggests, theorizing.

“Do you think you would do that?” TK questions curiously.

“If I really liked you and wanted a reason to talk to you, sure,” he shrugs, knowing that while he’s usually a by-the-book cop, he has an impulsive streak. “And something tells me I did like you enough to do that.”

TK looks away from him, but it doesn’t hide his pleased smile from Carlos. He feels warmed by it again, and wonders just how many times over the years has TK’s smile caused his stomach to flutter.

“So how did getting arrested help us after that dinner gone wrong?” he asks, clearing his throat. “And what did you get arrested for?”

“A bar fight,” TK answers, wincing when he shoots him an unimpressed look. “I know, I know. It was stupid, and trust me, you let me know how stupid you thought it was. But like I said, I was going through a bad breakup, I had relapsed on substances as a result, and I was looking for something to keep my mind off my life being shit that wasn’t alcohol or pills.”

TK sneaks a look at him, holding his breath as he waits for him to react to his confession.

“Are you okay now?” he asks softly, letting out a sigh when TK nods.

“I haven’t used since my relapse,” he answers. “There have been moments of struggle, but I have overcome them.”

“I’m proud of you, TK,” he says as he reaches for his hand, not sure if it’s his place but unable to stop himself.

TK gives him a slight quirk of his lips. “You always say that,” he whispers, offering his hand a squeeze. “And I’ll remind you now that you’re a big reason for my continued sobriety.”

“No – “ he starts to shake his head, freezing when TK grips his hand that much tighter.

“Yes,” TK answers firmly. “You are my biggest champion. Your unwavering faith in me has saved me so many times, sweetheart. I know you don’t remember it now, but you need to know that.”

֎֎֎

TK leaves for the basement after they finish their meal, claiming a need to do laundry. Really Carlos thinks he’s giving him space after the emotionally packed conversation they shared. Either way, Carlos takes the reprieve he’s given. He calls his mother to check in, assuring her he and TK are okay.

She gives him a loaded ‘hmm’ and an amused ‘nothing’ when he asks what’s that about.

After ending the call, he wanders around the house some more. It’s hard to find pieces of the life he does remember, but he figures losing everything in a fire will do that. He takes his time looking at the rest of the pictures around the house. He and TK are attached at the hip in just about all of them, more often than not smiling at each other instead of the camera.

TK comes back upstairs an hour later with a basket full of clean clothes. “Fresh towels,” he proclaims happily. “Just the way you like it for your showers,” he smiles before giving him a curious look. “We’ll have to wrap your arm with plastic for that – are you okay?”

Carlos nods, pointing at the framed photos on the wall. “Just looking,” he answers, pausing as something comes to mind for the first time and feeling silly for it. “Hey, do you know what happened to my phone?”

“It got wrecked in the accident,” TK answers as he crosses towards a cabinet. “But I got it replaced for you, and made sure everything was backed up from the cloud.”

He takes the phone from him, looking at it, and then looks back up at TK, who smiles back at him a little awkwardly. “Your passcode is my birthday,” he answers, rattling off the numbers to him before leaving the room again, heading upstairs with the laundry in hand.

“I really am a sap,” he mumbles to himself, punching in the code. He looks through his old messages first. Some are from his partner Mitchell, there is a recipe link from Paul, and a group message between him, his parents, TK’s father, and TK himself about dinner plans from over a month ago. The conversation between him and TK is endless, with many ‘I love yous’ and ‘be safe’ exchanged. There are also teasing remarks – quite a few racy enough to make his ears feel hot.

He turns to his camera roll and scoffs at himself at the sheer amount of pictures of TK in it.

“What’s that noise for?” TK questions coming back into the living room.

“I might be your stalker,” he answers, waving his phone when TK raises an eyebrow at him. “Pretty sure 90% of my phone is pictures of you, so yeah,” he points a finger at himself. “Stalker.”

TK lets out a laugh, throwing his head back, and Carlos can’t help but stare, transfixed by the image of him. It’s almost unfair how beautiful he is without even trying.

Looking back at him, Carlos can see his green eyes sparkle with amusement.

“You should see my phone,” he says unbothered. “It’s all you, all the time. Nancy teases the crap out of me for it. So we’re pretty even on that front, don’t worry.”

“There are some dirty messages from you here,” he tells him, biting down on his lip when it makes TK smirk, even as he turns a rosy pink.

“I would bet my car that there are more than just dirty messages saved in there from me,” he answers, his smirk growing filthier as Carlos’ eyes widen. “Sometimes you work nights, and I get bored without you,” he tells him, his blush growing stronger. “Bet you haven’t found those pictures yet.”

No, but he sure as hell plans on finding them later when he’s alone, he thinks, going hot himself at the thought. “So you like to tease me,” he questions, earning himself a suggestive chuckle in return.

“As I like to tell you when you call me a tease. It’s not teasing if I deliver,” TK points out, grin firmly in place. “And I always do.”

“Of all the things to forget,” Carlos grumbles, mostly at himself.

TK’s smile slips away, a flash of pain crossing his face before he can hide it away. “It will come back,” he says softly.

Carlos tilts his head, studying him. “You sound so sure.”

TK gives him a gentle shrug of his shoulder in return. “When it comes to us against whatever crap the world throws at us, I’ll place my bet on you and me every single time.”

֎֎֎

Carlos is in the bedroom waiting for TK to finish his shower before he can hop in himself. He smiles as he hears TK sing some song horribly off-key.

“Hey, rockstar,” he calls out when he hears the water shut off, grinning as TK lets out a shouted curse in surprise. He probably figured Carlos was still downstairs. “When you’re done with your concert, can you help me wrap my cast?”

He hears more muffled grumbling that causes him to chuckle at least until TK opens the door. His laughter halting in his throat as he takes in his boyfriend in nothing more than a towel, his chest bare with water droplets running down his defined abs.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he scolds him with a pout on his face that has no right being as charming as it is.

“I understand how we fell into bed so quickly,” he blurts out, blushing as TK raises a questioning eyebrow at him. “You’re stunning,” he continues, unable to hold back the thought. “I must have taken one look at you and just fallen head over heels for you.”

TK stares at him for a moment before shaking his head, a small reluctant smile taking over his face. “Leave it to you to have no memory of us and still manage to be ridiculously romantic,” he huffs, chuckling softly to himself. “You’re dangerous, Reyes.”

“I’m sorry,” Carlos apologizes, feeling awkward. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

TK crosses the room, coming to sit down next to him on the bed. “The fact that you’re still attracted to me doesn’t make me uncomfortable. On the contrary, it gives me hope,” he tells him with a half-smile. “Hope that you’ll come back to me here,” he says, tapping a finger against Carlos’ temple. “And here,” he brings his hand down to tap against Carlos’ chest over his heart.

“Don’t give up on me,” Carlos whispers, and even he can hear the pleading quality in his voice.

“Never,” TK answers gently, his green eyes bright and hopeful, and Carlos might not know him well, but he can see the love he feels for him in those eyes – it leaves him breathless. He realizes with a start how badly he wants to lean in, to close the gap between him and TK and see if tasting him will trigger the memories he so desperately wants back. He realizes with alarming clarity that even if he doesn’t remember, he very much wants to know if TK tastes as sweet as he seems.

He takes too long deciding, and when he shifts an inch closer, TK is already grabbing the plastic and medical tape he has on the bed.

“Now, let’s get this wrapped so you can shower,” he says sweetly, reaching for Carlos’ arm. “You’re probably tired after the long day. I bet you go right to sleep afterwards.”

Carlos thinks sleep is probably not coming with his swirling thoughts, but he gives TK a nod anyway.

“I’m going to the farmer’s market tomorrow morning,” TK continues once his arm is wrapped up. “We usually go together on our days off. Think you’re up for it?” he asks, giving Carlos a hopeful look.

Carlos nods again, wanting to keep that look on TK’s face and the bright smile that follows.

“That sounds nice.”

֎֎֎

Carlos leans against the kitchen counter, staring through tired eyes as the coffee machine spits out a robust Colombian roast. Sleep, like he had expected, had been hard to come by the night before, with too many thoughts and too much space in his bed for him to settle in right. He might not remember sleeping with TK in their bed, but he has a feeling his body does, and it rebelled at the idea of TK being in another room away from him.

More than once last night, he had given serious thought to walking over to the guest room and begging TK to come sleep beside him. He hadn’t, and instead spent the night twisting and turning, flashes of moments running through his mind too fast to make a complete picture. It frustrates him while also giving him hope being home with TK will trigger his memories.

He hears footsteps coming down the stairs and turns his head just in time to see a sleepy, shirtless TK come into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and grumbling.

“Need. Coffee. Now,” he mumbles, passing him, going straight for the coffee maker, only to let out a whine when he sees the pot is nowhere near ready.

“Good morning,” he says dryly, a smile tugging on his face at the adorable image TK makes, pout in full display as he turns to acknowledge him.

“Coffee,” he demands once more.

Carlos opens his mouth to tease him, stopping short as something comes back to him instantly.

He’s in the middle of bringing his cup to his lips when he feels TK slide up behind him, his arms going around his waist, his face tucked between his shoulder blades.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says fondly, twisting in TK’s hold to turn to him, smiling at his sleepy expression.

“Woke up without you,” TK pouts, his green eyes narrowed. “On our day off. That’s illegal; arrest yourself right now.”

“If I arrest myself, we can’t spend the day together,” he points out, chuckling as TK gives him a dry look.

“Maybe I just want you in handcuffs,” TK quips, a teasing smile playing on his lips when Carlos raises an eyebrow at him.

“We can play that game if you want. It was a lot of fun the last time,” he challenges back with a smirk of his own when TK lets out a sharp breath at his answer.

“Too early for this,” TK grumbles, his cheeks a pretty pink. “Need coffee.”

“If you let me go, I can get you a cup,” he offers, waiting as TK considers. Finally, his boyfriend shakes his head.

“Nope,” he answers, tucking his face into Carlos’ shoulder, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “This is better anyway.”

“Hey,” TK snaps his fingers softly in front of his face. When Carlos focuses on him, he finds him looking at him with a curious and slightly worried expression. “Are you okay? Where did you go?”

“Nowhere,” he answers, trying to give TK a smile to ease his worry while inside, he’s reeling. The memory had been as clear as TK standing in front of him now, but more than that, he can remember what he’d been feeling at that moment. The love and adoration he felt for the man in his arms, not wanting to let him go even for a cup of coffee.

“Are you sure?” TK asks again, still concerned.

“Yeah,” he says again, this time his smile coming out a little easier as he wraps himself in the feelings caused by the memory. “Are we still going to the farmer’s market today?”

“Sure,” TK answers as he walks over to the coffee pot that is now full. He pulls out two mugs, pouring them both a cup. “If you’re up to it, that is.”

“I am,” he answers, taking the cup TK offers him. “I thought I could cook this evening,” he suggests, waving his cast at him. “With your help.”

TK shoots him a grin. “Sure, it should be fun to watch you bite your lip to keep from telling me I’m chopping the wrong way.”

“Do you chop the wrong way?” he questions, suddenly concerned.

TK shrugs a shoulder at him. “You seem to think so. You’re always warning me I’m going to cut myself and hover over me like the worrywart you are.”

“I’m suddenly reconsidering letting you help me,” he says honestly, getting another playful grin from TK.

“Too late,” he chirps. “I’m helping. Now I’m gonna head for the shower. We can grab breakfast at this bakery we like near the market.”

Carlos nods in agreement as TK starts to leave the kitchen. He’s about to let him pass when he notices a scar near TK’s left shoulder. “Hey, what is that?” he stops him, bringing a hand to the spot, running a thumb over it. He hears TK’s breath catch, but he ignores it as he realizes with a start what he’s looking at. “Is this a bullet wound, TK?” he asks, his voice coming out higher than usual.

He stares at TK with wide eyes as the man lets out a wince.

“Yeah…see what happened was – “

֎֎֎

“So you’re telling me you have been shot at and kidnapped?” he questions for the third time since TK finished retelling him his unfortunate work calls. Since then, they’ve stopped by the bakery TK mentioned, bought their breakfast – a spinach pie for him and a cherry cheese Danish for TK, and now are walking around the market, reusable grocery bags in hand. Carlos is still at a loss, having trouble understanding how TK can recall the moments so calmly. When Carlos on the other hand, is quietly freaking out and wondering how to hide TK away from the world hellbent on injuring him.

“Yes,” TK answers simply, lifting his hand to offer him half his Danish. “Trade? We usually do because you like the last taste in your mouth to be sweet.”

He distractedly takes the offered pastry, giving TK the last bit of his pie.

“Do I have blood pressure issues?” he questions, looking over at TK as he pops the last bit of food in his mouth. “I feel like I have to because my BP is skyrocketing right now.”

“So dramatic,” TK scoffs, rolling his pretty eyes at him. “As if I would let you have high blood pressure. My dad is a health nut. If you had a high BP, there would be no salt in the house,” he continues with a cheeky smile that makes Carlos huff.

“Cute,” he says sarcastically. “Have I tried to bubblewrap you? I think drastic measures need to be taken here to keep you safe.”

He winces as his voice goes a little manic at the end there, causing TK to stop walking, the amused but exasperated smile on his face dropping.

“Hey,” he starts softly, reaching out to touch Carlos’ wrist, pressing the pads of his fingers against his pulse point, squeezing gently, helping Carlos center himself. “I’m okay,” he says slowly, his eyes locking with Carlos’.

“Yes, they were scary moments, ones I would rather not repeat. But when I was shot, you were there every day waiting for me to wake up.” TK squeezes his wrist again, making sure he’s listening. “And when I got kidnapped, you figured out where we were, and you rescued me.”

“I did?” he asks breathlessly. Leave it to TK to get to the root of Carlos’ freak out. The thought of TK hurt or in danger and Carlos helpless to save him.

“You did,” TK answers. He lets go of Carlos’ wrist, but Carlos instinctively takes his hand before he can get too far.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, holding his breath as he waits for TK to decide if he should pull his hand away or not. He watches his eyes flicker between their joined hands and Carlos’ face, a flash of something too close to sorrow playing over his features for a second. He’s just about to pull away himself and apologize to TK when he links their fingers together, giving Carlos a slight smile.

“Yeah, sweetheart, of course it’s okay,” he whispers back, his smile more honest and less pained. “Take this as a blanket invitation to touch me when you want or need, okay?”

Carlos startles at the offer, staring at TK as he looks back at him.

TK shakes his head softly at him. He reaches up, touching Carlos’ temple gently with his other hand. “This is hard for me,” he admits, brushing one of Carlos’ curls into place. “But I can’t even begin to imagine what’s going on in your head. How scared you must be to have all these missing pieces in your memory. So yeah, Carlos, if holding my hand brings you any kind of comfort, if touching me helps center you, feel free to touch me anytime the urge hits.”

Carlos can’t speak in the face of such an offer when he knows TK hurts every moment Carlos doesn’t remember their life together.

“That might not be fair to you.”

TK gives him another gentle smile, his eyes shining with what Carlos can only call love. “You let me worry about what’s fair to me,” he tells him before wrinkling his nose at him sweetly. “Besides, I’ve never said no to your hands on me, and I’m not about to start now.”

They stay like that, neither moving as they get lost in the moment. It’s only when a sharp whistle pierces the air that TK breaks their eye contact, twisting around to find the source. Carlos doesn’t recognize the elderly woman waving at them from a few stalls away, but TK obviously does by the low noise he lets out.

“Shit,” he mutters, looking back at him. “That’s Martha; we buy jam and honey from her. She’s very old and very sweet and is extremely fond of us. She’s gonna take one look at your arm and fuss, and if we tell her about your memory issues – “

“She’s not going to take it too well?” Carlos finishes for him, getting a nod in return. “Okay,” he says, understanding TK is suggesting they pretend everything is fine. “Martha, you said?”

“Yeah,” TK bites down on his lip nervously.

Carlos gives TK’s fingers a gentle tug. “Let’s go say hello and get some jam. Does she have apricot?” he questions as they start to make their way over to her stall.

TK lets out a breath, smiling slightly as he leans into Carlos’ side. “Yes, she has apricot jam, which she always lets you taste even though we buy it from her all the time.”

“I like her already,” he says honestly. He can see the woman better now. He can see the happy smile on her face as they approach, followed by concern as her eyes stray to his arm.

“Carlos Reyes,” she gasps once they are close enough. “What in the world happened to you?”

“Car accident,” he says as she comes around her stall to get closer. He stands still as she touches his arm and then his cheek with gentle wrinkled hands as she peers up at him.

“Oh my dear boy,” she says softly, her tone caring like a grandmother. “Are you okay?”

He gives her a nod, tilting his head towards TK. “This one over here is taking very good care of me,” he says with a playful waggle of his eyebrows, smiling when she lets out a whistling laugh, her concern easing at his teasing.

“I’m sure he is,” she says with a laughing tone of her own. She turns towards TK, holding out her hands to him. TK places his hands in hers, holding on as she gives them a gentle squeeze. “You okay, dear?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, Martha,” TK answers her softly, sneaking a look at him. “He’s alive and whole, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Martha studies both of them with a gentle look. “Sweet boys,” she whispers. She pats TK’s hands again before letting go of them. “Your love is so special,” she continues with a smile that is then followed by a pointed look. “Beautiful, even though I see no rings yet.”

TK groans out the woman’s name through a tired smile. He looks amused, but it doesn’t hide the gentle blush taking over his face. “We’ve talked about this, Martha,” he reminds her, sneaking a look at him again before focusing on the older woman. “We’re happy the way we are, for now, there is no need to – “

“Rush things,” Martha finishes for TK, rolling her eyes at him. “Blah, blah, blah,” she mocks with her hand.

“Martha!” TK exclaims with a surprised laugh. Carlos looks away, not knowing what to say. He can feel his heart tick up at the subject. Obviously, it’s one the older woman is used to commenting on going off TK’s response, and Carlos wonders what his usual answer is. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that the mention of rings – his on TK’s finger, makes his stomach do a somersault.

“Young people,” Martha mutters as she opens a jar of jam, spreading some over a cracker before passing it over to him.

He takes it from her, popping it into his mouth, letting out a pleased sound as the sweet taste fills his senses. “Delicious,” he says to her, causing her to beam back at him. “Best jam ever.”

“If you put a ring on this boy’s finger already, I might give you my secret recipe,” she says to him, grinning brightly as he feels his face go red.

“Oh my god, Martha,” TK mumbles, turning his face to hide it into Carlos’ shoulder.

Carlos instinctively pulls him closer, trying to shield him from his own embarrassment.

Martha sighs deeply, pursing her lips at them. “Just the jam then?”

֎֎֎

They get home past noon. The ride back is quiet and a little uncomfortable. Martha’s teasing prompting some new questions Carlos is itching to ask.

“I left some chicken out for a southwest salad for lunch?” TK tells him as they place their groceries on the counter. “What do you say?”

“Sounds good,” he answers as he takes out the avocados from the bag, separating the two ripe ones for the salad.

“Great,” TK says, flashing him a strained smile. He starts pulling out what he needs from the cupboards, beans, and corn, while Carlos gets the rest from the fridge.

They work together around the kitchen quietly, Carlos’ assistance limited by his arm. Finally, as TK cooks the chicken on a cast iron skillet, he can’t hold in his questions any longer.

“Have we talked about it?” he asks, holding his breath when TK shoots him a knowing look.

“We haven’t planned anything officially,” he answers, not needing Carlos to clarify his question. “But you know how much I love you, and I know how much you love me. We both know we want to spend the rest of our lives together. There is no doubt about that.”

Carlos takes in a sharp breath at the certainty he hears in TK’s voice as he speaks about their commitment to each other in the present tense, not in the past before Carlos’ accident. TK’s absolute belief in them is humbling, and Carlos is left in awe that someone loves him as much as TK does.

It must show on his face by the way TK’s expression softens. He reaches out, touching Carlos’ side gently for a moment, offering him comfort.

“The chicken is done,” he says as he pulls his hand back.

Carlos doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just watches TK move around the room, getting their salads ready. He takes the plate offered, heading for the dining room table, following TK.

“I have a shift tomorrow,” TK tells him as they eat. “But Captain Vega said I can call out if you need me here with you.”

He looks at him questioningly, but Carlos is already shaking his head. “I don’t want you to miss work because of me,” he tells him. It’s bad enough that he’s on leave for the next few weeks due to his arm and head injury. “I’m healthy enough to be left on my own.”

TK opens his mouth like he wants to argue, pausing when Carlos gives him a pleading look. “Okay then,” he says softly, agreeing. “I’ll tell her I’m good to go, but I’m gonna check in on you.”

Carlos nods.

“A lot,” TK warns him, and this time Carlos smiles.

“I expect nothing less,” he answers softly, affection spreading through him for the man before him.

֎֎֎

They spend the rest of the afternoon and evening lounging around. Carlos’ parents call again, this time facetiming. He and TK press against each other as they talk to them, and Carlos catches the smiles his folks throw their way more than once.

“My parents seem to really like you,” he comments later as they lay back on the couch watching TV. They’re watching the end of an episode of house hunters, and TK has been complaining about the couple and their ridiculously high expectations for most of it. “How did that happen?”

TK turns to him, raising both eyebrows in challenge. “I’m sorry, do you not find me charming enough to win over Gabriel and Andrea Reyes?” he asks with a teasing smirk on his face. “Because I’ll have you know they adore me. Big fans of TK Strand those two.”

Carlos rolls his eyes even as he smiles. “I know. I can tell they love you,” he answers. “And I know you’re charming. You’ve already captivated me, and I’ve only been home two days with you.”

TK looks away from him at that, but Carlos can see the corners of his mouth tug upward anyway.

“I just remember how it used to be between my folks and me when it came to my private life,” he continues though he wants to forget the subject and focus on the smile on TK’s face. He wants to reach out and trace it with his thumb, hating how it drops as he continues. “I guess I don’t understand how we got to this point with them.”

“That’s probably more of a conversation you should have with your folks,” TK answers delicately as he fidgets with his fingers. “But I will say that though it took time, once they knew about us, they were very happy with our relationship, and it greatly improved your own relationship with them. That old hurt you’re remembering of not being able to share your life with them, that mended over time.”

“Thanks to you,” he answers softly, sure of it deep in his bones that TK had everything to do with it.

TK doesn’t deny it; he just gives him a kind smile. “I always have your back,” he tells him. “Just like you have mine.”

Carlos wants to say thank you, but it doesn’t feel nearly enough. The smile TK gives him lets him know he hears it anyway.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” TK says as he stands up from the couch. “When I get out, I’ll wrap your arm for you, okay?”

He gives him a nod and watches as he heads upstairs. He waits for a few minutes before he too gets up, turning off the TV and the lights, punching in the security code TK wrote down for him before heading upstairs himself.

A few minutes pass before TK comes out of the shower and into the bedroom, this time in a pair of sleeping shorts and a t-shirt, disappointingly not like the night before with just a towel around him.

“I didn’t even ask how you slept last night,” he says, running a towel over his head, looking at Carlos expectantly.

Carlos goes to tell him he slept fine, not wanting to burden him, but can’t bring himself to lie. “The bed is too big,” he says instead, getting a sympathetic look back from TK.

“We have slept together for a long time now,” he says softly. “We are used to our bodies next to each other. I didn’t get great sleep in the guestroom either,” he admits.

“You could – “ Carlos stops himself, biting down on his lip as his heart starts to race at the same thought he’s had since the night before. He can tell by the way TK’s eyes widen that he knows what he wants to say.

“Yeah?” he questions, pausing hesitantly as he licks his lips. “You wouldn’t be uncomfortable with me in bed with you?”

He lets out a small huff as he closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he can’t help but smile. “I might not remember a lot of stuff right now. But I know for a fact that you have never made me feel uncomfortable, that much I do know.”

He tilts his head to the side as he studies the way TK has gone shy. “What about you? Will you be uncomfortable if we share the same bed?”

“More like relieved,” TK blurts out, going rosy in the cheeks as he speaks. “It’s been a long two weeks without you, sweetheart.”

His eyes darken for a moment, and Carlos feels his breath catch.

“Okay then,” he whispers, swallowing hard as his stomach clenches with anticipation, feeling a fundamental shift between them. “It’s settled.”

֎֎֎

He takes his time in the shower, and by the time he comes out, TK has settled into his side of the bed, his eyes half-closed as they follow him around the room that is dark except for his bedside lamp. It casts a low yellow glow that gives the space a dream-like quality.

“You should know I have been known to cling to you like a koala in the middle of the night,” he warns him sleepily as Carlos gets under the covers. It sounds nice, and he tells TK that, earning a tired chuckle in return.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he sighs out as he turns to his side, facing Carlos with his eyes closed.

Carlos mimics him, turning towards him without turning off the lights just yet, his face inches away from TK’s. He doesn’t mean to stare at him, but he can’t help himself. This is the closest he’s had TK since this started, and he can’t help but want to take him in. He must be staring too hard because after a few minutes, TK’s eyes flutter open. They’re tired but bright in the darkened room. Like two beacons of light, they pull Carlos in. He inches closer until his forehead is pressed against TK’s. Their breathing is loud and heavy, and Carlos can feel every puff that passes TK’s lips touch his face.

He reaches up, giving in to the impulse from earlier, running a trembling finger over TK’s mouth, finding it as soft as he imagined.

“Carlos,” TK whispers, and when Carlos looks up from his mouth, he finds his pupils blown wide.

TK lifts a hand, grabbing at his bicep to pull him closer.

“Are you sure?” he questions even as he wraps an arm around TK’s waist, pulling him tight against his body, his heart racing at the soft moan TK lets out in response.

“If you don’t kiss me, I’m going to lose my mind,” TK mutters, pressing his forehead harder against Carlos’.

Carlos lets out a low groan right as he covers TK’s mouth with his own.

It’s not a tentative kiss.

He might not remember their first, but his mouth and body seem to have no such problem as he sinks his tongue into TK’s mouth. Desperate from the first taste for more.

TK gives as good as he gets; he licks and bites on Carlos’ bottom lip, smiling into the kiss as it makes Carlos gasp. Then, he presses a smaller, gentler one over the sting to soothe it, and this time Carlos’ toes curl at the sweetness of the gesture.

“I must want to kiss you all the damn time,” Carlos whispers frantically as he clings to TK. It gets him a soft, loving laugh from his boyfriend as their kisses slow down to a gentle back and forth of their lips.

“The feeling is very mutual, sweetheart,” he tells him, giving him one last kiss, followed by two smaller ones at the corners of his mouth. He pulls back then, reaching over Carlos’ side to turn off the light. They settle in for the night, neither pulling away from each other’s arms.

He feels TK fall asleep even as he remains wide awake and accepts another sleepless night as TK gets even closer, his face tucked away into Carlos’ neck.

With TK in his arms, this one is already a hundred times better than the night before.

֎֎֎

Carlos is in the middle of mindlessly channel surfing when there is a knock at the door. Most of his morning has been aimless with nothing to do but think of TK and them waking up together in a tangle of limbs.

He had woken up to his breath being stolen by the beauty of a sleeping TK. He’d been helpless but to stare and study every detail of his face, committing it to memory, wondering how in the world he could ever forget such a perfect picture in the first place. Twenty minutes later, right before his alarm went off, TK’s eyes had fluttered open to find his gaze on him. The smile that took over TK’s face as he teasingly called him a weirdo for staring had caused something to squeeze tight under Carlos’ ribcage with a feeling he didn’t dare speak out loud yet.

Getting up from the couch, he opens the door to find his mother on the other side with a bakery box in her hands.

“Conchas?” she asks with a bright smile as she shakes the box back and forth.

Carlos smiles, giving her a head tilt toward the inside of the house, kissing her on the cheek as she comes in.

They head for the kitchen, and Carlos silently starts the coffee machine before pulling a jar of Nutella out of the cupboard.

“You remember that,” she says with a pleased smile as she grabs a knife and starts cutting the conchas down the middle to spread the Nutella over it.

“Mmhmm,” he nods, leaning against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew.

She passes him a half of the sweet bread with a smile. “How’s it going, cariño?” she questions, her brow wrinkled with worry.

Carlos chews on his concha as he tries to think how to answer that. Physically he’s okay; his arm is healing, and he should have his cast off in a few weeks. Even mentally, the doctors aren’t terribly concern. They’re sure his memory will come back, and given the small but frequent flashes he’s had, he’s inclined to believe them.

Just this morning, he’d made TK’s banana and peanut butter shake – made with oat milk, two tablespoons of creamy peanut butter, and half a scoop of protein powder. TK had taken a sip from it, smiling as he told him it was precisely how he liked it, pausing for a moment as he realized Carlos remembered how to make it before his smile grew even larger. He was remembering, it was slow, but it was happening.

He could tell his mother all of that, but that wasn’t what was on his mind. What’s on his mind is the feel of TK’s mouth against his the night before and then this morning as he let him kiss him before he left for work. What’s on his mind is how right it felt to hold TK as they slept. What is on his mind is how TK’s smile or laugh causes Carlos to go warm all over.

“I think I’m falling in love, Mami,” he says softly, holding his breath once he’s let the words out.

Andrea puts down her treat, wiping her face with a napkin. When she lowers it, Carlos can see the hints of a smile playing on her face. “Well, I hope it’s with your boyfriend, or else this is going to get really awkward for you.”

“Mami,” Carlos groans at her teasing, getting a delighted laugh in return. He pushes off the counter to turn off the coffee maker, pouring the hot liquid into two mugs. “You don’t look particularly surprised by what I just said.”

Andrea smiles at him as she takes the mug he offers her. “Why would I be?” she questions. “Like temporary amnesia is going to destroy what you and TK have? Por favor.”

“What do we have?” he questions, curious to know how his mother sees his relationship with TK. If she really approves.

His mother seems to understand. She places her mug down, crossing the distance between them until she’s standing in front of him, taking his face in her hands.

“I will always regret not asking you more after you came out to us,” she starts, shaking her head when he goes to speak. “You were just a kid, my sweet boy, scared of what we would think, and we messed up so bad. Your father and I thought the best way to let you know it was fine was by acting like nothing had changed, when of course everything had changed for you. We should have asked about your romances, about your heartbreaks.”

“Mami,” he whispers, his heart in his throat as his mother gives him a sad smile.

“We didn’t realize we were hurting you by keeping quiet,” she continues. “I love TK as if he was my own, Carlitos, for a lot of reasons, but two above all.”

Carlos bites down on his lip, waiting for her to tell him her reasons.

“One,” she says with a teary smile. “Him coming into your life gave us a chance to fix our mistakes with you. He became so important to you, you couldn’t keep him from us, and as a result, we got to meet him, know him and get to know you too. The you we had been missing out with our ignorance, and I am so grateful for that.”

“And the second reason?” he asks, swallowing hard around the lump of emotion that has formed in his throat as he starts to get a picture of how he and his parents overcame years of silence about his personal life.

“The second reason answers your original question,” she says with a growing smile that is both loving and proud. “What you and TK have – it’s what I have always wanted for you since I first held you.”

With her hold on his face, she makes sure his eyes are locked with hers, letting Carlos see how sincere she’s being.

“You two have the type of love I always wished for you. Kind, patient, incredibly loving and tender, and above all else, genuine. You, telling me that you’re falling in love with TK all over again isn’t surprising in the least, mi niño. It was the only direction this story could go.”

֎֎֎

Carlos waves at his mother as she drives away after dropping him off at the firehouse. He walks through the bay doors, finding both fire engines parked but an empty space where the rescue 126 rig should be. He sees a few of the faces that visited him while in the hospital over by the back of the firehouse but hesitates about approaching them.

“Carlos? What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

Carlos turns around at the voice to find the fire captain – TK’s father, his brain supplies, coming towards him with a concerned frown on his face.

“Captain Strand,” he greets him with a nervous smile as the older man’s frown deepens.

“We worked long and hard getting you comfortable enough to call me Owen,” he says with a shake of his head. “I know you can’t remember that we get along great right now, but please, let’s not revert to Captain or sir, I beg of you. It’s just Owen.”

“I’m sorry, sir – shit – Owen,” he gets out, cringing a bit as he feels like a school kid in trouble with the teacher. “I’ll work on it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Owen tells him with a smile that doesn’t hide his amusement in the least. “What brings you by? Not that you’re not welcome anytime, of course.”

“I was restless at home,” he answers with a shrug as he looks around the place. “I figured I’d come and visit TK, but – “ he trails off.

“He and his team are answering a call,” Owen finishes for him, his smile growing fond and meaningful. It makes Carlos want to squirm under the man’s watchful eye.

“What?” he blurts out finally as Owen seems to grow even more amused with him.

The captain lets out a chuckle, holding his hands up in a silent apologetic gesture. “It’s just that nothing has changed. You might have trouble remembering a lot of things right now, but you still seek TK out when you’re anxious.”

“How do you know I’m anxious?” he questions, surprised. He gets a sympathetic fatherly look from Owen that seems vaguely familiar in the back of his mind.

“Because you and I are friends,” he answers, slapping his back gently as he gestures towards the kitchen with a tilt of his head, asking him to follow him.

Carlos does, sitting on one of the stools when Owen points to it.

“And hopefully someday soon we’ll be family,” he continues with a smirk when Carlos jerks his head up to stare at him. “Officially anyway, we’re already family.”

Carlos doesn’t say anything as Owen pulls a slim pitcher with green gunk in it out of the fridge.

“I’m usually a good listener,” the fire captain tells him, placing a glass of the green liquid in front of him. “You and I talk sometimes.”

Carlos brings the glass to his mouth, taking a sip, instantly making a face that causes Owen to snort.

“You usually hide your distaste for my power greens smoothies better,” he says to him, laughing when Carlos scowls.

“You know I hate it and still offer it to me?” he questions, getting a cheeky grin and a nod.

“Just waiting for the day you finally have the guts to tell me you don’t like it.”

“Well, that day has arrived, Owen,” he says dryly, even as he blushes in the face of the older man’s enjoyment.

“At last,” Owen smirks, and it’s so reminiscent of TK it forces Carlos to smile back reluctantly.

“Strand men, troublemakers to the core,” he mutters, his eyes widening moments later. “I remember that,” he whispers, catching Owen’s eyes. “You two are brats.”

“Hey, now,” Owen says with faux offense, even as he looks at him brightly and hopefully. “Hurtful, truthful, but hurtful.”

Carlos huffs, shaking his head with amusement.

“You’re starting to remember,” Owen says kindly, his expression softening as he says it, relieved as Carlos gives him a nod. “That’s so good, kid. We all miss you, but especially my son.”

Carlos licks his lips nervously, parting them to speak when the beeping of the ambulance coming back echoes through the place.

“Speak of the devil,” Owen says quietly, the corners of his mouth tilting upward. “Go on then. He’s who you came to see, and I know he’ll be happy to see your face. He’s been worried all day about being away from you.”

Carlos quickly gets up, flashing Owen a grateful look before heading back towards the front of the firehouse. He watches as TK’s partner and Captain joke with him for a moment before heading off together, leaving TK alone by the rig.

“Hey,” he calls out, watching as TK’s head snaps up at his voice.

“Hi,” TK says back, walking over to him quickly. “Are you okay? Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says softly, touching TK’s bicep, running his hand up and down his arm. “I’m fine. Nothing is wrong,” he continues, pulling TK towards him as his shoulders drop in relief. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispers, wrapping his good arm around TK, holding him to his chest. “I just missed you and wanted to see your face.”

TK pulls back just enough to look up at him from where he has tucked his face into Carlos’ chest. “Really?” he whispers, his green eyes bright and oh so pretty.

“Yeah,” he answers, licking his lips, his stomach clenching as TK tracks the movement, and he wonders if it’s okay for him to kiss TK here. If now that they have kissed, he can just kiss him when the urge hits. He thinks probably not, or he would be kissing TK nonstop seeing as the urge seems to always be there.

Instead, he takes a small step back to resist the urge to give in to the temptation and says. “Let’s go out tonight.”

TK raises an eyebrow at him, a small, shy smile playing on his lips. “Like a date?” he questions, his smile blossoming when Carlos nods.

“Yeah,” he exhales to calm down his sudden nerves. “Let’s go out on a date.”

“Okay,” TK grins, looking giddy. “I get off at 7. I’ll pick you up. I know exactly where to go.”

֎֎֎

“This is really where you want to have our date?” Carlos asks dubiously as TK parks in the middle of an empty field – the burgers and fries they had picked up in a brown bag on his lap.

TK kills the engine, flashing him a grin as he unhooks his seatbelt. “It’s a special place for us,” he says mysteriously as he opens his door, stepping out of the car and grabbing their drinks. “Come on,” he motions for him to follow him to the back.

Popping the flatbed, Carlos finds a blanket laid out on the back of the truck.

“You prepped for this,” he comments, smiling when TK gives him a shy shrug of his shoulders. He takes the food from Carlos to allow him to get in first, following him seconds later.

“This is nice,” he says softly, looking around, picking at a loose thread of the blanket underneath them while TK unwraps their food. “Why is this place special for us?” he asks curiously. The field is elevated, and over the edge, there is a nice view of the city.

“This is where you and I officially started,” TK answers him as he looks up at the night sky. “We laid on top of your car looking at the sky and really began that night.”

Carlos looks up at the sky too. They’re far enough from the city that the stars gleam brightly. They’re beautiful, but Carlos just knows they were stunning the night TK is talking about.

Different shades of blue and green streak through the sky, lighting it up above them. They’re one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. So stunning, and yet they pale in comparison to the man resting next to him on the hood of his car.

He looks up because he’s supposed to and has to resist the urge of turning his head towards what he really wants to be looking at.

“What are you thinking?” he asks finally, holding his breath as he waits for an answer.

“I’m thinking,” TK starts to say, his voice soft but pleased. “We make a pretty good team.”

Carlos’ breath catches his throat, a thread of hope spreading through him before he can tell himself to rein it in. Finally, he allows himself to turn his head, looking at TK, finding him smiling up at the sky.

“We really do, don’t we?” he asks, his heart skipping a beat as TK turns to face him, his smile growing the longer he looks at Carlos.

“’fraid so,” he whispers as he reaches for Carlos’ hand, intertwining their fingers together before he brings their hands to rest over his stomach.

Carlos blinks, but the memory doesn’t fade. If anything, it gleams brighter. He remembers leaning in closer to TK until their mouths were but a whisper away from each other. He remembers the half-moan-half-grumble TK let out the longer their lips didn’t touch until Carlos was chuckling into their kiss – moaning himself when TK licked into his mouth, pent-up passion engulfing them after weeks of being something like friends.

“You with me?” TK questions curiously as he takes a sip from his soft drink.

“We make a pretty good team,” he answers and watches as TK’s hand freezes midway to the fries between them. His green eyes snap to his, fearful, hopeful, and everything else in between as he stares at him.

“You remember that?” he questions, and Carlos can tell he’s holding his breath as he waits for Carlos to answer. So he does.

“We made out on the hood of my car like teenagers,” he says with a smile as the memory plays again. “You almost pulled on your stitches. I warned you that if you pulled them out again, you were going to have to call your father and explain how it happened.”

“I was excited,” TK grumbles, giving him a pout. “Making out with you is the most fun I have ever had making out with anyone. The stitches were fine but you invoking my dad totally killed the mood.”

“No, it didn’t,” Carlos counters with a grin. He pushes the food away so he can get closer to TK until their faces are only inches apart. “You kept kissing me. We kissed at every red light from here to your dad’s place, and then when we got there, we made out for another ten minutes until he turned the living room lights on and off.”

“That was so embarrassing,” TK groans, leaning his head forward to let it rest against Carlos’. They stay like that for a moment, their eyes locked on each other.

“You remember that night,” TK breathes out in awe. “It’s coming back.”

Carlos nods, his nose rubbing against TK’s as he does so. “It’s coming back, TK,” he whispers back, swallowing hard as he lets himself ask for what he fears the most. “Please don’t stop loving me.”

֎֎֎

Carlos wakes up after ten. It’s later than he’s used to, but with still being on leave at least until he’s out of his cast, he allows himself the indulgence of a late morning. He lets his good arm reach over to TK’s side of the bed. It’s empty, he knows, remembering the touch of TK’s lips to his forehead earlier in the morning before he left for work. Still, he touches the cool sheets, turning to press his face into TK’s pillow, breathing in his boyfriend’s scent, smiling to himself as he remembers the night before.

They’d come home after their date out in the field, kissing at every red light just like the first time, and by the time they pulled into the driveway, Carlos was vibrating out of his skin with desire.

He all but sprained his neck, nodding his consent when TK asked him if he was sure he wanted them to be intimate before his full memory came back. The smile on TK’s lips as he let out a soft chuckle was worth how red in the face he turned at his own eagerness.

He lets out an exhale, his good hand sliding down his body to cup himself through his sleep pants as he relives the night before.

TK helping him out of his clothes, laying gentle kisses over every inch of bare skin – he had laid back on the bed, his heart racing as TK took his own clothes off before he straddled his thighs, kissing him until he was a shaking mess underneath him. Only then had TK reached over to grab supplies out of the bedside table. And if he thought making out with TK was hot, nothing had prepared him for watching TK open himself up slowly for him with wet fingers, eyes fluttering shut, soft moans escaping his kiss-bruised lips as he found the right spot that made his thighs clench around Carlos’.

By the time TK was ready, reaching back to take him in his hand, lining him up to his opening, Carlos had been pleading, needing to be inside TK more than he has needed anything in his life.

Carlos lets out a low moan, tightening his hold on himself as he remembers the complete bliss he felt as TK sank down on him, taking in every last inch while Carlos stared up at him in awe as he started to move his hips.

Never in his life has he felt more connected to another person than to TK the night before.

He continues to picture it, recalling every beautiful sound TK made as he pushed them higher and higher, right up to the edge until he curved his body over Carlos’, his forehead pressed against his, his eyes wide as he stared down at him.

“I’m never going to stop loving you, Carlos,” TK whispered, drawing out a whimper from Carlos as he rolled his hips again. “Ever, I can promise you that. You can remember our life tomorrow or never again. I’ll always love you.”

Carlos comes in his fist with TK’s voice echoing in his ears just as he had done the night before. TK’s sureness of his love for him tipping him over the edge.

He lays there for a few minutes, waiting for his heart to stop racing before he gets up to clean himself. Without TK there to wrap his arm, it takes him longer to hop in the shower, but he manages. He has another week and a half with the cast on and honestly can’t wait to have it removed.

Once out of the shower, he’s looking through his dresser for clothes when his phone rings. Picking it up, he smiles as TK’s face appears on the caller ID.

“Hey,” he says, smiling into the speaker, his stomach doing a flip at TK’s voice, and he would roll his eyes at his silly schoolboy with a crush reaction if he wasn’t so happy and in love with the man on the other side of the phone.

“Hi,” TK says softly back, going quiet for a moment, and Carlos can just picture him biting down on his bottom lip. “I just wanted to check in with you. I had to leave for work early, and you were still mostly asleep. We didn’t get a chance to talk after last night, and I wanted to see how you were feeling this morning.”

Carlos smiles into the phone at the concern for him he hears in TK’s voice and wonders how he got so lucky to have such a caring partner.

“I’m good,” he answers as he keeps looking for a shirt he wants to wear. “I’m great, actually,” he continues honestly. “Last night was amazing.”

“No regrets?” TK questions hesitantly, causing Carlos to let out a snort.

“Only that we didn’t do that the night I came home,” he answers, grinning when TK lets out a laugh.

He pulls out a green shirt, throwing it on the bed with the jeans he’s already picked out. Then, opening the top drawer, he sticks his hand in to grab a pair of fresh underwear and socks, frowning when his hand finds a small hard box.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asks, and TK repeats himself as he suggests they do a movie night when he’s done with work. Carlos makes a sound of agreement as he stares at the small black box in his hand, his head racing as he realizes what it is.

A ring box.

“That sounds great,” he says, distracted, whispering a goodbye when TK tells him he has to go.

Ending the call, he places his phone down before focusing on the little box in his hand. He holds his breath as he opens the box to find a simple but beautiful wedding band, white gold or platinum, with a strip of small diamonds around it. On the inside is engraved ‘Eternally yours, te amo.’

The words hit him hard, and he has to take a seat at the edge of the bed as he realizes with startling clarity what he’s holding in his hand is his ring for TK.

He already knew he loved TK, has been falling for him all over again despite his lack of memory, and now, in his hand is the proof of just how much he loves him.

A hot tear lands on the hand holding the ring before he realizes he’s started crying, and by the time he reaches up to touch his face, he’s sobbing. It feels like the dam breaking after weeks of not even noticing it was filling up in the first place.

He cries over the moments he’s lost and is terrified he won’t get back. He cries as he realizes he could have lost so much more if he hadn’t made it out of the accident. He cries for TK, because if he feels this broken over a life he can’t remember well, he can only imagine what TK feels remembering it all. He cries in hope. Hope that forgotten life will come flooding back at some point. Finally, he cries in relief as TK’s voice promising to love him forever echoes again. Relief that even if the past doesn’t come back to him by some cruel twist of fate, he and TK still have a future.

He cries, and cries and cries some more, letting every last bit of it out.

֎֎֎

If someone had asked Carlos how he thought he would get his memory back, he’s pretty sure his answer wouldn’t have been ‘on a random Thursday morning while brushing his teeth,’ but that’s precisely how it happens. He’s finished his shower, happy to no longer need to wrap his arm in plastic after having his cast removed a few days earlier.

It’s been three weeks since finding his engagement ring for TK and the minor breakdown that followed. He didn’t tell TK of either thing, not wanting him to worry or make him sad at his discovery. He knows it’s not the right time just as much as he knows that eventually, he’s going to put that ring on TK’s finger, memory back or not. He’s in love with his boyfriend – has fallen for him all over again.

His doctors are happy with his progress and the memories that are starting to seep through more and more as the days go on. They promise him if he just keeps living his life, doing what he usually does, they will all come back soon enough.

Carlos believes them, but he’s still surprised as he stares at his reflection, and it all comes back in an almost blinding flash. One second it’s not there, and then the next it is. He spits out the toothpaste in his mouth, barely passing a wet hand over it before he’s running out of the bathroom and down the stairs, tripping in his need to find the one person he needs the most right now.

“Scramble eggs for breakfast? We should probably go grocery shopping today since I’m off,” TK says to him as he turns to face him with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“TK stands for Tyler Kennedy,” he blurts out, watching as TK makes a face at the name before he realizes what he’s said, and his eyes widen. “And you always make that put-out face when I use it, but it’s followed by a smile because as much as you hate your name, you like it when I say it.”

“Carlos – “ TK whispers as he puts down his mug, and he can see it shaking slightly.

“When you are nervous or restless, you chew on the strings of your hoodies,” he continues. “And you bitch about Texas pizza, claiming it’s not real pizza because it’s not from New York.”

“Oh my god,” TK exhales, bringing a hand to his mouth as his eyes fill with tears.

Carlos swallows around the lump in his throat as his own eyes sting. “You play with my hair when I’ve had a hard day. You blush when I turn my cow eyes as you like to call them on you, and I love that I can make you blush even after three years.”

“You remember?” TK asks, and it breaks Carlos’ heart to hear the fear in his boyfriend’s voice, too scared to hope.

“I remember everything, baby,” he whispers back, taking a step toward him and then another. “And I love you, I love you so damn much TK – “

Carlos lets out a small grunt as TK slams into him, clinging to him as he starts to cry. He holds him tight to his chest, pressing his face into TK’s shoulder, rubbing his back, trying to soothe him as he continues to cry. It takes a few minutes for TK to calm down; by the time he does and pulls back to look at Carlos, his eyes are red from his tears.

“You remember me,” he says softly with a trembling smile.

“I’m so sorry I forgot,” he answers, reaching up to touch TK’s mouth when his boyfriend starts shaking his head, ready to tell him he doesn’t need to be sorry. “I know I don’t have to be and that it was an accident, but I’m still sorry you had to go through this. But you need to know, TK, that even without my memories, I still loved you, almost from the start. I loved you.”

TK wraps his fingers around Carlos’ wrist, pulling his hand away as he gives him a teary but beautiful smile. “I know that, my love. I know.”

Carlos nods as his eyes sting again, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I love you, TK. Then, now, and forever.”

TK lets out a shaky exhale, and when he tugs Carlos forward, he goes easily, sighing against TK’s lips as he kisses him gently. “And I love you, Carlos,” he says against his lips with another smile. “Exactly the same way.”

#911 lone star #tarlos fic #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tk x carlos #my writing #long post

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jwritesandrambles · 3 years ago

Text

“Supposed to Be”

Hi there! Yeah I still barely use tumblr but hey lookit I did the wrote thing down!!!!

I would like to give a bit thank you to @schweeeppess and @dragonsworn05 for editing my messy dyslexic rambles. @noroomforcream and @just-a-little-in-over-my-head did some really cool art for this!

(if I missed tagging someone, it’s not personal I appreciate you so much, I’m just posting in a rush mwauh)

Jason was back in Gotham. For the second time since he died, actually.

The last time hadn’t gone well. Technically, it had gone according to plan--for the most part--but Jason was still shambling together the broken pieces of his mind. Back then in December, all that was left of Jason were the shards of hurt and anger. He had been living for nothing but the idea of someone else’s death. Coming back to the real world, away from the sheltered and hidden places of the League of Shadows and the All-Caste, seemed to bring a bit of him back. Seeing Bruce, talking to him…everything that went down, and the reminder that he cared about him--loved him, even--it woke something up in Jason. Something that he thought had died along with him and never came back.

He had spent a year by himself, taking any mercenary jobs he could get, trying to find something other than the all consuming anger that had fuelled him for the past few years, but his travels didn’t matter now, as he stood in a back alley of Gotham, the protective red helmet tucked under his arm. He wished his replacement, Tim Drake, hadn’t chosen this particular alley to meet up in.

The balcony and rickety old fire escape were unforgettable to Jason. It was where he had met the Bat, after trying to jack the tires off one of those many damn expensive cars that Bruce had. Not only where it began, but where he once thought it would end. It was only a year ago he had stood, gun trained on Bruce, the man he had, for a time, called father. His voice shook and tears rolled down his cheeks, “it would be so easy to kill you.”

Jason was ripped from his reminiscing as a soft thud signaled that Red Robin had landed behind him. Jason flinched more than he’d like to admit, but fought the urge to draw his weapon. Quick reflexes was a nice way of saying jumpy.

“Hood,” The teen greeted.

“Replacement,” Jason said with a nod, echoing Tim’s tone back at him, relaxing.

“Weren’t you a replacement too?” Tim pointed out, seeming to take no offence.

Jason shrugged, “True. I’m not denying it. Just as long as you know that’s probably what B expects. Another Grayson,” he mumbled.

Sure, he was less angry than before, but that didn’t mean Jason wasn’t a bitter son of a bitch.

Tim bit the inside of his lip, an awkward and slightly uncomfortable look on the visible part of his face. It flickered away and was replaced with a more professional, neutral expression as he cleared his throat.

“Yes... well... We’re here for a job so let’s focus. You got all the information B sent you?” He was honestly trying his best, but he was hesitant about this mission. Could anyone blame him? Jason Todd had proven himself to be... volatile. The memories of Jason’s violence were all too fresh in Tim’s mind.

“Yeah, I got it. I read the file over,” he mumbled. He puffed out a weak breath, “Scarecrow set up a chemical mixing shop by the docks, at least one shipment has come in, but we can expect more, right? Anything I missed?” Jason asked, rummaging through his coat pockets.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He had been trying to quit, but he didn’t want to be getting distracted with cravings while trying to focus on the mission.

Tim watched him quietly as he lit off, smelling the tobacco from up on his perch.

“Um... yes, that’s all,” the teen dragged his teeth along the edge of his lip. The skin felt slightly raw and sore from his empty minded nibbling.

Jason started walking off down the alley, leaving a slight trail of lingering smoke in damp air. Tim followed.

“So,” Jason pulled the cigarette from his lips, careful not to let his helmet slip from under his arm. He held it between his first and second fingers, “Uh.. Why’d you have us meet here instead of anywhere closer to the docks?” He asked, trying to break the awkwardly growing silence.

“Scarecrow has patrols circulating around the docks. We’re less likely to be spotted if we’re not waiting around there to meet up,” Tim explains with a little shrug.

Jason hummed a brief note of understanding, “Oh yeah, that makes sense. I’m, uh, I haven’t worked with anyone in... years,” Jason paused, taking another drag from the smouldering cigarette, “Y’know, really nothing team oriented since working with B. Even then I was a shitty teammate,” he laughed hollowly.

Tim nodded, thinking about what Jason’d just said. Had it really been that long? Maybe… maybe the fact that Jason was even admitting to being a bad teammate didn’t bode well. It could mean trouble for them later. If it was so obvious that even Jason could admit it, perhaps Tim shouldn’t have done this team-up.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Tim ran to catch up to Jason quickly, “Wait... how old are you?” He asked upon reaching him.

“I’m t- uh... hold on, well... how long was I gone?” He asked Tim in return.

“You were thought to be dead for five years,” Tim told him, in a tone like he was reciting a Wikipedia page written about the formally deceased, wayward Wayne boy. Now that Jason thought of it, he was certain Bruce had a file written up on him now. Bruce had written up for every major criminal in Gotham city.

Jason let out a low whistle and soft huff, “I must be… twenty one now? Weird.”

“So... you didn't know how old you were till now?” Tim raised a brow, causing the mask to shift.

“Yeaahh,” Jason drew the word out sarcastically, pretending to took him deep thought to reconcile. “Somethin’ about the severe head trauma, dying, comin’ back, and being isolated from the normal world for years, all while being a wreck the whole time seems to have made my memory a lil’ fuzzy,” Jason said with a wry, sarcastic smile.

Tim seethed silently, letting out a series of apologetic mumbles, eyes dropping to ground ahead of him- it was a tactless and rude thing to ask, and Tim should’ve known that!

Jason laughed weakly, hand quickly coming up towards him and... ruffled Tim’s hair? The boy hadn’t even had a chance to recoil. He was just confused; that was the last thing he’d expect from Jason.

The man stubbed out his cigarette and lumbered on ahead of Tim, dropping it in the trash, “Don’t worry about it, kid. I was just being a bitch, you’re fine.”

Tim opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. A man who tried to kill him only a year ago had just ruffled his hair?! He decided not to comment on it, because-- after all--what the hell could he even say?

Tim cleared his throat again, “We should get into position, we’re almost there. Maybe get your, uh, helmet-thingy on?” He suggested.

Jason glanced at the helmet- he’d almost forgotten he had it tucked under his arm.

“Yeah, of course,” Jason said, lifting his helmet and plunking it on his head, “good reminder, Timbers.” His voice became modulated the second the helmet covered his head. His low, gravely, smokers growl of a voice, was nowhere near and deep and gravely as Bruce’s--but sounded like it took a step closer with every box of cigarettes--became a pitch lower still. An odd robotic twang edged his words, giving him a metallic, cyber sound.

Tim adjusted his own mask, making sure it was firmly in place before nodding to Jason. The two silently started up again, approaching a warehouse that was supposed to be locked until the next morning’s shipment. “Supposed to be” being the operative words. Instead, there was muted huffing and shuffling as two of Scarecrow’s workers uncomfortably hauled a large crate into the building.

Both Jason and Tim seemed to shrink into the shadows at the same instant; each becoming one with the wall. Jason drew his weapon quietly, earning a disapproving frown from Tim. “I’m not gonna kill them. Chill,” Jason whispered in that odd robotic voice.

Tim seemed satisfied enough to quit pouting at Jason. They crept closer, making little dashes between hiding spots when the coast was clear.

Jason let out a breath of curse as his eyes fell about the giant, glass, canister. It was filled with a bubbling, sickly, arsenic green substance.

“No way, that shit is all fear toxin? Fuck! He’s got enough to blast the entire downtown!” His voice came through in a synthesized hiss.

“Worse.” Tim whispered, spying the large pressurizer on top of the glass container. “That’s just the liquid form. When he releases it, it’ll be gaseous. If it’s released from the container from a high vantage point, a small breeze could cover the entire city in minutes.”

The severity of the situation washed over what little of Tim’s features were visible from beneath the mask.

This wasn’t just a quick little in and out operation anymore. One wrong move and there could have a small, yet very messy, catastrophic outcome.

Tim had to plan this carefully, because there was no way they could afford to mess this up.

He turned to Jason...or, rather, where Jason had just been seconds before.

Jason had evidently had a similar train of thought to Tim’s. He’d realized this was a serious situation, though, instead of drawing the conclusion to re-evaluate, re-plan, and carry on with caution, or something sensible-- he seemingly forgot any sense of subtlety he had. Oh, God forbid carefully thinking his actions out, like any sane rational person would do. Or calling for backup, like anyone with a vague semblance of self-preservation. No no, instead, Jason had decided it was best to act now and not waste a second with plans or any ideas of safety. He jumped into action.

Jason was already leaping over the crate the two vigilantes had been hiding behind seconds ago, as Tim let out a quiet imploring hiss of “Wait--oh no-”“ but it was too late.

Jason already had his gun drawn.

“Scarecrow!” he yelled, “this ends now!” He fired at the box the two workers were carrying, sending it out of their hands and clattering to the floor. A series of shattering followed the initial crash as the contents shattered. Whatever chemicals that had been inside hissed loudly, a faint smoke rising from between the boards of the wooden box.

“Hood!?” The Scarecrow rounded to face who he knew as the ex-criminal, ‘The Red Hood.’

“In the flesh.” Jason kept his gun trained on Scarecrow, while a third worker who had been off to the side started to shuffle his way towards him.

“Thought you moved your little operation away from Gotham when the Bats got the better of you,” Scarecrow commented, not seeming pleased about the interruption at all.

Scarecrow’s worker lunged at Jason. Tim kicked himself mentally and left hiding, kicking the worker --physically, not mentally this time-- back away from Jason. The third worker scuttled back, apparently deciding this altercation was above his pay grade.

Jason felt something he hadn’t really felt in a long time; it was a feeling akin to camaraderie. He had someone watching his back for once. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, he might have even cracked a smile. Or, rather, he might have felt a slight tug at the corner of his lips, at least.

“Well, yeah, the bats did get the best of me. Now I’m tryna give them my best. And that involves bootin’ your sorry ass out of here.”

“Quick witted, aren’t you?” Scarecrow tensed slightly. His eyes darted away from behind his mask for a moment. He was glancing to the side. Tim followed his gaze over to the-

Shit! The canister! If the bullet missed Scarecrow it would-

Tim knew what scarecrow was thinking, but it was too late.

“NO!” Tim shouted, helplessly watching as Scarecrow dove.

As expected, Jason pulled the trigger reflexively, but the Scarecrow had already ducked. The bullet made a resounding bang as it fired, hitting the large gas canister.

Tim seized up, every nerve buzzing, every muscle tensed, every fibre of his being filled with an awful sinking sensation. The room was deadly-still. It was like something written by the hand of a fool-hardy novelist, who was paid far too much for over-the-top paperbacks; The bullet had embedded itself in the glass, acting like a stopper. A sickening series of cracks emanated from the canisters, as a thin spidery web formed across the glass. All tendrils originating from where the bullet hit.

Jason let out a low whistle, “Well. That coulda been disastrous.”

Tim couldn’t help but feel relieved, a stressed laugh escaping his lips.

Scarecrow was scampering away, his workers already having pulled a quick disappearing act themselves, because, this wasn’t what he’d planned.

“Don’t even think about it, Crane,” Jason said as he turned, taking a heavy step.

Said heavy step was apparently too much. The glass gave a shuttering groan, followed by a small hiss as gas began to leak.

Tim made an involuntary distressed sound. Something akin to an exhausted sigh mixed with a whimper.

The one word that ever so eloquently graced Jason’s lips was, “Fuck.”

And the canister...

Burst.

The pressure placed on the glass had built up and could no longer hold.

Jason’s final step had been the breaking point, the spider work of cracks along the glass giving way with a great shatter.

Shards of the canister flung themselves across the room. The liquid that had been held within instantly began vaporizing into a thick, sickening gas. To anyone that had the misfortune of inhaling it, it felt as though the gas was trying --with every atom of its existence-- to choke the life out of its victim. It reached into their lungs, clawed at their insides, grabbing at their desperately beating hearts, and squeezed. It forced their brain to fill their body with adrenaline and hallucinogens. Tim knew this.

He’d studied the Scarecrow’s fear toxin many times. He’d been exposed to it before, too. Tim knew this fear and knew he was helpless to do anything about it.

Tim was helpless to stop this. He had failed. He’d failed Bruce. He’d failed this mission. Because he was weak. He was weak, helpless, hopeless, a failure, a burden, unwanted. He was nothing more than a replaceable replacement. No one would care if he was gone, God, it’s not like anyone would ever notice! He was a forgettable nothing. Tim coughed and wheezed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe!

Tim staggered. He tripped over his feet trying to get away from the intense fear that gripped his throat. Tim realized something physical was gripping his neck. The thing dragged him back roughly, towards what he could only assume was something horrid. Tim clawed at the thing gripping his throat. As he gasped for shuddering breath, he couldn’t help but begin to sob. He was going to die. He would die and no one would care. No one would even try to find him when he didn’t come home, they wouldn’t even notice because he was worthless, replaceable, weak, failure, helpless!

A new level of fear washed over Tim as he felt something cover his face, it encased his head. Tim could feel it squeeze his skull, he swore the pressure felt tight enough to crush his cranium like a tin can. It was claustrophobic. He felt his own shallow breath bounce back against his lips, because it had nowhere else to go. He was trapped and suffocating.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t BREATHE! OH--oh, oh no... no? Wait a moment... he COULD breathe.

Tim took a moment to try to get his bearings. He needed to remember how his lungs worked. He awkwardly sucked in a breath of filtered, recycled air. It tasted tinny on his tongue. Tim blinked the tears from his eyes. They rolled down his cheeks, and he became aware of the taste of salt too. There was the faint scent of stale tobacco and smoke. His mind was reeling as he processed each detail. He dragged tongue over his lips nervously, and began to chew at his bottom lip. Tim’s heart was still pounding and his hands were shaking. He raised his hands to feel his head, glancing at his twitching fingers as they passed in front of his face, confusedly. Everything had a red tinge to it. He pressed his hands to his head, feeling a hard smooth surface.

Tim’s brain felt slow and groggy, taking a moment to clue into what was on his head. Was it Jason’s helmet? Yes, yes it was Jason’s helmet, that was certain, but where was Jason?

The thick gas still hung in a green fog, but the helmet seemed to be filtering the worst of it out. Tim swept his arm though the air, watching the gas clear slightly, before swooping in to fill the gaps. Tim knew he needed to thin this stuff out if he wanted to have any hope in finding Jason before tripping over him. He rushed through the room, feeling his way over to the door. Scarecrow’s men had closed it, containing them --and more importantly the gas-- inside. Small mercy the fear toxin wasn’t being released on the city though.

Tim dragged his fingers along the wall. His senses were so heightened that it was almost overstimulating. It was likely due to the toxin, Tim guessed. He could still feel the rough brick as he scraped along, even through the tips of his gloves. It was oddly reassuring. A steady constant he could focus on until -thunk- His hand bumped into a smooth metallic protrusion from the wall. Exactly what Tim had been looking for.

“Bingo.”

Tim swept his other arm through the air again, doing his best to fan the gass away for him to get a bit of a better view of what he was hoping to see. A metal switch box, old and slightly rusted around the edges. Tim had been counting on any wearhouse by the docks having a ventilation system to keep the products safe from humidity. Of course, he was right. With some difficulty, Tim wrenched the switch box open. After straining to read faded, dusty labels through the gas in the air, he flipped what he hoped was the right switch.

There was a small whine of aching metal that hadn’t moved in a long time and Tim cracked into a grin underneath the helmet.

He’d done it!

The fans kicked into a regular pace. The smooth ‘whoomp whoomp whoomp’ of turning blades filled Tim with a sense of muted triumph. The foggy haze of fear gas began to thin as the building began to filter it out, mixing it with the humid air. Tim figured it would be condensed and drip out to puddle with the dirty water in the alley behind the warehouse. If Tim was right, which he usually was, it wouldn’t harm anyone unless they decided to drink from the puddle water. Which was unlikely, but not impossible. It was Gotham after all.

Tim looked around the room as the gas dissipated. His gaze found its way to a shaking heap on the floor next to the shattered remains of the canister he had been standing before. The proud grin faded from Tim’s lips.

That... that wasn’t a good sign at all.

“Hey, um, hood? Red hood, status?” He asked, the words felt strange as they left his mouth. Hearing his own modulated voice echo slightly in the room felt vaguely surreal.

The heap of muscle and leather known as Jason didn’t reply.

Seeing Jason’s twitching body on the floor emptied a hollow pit in Tim’s stomach. Jason had never seemed like he was even capable of fear. Capable of rage, capable of hurt, and capable of pain, sure, but fear seemed like something Tim would’ve assumed Jason was beyond. Something so... innate, that the unnatural nature of Jason’s second life would’ve swept it away.

Tim made his way over, hesitantly rolling the helmet forward off his head. The fear toxin seemed to be thin enough now that it wasn’t harming him.

“Ja-er, Jason?” Tim’s soft voice seemed thunderously loud in the quiet room. The only other sounds around were the fans quietly whirring away and, far more disturbingly in his opinion, the even quieter shaking breaths and distressed whimpering tumbling from Jason’s lips.

Jason was not in good shape. He was shaking violently, hands over his head. His whimpers were punctuated by violent spasms that racked his body every few seconds, accompanied with a louder more pronounced cry.

Tim felt the colour drain from his face. He quickly kneeled down, setting the helmet on the concrete floor next to them both with a slight clink. Tim grabbed Jason’s arm, trying to turn him on to his back. Jason heftily flailed the arm Tim pulled, unintentionally hitting Tim in the face. Tim yelped in surprise as a sharp pain sprung from his nose, warm liquid leaking down his face. The blood pouring down his face didn’t deter Tim much, the blood coursing through him seeming to do the opposite for pain as it did the rest of his senses. The pain was slightly numbed--or, rather, it had become easy to ignore. He fought to wrangle both of Jason’s arms, quickly scrambling to sit on Jason’s torso, struggling to pin Jason’s arms down with his legs.

Tim took off his mask. He knew it was against protocol, but an un-obscured face was easier to recognize when the toxin took hold, in Tim’s experience.

“Jason? Jason, look at me. Can you hear me?” he asked quickly, holding on to Jason’s shoulders. He desperately hoped Jason wouldn’t throw him off. Jason’s eyes were unfocused, spinning around wildly all over the room.

Tim tried to process Jason’s words, “No, not again, ple--I can’t I--it hurts! Fuck! It hurts,” Jason’s words became incomprehensible for a moment, then his fists clenched tightly. “I don’t want to die! Not again. Not again not again not again! He’s gotta come save me, take me home, he’s gotta! Shit, not again!“ he choked and broke off with a shout and another full body jerk.

Tim was jostled but didn’t fall off, by some miracle. “Jason!” he tried. “Listen to me!” Tim put his hands on either of Jason’s face. Jason flinched away from Tim’s touch with a sob of “It hurts, it hurts, I can hear all my bones snapping, I’m dying, it’s crushing me, I can’t--I can’t--”

“I know,” Tim cut him off gently, “I know it hurts and--and you’re scared, but you’re not alone, I’m right here. I’m going to help you,” Tim tried to catch Jason’s focus.

Jason’s roaming eyes stopped dodging around the room, and turned towards Tim. He kept looking from Tim’s shoulders, Tim’s chest, back up to his face and then to his eyes and back to his chest again. Perhaps not the ideal image of calming down but it was a first step.

“Good,” Tim praised softly in relief. He ran his thumbs over Jason’s cheeks gently. Now more so than ever did Tim take notice of the scars on either side of Jason’s face. On Jason’s left cheek, there was a jagged line that traced from his cheek bone down to his jaw. A similar yet smaller one was mirrored on Jason’s right. Tim could understand why Jason flinched from him. He shook the thought from his mind, “See? We’re okay. Just try to breathe, in and out. You can do that, right, Jason?”

“No! No! I c-can’t, I’m crushed, I can’t. My--my lungs, they’re all full of blood, and mud, and dirt, and fuckin’ I dunno what!” Another violent thrash went through Jason’s body, almost toppling Tim off this time. “I can’t breathe, it hurts! I want it to stop hurting! How do I make it stop!?”

“Uah--yeah, I know it hurts, but I promise nothing is crushing you. It’s just me, I’m light, and I’m here and I--I know it hurts I’m going to try to make it stop but I need to--” Jason thrashed, but Tim didn’t relinquish his hold on him, “--but I NEED you to stay still!”

Jason’s eyes finally locked on to Tim’s, “M-make it s-stop?” he echoed back to the smaller vigilante.

“Yeah, yeah I’m going to try to make it stop.” Tim slowly pulled his hands away from Jason, sitting back slightly, starting to fish through the many pockets and pouches attached to the strap around his waist.

He almost always had the antidote on hand. Bruce had trained him and prepared him meticulously, making certain that Tim would be ready with everything they had at all costs. The only issue was it was enough antidote for him; almost seventeen, about a head shorter and ninety pounds lighter--nowhere near enough antitoxin for the two hundred and forty pounds of murder that was the shaking mass of Jason Todd slumped before him.

Jason dropped his head back against the concrete floor, beginning to mutter once again.

“My fault. All my fault. I can’t--all dead.”

“No one is dead, Jason, everyone is okay,” Tim said, soon after feeling a small surge of triumph as he located his field fear toxin antidote kit. He opened it, quickly pulling out a small vial, and a syringe.

Jason’s eyes snapped to the syringe in Tim’s hand as he filled with antidote. Jason grew quiet for a second before starting to try to fight Tim off of him, “No, no no no no no no! Don’t go! don’t go! Not again, I can’t be alone, can’t be asleep he’s gonna kill us. Dad said he’ll get rid’f his mistakes!”

Tim knew Bruce wouldn’t have ever threatened Jason like that. He could only assume Jason meant his biological father.

“Said he would--don’t, don’t! It’s crushing me I can’t be alone!” Jason couldn’t keep hold of his own fears. They ran together, all mixed in to become some dread filled nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

Tim was lucky Jason was so sloppy in this state. If he’d had a bit more of his wits about him, Tim figured Jason would’ve easily shaken him off already.

“You aren’t alone!” Tim reminded Jason, struggling to inject Jason without hurting him. “This is going to make it stop, I promise!” Well, that wasn’t fully true. But the dose would reduce it.

When Jason wouldn’t hold still enough for him to properly gauge where the vein he needed was, Tim unceremoniously jabbed at where he hoped it was instead.

Jason shouted, thrashing around like a heavy shark in a net being lifted out of water.

Tim pulled the empty syringe away quickly, letting Jason throw him off. He stumbled and crashed back down, landing on the concrete floor a few feet away. Tim only now realized how heavy his breath was as he watched Jason writhe freely on the floor before him. As Tim caught his breath, Jason’s movements gradually began to slow. The mutterings of fear faded into soft whimpers, then into deep breaths like Tim’s. Tim bit at his lip again. “Jason?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.

Jason groaned in response. He took a moment to collect himself as he grew conscious of reality again. Really, reality was a shit hole too, but it was a better shit hole. He shifted slightly, cussing under his breath.

Tim felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders; swearing like a sailor was promising in Jason’s case.

He quickly scooted across the floor to him.

“Hey,” Tim said in a hushed voice. “Jason? How you feeling?”

Jason--with what felt like the struggle of Sisyphus rolling his boulder for the millionth time--rolled over to face him. The white shock of hair stuck to Jason’s forehead with panic induced sweat. He puffed out a lungful of air in a feeble attempt to blow the hair from his face. Jason swiftly gave up on that and swallowed heavily.

“I-I... yeah, yeah, I uh... I--okay. I’m feeling okay,” Jason rambled, looking dazed. He took up scanning the room again, hyper-vigilant to any danger.

Tim nodded slowly. He grabbed a water bottle that was shoved in one of his many pouches. He helped Jason sit up, just enough so he could sip at the water, and forced the bottle into Jason’s hands.

“Drink,” Tim ordered, quietly.

Jason’s hands still shook lightly, causing him to fumble with the cap in his hands.

Now that the danger had passed, Tim finally had time to process what had happened; he often found himself acting and only having time to absorb the details afterwards. Details like that Jason had traded his safety and immunity for Tim’s.

Why did Jason do that?

“Not... that I’m ungrateful,” Tim began hesitantly, “but that was a stupid thing to do, just… now- today,” he stumbled out awkwardly.

“I know,” gasped Jason after a long chug of water, a weak smile on his lips.

“I mean--it’s like in those before flight messages on planes. Put your mask on before the baby’s or whatever,” Tim joked slightly. Tim’s nose wrinkled slightly, cringing just the tiniest bit as he realized he implied he was the baby in this situation, “Well, you know what I’m getting at…”

Jason seemed to only take even more amusement out of the teen’s regret. Tim never thought he’d see the day where he felt tension draining at the sigh of Jason Todd, a man that tried to kill him and about eighty other people, smiling.

Jason laughed weakly, though it came out a little haltingly, as the shivering shakes hadn’t yet subsided. “Yeah, well, I d-did have my mask on. I just... gave it to the k-kid before the plane went down,” he mused. He didn’t really believe in his own point, and shook his head.

“No, no you’re right. It was stupid and I know that.”

They fell into a slightly awkward silence for a second, the burning question still gnawing at Tim’s mind.

“Why?” Tim said, abruptly. “Er, why did you do that? If you knew it was stupid?”

Jason didn’t answer for a long moment. Instead stalling by taking another swig of water. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before answering.

“I don’t know,” Jason admitted, with a little smile.

Jason was breathing heavily, but seemed more focused, “I didn’t... really think. Maybe I was just makin’ up for other stuff I f-fucked up or... dunno. I guess I j-just... I knew if one of us was gonna be safe, it had to be y-ou.”

Jason swore he could practically see the little loading sign twirl in Tim’s nerd-brain as the teen processed what he’d said. The mental loading bar filled, and Jason’s words seemed to click. Tim’s eyes dropped away, and he smiled a little shyly. Not an awkward or uncomfortable smile. Just complimented.

“Thanks,” Tim’s voice was just above a whisper, “ that was... really nice of you.”

“It’s okay, don’t men-ention it. Like literally ever. It’ll ruin my rep,” Jason cracked a teasing smirk once again and Tim got to his feet laughing lightly.

“Annnnddd he’s back to normal,” Tim chuckled and offered Jason a hand. Tim yanked him, not without obvious difficulty, up to stand tall. Jason leaned on him for a moment before straightening, keeping a hand on Tim’s shoulder to steady himself. Tim quickly bent down and scooped up their masks from the floor where he’d set them down.

“Let’s get you home,” Tim hummed, putting Jason’s arm around his shoulders again when he stood.

“Hey, I’m fin-ne, you don’t have to take me back,” Jason argued, but Tim was already starting to lead him away.

“Too bad, I decided I am.”

“Rep-placement Robin number whatever you are--I am fine!”

“Sure you are, that’s why you can’t stand up right by yourself?”

“Shut up!”

“I speak only truth.”

The two bickered all the way back through away from the docks. All the way back through the city. All the way until they reached Jason’s apartment complex. Then they bickered some more. Though neither knew it yet, what had begun forming was the beginning of a close bond. One that nothing would be able to break.

#batman #robin #jason todd #redhood #red hood #Tim Drake #red robin #batfam big bang 2021 #Just for Fun #idk how tumblr works

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spookyceph · 4 years ago

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Garden-variety

ShigaDabi Week Day 5 | Civilians

Summary: Just your average, everyday family. Nothing to see here.

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Swearing

The door swings open, setting off a pleasant tinkle from the bell hung above it. The man who enters the shop halts two steps in. Stares, moon-eyed, at the wall-to-wall jungle surrounding him. Plants hang from the ceiling, trailing shiny leaves and flowers as big as an open hand just overhead. They cluster on shelves outfitted with lights and temperature control running along both walls, organized by type and need: prickly cacti, tender herbs, seasonal blooms, medicinal roots. Potted specimens that populated office buildings just like the one he’d clocked out from not long ago dominate the tiled floor, leaving only a narrow path to the register deeper in. The air is close and sweet and alive with the scent of green, growing things. When the man received directions to this side street he’d had his doubts. Now he sees why Anai from accounting recommended it. Though small, the shop has impressive variety as well as healthy stock. He walks up to the counter and gives the service bell a single, polite tap.

A tall figure emerges from a doorway to the right. The man freezes halfway through his standard smile of greeting.

It has to be an employee. Maybe even the owner. Logic leaves no room for other explanations. Yet the mental images the man carries of such people share as much in common with what he sees as a poodle does with a wolf. It has nothing to do with the scars—though they’re impossible to miss. They ripple up the stranger’s forearms and cover the whole lower half of his face, mottled pink and white, textured like a half-melted wax museum figure. No, it’s more the multiple piercings gleaming in both ears, the side of the nose, right eyebrow, even two in the scarred lower lip. Another factor is the spiky mess of half-white, half-black hair. His clothes clinch it. They have a worn, handmade look, his shirt a thin linen, and rips in a few random places on his jeans.

The way he arches a brow, wiping long-fingered hands on a rag, does nothing to dispel first impressions. “Yes?”

Though the question is curt, the voice asking it remains rather soft. Its still enough to throw the man further off balance.

“I…er…flowers?”

The lack of coherency doesn’t slow the stranger a but. “Anniversary, funeral, hot date, what?”

“Um, well, an apology, actually.”

“To whom, and how bad did you fuck up?”

The man clutches his messenger bag to his chest as if it’s a shield. “E-excuse me?”

Employee, owner, whoever he is sighs and throws the rag onto the counter. “I don’t give a shit about the details—I’m a florist, not your therapist. But I do need some idea of what you’re going for so I can plan accordingly. So, again, who’d you piss off, and how much?”

Anyone with a decent amount of common sense and even a scrap of pride would have told the odd stranger to mind his own business, thank you very much. Maybe even stormed out. Written a bad review. Found some way to file a complaint. The man knows this. Yet nothing about their interaction thus far suggests the other would regret the loss of a customer whatsoever. More important, something in the unflinching intensity of the stranger’s electric-blue eyes says that threatening him in any way would be a bigger mistake than what the flowers are for in the first place.

So, suddenly sweating and feeling suffocated by the shop’s tropical air, the man stammers out the truth. “M-my girlfriend.”

The other takes one look at his red, damp face and nods. “That bad, huh? Fine. I’ll see what I can do. No promises, though.”

Meek as a mouse, he watches the shopkeeper—the stranger can be no one else, fearless as he is—pull a pair of shears from his back pocket. He goes to one shelf, clipping several examples of a deep purple flower that grows in long clusters. Going to another, he cuts a few sprigs of bluebells—these the man recognizes. Lastly, he gathers a bunch of large clovers from a long tray. Selections decided, the florist goes to work arranging them.

The purple flowers he staggers at descending heights so the clusters aren’t mashed together. Between them, the bluebells are hung like strings of tears. Partway below the other two, he groups the clovers. All three are bound with a rubberband around the stems and slipped into a narrow glass vase from beneath the counter. He sets the arrangement down.

“There you go. Anything else?”

With one look, the man forgives the shopkeeper’s rough edges. While flowers won’t make up for anything, the thought and beauty of these serve as a promise that he’s willing to back the gesture up with action.

“These are perfect. Thank you.” He surrenders his credit card.

“You’ll want a pink rose from the place two streets over next time,” the florist says while ringing him up. “I don’t usually carry any here.”

The man blinks. “Next time?”

“After your girlfriend and the other woman dump you. A pink rose is a good choice for people on a first date. Romantic, but not as intense as a red one.”

His heart and jaw drop simultaneously. “B-but…you don’t think…they won’t both dump me, will they?”

Bright blue eyes piercing, the florist hands the credit card back. “Only if they’re smart. Have a nice evening.”

Shell-shocked, the man shambles his way to the exit, flowers in hand, glazed stare not registering the shop door as it opens before he reaches it. Nor the boy with half red, half white hair who holds it open for him with a wry smile as he staggers out.

The door closes quietly behind the newcomer.

“Another satisfied customer, I see.” His soft-spoken cadence bears an unmistakable resemblance to the shopkeeper’s, just as his face, hair, and left eye do.

“He had it coming. Anyway, you have uncanny timing. He was my last for the day.”

Shrugging, the boy holds up the plastic shopping bag in his right hand. “Fuyumi sent me to pick up a few things for dinner tonight. I figured I might as well walk home with you since I was in the area.”

“And make sure your delinquent older brother stays out of trouble. Right.” The florist sighs. “It’s been two years since Deika City, Shōto. No one’s come after my head. Not much of a Hero Commission left to.”

“That doesn’t mean the remainder aren’t still looking. Natsuo, Fuyumi, and I are just watching your back, Touya.”

“Keeping me on a short leash, you mean.”

“Your husband agrees with us.”

“My husband can use whatever leash he wants on me. It’s just annoying when you three do it.”

The boy’s—Shōto’s—nose wrinkles. “Too much information.”

“Like you don’t feel the same about your friend. The one that was over last—”

A sudden cough interrupts him. “I’m not one of the country’s most wanted villains.”

The shopkeeper—Touya—presses a hand to his chest. “I’m but a humble florist. Not a villainous bone in my body.”

“Explain the theft charges then.”

Black eyebrows shoot up. “What theft charges?”

“Stealing my hair’s color scheme, you jerk.”

A smirk creeps across Touya’s face. “There’s hope for you yet.”

As predicted, they arrive home without incident. While Shōto goes to deliver the groceries to Fuyumi and Natsuo, who can be heard clattering around in the kitchen, Touya heads to the other side of the sprawling house. Also as expected, he slides open the partition to his room and finds a blanket-draped figure still sitting on the futon, hunched over a handheld game.

“Haven’t moved since I left this morning, have you?” he says with no real disapproval.

“Nope,” comes the shameless reply.

Smiling, Touya kneels beside the figure and pulls the top part of the blanket away. Long white hair that curls every which way is revealed. The figure’s eyes don’t tear themselves away from the flickering screen. Eyes as red as the crown of camellias Touya plops onto the other’s head.

At last, the game pauses.

“Must be the end of the week if you’re bringing me dead plants.” The way the crimson eyes look everywhere but at Touya ruin the sneer on chapped, scarred lips, though.

“Tenko.”

“What?”

Touya leans in, closer and closer, until the concept of personal space vanishes, and he has to be stopped with an annoyed—yet still gentle—elbow to the ribs.

“What? What do you—?”

“Nothin’.” He tucks some of the unruly curls behind the other man’s ear. “Just happy to see you is all.”

That does the trick. Tenko’s gaze locks with his for a split second before skittering away again. Touya watches, biting the insides of his cheeks to hold back a laugh, as his husband grabs an empty cup beside the futon. He fumbles, nearly dropping it—and not because one hand is missing fingers either.

“Make yourself useful and get me some water.”

“Hm…you are looking flushed.” Touya puts a palm to Tenko’s forehead. “You’re not coming down with a fever, are you?”

The offending hand is smacked away. “I’m your king. You aren’t allowed to make fun of me. I forbid it.”

With a bow meant to hide his grin more than anything else, Touya takes the cup and heads for the kitchen.

One glance at the piles of chopped vegetables covering the counter tell him something is up.

“We expecting an army?” he asks as he opens the refrigerator.

“Just three of your friends who led one,” Natsuo replies, still slicing and adding to the heap (and occasionally sneaking a bite or two). “Tenko asked if we could have them over tonight.”

Touya’s fingers slip on the handle of the water pitcher. Only a last-second scoop and grab saves it from shattering all over the floor. “He did? When?”

“A couple of days ago.” Fuyumi taste-tests whatever she has simmering on the stove before adding a pinch of salt. “They’ll be here in a couple of hours.”

“Atsuhiro-san offered to bring sushi, but…” Natsuo taps the knife on the cutting board, looking bemused. “I think he was joking? Only I don’t get it.”

“He’s joking if he knows what’s good for him.” Body curiously light, Touya closes the refrigerator. “Need any help?”

Fuyumi shakes her head and wipes her steamed up glasses off on the hem of her shirt. “We took care of most of the prep work before you came home from work. Anyway, we’ve agreed to keep all sharp objects away from you.”

“Besides, you over spice everything,” chimes in Natsuo.

“Haha. Everyone in this house is suddenly full of snappy comebacks.”

“We learned from the best.”

Touya is still smiling when he returns to the bedroom. Not only has Tenko gotten up, but he’s in the middle of stripping off his pajamas. As he pulls his shirt over his head, Touya admires the dozes of scars crisscrossing his torso. The scars that had bought their lives. That proved how far he was willing to go for those he loved.

“Hm?” Tenko drops the shirt and blinks down at the finger tracing an old, jagged slice running diagonally through his chest. The flower crown is still on his head, though askew.

“You asked the others to come over.”

Caught, he raises one hand to the side of his neck, lightly scratching. “Yeah, well…it’s been a while since we saw them, that’s all.”

Touya sets the cup aside on the dresser. Gently pulls the worrying fingers away, pressing them over his heart instead. The index and thumb lift to keep away from full contact purely out of habit.

“I’m glad.”

Tension drains away from Tenko’s posture with a sigh. His free hand rises to stroke the pinkish ripples of scar tissue on Touya's cheek. The ripples that had once been so much half-living skin on a half-dead man.

“You know…they won’t be here for a couple hours yet.” A smile flickers to life on Tenko’s face as the heartbeat under his palm picks up its tempo.

“I suppose we can keep busy in the meantime. We never did cross everything off those lists of ours.”

Tenko’s eyebrows leap up. “You remember what was left on them? Off the top of your head?”

Smirking, Touya leans in to nuzzle his neck. “I only went over them about a million times, imagining doing everything with you.”

Though Tenko huffs, his eyes go half-lidded, breath speeding up a notch. “Do you happen to remember whose turn it was to pick then?”

“Hmm…no. But I concede the choice to you.”

“How generous.”

“You are my king, after all.”

Tenko’s hand buries itself in the undyed half of Touya’s hair. “I am, aren’t I?” A tug earns a rewarding gasp. “Even though you’ve always been the sort of subject who follows orders only when he wants to.”

“You finally gonna teach me to behave?”

“Doubtful.” A show of teeth, thrilling and fearsome. “But I guess I’ll just have to keep trying, won’t I? You’re bound to learn one of these days.”

An answering smirk. “Sure. One of these days.”

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homeboundrunnerfive · 5 years ago

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Zombies Run Secret Santa 2019!

@notforconsumption HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM YOUR SECRET SANTA! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! I had this idea about a “5 times...” including Five, Sara and Sam at about 5000 words similar to what I did for Secret Santa last year. But this was too much fun to write, and I couldn’t bear to end it before I felt that it was properly finished, and this piece wanted to be more than 5000 words. So therefore, I make this pledge to you: have this smaller preview of my ZR/pokémon crossover as your present for this Christmas Eve, and send me a scenario that you would like to see added in the final version of this piece and your Secret Santa will make it so! And lastly: big thanks to both you and @runnerzero for organising this wonderful Secret Santa exchange!

Fandom: Zombies, Run! Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Runner Five/Sara Smith Characters: Sam Yao, Sara Smith, Runner Five, Simon Lauchlan, Janine DeLuca, Maxine Myers Additional Tags: Female Runner Five, Spoilers for Season 1, Mild Language, AU - Pokémon, Preview (or: remember that time probably at least a year ago when the fandom discussed the ZR/pokémon crossover?) Summary: Only by the very skin of her fucking teeth does Five make it in through the gates unscathed. Had guards on the wall not opened fire on the faster zoms directly behind her, she might not have made it inside at all. The second the gates close behind her, she actually lays down flat on her stomach to stop herself from vomiting. She has never run that fast before in her entire life, and her vision is flickering a little. The Cubone crawls out of her backpack as she pants heavily into the dirt, and jumps off of her to look around. After a few moments it gives her a sour look, seemingly deeming its new surroundings to be nothing all that special. ”If I had dropped you, this would have been a lot easier for me,” Five mutters to the Cubone. It returns her snarky remark by pulling out the bone and whacking her square in the head.

— S1M01 The transfer from Mullins Military Base to the smaller settlement of Abel Township is not starting out well. Five is a little disappointed in herself for actually being just the tiniest bit surprised by the fact that every single thing that could have gone wrong today has.

To be fair though, being shot down from the sky with a rocket launcher is a rather uncommon occurrence, so maybe she can’t take the blame for not predicting that one.

Which is a right shame, because what she can predict, Five will prepare for. For example, she knew that that arriving without a pokémon would elicit reactions and she had prepared herself for it. Pity and commiseration from some, assuming it was lost or killed in the chaos of Day Zero. Distain or suspicion from others, trying to rationalise how someone able to secure a spot at Mullins for themselves could be so negligent as to not provide for their pokémon.   Others are just confused at the sight of someone without a pokémon in these trying times. Who wouldn’t want an immune companion to not only protect you, but to also love you and keep your spirits high?

Five had prepared for that eventuality. She had not prepared for parachuting out of a helicopter, nor arriving to Abel in a mad dash chased by one of the faster zoms she’s encountered so far.

Inside the gates she’s greeted proper by three individuals, though a lot of people attempt to quickly wheedle information or supplies off of her the moment she stumbles through the gates

“Hey! Good to see you in the flesh… the totally-unbroken, skin-not-bitten-by-zombies flesh, right? Step back, step back everyone, don’t crowd! Give Runner Five some space!“ She recognises the voice as the man guiding her from the crash to the gates, radio operator Sam Yao. ”You alright there?”

He’s a younger Asian man in his mid-twenties or so, with dark hair and friendly eyes. The vibrant orange colour of his hoodie sticks out in a very striking manner, and a Flaaffy and Minccino is peeking out from behind him. Five feels like he fits the image of what she had imagined someone with his voice would look like. Rather soft, unpretentious and… boyish. The chinchilla-like pokemón looks rather downcast, sitting on top of the Flaaffys woolly head.

Next is an African-American woman in a white lab coat, immediately relieving Five of the CDC files and giving her a bite check before welcoming her to Abel Township. Five catches a glimpse of pale gemstones and notices that the woman, Dr. Myers as she introduces herself, has a rather small Sableye clinging to her hip underneath the lab coat. The pokémon is watching Five cautiously, showing the slightest hint of teeth.

Last is a serious-looking woman with a stern face, dressed in practical clothing. While the doctor is performing Five’s bite check, the woman is speaking quietly with another equally impressive woman, seemingly a bit older, who is accompanied by a weathered Lucario. The older woman is carrying a firearm, discreetly hidden by her loose shirt in a holster strapped to her belt. Five only notices because she has gotten into the habit of looking for threats, no matter the surroundings.

”Welcome to Abel Township. My name is Janine De Luca,” says the serious-looking woman. At her feet, an Umbreon is standing at attention like a guard dog, staring Five down. ”We have much to discuss.”

Five knows better than to hope for good things by now. But so far, so good, she thinks.

— S1M07

Only a few weeks into her transfer, disaster strikes.

Janine De Luca, one of the authorities of Abel Township, had sent her out on a mission to make contact with a member of a supposed rebel group within the neighbouring settlement of New Canton under the guise of picking up a cache of electrical supplies. Unsurprisingly to at least Five, who has learned to expect the worst of every situation given the state of the post-apocalyptic world, the rendezvous ends up with her having to flee for her life in the completely opposite direction of Abel Township while dodging automatic gunfire.

It takes a solid hour of running through extremely taxing natural terrain before Five feels confident that she is out of the woods, and by that point she is out of the scanner range Sam was talking about. Her headset took a hit when she smacked into a low-hanging branch in her hurry, and it seems to have been damaging enough to disable her transmitter. To further emphasise the vulnerability of her situation, the sun has now fully set beyond the western horizon and midnight is closing in. The moon working its way across the starry sky provides some light, but not enough by far.

”Runner Five… I don’t know if you can hear me. Our scanner’s down,” Sams voice starts again over the headset. He’s been checking in periodically, voice growing more and more despondent each time he goes without a response. Something bleats weakly in the background, and Five imagines Sam stroking the soft coat of his Flaaffy as he flips between monitors. ”It never works that well at night anyway, and a couple of bits of equipment have broken down, so… so there’s no way to see where you are. Truth is, I… I don’t even know if you’re alive. Odds aren’t good, right?”

He would have lost sight of her the moment she fled into the dense forest, Five thinks, so for all he knows she could have been shot dead the second she exited his camera coverage. The odds for her survival, as he said, were certainly not optimal.

Mustering what little strength she has left, she forces herself into a slow jog towards a more defensible position to take a much needed rest to catch her breath. On a hill, about half a kilometre away, under the roots of a large tree growing on the incline Five can see something similar to a makeshift burrow. It isn’t ideal, but the surrounding trees are much too bare for her to climb without some sort of equipment, so a dirty hole in the ground to keep her back free will have to do for now. After listening intently for a moment, she feels certain there are no zombies nearby. No groaning moans, no shuffling steps and no crinkling leaves.

”You’re not even my second Runner Five, you know that? You’re my fourth. I guess there’s no better reason you’d make it back than any of the others,” Sam sighs, and Five thinks that even if her transmitter wasn’t smashed, she wouldn’t respond to that. It’s true. She’s no more likely to survive the night that anyone else in her position.

Doesn’t mean she isn’t going to try.

Five pulls the axe from her back, keeping her pack on, before sitting down on the ground and leaning back against one of the thick roots. Her legs are almost numb, and her breaths are still coming out ragged. For the moment she feels very warm, but Five knows the sweat on her skin will soon cool and bring her body temperature down. She can’t allow herself to stay still for more than a few minutes, but that will be all she needs. In her head, she’s already mapping out the route back to Abel.

Something hard hesitantly pokes her lower thigh. Her muscles tense instantly and she chokes up the grip on her axe, bouncing into a defensive crouch.

In the dark, she can only make out two narrowed eyes staring suspiciously at her and a small silhouette sitting further inside the burrow. Whatever poked her has been retracted back into the shadows. Then, a white stick strikes out with lightning speed and hits against the metal head of her axe, sending the smallest of vibrations down into her hands.

The noise isn’t too bad, but it breaks the absolute silence of the woods in a way that puts Five on edge.

She backs up a few steps, standing up as she does, and slowly raises her axe into a batting position. The small figure, interestingly enough, mirrors her movements perfectly.

Chancing a quick look around, Five can’t see anything shambling towards her position, which is good. Whatever tiny little creature drove her out of the burrow seems almost as guarded as she is, holding their little stick poised for another strike. She takes a few moments to carefully study the shape. The very top of the creature would barely reach up to her knees. Humanoid in form, bipedal, gripping what looks like a small bat, and a rather lumpy head with small horns. Too small to be a zombie, and too clever to be an animal.

Five tries to cycle through her passable knowledge of different Pokémon species native to England, and she doesn’t have to think very long before the answer comes to her. She’s invaded the little underground home of a Cubone. From what she can remember, they aren’t very social and prefer to keep to themselves. What she thought was a stick poking her was most likely a bone, then.

”So… I’m just going to keep talking for a while. I mean, for all I know, I could be talking into the ear of a zombie. But, hey —” Sam starts again, and Five slowly reaches up to mute the signal for just a moment to keep her concentration on the situation at hand.

Sinking down to her knees, Five exaggeratedly places the axe down to rest on the leafy ground before raising both hands in a placating manner towards the Cubone. The universal sign for ’I don’t want any trouble.’ Not because she is in the slightest intimidated by this tiny thing, armed as she is, but because any loud noises will draw zombies in and force her to start running before she’s had a chance to catch her breath.

The pokémon doesn’t lower the bone its holding, but takes a few steps forward to the mouth of the burrow. In the moonlight, Five can spot a rather large gash on the left arm stretching all the way down to the hand. Not too deep a cut, but most likely infected by the look of it, and probably rather painful.

It tugs at her heartstrings. The only way for her to survive the night is to make it back home to Abel before they bar the gates, so there is really no reason to be stingy with her rations. Starvation or exposure is not what will kill her. Slowly, as to not startle the Cubone, she combs through her pack until she finds what she’s looking for. A protein bar, the first and only one she's gotten since she was made a runner and therefore prioritised concerning nutrition compared to other assignments in the township.

She unmutes her headset at the reminder of Abel.

Disinfectant or bandages would be better, but snacks is all that she has to offer. The process of opening the wrapper quietly is tedious, but after half a minute she has the bar uncovered in her hand. Most likely expired, since the chocolate coating is cracked and flaking away with every slight jostle, but a treasure all the same. Keeping her palm flat, she holds it out as far as she can from herself and waits for almost a full minute.

The Cubone only stares defiantly, staying firmly put.

”I called you my friend just before, didn’t I?” Sam says through some slight static, sounding a touch less relaxed than he normally does, seemingly about to go off on a more rambling kind of tangent. ”Is that cool with you? I mean… well, I’m definitely not your friend if you’ve gone gray. But I feel like we have a kind of… simpatico… something? Not that we’ve ever really talked. I guess we’re talking now. So… yeah, well, let’s just talk like normal people, like… buddies, or something,”

At least someone wants to be my friends, she thinks sullenly as the pokémon continues giving her the evil eye. Sighing, Five tosses the protein bar towards the Cubone, only slightly wincing at the fact that she threw actual good food on the forest floor before sitting back down. If the pokémon dislikes intruders this much, its behaviour should alert her to any incoming zombies. She figures she’ll be better off taking that little rest here than spending precious time finding another spot, even if she no longer has her back free.

It takes a few moments of apprehensive investigation, but eventually the Cubone starts nibbling on the protein bar while still keeping a watchful eye on her. She mostly ignores it and turns her back to keep lookout of her surroundings, fairly certain the pokémon won’t be bothering her further for the short time she intends to stay.

Unsurprisingly, the minutes pass by much too quickly, and her muscles still scream with complaints as she gets to her feet. The Cubone has finished its snack, and seems to have been emboldened by her tribute. Waddling forward, it sticks its hands down her backpack and starts searching for more treats.

”Get off,” Five mumbles and makes shooing motions. The Cubone pauses to nail her with the most unimpressed look she has ever seen a pokémon make, and continues rooting around. Five’s pretty certain the only thing she has left in there by now is her half-empty bottle of water, but it’s the principle of the thing. She was issued that equipment by Janine, and Five is still very determined to make a good impression on that woman.

She hadn’t tried hard enough back at Mullins. Five will not make the same mistake twice.

”That’s mine, and I’m going,” she says, more firm this time, and grabs the closest strap to pull the backpack away from the Cubone. Before she can even attempt to stop it, the pokémon has not only tugged the pack from her, it has decisively climbed into it and given her an indignant harrumph. It reminds her of a stubborn toddler, which is unfortunate. She doesn’t have very much experience dealing with those kinds of tantrums. Five resists rubbing her temples in frustration.

”It’s mine, and it’s coming with me. Get out.”

They lock eyes, and a silent battle of willpower ensues.

The absolute absurdity of the situation is that Five doesn’t actually have the upper hand here. She needs to get back to Abel before they bar the gates, and it’ll take her a good hour of running in the dark as it is.

Moments pass.

Nothing happens.

”Fine then.” With a forceful yank, she expeditiously tugs the pack onto her back, passenger and all, and secures the hip belt around her waist to balance her centre of gravity with the added weight. It’s not too heavy, but definitely enough to make a difference while running. The head is poking out of the top, giving her a fierce glare. ”You’ll come to see it my way.”

The next hour is a little strange, to say the least. Occasionally, the Cubone will grunt in annoyance and rap at her shoulders with its held bone, but it makes no attempt to get out of the backpack. She fortunately only has to reroute twice after spotting smaller packs of zoms in the distance, and during those tenser moments the pokémon is surprisingly quiet. Sam continues checking in, making either morbid or hilarious monologues in her headset. For some bizarre reason, it does keep her spirits up. If he’s still talking to her, it means the gates haven’t been barred yet. Even if his chosen topics for conversation are disheartening for the most part.

When she gets close enough to Abel to see the light on top the tower guiding her back home, she’s picked up quite a trail of zombies, despite her attempts to circumvent any encounters.

”— but I’ve gotta be honest… we’re losing hope here.” Five is now only registering bits and pieces of what Sam is talking about, mostly concerned about keeping a safe distance ahead of her groaning pursuers. ”A couple of zoms have arrived at the gates, and that usually means the bigger horde is on its way. Maybe only a few minutes ‘til we bar the gate.”

That, however, she does hear loud and clear.

It means she’s still got a chance. All she has to do to make it is run fast enough.

Only by the very skin of her fucking teeth does Five make it in through the gates unscathed. Had guards on the wall not opened fire on the faster zoms directly behind her, she might not have made it inside at all. The second the gates close behind her, she actually lays down flat on her stomach to stop herself from vomiting. She has never run that fast before in her entire life, and her vision is flickering a little.

The Cubone crawls out of her backpack as she pants heavily into the dirt, and jumps off of her to look around. After a few moments it gives her a sour look, seemingly deeming its new surroundings to be nothing all that special.

”If I had dropped you, this would have been a lot easier for me,” Five mutters to the Cubone. It returns her snarky remark by pulling out the bone and whacking her square in the head.

— S1M10

Five is having a tough time figuring the new Cubone out, and the pokémon seems to actively be trying to infuriate her.

While bringing it into the township had been no issue with Janine, the question of ownership and training was apparently of more import. No rogue inhabitants in her township, she had said. Five had not been particularly adamant about claiming the Cubone for herself, given the apparent distaste of her the pokémon seemed to harbour. It almost seemed like whenever an opportunity to obstruct her presented itself, the Cubone would take it and then give her a smug look afterwards. So it seemed the safer bet to place it in the communal building rather than with her.

But after a few days, it was perfectly clear the Cubone was not fine with living in the communal building, nor socialising with the other collectively owned pokémon. The sharp, angry cries throughout the nights attracted zombies to such a degree that they actually had to send runners on emergency missions for ammunition to keep up.

A few people did try to befriend the Cubone, but to no avail. All attempts were rebuffed, with varying degrees of violence and threatening behaviour. Simon suffered a rather unfortunate injury to his groin trying to charm the pokémon, both scaring and upsetting his own tenderhearted Sylveon. After that incident, there weren’t many volunteers.

So now the responsibility has once again circled around to Five.

Things are not going well. The only two things she has managed to understand is that the Cubone is a male, and that it seems to dislike everything and everyone. It seems content to follow her around at a distance, but makes a scene when she tries to get close. Strangely enough, it seems to have no problem climbing onto her back whenever the pokémon feels like it. Touching that is not initiated by the Cubone, though, is out of the question, prompting wild swings with the bone. Any conversation or commands are met with glowering or growling. In short, the Cubone is completely dominating her, her life and all their interactions at his own very unpredictable whims.

Many people offered her tips, all delivered in a rather delicate manner as to not imply any incompetence on her part which Five feels is more or less unnecessary at this point. Chris McShell had given her a long and detailed lecture on abstract pokémon psychology. Evan gave her different training exercises to establish respect and dominance, demonstrating them to her with his impressively obedient Growlithe Bonnie. Jody and Sam offered a plethora of bonding exercises, most of which just seemed to be different forms of cuddling. Five did not point out that neither of their pokémon come equipped with their very own weapons, and simply enjoyed watching Jody hugging her soft and sweet Audino.

In the end though, all suggestions proved to be equally useless.

Presently, Five is sitting on the ground with her back against the wall of the mess hall. Cubone is sitting a few meters away, and a silent battle of wills is raging.

They’ve been at it for days. The pokémon is as stubborn — possibly even more so — than Five.

”I don’t want to do this,” Five says, fingers playing with the laces of her trainers. ”I’m tired. If you don’t like me, leave. If you don’t like this place, leave.”

She’s ignored very pointedly by Cubone, who is drawing something in the dirt with its bone. From Five’s poor perspective on the ground it looks like nothing but squiggly lines.

”Things are a certain way in Abel. You’ll have to find a place. You can’t have things your way here.”

Narrowed eyes glare at her from beneath the large skull adorning its head, and if looks could kill, she’d be more dead than the corpses shambling outside the walls. At least she knows Cubone understands her, even if all that she receives in return for her words are defiance. The pokémon resolutely turns its back on her with a familiar harrumph, continuing to draw in the dirt.

”I would have thought you’d be better at this than you are. I’m surprised, Five. And that doesn’t happen too often, you know,” Sara grins, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. By her side her companion Lucario does the same, and the two of them just radiate an aura of smugness.

Five scrambles to her feet and locks her arms behind her back in a courteous manner, feeling incredibly stiff and awkward about the forced formality. It’s still a little early to act too casual with superiors in Five’s opinion, even though her military ID has been recovered and Sara herself has expressed in so many words how laughable this kind of ”boot-licking” behaviour looked on someone as physically imposing as Five. Yet, she snaps into place on instinct. Cubone flinches violently as she moves suddenly to break their staring match, and turns to glare suspiciously at the newcomers with narrowed eyes.

”I apologise,” replies Five, keeping her eyes on her trainers. ”I am having more difficulty that I would have thought.”

”The difference really is night and day, wouldn’t you agree, Donal? Like a roaring lion and a cowering house cat. It really is frustrating,” Sara says offhandedly to her companion, before pointedly leaning her head to catch Five’s gaze as she does so. ”We do things differently here, Five, and I don’t want to have to go through this little song and dance every time I see you inside the gates. This is not Mullins. Act like a normal human being. No one is going to have you shot in your sleep for mouthing off or slouching. So please, honey, at ease, now.”

Chancing a quick glance, Five catches Sara’s eyes. They are brown, filled with mirth and just deep enough to hide something seriously menacing behind those twinkles of amusement. There’s a layer of subtext that Five has become quite adept at understanding at this point, even though there are few women Five has met that are quite as contradictory as Sara Smith.

Two sides of the same coin show their faces whenever she speaks. The gentle but stern reminder that Five won’t be shot in her sleep for mouthing off also serves as a warning to remind her that other things might be enough to earn her a bullet in the back of the head. The complimentary comparison to the king of the jungle during missions is also a barbed statement about her positively spineless behaviour within the walls of Abel Township.

”I understand.”

Sara lets out a small chuckle. ”Slow learner, and stubborn to boot. That’s fine, Five. Not entirely unlike this Cubone here, judging by the way things are going,” she says, turning to her Lucario to share a look. ”Donal and I never had these problems, did we?”

It’s difficult to pinpoint why, but the comment strikes a raw nerve within Five. Perhaps its her lifelong habit of people-pleasing that takes offence at her obvious failure, or her very frail yet still very much alive ego taking a targeted hit from someone she very much admires, or perhaps it is simply the drop that makes the cup run over for whatever reason. Either way, Sara’s words have found purchase beneath Five’s armor and like a frightened animal she strikes out on instinct, barely registering the words as they pass her lips.

”Military issue espionage pokémon are trained from birth in obedience, I’ve read. Must make training a breeze. But that has nothing to do with you, I’m sure,” Five bites out while keeping her eyes to the ground. Later, she will regret giving lip to one of the more influential and possibly lethal figures of the township, but for now Five is wallowing in self-pity and unable to care about the intricate policies of the apocalypse. Even though she has technically been officially encouraged several times to be slightly less deferential in public as to not attract attention to Project Greenshoot.

Sara gives her a sly smile, eyes twinkling. ”None of your concern, now is it? What I will say is that you are going about this the wrong way. Of course, I could give you a few pointers. Unless you prefer to continue this hopeless exercise in frustration. Up to you.”

Five reigns herself in, says nothing this time. Every single time she has opens her dumb mouth things turn sour, sooner or later.

”Lucario are an extremely capable and skilled pokémon species, and exceptionally rare at that. They are omnivores, though meat is very much preferable. Usually they live in smaller packs in the deep mountains away from the hustle and bustle of civilisation, and their unique ability to read and manipulate auras is unparalleled. Highly intelligent, my darling Donal more so than most I would say, able to understand and even communicate complex, abstract concepts. Most Lucario seem to have a natural sense of justice, and will react badly when training is not mutually beneficial to trainer and pokémon.” The Lucario has left her side to circle around the hesitant Cubone with a calculating look on its face as Sara speaks. ”This is just the smallest piece of knowledge that I have about the species of my pokémon. Useless information for you, of course. And yet, I keep droning on and on about all the things that I know, and you don’t. Seems like quite a dull thing to do in this kind of sticky situation, no?”

Five quickly schools her face into a more neutral expression, having unconsciously tightened her lips into the slightest scowl during Sara’s monologue.

”You don’t know anything about the Cubone species, so let’s skip that entire lecture for now. I’m sure a capable runner like yourself will be able to get your hands on that kind of information without having to bruise your ego asking me for it. So let’s look at what you do know instead, hm?” Sara continues, ignoring the low growl coming from Cubone as Lucario stops to study it. ”You intruded on an injured Cubone’s territory after nightfall, where he was all alone in a ditch far from both people and pokémon. You fed him scraps, and he climbed into your backpack and refused to be left behind. Strange thing, I’ll give you that. Here at Abel, he seems… let’s just call it displeased for lack of more polite terms, to be in the communal building. In other words, he doesn’t mingle well with strangers. Other people that have tried to gain his favour and trust have gotten nothing but sullen stares and the occasional light beating. Wherever you go, he follows at a distance, and grows defensive when you try to get close.”

It is becoming increasingly obvious where Sara is going with this guessing game to Five, and the impending conclusion is not something she is inclined to take to heart at this point in time. Maybe at all. In the zombie apocalypse, people can die whenever, so if Five’s lucky she’ll be grey before she’ll have to face her own flaws.

”I could give you my take on things, of course. Standing by my side is a disciplined and loyal pokémon, and you’ve got an armoured little gremlin following you around like a shadow, beating you with a stick whenever he damn well feels like it. You have to admit that’s funny.”

There’s a long pause, and it is almost enough to make sweat start beading at Five’s forehead but her lips won’t move. What admission Sara wants her to come to is not difficult to understand, but the strings of correct words dancing through her brain don’t seem to make their way down to her mouth.

Pride and shame battle fiercely within her. Five is locked between feeling completely unable to admit to any kind of vulnerability, while also simultaneously terrified to portray herself as devoid of empathy. Her tongue feels heavy and swollen resting behind flat teeth that aren’t sharp enough to tear through flesh and bone.

A few seconds pass that are long enough to draw every single breath of air from her lungs.

The result is pathetic. Absolute silence.

”It’s referred to as the lonely pokémon, did you know? Curious thing, in my opinion.” Sara inspects her fingernails in a very pointed manner, before catching Five’s eyes in a way that makes it clear she is not to look away.

It makes her squirm, and a knot is growing in her stomach.

”Alarmed at the thought of having a companion that is similar enough to you that it might actually understand and know you?” Sara’s voice is teasing at the surface, but sharp and calculating beneath it. ”Or maybe you simply don’t want a pokémon that is like you because you think you, and by extension it, is broken and bad?”

The knot settles firmly in the centre of Five’s stomach, making her feel ill.

Suddenly, a loud horn blares through the silence for one short signal, followed by Janine’s voice booming over the intercoms accompanied by gunshots in the distance. ”Calling Runner Five! Or Runner Eight! Or both. Runner Five and Runner Eight, report to the gates!”

Only seconds after that, Janine’s voice starts filtering through her headset, which Five quickly pulls up over her ears to listen properly. Sara has already done the same, and motions for Five to follow over her shoulder as she and her pokémon turn to jog towards the gates. ”Runner Five and Runner Eight, urgent assignment! Sam’s on a rest period, but we’ve discovered a traitor in the camp. We need you to chase her down before she gets away!”

”Copy that, Janine. On my way,” Sara answers, and turns to shout at Five over her shoulder. ”Come on, Five, let’s get going. And don’t you worry, we’ll save this little game of ours for a later date.”

Five takes off after her, only stumbling on the first step.

From this perspective up above as she passes them by, the scribbles Cubone made in the dirt earlier looks like a pair of vaguely humanoid, thick figures, one larger and one smaller, both wearing bulky helmets.

After a few seconds, a quick pattering behind Five gives her a moment to prepare before a heavy weight lands on her back and small hands claw into her shoulders like vices. She steadies herself and starts running.

— S1M19

The ceremony for Chris McShell is held on a foggy day, and the dim skies accurately reflect the mood of the runners returning from the forest walking through the gates. Most are met by their pokémon at the gates, thankful for whatever comfort they are given.

Five is silently thankful that Chris was one of the few in the township to not have a pokémon. She is feeling raw as it is, and the thought of watching a confused companion looking for someone that’s not coming back cuts like a knife. Without words, her Cubone crawls into her arms and settles in, filling her with warmth. It’s not enough to thaw the small pinprick of cold somewhere deep inside her chest, but it feels marginally better.

She listened to him die. Sam didn’t cut the feed.

Somewhere in the world, he might have had a daughter waiting for him. More likely is that he will be joining her amongst the dead.

Five showers without really taking notice of the icy temperature. The stiff sensations in her limbs actually makes it easier to remember that she does inhabit a body, and that she is here. Every time her boots hit the ground she becomes more heavy and solid, grounding her in reality. Her Cubone is shadowing her every step, for once not climbing over her frame to take a seat on her shoulders like he usually does. Strangely enough, Five thinks, the weight on her shoulders feels heavier than usual even so.

The bell rings, and Five follows routinely. A haze has settled over her mind, and it’s enough to dull her senses to the person quickly approaching her from the left. Sara catches her by the arm as she walks mindlessly to the mess hall, holding her firmly enough to not be easily brushed off. Her Lucario walks up behind Sara, and the usual silent staring contest ensues between their two pokémon.

”Hey there, Five,” Sara greets her, and the little sparkle in her eye is familiar enough to let Five know that she’s got a mission. ”I won’t keep you for too long. We’re expected, after all.”

Squinting at the last rays of the evening sun, Sara takes her sweet time before continuing as the light illuminates her rugged features. A breeze moves past the four of them, and Five feels like an ancient statue. Like someone that has been rooted in place for millennia, muscles of heavy stone, growing moss and collecting dirt.

”It feels good not to be the only one left who knows my boys’ faces. We remember them, don’t we Donal?” Sara says fondly, and her Lucario looks away from Cubone to respond with a short nod. There’s a faraway look in her eyes, and it takes Five a moment to actually register the words. It’s not every day that Sara speaks of her family, let alone her sons. ”Someone must, I should think.”

There’s a beat, and Five waits. She has learned that Sara usually takes her time setting the mood before getting to her point when she doles out her wisdom.

Sara exhales evenly, letting her hand fall from Five’s arm after clapping her on the shoulder. ”If you’re the only one thinking about them sitting all alone in your room, it’s mourning. But if you’ve got someone to share the memories with, you’re celebrating them. That’s my take on it, anyway.”

Furrowing her brow just the tiniest bit, Five tries to put the pieces together. It could be that she is being admonished for isolating herself with her grief, but that is an unfair assumption. Sara can’t have missed that she caught Five as she was going to the mess hall, where the atmosphere of loss is the thickest. She pulls her arms closer to her sides, jaw clenching slightly with tension.

Sara tilts her head, and gives her a look that Five can’t discern the intent behind, before nodding towards the ramshackle building. ”Don’t just be there, Five. Be present. It’s bad at first, I’ll give you that much. But it’s better in the long run.”

Turning on her heel with her Lucario following close behind, Sara leaves Five in the dust as she casually strolls through the doorway. Five stares intently at the ground, unwilling to risk meeting Sara’s eyes should she glance back for one last look.

Her advice is not lost on Five, and in most circumstances it would be marvellous and healthy advice. But for Five, it’s only words in the wind. She’s not strong enough to be present in the face of this kind of grief. There’s barely enough left of her inside to keep her going through the days as it is. There is no energy nor will left to spare on mental health after the taxing realities of the zombie apocalypse.

Looking down at her solid feet, planted on the ground, there is Cubone looking back up at her with solemn eyes.

She won’t do be able to do what Sara is asking, she thinks as she bends down to scoop her pokémon up into her arms. It’s not even worth trying.

Five still walks into the mess hall, though. Her chest is warmer, and the Cubone clings to her shirt.

#zombies run #@notforconsumption #zr secret santa #yoooo so i hope this is at least enough to make you a little more merry this christmas #i tried to be overtly shippy but i just....... can't???? with five and sara #so it is subtle but it's there #the piece in itself is NOT christmas-y #and i'm rambling #but i hope you like it anyway

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soldierallen · 6 years ago

Text

Married. 11

(Ya'll gonna beat my ass and I'm really sorry a lot has been going on please forgive me- also I don't know why the link says my name sorry about it.)

Featuring: Sebastian Stan, Henry Cavill, Chris Evans, Anthony Mackie, Chase Crawford, Morena Baccarin.

Part 10:

Pam

Henry had a secret, a big one. He knew some day she would find out but he didn't think twice that it would happen this early in their relationship.

I stare at these people as they talk my mind drifts every so often, once and a while a hand will squeeze my thigh and give me a look of calm, it's Henry.

God what would I do without Henry as I stare blankly at this all goody two shoed family in front of me who has no clue I did cocaine once on a guys back at a party, or that I've slept with so many people I'm lucky I didn't catch anything, all they know is that I'm their daugther who moved to the city to pursue her dream in journalism.

Henry knows, Henry knows everything he always did, However that question always pops into my dumb fucking brain... what about sebastian? Does he still think about me like I think about him? those thoughts flood my mind constantly what if I chose sebastian.. he will never not cross my mind and I hate it. I said I'm not in love with sebastian and I meant it.... right?

I hated doubting Henry but for some reason it just didn't feel right, he didn't feel right to me maybe I picked the wrong man again.

Henry slipped his hand underneath my dress inching closer to my underwear band which got my attention "well I think it's time me and Henry head home lot's of w-work to be done" his warm hand slipped closer and closer until she stood up he laughed to himself, he watched her saying goodbye to her family Henry shook the hands of her father her uncle and worthless brother

Her shity brother pulled her in for a hug with a whisper in her ear "you're kidding right? I know you don't love this guy be real for once in your life" he pulled away and she gave him a dirty look, he smiled devilishly walking away

she closed the door behind her as she pulled her suitcase out of the house as soon as that door closed she let out a nice grunt in frustration making Henry laugh kissing her lips so lightly his hand on her back he pulled away

"Henry we're having Christmas at your house this year" she smiled at him as he took both of their bags into the car it was snowing of course "you know I've always wanted to decorate and build a Christmas tree" he closed the trunk "why haven't you done it before?" She got into the passenger seat "Seemed stupid to do it alone" .

they were off back to the big city

it was almost 10pm

"Okay don't be mad at me but you are jobless so I opened that letter for you.." Henry said she was surprised that he even found it, "and?" She awaited for his reply as he stopped at a red light, "darling" she nodded her head "I knew it, I knew I wasn't going to get that stupid job" she looked out the window upset, "I'm sorry" he said lowly his hand on her thigh she just looked at it, unamused.

"I know whatever you set your mind to you will do amazing at it" he tried to cheer her up but she was stubborn, her stubbornness always overlooked everything else. He looked at her from the side of his eye as the light turned green, he hated seeing her sad he tried to loosen up however his side eyed stare was intense he wanted to know what she was thinking.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He smiled as he lit a cigarette next to her, she pushed back all her hair from her face

"seb that guy I've been -" she didn't want to say the word so he handed her a penny that was in his back pocket "fucking?" She nodded "yeah that, I like him but I'm kinda scared to - go for it you know?"

"I know what you mean, take a RISK darling if it goes south we'll deal with it" he stood up from the ledge of the fountain "I thought you QUIT?" she yelled "this is my reward for the last year of no smoking I needed one, thing's are rough this fine afternoon." She rolled her eyes and he walked away

She fell asleep in the car he every so often looked at her sleeping peacefully, When a text popped up onto his phone as he parked.

call me I have bad news. Chris E.

His heart picked up pace as he read it feeling his nerves settle in, he pressed call under Chris's contact

"What's going on" Henry pulled his keys out of the ignition opening his car door going to the trunk of his car

"Henry the kid, he's almost born and you haven't even mentioned it to y/n? Henry for God sakes this file goes in January you have to tell her" did I mention Chris is a lawyer?

"Chris she's all bent out of shape theres no fucking way I could tell her she's literally in shambles! I cannot spring this on her and I don't even know if the kid is mines alright." Henry said, however Henry knew deep down it was his kid he just wasn't prepared for it, Henry had kept this secret for months without letting y/n know he knew he would get an ear beating if she knew and now y/n's his girlfriend it just got worse.

Morena was an ex girlfriend of Henry's they met in college and never really lost connection until two years ago, and when she came back they started things up again and she broke his heart, this continued for months because the two would have sex frequently they just couldn't let each other go. Until a few months ago when morena had came out to tell Henry she was pregnant and Henry was the father, he couldn't face that not right now.. January is the due date and time is running out

"You have to tell her! You can't keep this secret the only reason I know is because she filed a lawsuit against you" he said warning Henry

"Well I can't have her find out right now" he pulled the suitcases from out of the trunk walking up the cobblestones into his home

"Henry's if it yours, you have to take responsibility you know that" Chris said as he sat at his desk looking at the file of morena's in front of his face as he clicked a pen a few times, it was Henry's he knew something in the back of his mind however he would never say that to him, Henry's not ready for that.

"I'll tell her after Christmas alright stop yanking my tail" he looked at y/n asleep still in the car as he went back to the cars trunk

"Do you want to lose her?" Chris said

"Of course not I finally got her" he said getting the last bag out of the trunk into his house, a huff came out on the other line

"Tell her now, don't wait anymore"

"I'll call you tomorrow" Henry said and they hung up, he scratched his head rubbing his face, and finally he crouched down his elbows on his knees and his mind racing like crazy he bowed his head putting his hands over the back of his neck

"Shit shit, how am gonna do this? I can't keep this from her" he whispered to himself he tried calming his breathing as he stood up "I'm so fucked"

he shook it off proceeding back to the car to get the women into the bedroom, he opened her door her body slumped & covered, her warm skin against his cold hands her head falling loosely into the nuk of shoulder he smiled down at her, I'm gonna lose her, she's not ready for this- hell I'm not ready for this.

He was distraught as he laid her in the bed removing her shoes socks taking his jacket off of her covering her with a blanket, he went into the bedroom's linked bathroom and brushed his teeth as he looked at himself in the mirror his eyes felt heavy he wanted nothing more than to sleep next to her, he was scared to the thought of losing her to a women he didn't love to a child he didn't want not with morena anyways.

He put his toothbrush back into it's holder washing his face, he grabbed a towel wiping his face in the mirror he hated feeling so much guilt. He laid down next to her his thumb caressing the back of her hand "I'm so sorry" he felt like he failed her - it's like he's living a double life a life he doesn't even know she's gonna leave me he thought maybe she'll finally be with who she wanted this entire time.

Sebastian.

The loud noises of machines ringing and people yelling cigar smoke in people's noses, a casino that's where he is, he threw dice he played slot machines, he did it all, but something was missing - her.

The void of not having her around was killing him slowly,

"Altantic city what the hell are we doing here?" She looked at the big green sign passing her above their heads, sebastian cracked a smile his sunglasses on

"Your shitty ex boyfriend is an asshole we need to have some fun" she looked at him with a funny look on her face "what" he asked "you're a fucking idiot" she laughed

"What again?" He said loudly this time "why is this going to make me feel better, two single twenty one year olds going to Atlantic city huh doesn't sound too exciting when were BROKE" she yelled he laughed hysterically "stan what the hell are you on" she asked

"LIVE A LITTLE FEEL SOMETHING" he said she nodded her head in disapproval "doll it's going to be fun trust me"

that night sebastian won over 1,000 dollars and they split it she loved him for that, almost fresh out of college with almost no money getting handed 500 dollars is a big deal.

he lost his best friend in the span of two weeks it was over Henry had won, but he knew Henry's secret, Henry was going to be a father and everyone knew, as sebastian played poker he folded leaving mid game. He knew it was stupid to even be here but he thought he could fill the void with gambling with drinking anything to get her off his mind, he finally knew how she felt when he said he didn't want her it felt like a punch to gut he wandered on the streets looking for anything to keep him off of her which was impossible

She told me she loved me and I blew it, i left her alone when she tried to help me i screamed in her face and told her horrible things.

Guilt

Henry and sebastian were both feeling guilty at the same time for two very different things but both relating back to her.. how could we disappoint our best friend like this.. treat her like that, she deserved more than a bunch of liars as best friends She deserved more than a bunch of guilty assholes as best friends, she deserved more - I'll get her more. He thought he got into his car and drove to only place he knew that would give her more.

"Elena?" Sebastian yelled loudly at the second floor window, it was quiet on their side of town, the window started to open "BlackRock?" She referred to his place of work "yeah is chase home?" "Yeah BlackRock but why?" She yelled back "you know that favor he owes me? well I need it now." she nodded her head and got chase "sebastian stan what do I owe the pleasure?" Chase said with a laugh it was 2am why was he here?

"Can we talk?" Chase nodded going to buzz him in, sebastian got himself prepared for what was about to happen.

It was the next day, she'd woken up a little earlier only to her to realize she awake at an ungodly hour for nothing, no work so why was she awake she made coffee and sat on the chair, God I could never do this stay at home mom shit this sucks - yeah working was hard but keeping busy is needed. She was quiet and lived alone most of her life to be honest she only did somethings in her past because of Sebastian, he was a risk taker while she was timidity.

"Henry I need a job" she felt his presence behind her she whipped around quickly, he smiled tying the belt on his robe a little tighter as he sat on the stool across from the island that stood in the middle of them

"I need to get a newspaper - wait do newspapers still exist" she said putting her cup in the sink and getting another one for Henry "yes sweetheart they still exist" he said lovingly as he looked at his phone "well I need one so I'm going to get dressed and get one!" She made Henry coffee and he kissed her over the counter

"Maybe I'll find something cute while I'm out" she winked, he felt butterflies in his stomach when she did that or was it just nerves about telling her he might be a father very soon..

she kissed him so sweetly he grabbed her butt very lightly getting a small chuckle from the girl, she got into the cab putting her bags in Henry watched her his mind running wild how was he going to tell her, she drove off and she put all her stuff away in her house the wall next to her thumped and a women calling out her neighbors name yelled, she really wasn't in the mood to listen to people having sex so she took off into that diner she usual goes to "June's" she ordered a coffee & a donut she wasn't hungry she just needed to order food to sit there on the spiny stool her laptop in front of her "elena GUESS WHAT newspapers exist!"

"You're an idiot! Hey darling hows life treatin' ya!" Elena said with a smile, elena was the women who she became very close to when she moved on this side of town "what do you think about men elena" she nodded "men ain't shit but my chase he's one of the good ones" she patted y/n's shoulder "I'd like to meet him one day"

"Oh you'll like him very philosophical like you" she laughed at even saying that word, "what's he do?" She asked "my chasey is a writer like you he writes for the newspaper" she wiped down the counter, it was mostly quiet a few people in booths it was early.

"Chase?" She typed his name in Google, "Crawford" she could've swore she heard a record scratch in her brain, "like THE Chase Crawford that writes for the New York Daily News" she nodded "why have you never told me that before" "you've never asked about my personal life sweetheart" her Brooklyn accented appeared heavily this time around I wondered why it still stuck after all these years when she hasn't lived there.

"So like - could I meet him one day?" She was beyond excited, he was a fantastic writer who knew absolutely everyone in the city because of interviews sources, and they usually worked for him he was more in touch with his business than y/n ever knew knowing Downey for so long she thought everyone could've been like that so she never got her hopes up

"Chase owes some guy that works at BlackRock a favor and he's overlooking some stuff for him so he won't be around until tomorrow night" she took out her notepad watching two guys walk in, "oh mr mackie! what brings you to this part of town" she spinned around on her chair greeting her best friend they hugged and his coworker I guess sat at their table whilst she caught up with Anthony

"So are we job hunting little lady?" Anthony asked "yes I need help!" She whined "I work with Chris I can't help you out in this field actually the four of us can't even help you out in this field!" He laughed and so did she, "I just want to start working again! It's so exhausting not doing ANYTHING!" she seemed stupid to complain

"Hey if you ever need a job in finance or law hit us up" he smiled hugging her "you were no help mackie" "I'm sorry" he shrugged going to his coworker.

After a while she came home, she saw a bouquet of sunflowers on her table. There was a note "I just miss you okay. Things are getting better slowly but surely." - Seb

"Why does he do such nice things for me" she was overwhelmed with love in her heart, why is he always there when I need him can he just go away.

she pulled out her phone "Sunflowers? Huh cheesy. you should've gone for something better like tulips oh or not get me flowers at all and actually visit me! I miss you too" She texted sebastian, he was in a meeting and his phone dinged all eyes on him "sorry" he silenced his phone but pulled it out of his pocket to see the text, he smiled and put back his phone, she puts a smile on his face how could he never realize how important she was to him, why did he do her so dirty? He thought he was in love. People do anything for love right?,

it was later that night

Someone knocked on the door, it was Henry "let's head out" he said

"Where are we going" she asked

"We have to talk about something important" she was scared to say the least, she wasn't understanding what was going on..

"Okay let me grab a jacket" she got her keys and her jacket and headed out they talked a lot he avoided for a while to not tell her but here it comes

"Sit" he gestured

"Okay where is this going?" She asked

"I have something to tell you and it's really hard for me-"

"Henry get to the point it's cold" they sat next to each other as their breath smoked and hands felt wet from how cold it was outside this afternoon..

"Please-"

"Henry just calm down it's okay whatever it is - I love you" she tried to reassure him, her nose turning a slight pink Henry's too but it wasn't because of the cold it was because of the heat circulating through his face he was just filled with nerves

"I want you to move in with me." He let out words that wasn't suppose to come out, his brain said other words not to say the words "I might be a father" He just dug himself a deeper hole.

"Henry -" she was in shock, but a good shock he was moving rapidly their relationship just kept going to places quick

"So?" He said his eyes looked so innocent his posture was soft and he was less stressed than before.

"Yes" they hugged tightly he lifted her off the ground slightly she loved when he did that "I can't believe you would ask me that!" She hit his shoulder "I want you more than ever"

"How did the research go?" sebastian asked sitting next to chase on his couch

"fantastic why have I never heard about her before??" He asked "shes been underneath Downey's belt since a few years she was the CD for two years and he dropped her" he drank from a glass almost gone of whiskey, sebastian drank a lot he quit for so long and then so much crap happened to him he picked the habit up again.

"I want her to work for the company, she knows what shes doing she's a great writer and a fantastic creative director can you call her"

"Call her..?" He asked.

"Yes call her like on a cell phone you press the buttons" sebastian gave him a death glare chase laughed hitting his shoulder in a joking matter

"Fine if you don't want to call text her be nonchalant about it, ask her if shes interested in a job interview", so that's what sebastian did and he texted her waiting for a reply on the other hand, y/n and henry had just got done making love for the third time in their relationship it was magic, but she was distracted through some of it seeing a text pop up from sebastian when they finished Henry said he was going in the shower and as soon as he closed that door she grabbed her phone

"Hey? You alright, I know you're going through a lot I'll be over to your place like i said tomorrow"

"You there?"

"Hey what do you think about a job interview I told my friend about your work and he's really interested in you."

"Hey seb, oh that sounds cool could you do that for me? That would be amazing I'll talk to you later luv ya"

"Who are you texting" he heard the text taps, as he walked through the door....does she dare even say his name - "Chris- he was asking about being a reporter or something I don't know" she deleted the texts and put her phone down.

"I'l see you tomorrow love you bye"

She felt as if she was betraying him but sebastian was her best friend it seems stupid to distance myself from him right? Also he has a job interview for me? This could be good for me!

Tagged @hiddlestonstansworld @lovely-geek @imcalledflorence @misz-adrii @escapistdreamer-wishfulthinker @someplxce @cuddlesforlashton @coffeebooksandfandomsohmy @weasley16 @ilovethewayyourheartbeats @vogueworthy-barnes @xeniarocks @thisismysecrethappyplace @racheo91 @gravedollie666 @inlovewith3 @supernaturaldean67 // if anyone wants to be untagged or tagged please leave a message ty♡ also I do not own any gifs or images of any kind.

#sebastian stan #imagine #sebastian #sebastian stan x reader #anthony mackie #chris evans #henry cavill x reader #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan imagine #stan #henry cavill

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sweeneyxlaura · 5 years ago

Note

hi i was wondering if you could share your sharpening settings or action and if you use different settings for 540p gifs and 268p ones. thank you and sorry to bother i love how your gifs are so sharp

Hi! You’re no bother at all! I’m happy to help! Now, I do use a sharpening action, but I downloaded it years ago from someone who deleted their blog, and I don’t know why I can’t find the .atn file in the Actions folder, but my PS has been wonky for a while now. But don’t worry, I’m gonna link you to basically the same one below…….

1. Grab a sharpening action that will convert your frames into Timeline Mode and your layers into a Smart Object.

So, I actually go an extra step from what most ppl use to sharpen their gifs. Most (from what I see, anyway) use 500px at 0.3 (”more accurate” checked off), which is perfectly fine. But it doesn’t look as CRISP to my own OCD eyes, so I sharpen it further.

Now, I’m not sure how you gif or what your process is, but I use Video Timeline Mode and my layers are converted into a Smart Object. If you message me personally through the chat, I can help you if you’re running into some problems with getting your frames and layers into those modes. And I only say this because there are quite a few sharpening actions that do THIS, but don’t do THAT, or some that are specific to CS6 or CC. It’s a shambles, basically.

If you take a look at this tag, there are a couple of sharpening actions there (and tutorials) to help you get your frames from Frame Animation to Video Timeline, but try this action. I think that one will get you the same result as mine, which should show your frames in this mode:

And your layers converted to a Smart Object:

2. Once you run your sharpening action, it should automatically change your Frames/Layers modes AND sharpen your gif to 500px, 0.3 radius. Great!

3. Now, the next step is to double-click the Smart Sharpen option in your Layers Panel, which would be where it says “Smart Sharpen” (not the eye):

4. Once you double-click that, your Smart Sharpen window will appear. The settings will reflect the sharpening action’s settings, which will be 500px and 0.3 radius. You want to change the 0.3 to 0.4. Then, hit OK.

5. Yikes, it’s sooo sharp and ugly. To fix that, you go to your Layers Panel again, and hit this little guy sitting off to the side:

6. When you do that, this window pops up:

You want to change the 100% default setting to something less. For 540px gifs, I change that number to 45-50%. For 268px gifs, I do around 40-45%. It’s really up to your own preferences how sharp you want your gifs to be. For me, I like it just so - not too sharp, just clean edges. Once you change that percentage, hit “OK”.

And that’s it! Your gif is beautifully sharp and pretty.

Last note: Converting to a Smart Object messes with the time delay on your gifs. It looks like the action I linked you to automatically saves at .05. If, for whatever reason, you don’t want that time delay, just open your saved gif in PS, change the time delay there and export it again.

Hope that helps! If anything’s confusing or if you need any PS help related to this, let me know! :)

#ask #anon #ps

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belphegor1982 · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 2 is up!

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: The O'Connells are required by the English Government to bring the Diamond taken from Ahm Shere from Cairo to London. Things get interesting when Jonathan bumps by chance into an old friend of his from Oxford, Tom Ferguson…

Chapter 2: Familiar Faces (on AO3 here)

“So that’s your office? I must say, I’m impressed, old boy.”

“Knock it off, Jon.”

The room was tiny and rather stuffy, and Jonathan had to wait a while before Tommy could find a spare chair, in this case a collapsible with a cloth back. The mess was indeed impressive – you couldn’t see even a little bit of desk under all the huge, dusty files lying on it and all the loose sheets. All around the desk, the path was more or less cleared, but you still had to be extra careful not to step on books and files of varying shapes and sizes. The whole floor was cluttered up by cardboard boxes, some still held shut by adhesive tape, most of them open; as Jonathan peeped into one, he saw various items wrapped in protective paper.

Despite the messy aspect, Tommy’s office gave an overall cheerful impression, helped by the sunlight pouring in through the window, high up the wall. Dust danced in the rays and didn’t seem to be willing to settle anywhere.

“Sorry for the shambles, mate,” said Tommy, rummaging through the papers on his desk and starting to tidy everything up. “They made me move in here only a week ago, I haven’t had time to clean it all up.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve seen worse.”

Tommy’s head shot up from the desk, glancing sheepishly at Jonathan. “Y’know, when I told your sister I was one of the chief agents… Well, I might have overstated the thing a lil’ bit.”

“No! You’re not serious, are you?”

Tommy growled at Jonathan’s smirk, and he fell silent, letting his eyes wander here and there. They finally came to rest upon the only thing that seemed tidy enough – a dozen old-looking books resting on a set of shelves.

Jonathan left his chair to get a proper look. Some of the books came directly from the British Museum, and looked as if they were borrowed from the archives – old and worn, with leather covers slightly frayed along the edges. Not to mention the dust. And they smelt like escapees from the City of the Dead.

“I say, that’s some collection you’ve got yourself here,” said Jonathan amazed as he read the date of print of a particularly shabby-looking one. “My God… Evy would go spare if she saw this.”

“I’m sure she would,” Tommy said, emerging from the layers of paper and straightening himself up. “I just love these kinds of old books, you know; there’s a feeling about them you just don’t get with more – ‘recent’ ones. Now, where’d I put that bloody –”

“Looking for something in particular?”

“Yes,” Tommy sighed as he dropped on his chair, only to jump up and remove something before sitting down. “I’m sure what little I’ve got on Hamunaptra is lying ‘round somewhere in a folder – can’t seem to find it.”

Jonathan put the book he was holding back on its shelf and looked at the desk, his hands in his pockets. “No wonder.”

“Oh, that’s gonna help for sure, Jon,” muttered Tommy. Jonathan was about to retort, when his eyes stopped on a small picture in a frame. It was a photograph of a woman, and the longer he stared at it, the more familiar the woman seemed. Finally, it clicked into place: the freckled face with a round nose and pointy chin, the mass of frizzy hair and the sweet, candid smile could only belong to one person.

“Hey! Isn’t that Elizabeth McAlester?”

An uneasy sort of smile crept up on Tommy’s lips. “Yes, that’s her – ‘cept her last name hasn’t been McAlester for some time now.”

Jonathan stared at him blankly for a full minute. Now this, of all things, was unexpected.

“You mean, she’s – you’re –”

Tommy nodded, still smiling.

“How long –?”

“That’ll make it seven years in October.”

There was a moment’s silence, during which this piece of news sank in. Elizabeth McAlester had been a cousin of a common friend, Arthur McAlester – a tall, gangly fellow with glasses constantly perched on the bridge of his long nose, rather bossy but altogether likeable. She was a year or two older than them, and went to Somerville. Jonathan and Tommy had spent their last year before the war wooing her in turn, although it was more of a game for the two boys than something really serious. None of them had really gone too far, though. They valued their reputation as gentlemen – sort of – and she was too much of a nice girl.

Thinking back on it, Jonathan realised that, had things worked out differently, Elizabeth would probably have been the only girl he could have spent some significant time with. She was smart, sweet, and funny when she wanted to. And he used to make her laugh – she had a nice laugh. But there was also the fact that she didn’t really love him.

Perhaps, if he had been a little smarter, he could have won her over. Of course, that would have also meant spending less time in pubs, gambling and drinking; that would have meant growing up, and he was simply not ready for that, especially after the armistice. Most fellows of twenty-five were not, after all, and he’d made it his business to be as carefree as he could to make up for 1917 and 1918. Problem was, he was now forty, and most of people that age were supposed to be settled. Evy was younger than him, and Rick and her had been married for eleven years now. And Tommy and Elizabeth, of all people, had been together for seven years, and he had a picture of her on his desk. Why, they must even have children.

Perhaps Jonathan should have been jealous – but he just couldn’t be. Tommy was a decent fellow, and Elizabeth was a nice girl; they deserved each other. He had had his chance, had messed up, and there was no way to get back what wasn’t anymore. Petty jealousy was simply irrelevant there.

“That’s great news, old boy,” he finally said, with a heartfelt smile. “Congratulations. Wish I could have seen you in a morning suit, though.”

Tommy beamed in return, obviously relieved, and Jonathan felt a pang of annoyance. Did Tommy really think that he was going to be mad at him for that? That was ridiculous.

“Thanks, Jon. You know, that… that means somethin’.”

Dammit. It was still impossible to be thoroughly annoyed with Thomas Ferguson. He may retain his rotten luck, but he still had that innocent look on his broad face that fooled even the most sceptical of all. Even one Jonathan Carnahan.

A somewhat awkward silence passed. Jonathan was glad to end it when he spotted a folder under his chair and bent to take it for a closer look. “Here – wasn’t that the one you were looking for?”

The file was very thick, with a hard cover, and it was held shut by an old belt. On a little bit of yellowish paper was scribbled, ‘Hamunaptra, City of the Dead – Reign of Seti the First, Dynasty XIX.’

Tommy crossed the room in two strides and all but snatched the file from Jonathan’s hands. “That’s it! That’s the one.” His old enthusiasm was back in his voice. “I haven’t looked at it in years, guess it’s been buried under a ton of other things.”

“You can keep it if you want. It’s not that urgent, Evy can wait a bit.”

“No, take it – just be sure to give it back before tonight, someone could ask for it… Though nobody’s asked for it in years, so I can’t see why someone would just now. Except for Hamilton, but even him –”

“Hamilton?”

“Charles Hamilton, my immediate superior. Odd guy, very thorough, very clean. Might be a very likeable fellow if someone took the umbrella off his arse, but that’s just my opinion… Well. Fact is, I’m not really supposed to show that file to anyone, but as it’s you and Dr O’Connell…”

Jonathan couldn’t help but chortle. Tommy looked at him curiously.

“What’re you laughin’ at?”

“Oh, nothing, really – just the whole ‘Doctor O’Connell’ business. Funny thing to hear someone speaking in so high terms about my baby sister… especially you.”

Tommy shrugged and said with a grin, “Well, get used to it. Seriously, mate, I’ve heard of her since I was offered this job at the Research Department, and that was, what – ten years ago or so. Discovering Hamunaptra wasn’t such a big deal, I bet loads of people (poor chaps!) must’ve managed that in centuries past, but –”

Jonathan, whose first sight of the ancient City had been the skeletons and dried-up corpses of previous adventurers, gave a grim smile. Yes, indeed. Loads.

“– But she, her husband and… and you actually got out. Remind me to ask you how you did it someday, ‘cause I still have trouble believing it.”

“I bet you haven’t heard half of the story,” said Jonathan as a sly smile sneaked back on his lips.

“I hope you’ll tell me some time, then. This and that weird stuff with the Scorpion King two years ago.”

Jonathan opened his mouth, quite taken aback. “How d’you know about that, for cripes’ sake?”

“We, Mr Carnahan, know everything,” Tommy said with a mock smug grin, which he then dropped to finish, sounding almost embarrassed, “Well, not quite everything, I guess. In fact there’s still some huge blanks in the story.”

“Blanks you’d like me to fill, eh?” Jonathan chuckled. “I get it, Tommy old chap. I’d tell you the whole story anytime.”

Tommy’s right eyebrow shot up. “Anytime? That would include now?”

“Didn’t you say you had work to do?”

“‘Work to do’? Man, this is what I work on! Gathering pieces of information, I mean. Can I take notes?”

“Yes, sure,” said Jonathan, a little bit dumbfounded. “All right, you’d better take a seat, because this is going to be long…”

.⅋.

“And you told him the whole story of what happened at Ahm Shere?”

“And Hamunaptra, too. He already knew the main lines, anyway.”

Evelyn shook her head. Jonathan could be a wonderful brother at times, but one of his major faults was and always had been his complete inability to keep a secret the way it should remain – secret.

“I can’t believe you did that, Jonathan.”

“Oh, come on Evy, please trust me on this one, will you? Tommy’s reliable. He’s a decent bloke.”

His blue eyes were almost pleading, and Evelyn found her anger ebbing. The only times he had proved so persuasive were when he tried to cover up for one of Alex’s most foolish stunts. Though she could never admit it, such an attitude was very endearing, in a cheeky, annoyingly efficient sort of way.

Then there was this file. She couldn’t decently stay mad at him when he had been thoughtful enough to borrow it for her from this Ferguson fellow. And to tell the truth, she was positively dying to see what it contained. She couldn’t wait to get home to open it.

“Jonathan, it’s very touching to see you standing up for a friend, but you must admit that so far, the people you have entrusted with our, ah – family secrets – haven’t proved very ‘reliable’, have they?”

“Tom is, Evy. I swear. And he works for the British Consulate, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh…” Evelyn sighed, about to give in, “if only this was a guarantee of safety…”

“Just because What’s-his-name of the British Museum woke our mummy again and bollixed things up last time doesn’t mean Tommy’s not ‘safe’, old mum. Please –” and there he stopped her in her tracks and looked at her in the eye, “– believe me.”

Aw, dash it… It was still impossible to remain angry with him. She never could resist this unique mix of fake innocence, thoughtless cheekiness, and sincerity somewhere in the middle.

“All right, all right – quit pestering me, and I won’t bother you about this Mr Ferguson anymore.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, that’s a promise.”

Jonathan’s ‘persuader’ expression turned into a dangerous smile, one that his sister knew only too well. As a rule, it meant trouble was on the way.

“That’s nice, Evy, because I asked him if he wanted to see the diamond while it’s still here in Cairo –”

No exception to the rule today, it seemed. Evelyn was flabbergasted, but she said nothing… She had promised, after all.

“– And we agreed that a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, and it’s still my diamond in a way, a little – I mean, I know I sold it and everything, but I haven’t looked at it in ages and –”

Evelyn let him talk until he ran out of words and finished on a rather lame, “And, well, I – I was hoping you could intercede on my behalf, you see…”

“You don’t have to ask me,” she said in a deliberately colder voice. “You’ll have to see the curator for that. I wish you good luck convincing him.”

Jonathan’s face dropped.

“Evy, please! You’re my sister! I’ve hardly ever seen this bloke, you’re –”

“I’m far more gullible, is that what you meant to say?”

“No, it’s not – that’s – cripes, Evy, all I’m asking for is two words to the curator from you. Consider it payback for Tommy, he might’ve got into trouble lending you this secret file for the afternoon.”

The file. She’d almost forgotten it. Although Jonathan’s last sentence sounded a little like emotional blackmail, ugly as the word was, Ferguson had indeed seemed pleasant enough the day before. There was a cultured man, with a proper job – something of a change from the dubious company Jonathan usually kept – who respected and admired her work. She hadn’t heard praise such as he’d given her in quite a long time. And he trusted her enough to lend her this file.

“Well,” she said eventually, very slowly and reluctantly, “I suppose I could talk Dr Hakim into letting the two of you in the diamond’s room… Not alone, of course, and only for a few moments. I’ll see tomorrow if –”

She started when her brother kissed her on the cheek, beaming.

“Dear, sweet Evy, you’re the best sister any decent fellow would ever dream of.”

“Oh, come off it,” sighed Evelyn, who couldn’t help but smile all the same.

They found the house empty: Rick had taken Alex to the bazaar downtown. Evelyn quickly sat down on the sofa and carefully put the file on the coffee table in front of her, while Jonathan disappeared into the kitchen. She didn’t wait for him and opened the folder.

It contained mainly sheet after sheet of paper covered in tiny scrawl, and as she ran her eye over them she could tell it was a report of sorts, with dates, names, and more or less precise directions. There were newspaper cuttings, some of them quite old, and also some sepia photographs. She was leafing through them when Jonathan put a cup of tea on the table and sat beside her, a tumbler in his hands.

“So? Have you dug some stuff up already?”

“I guess so, yes… I didn’t know Lord Carnavon had worked on Hamunaptra as well…”

“Good thing he kept it quiet, one curse as cause of death is well enough – didn’t need two,” quipped Jonathan. Evelyn elbowed him and picked up another set of pictures. Her brother’s eyes widened.

“Evy, that’s – that’s us!”

He was right. Though the photographs were old, blurred, and of rather bad quality, the figures on it were unmistakable. They must have been taken shortly after Hamunaptra, because Evelyn saw some shots of Jonathan with his left arm in a sling, and several of herself and Rick, arm in arm, both their faces shining with sun and laughter. She remembered how it was, back then – the slight awkwardness between them, the happiness fluttering in her stomach each time his hand brushed against her, even by accident; it had seemed to her that she was constantly walking on a little cloud, inches above the ground, silly as this comparison may sound.

Of course, she had got down from this cloud long ago – but reality had not been as harsh as her school friends had once told her. Rick was a wonderful husband, and there was never a second of boredom between them. Even after eleven years of marriage, he still took every opportunity to seduce her. Not in the romantic, literary way, with tête-à-têtes and candlelight, but something in the way he looked at her over the table, the twinkle in his eye that was for her and her alone never failed to make her melt. And after all these years, he still managed to make her blush, too. Of course, she protested, saying that it was absolutely ridiculous for a thirty-six year old woman to blush; but he’d just laugh softly, his rich chuckle sending shivers down her spine and making her feel as if she were twenty-five again.

Jonathan often said some people were born lucky. Hers was another kind of luck – she may not have a ‘proper’ social life like acquaintances of hers in London had, but the four men of her life, namely Rick, Alex, Jonathan, and Ardeth – in a very slightly lesser extent, as she saw him fairly rarely – were the four people she loved most, and they were wonderful. Lady Maria Evans and her circle of snobby friends would never know how it felt to die and being brought back to life by her eight-year-old son and her brother. She would never know the overwhelming smell of gunpowder, the ache you get in your shoulder from the recoil, the deafening noise, how it felt to be kissed awake by a three-thousand-years old mummy – but then, had Evelyn been able to, she would have gladly skipped this part. Ew.

“I say, Evy, do you think they’ll mind if we took a couple of photos to put them into frames?”

Jonathan’s voice drew her back from the memories, and she looked at the pictures in her brother’s hands. There was another one or two of Rick and her, one of the three of them – in the streets of Cairo, by the look of it – and a full-length one of Jonathan alone, his hands in his pockets, his nose in the air, and a curious look on his face. There was something funny and rather sweet about this one which matched the involuntary subject’s general attitude: offhand, ironic, foppish, forgetful, but altogether loyal and kind. Evelyn was indeed tempted to keep it, as Jonathan had suggested.

“I agree that some of those would be worth it,” she said, smiling. “But maybe you’d better ask your friend first –”

An odd thought crossed her mind at the mention of Tom Ferguson. When she had met him the day before, he had clearly shown that he didn’t know Jonathan had been a part of the Hamunaptra expedition. But it just would have taken a look at the contents of this file to know that his former schoolmate had been involved – his full name was written in black and white, and the photographs were faithful enough. Besides, Jonathan had not changed that much over the years.

“Jonathan, I’ve just thought of something – Tom knows this file, does he? I mean, you told me he’s been working in the Department for ages, so he must have read it at some point, right?”

“I suppose so, yes. And your point is?”

“Well, perhaps I’m just being silly, but how come he didn’t know you were at Hamunaptra? Your name and your face are all over these papers, look…”

Jonathan frowned slightly, and bent to look at the sheet she held out for him. There was an account of that night so long ago in the Sultan’s Casbah that had started it all, and it was just as Rick had told her when she had asked how her sticky-fingered brother had managed to steal his puzzle box.

“Whoa, Evy… there’s a fair amount of details in there.” She saw his eyes dart from the top to the bottom of the sheet; then he exclaimed, “Oh, of course! That Casbah barman, what’s his name again… Oh yes, Musa. I bet he was the one who gave them such a precise account. Can’t believe he still held that grudge after –” he looked at the top of the sheet again “– two years. Resentful git. It was only a little fight.”

Evelyn didn’t know what made her insist, but she ignored his last remark and continued. “You see? He could hardly miss you. And yet he seemed to ignore completely your part in the trip to and from Hamunaptra. By the way, my name was Carnahan at the time, not O’Connell. I don’t understand why he looked so surprised to see that his famous Dr O’Connell and your bossy little sister were in fact one single person – it’s just not logical.”

There was a short silence, during which Jonathan seemed to ponder her words. Then he turned to face her, and to her surprise, there was something like anger in his voice when he said, “You’re really something, you know, Evy. Stubborn as a mule, I’d say. I told you Tommy was a decent fellow, I mean – you met him, he’s not some sort of conman or something!”

“I’m not saying he is, Jonathan,” Evelyn said gently; she had not expected this kind of resistance at all. “I’m merely pointing out a fact. You must admit that it does look a bit odd, doesn’t it?”

“Well, don’t point. Fact is, you can’t admit that I know someone that you don’t, who’s smart, trustworthy, who works in the same stuff as you, and who also happens to be a damn good fellow to drink with.”

Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“Just what I’ve said. Leave him alone. I don’t understand why you’re nagging about him. Besides, Tommy adores you – you should hear the way he praises you to the skies.”

“I’m not nagging. Honestly, Jonathan, from the little I’ve seen of him, I like him well enough – he seems to be good company, a funny, cultured, clever fellow. And I’m flattered to hear that he thinks so highly of me. But rationally and logically speaking, there are some tiny details that bother me.”

She had spoken and chosen her words carefully, not wanting to start a row. She hated being at odds with her brother when he wasn’t the one who had started it – it made her feel uneasy and oddly guilty. He had been her only family for a long time, after all, and neither was likely to forget it. They shared something special.

Anger faded from the bright blue eyes, and Jonathan’s expression turned into something that looked remarkably like a pout.

“Can’t you just leave these out for me?”

Evelyn almost laughed. “I won’t say I’ll forget it, but I won’t pester you about it anymore. Just – I know I’ll sound silly again, but don’t be angry with me for that. I don’t like it at all when you are.”

This time, the usual smile was back on her brother’s face, and he sank back into the sofa, his half-empty glass still in his hands. “Ah, come on, Evy – that was silly indeed… You sounded like a kid. Don’t worry, I’m not angry with you… I’m just annoyed that the one time I haven’t done anything, and I mean anything, you still find a way to be suspicious.”

Of course, when you put it that way… Evelyn could understand Jonathan’s touchiness, and respected his faith in his friend, but still. It was only a few minor things, but the logical, scientific part of her mind was puzzled. Of course, it could just be that Tom Ferguson had a bad memory – she had never seen a folder so dusty, so she supposed he really hadn’t opened it in a long time… She’d find a way to chat about it with him some time. Casually, of course, in passing.

Maybe it was her instinct. Or maybe it was just her curiosity. That particular trait had been said many times to run in the family, and Evelyn was forced to recognise that it had proved true in many occasions.

Especially when it came to herself.

.⅋.

(I have a lot of fun writing scenes with Evy and Jonathan. I absolutely love their interaction in TM, and it was something I missed slightly when I watched TMR. When I write them I can’t help writing with my memories of TM in mind. It’s also fun to imagine Evy, having grown from the girl she is in TM into the self-assured, brilliant woman, wife, and mother, inches from running the British Museum in TMR, being childish enough to bicker with her brother. Both Carnahan siblings are big goofs in their own way, Evy just hides it better :P)

#Fairy Tales and Hokum #my stuff #fanfiction #the mummy #the mummy films

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lilacmoon83 · 6 years ago

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Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 163: Miss Missing You

Rogers compared the photos of the symbol carved into the victim side by side with that of the drawing of the sketch book that had been in his possession for many years. The disappearance of young Eloise Gardener had been a case that had plagued him since his very early days on the force. He just wished he knew what the symbol meant and why is was suddenly popping up on their victim. No matter why though, he couldn't shake the feeling that the murder was somehow connected to the Eloise Gardener case. He sighed and noticed Tilly talking with Weaver, before leaving the station. He grabbed the sketchbook and followed her out, before calling to her.

"Tilly...is it?" he asked, as she turned to him and nodded curiously.

"I'm Detective Rogers...do you think I can ask you a few questions?" he asked. She shrugged.

"How do you know Weaver?" he asked curiously.

"It's not easy on the streets. I get information for Weaver and then he sees that I eat," she replied. He frowned at that. He didn't like to think of any kid on the streets, though he knew it was very real and serious problem.

"Well, if you answer a couple of questions I have...I can see that lunch is in the deal," he offered. She eyed him with scrutiny for a moment.

"I eat marmalade sandwiches from the deli around the block," she agreed. He smiled and showed her the sketch of the symbol.

"Years ago...there was a girl that went missing by the name of Eloise Gardener. There was speculation that she was a runaway and since you're a street kid, I was wondering if you'd ever heard of someone by that name?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I don't know that name...but I can ask around. I have seen this before though," Tilly replied. Rogers looked at her.

"You've seen this symbol before?" he asked. She nodded.

"I can show you," she replied, as she took his hand and proceeded to lead him off to a destination.

~*~

Today was the day. The moment Jacinda's boss left for the day, leaving the restaurant in the hands of his capable employees, Sabine moved in and placed the sign outside the restaurant, offering her beignets. The usual lunch crowd filed in and word of the delicious fare being offered spread quickly through the lunch hour. As Henry arrived that afternoon, he witnessed the booming business they were doing.

"Wow...I don't think I've ever seen it this busy," Henry commented, as he stepped up the counter.

"It's Sabine's famous beignets. Victoria raised our rent, but we're fighting back," Jacinda said. He smiled.

"Good for you...I'll take an order," he said, as he handed over some cash and in return, she handed him a paper bag with the treats inside.

"Thanks...you know, I'm probably going to be at Roni's later. And...I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink?" he stammered. She smiled.

"Uh...yeah I can text you when I get out of here," she agreed. He grinned.

"Great…" he said, as he stepped aside for the next customer, just David and Mary stopped in with Bobby.

"Hey…" Jacinda said, waving to them.

"Hey...we were walking by and saw the crowd. What's going on?" Mary asked.

"We're selling Sabine's famous beignets. Victoria thinks she can raise our rent and force us out...but we're not going to let her win," Jacinda replied. Mary smiled and squeezed her hand.

"Good for you…" Mary said.

"We'll take a few orders," David added, as he floated her some cash and then took Bobby to find a seat out on the patio of the restaurant since it was a nice day.

"You two seem cozy," Jacinda mentioned slyly. Mary smiled back, just as slyly.

"We are very cozy," she gushed. The other woman smiled.

"I'm happy for you," she said.

"Thanks...but did I see Henry in here minute ago?" Mary inquired and Jacinda looked down shyly.

"Yeah...we're having a drink later," she admitted. Mary grinned.

"That's so good...maybe you two will get cozy too," she said, giving her a wink, before she took their order and went to join David and Bobby.

Unfortunately, only moments later, flames were shooting out of the back of the restaurant, as a kitchen fire broke out. David was quick to act, as he ushered his family and everyone on the patio across the street.

"Be careful!" Mary called to him. He nodded, as he went to make sure everyone got out, including Jacinda and Sabine, who at least had managed to save the money they had made. But it was clear the restaurant was going to be a total loss

"I can't believe this…" Jacinda lamented.

"Hey...we made more than enough to pay the rent," Sabine said, looking on the bright side.

"But what about next month? I have no job now!" she exclaimed and shook her head.

"I should have never let you talk me into this," she said in anger. Sabine looked hurt by that and was quiet then, as the firemen attempted to put the flames out.

"Jacinda...I'm so sorry," Mary said.

"What am I going to do without a job? I'll never get Lucy back now," she lamented.

"Don't lose hope...we'll help you figure this out," Mary encouraged. But Jacinda shook her head.

"There isn't much to hope for anything if I don't have Lucy," she responded, as she walked away. Mary put a hand on her heart, as David returned.

"The fire department has it under control, but it's a total loss," he said, as he noticed her expression.

"Hey...we'll figure out a way to help Jacinda," he promised. She nodded, as her phone chimed.

"It's Roni...she wants to see us," Mary said, as they left the scene and headed for the bar with their son in tow.

~*~

Rogers looked at the structure with weariness, as Tilly slid the door open on the shed.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"My home," she answered and he sighed. This was certainly no place for a person, let alone a child to be living. He looked around, seeing various personal touches that indicated that Tilly lived there and had for quite some time. He saw all kinds of drawings on her walls, including the symbol in Eloise's sketchbook.

"Tilly...why do you have this symbol?" he asked.

"Don't you know?" she asked.

"No...I'm afraid I don't," he replied.

"It wards off evil...or that's what I was always told," she answered.

"Can you remember who told you that? Who taught you how to draw this symbol?" he asked urgently.

"I...I don't remember. It was a long time ago...I think," she muttered. He sighed.

"But I'll still ask around about Eloise," she offered. He nodded and smiled softly at her.

"Thank you Tilly. Let's go get you that sandwich," he said. She smiled and followed him.

~*~

The Enchanted Forest 3

Storybrooke year 2023 - approximately three days after the curse was cast

The portal opened and three people stepped through. They were dressed formally and their clothing definitely signified royalty, especially the two women.

"We made it…" Anna said, as they trekked along the forest path, toward Tiana's castle, which could be seen in the distance.

"Yeah...we're late though, thanks to that weasel from Wesselton," Kristoff commented.

"Yes, but at least we know that the Duke will no longer be causing us problems from inside his nice little prison cell," Elsa reminded.

"Yeah...just wait until Leo finds out he missed all the fun. He would have loved to scare the you know what out of the Duke," Kristoff laughed, as he was reminded of another visit.

"Oh that time he confronted the Duke on his last visit...I thought the old weasel was going to pee himself," he continued. Elsa rolled her eyes.

"I think he did...he really has that intimidating thing down. Kinda sexy, huh Elsa?" Anna teased her sister, whose cheeks colored a bit.

"It's the lightning...it does a lot of the intimidating, like my ice. But yes...it's quite...yes," she stammered shyly, as they came upon the castle and entered the courtyard. It was in shambles and there wasn't a soul around. There was damage to the castle as well and a sinking feeling settled in Elsa's stomach.

"What the hell happened here?" Kristoff questioned.

"It's deserted…" Anna commented, as they ventured further into castle gardens. There was remnants of what looked like a celebration or party, but most of it was scattered and destroyed. Elsa gingerly picked up a stuffed unicorn and recognized it, as she brushed off the dirt.

"Leo bought this in the market a few days before he left...for Lucy," she uttered.

"You...you don't think they're all…" Anna said, clutching her husband's arm.

"Dead?" he muttered, though Elsa heard.

"N...no, they can't be!" she cried, as she ran into the castle.

"Leo!" she called frantically.

"Elsa…" a female voice called weakly. The Queen hurried through the atrium and found Emma against a wall, looking paler than she had ever seen.

"Emma!" she cried.

"Kristoff...Anna...I found Emma!" she called, as the two hurried and with Kristoff's help, they lifted Emma into a chair in the common room.

"What happened...are you ill?" Elsa asked.

"In a way...though I should be dead, so I guess I'm doing better than expected," Emma replied weakly.

"If you should be dead...then why aren't you?" Kristoff asked, earning an elbow in the ribs from his wife.

"Rude…" she chided. He shrugged.

"What? It's a valid question," he retorted. She smiled weakly at their banter.

"It's a long story, of which I'll tell you when I can. But suffice to say...there's been another curse," she said weakly.

"Well...guess that explains why everyone is gone. Except you though," he replied.

"So...everyone was cursed back to Storybrooke?" Anna asked in confusion. But Emma shook her head.

"No...not Storybrooke this time, though we need to get back there and tell Robin and Belle. They stayed behind this time," Emma replied.

"Okay...but you're in no condition to go anywhere," Elsa said.

"It's okay...I just need to get to a place without magic. My heart has been poisoned," Emma explained.

"By who?" Elsa asked.

"Her name is Mother Gothel," Emma replied.

"So is this Mother Gothel the one that cast the curse?" Kristoff asked.

"No...my parents did that," Emma replied.

"I'm so confused...why would they cast another curse? And how?" Anna asked.

"Didn't they need a heart to do that the first time?" Elsa asked. Emma nodded.

"Yes...but apparently, once you've cast the dark curse once, the only thing you need to do it again is blood. They were trying to save me," Emma answered. Realization dawned in Elsa's eyes.

"They were trying to take you somewhere without magic so the poison wouldn't affect you," the Queen surmised. Emma nodded.

"The curse is exactly what Gothel wanted though. She poisoned me to make them do it and then at the last minute, she put a barrier around me to exclude me from the curse," she explained.

"No Savior...no breaking the curse," Kristoff commented.

"Exactly," Emma confirmed. Elsa looked at the tears in her eyes.

"Emma...do they know you were being left behind?" Elsa asked. She nodded.

"The last thing I saw before the curse took them was my entire family crying for me and trying to get through the barrier," she answered.

"Then they think…" Anna started to say, before trailing off.

"Yeah...even if they manage to get their memories back, they'll think I'm dead," Emma answered bluntly.

"Any those in Storybrooke have no idea there was another curse?" Kristoff asked. Emma shook her head.

"It's only been three days and I have no idea where this curse took them. We need to get there. Belle might know how to figure it out," she replied.

"But Storybrooke isn't going to help your condition," Kristoff reminded.

"Once we're there, all you have to do is get me over the town line. Then we can figure all this out," Emma said. Elsa nodded, as they helped her up. Anna took out the bean and used it, creating a vertical, golden portal before them.

"Storybrooke...here we come," she said, as they walked through the portal...

~*~

Regina made her way up the elevator of Belfry Towers, intending to confront Victoria. As she found her way to the floor where Victoria's office was, she spied her making her way through a rarely used corridor, until she heard a voice behind her.

"What are you doing?" Ivy questioned. Regina jumped and spun around, just as Victoria boarded the freight elevator.

"Following your bitch of a mother. Why exactly is she using the freight elevator?" Regina questioned, as she crossed her arms over her chest. Ivy smirked.

"Follow me," she offered. Regina raised an eyebrow.

"And I'm supposed to trust you?" she questioned.

"We both hate my mother. Trust me...it's in the best interest for both of us to stop her," Ivy answered. Regina didn't believe a word she said, but followed. No matter the potential danger, she was confronting Belfry.

~*~

Victoria's heels clicked on the floor, as she slowly approached the slowly spinning vent fan.

"Hiding in the shadows is a little pathetic, even for you Gothel," she called, as the witch slithered from those shadows and looked at Victoria with a smug expression.

"Something has changed...I can feel it," she said.

"Your notions are of little concern to me. There is only one thing that matters…" Victoria retorted, as she placed a hand on Anastasia's coffin.

"Bringing back your daughter requires something you do not have though. And if the changes I'm feeling are true...then you'll not be able to destroy young Bobby Nolan's belief," Gothel hissed.

"Clayton failed to keep a firm hand on the boy. He's too concerned with his little museum and collecting dusty junk to do his job properly," Victoria responded.

"Yes...the truest loves are awake. The Chalice has power again...magic in a land without," Gothel revealed. Victoria looked a bit startled by that.

"Was that your plan all along? For them to actually remember?" she questioned. But Gothel only smirked.

"I need their power...I needed them to bring magic to a land without. Placing that fool Clayton in charge of keeping them apart only ensured they'd find a way back, though I must say, the boy played an impressive part in that. But then, unlike you fools, I'd never underestimate a child. Especially one born of truest love," Gothel sneered.

"I don't care about the Charmings and or your stupid plan. I must revive my daughter and that means destroying the belief of...another," Victoria snarled. Gothel looked at her and then cackled.

"My, my...how far you have fallen, Rapunzel. You are willing to sacrifice your own granddaughter to revive your dead daughter," she mused.

"Sacrifices must be made...I have made my share. It is someone else's turn," Victoria reasoned.

"Sacrificing your own granddaughter...and they call me a monster," Gothel goaded.

"You will help me, witch. If you ever want your freedom, you'll do this," Victoria hissed. Gothel smirked.

"I don't need you to secure my freedom. However, if you do this...I can almost guarantee your demise," Gothel threatened. Victoria smirked and yanked on her chains.

"You are in no position to make threats," she growled.

"But I am," a voice said and the other woman turned.

"Ivy...what are you doing? Why did you bring her here?" Victoria questioned.

"To stop you, mother...the last thing I want is my perfect sister coming back. Even dead...she overshadows me," Ivy answered.

"Well...you are as unremarkable as they come, so it's no wonder," Victoria responded cruelly, as the dark haired woman glared at her. But Victoria turned her attention to the other woman.

"Welcome back, Regina," she greeted.

"If you think I'm going to let you hurt yet another member of my family, especially one of the children, then you really don't know me," the former Queen warned. But Victoria smirked.

"Oh, I know you better than you think. You see...I know they are awake and yet you are here. Which means...they don't know, do they? There is still a particular memory that they have blocked, isn't there?" Victoria questioned. The look on Regina's face was pure murder, as she wanted nothing more than to choke the life out of this evil woman. Victoria smirked.

"I thought not...they still don't know what has befallen their first born. At least when they find out...they shall finally know how it feels! How if feels for their pride and joy...their precious first born to die," she snarled.

"Don't compare yourself to Snow and David...they're so much better than you that it's laughable. They don't value one of their children above the others, unlike you. I thought I had a bad mother...but you give mine a run for her money," Regina spat in return. But Victoria seemed unfazed by her criticism and Regina looked at the witch.

"And you...what you did...if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to make you pay for everything," Regina promised. But Gothel simply smirked.

"You will try...and fail, as they all have. Soon...this world will know my power and it will be rewritten in my glory," the witch warned.

"Oh no...we'll stop you," Regina promised.

"Without the Savior? I hardly think so. Those two idiots will be too busy mourning her and holding on tightly to the brats they have left. I remember how broken they were when Emma drew her final breath. They'll be in no shape to face me," she promised.

"You're wrong," Regina choked out a sob.

"They'll stop you...in Emma's name. They'll stop you to save their other children and all of us…" the former Queen promised, as she stormed out. She had avoided it long enough. She had to awaken those blocked memories in Snow and Charming, as much as she wished she didn't have to.

~*~

"Hey...are you okay?" David asked, as they walked along the sidewalk on the way to Roni's. She nodded and looked up at him.

"David...I'm worried. There's something I forgot to tell you...it slipped my mind until now with everything that happened yesterday," she lamented. He smiled.

"That's understandable...yesterday was quite a day," he said fondly, but then frowned when he saw how troubled she was.

"Is this about Emma's blanket, Mom?" Bobby asked. She looked at her son and then back at her husband.

"Emma's blanket?" he asked, as she dug it out of her shoulder bag. He became captivated by the precious item and gently touched it, marveling at how it was still so soft, even after all these years.

"This is good...right? That means Emma is here somewhere," he said.

"I'm not so sure…" Snow responded. His brow furrowed in confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Lucy found it...in an underground cavern beneath the community garden. I suspect that Victoria had something else hidden there, but this was all that was found," Snow replied.

"What was Lucy doing in an underground cavern?" he asked in alarm. She shrugged.

"I already told her how dangerous is it was, but she was looking for evidence of the curse. Henry was with her though," she replied. He sighed.

"And Emma's blanket was down in this place?" he asked. She nodded.

"Lucy gave it to me to keep safe...and I've had this terrible gut feeling ever since," she replied, as she started to breakdown.

"I think something happened to Emma...maybe that's why we can't remember. We've blocked it out, because it's too horrible to remember," Snow cried, as he took her in her arms.

"Hey...I know it seems that way and I'll admit, it doesn't seem like a good sign that Emma's blanket isn't with her, but we have to have faith that she's okay and we'll be reunited with her," he implored, as they went inside the bar. But the look Regina had on her face when they entered wasn't encouraging at all.

"We need to talk," Regina said and those four words filled them with a sinking feeling of dread.

~*~

Weaver poked around in his evidence locker that afternoon. They had little on yesterday's murder, but then he already knew who it was. The problem was they had to have evidence to make the arrest and to be honest, he wasn't too sad about any of Gothel's followers being killed off. The problem was that the killer didn't distinguish between light magic and dark magic. He hated it all, which meant they were all potential targets. So far, his details that he had put on Leo and Eva or Luke and Jenna rather had reported no anomalies. But he knew it wouldn't be long before the killer made another move. And he had to be ready, for he was a target too. And as much as he missed Belle and Gideon, he was relieved that they had initially stayed behind. Gideon had come down with the flu and she opted to stay home with him, telling him that if their son felt better that they would join them later. But if Belle and their son ventured to the magical forest that had become Henry's new home, they wouldn't find them. And he knew Belle. She wouldn't rest until she discovered what happened to them. That gave him both anxiety and comfort. And though he had every confidence in the world in his wife, he knew how impossible it might be for them to ever discern that they were actually in the past now. Even to the Dark One, their predicament was daunting.

"Sir...there is a man here to see you," an accented female voice said. He turned and eyed the station's receptionist sternly. It still took some getting used to that. In this world, she was so timid. In reality, the blonde fairy that had become his daughter-in-law was as fiery as they came. He almost snorted aloud. That still took some getting used to as well. Who would have thought that he, notorious fairy hater, would have one as his daughter-in-law. Here, Tinkerbell, was the shy Harmony Stevens, receptionist at the Hyperion Heights division precinct. At least he knew she was safe, for his son's sake.

"Tell them to schedule an appointment and I'll see them then," he said sternly.

"An appointment will not be necessary," a cultured voice said and he rolled his eyes. Speaking of people he loathed...

"That will be all, Ms. Stevens," Weaver said, as the timid receptionist walked out of his evidence locker and found herself colliding with a man.

"Oh...I'm sorry," Cassidy apologized, as he steadied her.

"No...it was me. I wasn't watching where I was going," she replied, as they stared at each other for a moment.

"I...I better get back to the phones," she stammered, as she hurried back to the front desk, while Cassidy Gold watched her go, both intrigued and curious, before turning his attention back to the evidence locker. He leaned against the wall outside and listened.

"What do you want?" Weaver spat impatiently, as Baron Samdi waltzed into his evidence locker.

"I just thought it was a time that we have a chat," Samdi responded.

"I don't chat...so get to the point and get out," Weaver growled.

"So hostile...yet it is me that has true reason to hate you, Rumpelstiltskin," Samdi snapped in return. Weaver smirked.

"Don't tell me this is about your dalliance with Regina years ago...shouldn't that have be ancient history by now?" he retorted.

"We had something special...and you ruined it with your curse. I could have made her happy…" he insisted.

"Perhaps...but I needed the curse to find my son and nothing, least of all some torrid romance, was going to stop me," he retorted.

"It was not torrid...it was true. Maybe not as true as those precious Charmings you're so fond of, but it was real," he growled.

"And what? Now you're angry, because Regina fell in love with another and no longer wants anything to do with you?" he questioned. Samdi was silent and Weaver smirked.

"I am a dangerous man when I am scorned, Dark One," he warned.

"And I am a dangerous man, no matter the circumstance, so if it's revenge you're looking for, take your best shot," Weaver countered. Samdi smirked.

"Careful Dark One...because while I may not have access to your precious Belle…" Samdi warned and Weaver cut him off.

"Don't even say her name," he growled. Samdi smirked.

"As I was saying...Belle may not be here for me to use against you, but there is someone else in Hyperion Heights that you care for," he warned.

"Don't you dare…" Weaver growled. He smirked.

"Yes...your son. The same son that you were looking for when you used Regina to cast your curse. The son you sought when you manipulated her into leaving me!" Samdi spat.

"Yes...I did all those things and I don't regret it. I found my son and Regina found her true love. The man with the lion tattoo is her soul mate, after all. If you ask her, I don't think she regrets her actions. They got her the family she has," Weaver stated.

"I could have been that family," Samdi spat.

"And yet, she has more than you could have ever given her. A husband, a step-son, a repaired relationship with a step-daughter she now loves, a step-son, and five grandchildren. Not to mention the great grandchildren she has in young Henry and his daughter," Weaver stated.

"You don't know that. Without the curse, I could have loved her. I could have helped her repair her relationship with the Charmings too," he insisted.

"Until the Goddess Aphrodite came to them and championed them with the Chalice. We know then that you would have done anything then to possess their magic," Weaver said, gauging his reaction. Regina was awake now, but Samdi didn't need to know that.

"And when she awakens and remembers who you really are and your part in Gothel's plot and the fate that befell Emma...you'll be lucky if she doesn't kill you for it," Weaver reminded. Samdi frowned deeply.

"I didn't know that Gothel would prevent the Savior from being taken by the curse so she could be saved from the poison…" he argued.

"And Regina won't care...you're still working with the Collector and that witch. Even if she didn't have her Robin, she'd never have anything to do with you again. But if you want a bit of redemption...you can tell me where the chalice is," Weaver stated. Samdi chuckled in amusement.

"You cannot wield the chalice anymore than I can. Even if I did know where it is...I'd never tell you," Samdi countered.

"Suit yourself...it will be your funeral. Eventually," Weaver retorted, as they glared daggers at each other.

"Or perhaps it will be your son's," he threatened.

"Touch Bae...and I will not just kill you, I will find a way to make you suffer eternally and I know many ways to see to that. You'll beg me for a death I'll never let you have," Weaver warned. Samdi smirked and it was clear that they weren't done with each other. Samdi wanted the dagger and he was sure that Weaver had it stashed in this locker, but getting it would not be easy. However, he would find a way and then the Dark One would pay for destroying his chance at love. He stormed out, unaware that Cassidy Gold had heard the whole exchange and was extremely confused by it all…

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #OC Charmings #season 7 AU #Hyperion Heights #Rogers #Roni #Weaver #Gothel #romance #family #adventure #AU #Finding You Always #the epic continues

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coutelier · 6 years ago

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The Lipcress File, Part One

Hello! I can’t remember how long it’s been since I posted on here. I’m afraid sometimes I get burnt out and have to take quite long breaks, although not usually as long as this. Anyone, I’m back and I have - well, what was a Halloween story although obviously, it’s a bit late for Halloween on here. Still, I will post it all over the next week anyway (there are three parts. Creepy stuff doesn’t really start happening until part two). Also I just remembered I have a Wattpad account so I’m considering posting short stories, novelettes like this, maybe the odd novella, on there while I continue touching up my novel. The novel is the introduction and story of how these characters came together. This story doesn’t contain many spoilers, other than that you’ll know these characters obviously survive all that.

Story by me. Casting by me. Set design - also me. Music by John Williams (based on a tune hummed by me):

The Lipcress File, Part One

None were prepared for the end. Few would have countenanced its ghoulish, most final, form. Yet, putrid and shambling, the plague claimed city after city until the dead outnumbered the living. Those few who survived were like sailors adrift on a toxic sea, knowing that a sudden surge could sweep them away in an instant. They waited for the end, troubled brows and weary eyes looking out over ramshackle barricades, then time froze.

Tenley blinked, tension in her body rising as her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She slapped the side of the screen but it remained in state. She tried a couple more times, each harder than the last, until finally her frustration overflowed. Shortly after the laptop bouncing off the side of the van as she screeched several expletives and a promise to insert the machine in an unspecified orifice of one of its engineers.

“Hey!” Kaya snapped from the back of the van, stretched out with her guitar and her hair coloured purple today. “C’mon - those things are expensive.”

Tenley’s dark eyes glinted over her shoulder at the punk. “I thought you hated money.”

“Yeah I do. That’s why I’d rather not see any more spent on you.”

The punk and the tween shot stares at each other. Up front Jennifer’s neck was bent over her own laptop absorbed in research. When she’d learned that Kaya for them to spend the night in a haunted house she’s been excited – to actually catch a ghost had been a dream of Jenn’s since childhood. But time changes people and their dreams. After her parents disappeared she’d consulted with psychics and mediums and through one clairvoyant miss after another (including one claim that her parents had been kidnapped by Icelandic slave traders) become convinced of one truth – no one ever comes back. She was open to being convinced otherwise but her experience so far suggested the evidence for a ghost would be far less than solid. No – what was causing her to spiral locks of blonde hair tightly around her fingers was that she had also learned that would be other people in the house. Strange people. It was just the latest one of Kaya’s efforts to force Jennifer into being sociable no matter how much she preferred to just stay at home tinkering. The bickering in the van just further frayed on her nerves.

Still, Jennifer took a breath then said as softly and calmly as she could, “please don’t throw things.”

Tenley immediately shifted in her seat and mood, shrinking and throwing her arms over her chest. “Not like I was throwing it at anyone,” she grumbled. “Not like I was throwing it at anyone,” she grumbled. “Why do stupid computers stupidly crash anyway?”

“Because they’re stupid,” Jenn shrugged. Then realising she was expected to elaborate more held up a finger and continued, “usually a programming error or a bit of memory becomes corrupted causing it to try to carry out an instruction that’s just physically impossible. They’ve no sense of self-preservation. It’s like – if I told either of you to walk through lava, you obviously wouldn’t do it. If I told Dot,” Jenn referred to one of the robots that maintained the lighthouse she called home, “she would, even though she’d be destroyed.”

“Dumb as rocks,” Tenley shook her black locks, “and even slightly less smart than Kay.”

“I only sniffed volcanic gas that one time,” Kaya insisted. “There was this guy at the hotel convinced you could get high off them. I said sure – if the volcano exploded – but I went along for a look, and,” she paused, noticing the others peering at her. “What?”

“Hotel? Guy? Volcano?” Jennifer quizzed. “I think you’ve left out big parts of the story there…”

“I was with a guy in a hotel by a volcano. I don’t see how that’s hard to follow,” Kaya said, perplexed by the confused looks she was getting. “Anyway, doesn’t matter now, look – we’re here.”

The van drove itself around a near-black dishevelled hedge into a leafy, dirt filled drive. The house on the other side hadn’t been well maintained for several years, but was otherwise unremarkable. The day was overcast but not too cold – just enough to redden cheeks and noses as the party dropped out of the van to inspect where they’d be staying the night.

Tenley sniffed disappointedly, “that’s a haunted house? Doesn’t even look that old.”

“You expecting the Addams house?” Kaya asked, unconcerned whether Tenley knew what that was a reference to. “Anyway, age is all kind of relative, isn’t it? Like if a hamster lives four years he’s like a revered elder in hamster circles. He’s explored every corner of his little hamster world, sampled every seed life has to offer. In Irongate everything’s knocked down and built over again so often that any building that lasts thirty years gets listed as a heritage site.”

“I see,” Tenley nodded, “like how what you call rock music is more like fossil music to me.”

“Sad. You kids these days just fill your cheeks with so much garbage.”

Jennifer lightly coughed, having actual information to add from her research. “These was a fire here about thirteen years ago. A man and his daughter died, but most of the house was rebuilt. Shortly after that the hauntings began. They say things got so bad that quickly it was just abandoned altogether.”

“Until now,” Kaya said, feet apart and leaning forward slightly over Tenley. “Not worried are you, Tych?”

“Of what?” The girl snorted and puffed her chest. “It’s just a creepy house someone died in. People die everywhere. If ghosts were real every place would be haunted. Also, if ghosts were real, then why are there no dinosaur ghosts? That would actually be cool.”

“Well, sure, but maybe people only become ghosts in special circumstances. Like when they have unfinished business.”

“Everyone has unfinished business. Mother never finished painting the kitchen, and if anyone was going to be a ghost it would have been her. She’d have come back just to spite me and howl ‘kick harder! Shoot! Stab! Again!’” Tenley did shiver at that thought, but soon recomposed herself. “Anyway, if anything does try to spook me it’ll wish it could die again.”

Tenley got over any fears she might have had by simply being the most dangerous thing around, while Jennifer was more or less convinced that ghosts and monsters didn’t exist, not in the supernatural sense at least. She more worried about people, and indeed there were other vehicles already in the drive.

“I’m sure they’ll be cool,” Kaya assured her. “Don’t worry about it. Why don’t I go check ‘em out with Ten and you get ready whatever stuff you think you’ll need in there.”

Jennifer nodded then was left alone next to the van. She had all kinds of gadgets and technological paraphernalia stashed in there at all times, although she wasn’t sure she wanted or needed any of it. People had been trying to catch ghosts using cameras and microphones practically since those devices had been invented, but failed to find anything that wasn’t totally explicable. Yet she should bring in something, if only to look busy and not have to talk to anyone else. It seemed unlikely there was any real mystery to solve, and if she was very lucky Ten and Kaya would be bored after an hour and then they could all go home, where it was just them, and Jenn could finish the shoe polishing program for Dot. Jenn hated leaving things undone, even if only for a short time. Problem was in her experience Ten and Kaya rarely tired of anything, and in any case she was going to have to bear it for a while.

Jenn fell back on her trusty tablet. She’d modified the camera to detect a far wider spectrum than normal, and if there was nothing interesting to see she could just play or read something. It was in the glove compartment so she just had to lean through the door to fetch it. She forgot her own shortness, having to lie across the driver’s seat. And it was while she was prone like this that she first felt a presence.

Faint, slightly laboured breath that carried with it the stench of methanol. Jenn felt its warmth on her skin and a chill creep up her spine. For a second she wasn’t sure whether to stay still and hope it passed, run, or just lock herself in the van. But she always had to see, at least, so she pushed herself out and turned, straight into the face of the stranger. It was a gnarled, scarred old face, prickly white hairs barely concealing rubbery lips and an angry toothless mouth.

He shouted something indecipherable, not that Jenn was listening. Her heart was pounding against the cage of her chest as she slid along the side of the van, but her matched her movement, shouting and showering her with spit. “I-I don’t have any change!” Jenn stammered desperately, but it only drew a disgusted look from the stranger who continued to spit and shout.

“Hey! Get out of here you bum!” Kaya strode across and shooed. Although slightly smaller than the stranger it seemed her confidence and lack of fear – or maybe just her purple hair and the fact she was draped in more denim than the entire cast of Westworld – caused him to shirk away. “What’s wrong with you? You want the dibbles here? You trying to get arrested?”

“Bah,” he pawed at the air dismissively. “Just wanted to see what was happening. You all going into the old Lipcress house?”

“Yeah.”

The stranger sniggered, “good luck!” He then looked pointedly at flustered Jennifer, “You think I’m scary, girl? Old Lipcress – he were into bad, bad stuff. Satanism, magic. Voodoo? Oh he do! Ha!” He seemed disproportionately pleased with that line, dancing a little jig as the women squinted.

With Kaya beside her now, the stranger seemed far less scary to Jennifer. Still, she quietly spoke to her friend rather than to him. “You know, voodoo really has no connection to black magic or devil worship. That’s a misconception from old TV shows and movies.”

The stranger heard her regardless. “Bah! You wanna get your nose out of them books and computers, girl. Try living in the world for a while. When you’ve some experience of that, then come back to me with all your ‘facts’.”

Jenn looked to Kaya for support, but to her dismay Kaya’s face was scrunched as if struggling to pick a side. “I mean,” Kaya shrugged helplessly, “you do both have really good points…”

Jenn’s jaw hung open as she slowly shook her head. “Unbelievable…”

“Best of luck to you,” the stranger said again. “See you around. Maybe.”

He staggered off, the women watching him until he disappeared. “Anyhow,” Kaya then said, “we got a couple of paranormal investigators. They’re kind of nerdy. You might even like them, a bit. They do have a medium with them,” she warned, aware that Jenn’s experience with even the most well-meaning such person was overwhelmingly negative.

“Great,” Jenn tutted. She supposed she didn’t have to stay even if the others did. She was an adult, after all. An hour or two would fulfil her obligation to them and if there was nothing interesting she could just go home. She didn’t need permission.

“Hey,” Kaya jumped before Jenn could close up the van. “Don’t suppose you have one of those PKE meter things? Like in all those ghost hunting shows?”

“PK…?” It took only few seconds for Jenn to understand the mistake Kaya had made. “You mean an EMF meter. Sure.” She fetched it before locking all the doors.

“Aww, thanks!” Kaya threw her arms around Jenn after taking the meter, which was odd but not altogether unpleasant. “Now I’ll feel like a real investigator!” She beamed then backed off, Jenn’s keyring spinning about her finger. “Just in case you were thinking of bugging out after an hour or two. Afraid you’re in this for the long-haul missy.”

Jenn’s mouth opened and closed several times before finally locking in place. “Unbelievable!” She squealed and lunged, but Kaya was easily able to sidestep and keep the keys out of Jenn’s reach all the way to the house’s front door. There Kaya was less able to manoeuvre and two became embroiled in a struggle, until they noticed Tenley in the hall glaring disapprovingly at them.

“Damn kids,” the girl shook her head. “Do not embarrass me in front of the Ghostbusters,” she warned, stepping into of the front rooms.

There were three ‘Ghostbusters’ in what appeared to be the living room, one waving around an EMF meter like Kaya’s, another wandering around with a microphone and sound recording equipment. The third man must have been the medium Kaya had mentioned. They all seemed oblivious to the two young women and girl.

“Hey guys,” Kaya greeted. “So, whatchya all doing?”

The tall man with the microphone deigned a glance at her before returning to his very important work waving a microphone about like a wand. “The first recorded incidents involved type three audible manifestations,” he explained. Kaya looked to Jennifer to translate.

“Spooky noises,” Jenn hazarded.

The recordist snorted derisively. “To put it in layman’s terms, yes,” he said, adjusting his square glasses. “Spirits inhabit a world of higher frequencies beyond those usually perceptible by human beings. But there’s an excellent chance when we play this back we’ll pick up some electronic voice phenomena.”

Jenn agreed there was an excellent chance. Maybe within the range of normal radio transmissions.

“I’m getting all kinds of fluctuations,” said the man with the EMF meter. “Can’t get a fix.”

Kaya peered down at her meter. “Me too. The needles jumping all over the place. What does that mean?”

Jennifer sighed. “It’s an electro-magnetic field detector,” she explained, “it detects electro-magnetic fields. Microwaves, televisions, sockets. Just look around. There’s all kinds of devices in this house.”

There were televisions hung on the wall like paintings. Bladeless fans, computer assistants, VR headsets. Tenley booped the nose of some robotic pig-rabbit thing that tilted and wiggled it’s plastic ears at her. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

“Yes, well,” said the ghost hunter with the EMF meter, “I suppose some recalibration is in order.”

“Well observed, my chickadee,” a rich mid-atlantic voice cut in. A man with a thin moustache, ruby waistcoat, and slick, dark hair strode in, pressing something that caused a panel in the wall to open. Within a robot claw picked out a glass and another some bottles then began to mix as the man explained, “after fire claimed the lives of Doctor Samuel Lipcress and his daughter, his son tried to turn this place into show-home for the technology of tomorrow,” the robotic tender held out the glass which the man helped himself to. “The delicious irony of course is that this house of the future would become haunted by its past.”

Kaya leaned a little to one side. “What’s up with this guy?” She whispered to Jenn. “Why’s he sound like Frasier and Niles?”

“I think he’s going for Vincent Price,” Jenn quietly answered.

“Ah. That makes sense, actually,” Kaya nodded. “Suppose that’s why you’re the detective.”

“Mortimer Graves,” the Price impersonator bowed. “Here to help you all settle in before you retire. But first I believe a brief tour is in order.”

The house was hardly a mansion so the tour was indeed brief. There were more gadgets in each room which, at the time they were installed at least, would have been cutting edge, and in fact wasn’t dissimilar to Jennifer’s own home. In the kitchen was a robotic chef and every appliance came loaded with apps to monitor their contents and temperature. In one corner was a grey machine that resembled a miniature elephant, with a vacuum cleaner tube for a nose. Creepy, even though it was powered down, but hardly ghostly. It wasn’t until reaching the study that everyone finally got a taste of what they’d come for.

“Samuel Lipcress was a psychiatrist for many years,” Mortimer regaled, “but outside of work he was a very private man who rarely left this room. Not until after perishing in the flames was it learned that, toward the end of his life at least, he’d developed a keen interest in the occult.”

Leather bound books stood on the shelves, gothic gilded lettering displaying names like Paracelsus and Segerus and titles which included fire and salt, philosophorum, sepulchral, and mori. Below them was what appeared to be an old chemistry station made of glass and brass.

“All this survived the fire?” One of the ghost hunters, whose name Jenn had learned through overhearing chatter in the halls was James, asked. The other with the microphones was Daniel, and the medium called Stephen. She had yet to learn any surnames, but nor was she actively looking.

“Some of it did,” Mortimer answered. “What didn’t I’ve restored as best I can from whatever fragments the flames spared. The cause of the fire was never ascertained. So perhaps Samuel never found whatever he was searching for within these texts. Or then again, perhaps he did. Perhaps, friends, some doors are never meant to be opened. Some answers just not meant for mortal kin.”

“Hm, yes,” Kaya sagely nodded along, “like, what is ‘beyond’ in Bed, Bath, and Beyond?”

Mortimer gave her a perplexing look, before just curtly nodding as well. “Quite.”

Stephen had been stood behind everyone with his fingers on his temples and his eyes closed. He chose now to step forward, gesturing to one corner of the study. “I’m sensing a man. He spends a lot of time in this room, before and after death. This is his sanctuary. The only place in the world where he’s… real?” His eyes remained squelched shut like he was under considerable physical. “Where he can really be himself. But there’s another presence as well. Female, I would say. So full of life and energy. I’m getting… Elle?”

James whipped through a notebook. “’L’?” He suggested. “As in Luna Lipcress - his daughter. She was staying with him when the fire occurred. Only fifteen.”

Which was a tragedy, but with regards to an investigation wasn’t information that couldn’t be gotten through a quick web search as Jenn already had done.

Tenley raised a hand. “I have a question. Has anyone ever actually seen a ghost here?”

“Most incidents have been auditory,” James explained. “Although there have been a few reported psycho-kinetic phenomena.”

Again Kaya looked to Jenn for a translation. “Objects moved by themselves.”

“But that could just be all the computers and gadgets having a fit,” Tenley rather intelligently pointed out. “Has anyone seen an actual ghost?”

“One person might have done,” Mortimer returned with a wry smile. There was a folder tucked between books on one of the shelves that he picked out and opened. “You see, when the incidents first occurred people thought like you do – malfunction. But the same technology has been used elsewhere without any problems and despite test and retest and rebooting the entire system technicians were unable to find a single fault. One engineer decided to spend the entire night watching over everything. When he didn’t report the next day others came looking. They found him – or rather, they found his body. Breathing, still, but alone in the cellar completely naked. His skin was as white as snow and his mind just gone.”

The folder contained photos of the man in question. Blank, glassy eyes, grey hair standing up. Those Jenn hadn’t been able to find on the web and were certainly curious, if they were real. Mortimer was clearly a showman and knew that here, in the last room on his tour, someone was bound to suggest malfunction so he had the folder ready and waiting to respond and take his ghost mystery to the next level. No longer just vague noises and bumps in the night, but now the possibility of real physical harm.

“Um,” Stephen tentatively raised a hand, “I have a question also. Isn’t she,” he gestured at Tenley, “a little bit too young for all this?”

Tenley faced him, black eyes narrowing to slits. “Aren’t you a little bit too old?”

Any pretence Stephen had of being a concerned adult rapidly fled, replaced with a defensive stance and posture. “I have a gift, child. A gift for helping the living get in contact with the nether realm.”

“Funny,” Tenley grinned, fingers twitching at the edges of her blue duffel coat almost like an old western gunslinger, “me too.”

“Yes, well,” Mortimer coughed before either of them could demonstrate their power, which was lucky for Stephen. “There is no official policy regarding the age of guests, yet. So long as she’s accompanied by a guardian she can stay. Now allow me to show you to your rooms.”

Jennifer stayed behind as the others filtered out. This room reminded her of her father’s old study, a place where she’d felt safe and secure from the mean and cruel world when she was much younger. She picked out one of the books, opening it to a random page.

“What’s that?” Kaya asked, having obviously just noticed Jenn hadn’t gone out with the rest of them.

“Carl Jung – Psychology and Alchemy,” Jennifer said, not looking up. “That’s what all the books in here are about. Although mostly alchemy.”

“Is that important?”

“It’s interesting. Some are out of print and quite rare.”

“No, no,” Kaya scooted across, closing the book down on the desk, “you are not spending the whole night just hiding in here. Come on.” Jenn had given up trying to escape, so didn’t resist as she was being dragged away. Until she remembered she’d left something quite important on the desk.

“My tablet!” Jenn said, slipping out of Kaya’s grasp.

“Just hurry up,” Kaya told her, “I expect you outside in two minutes, got it?”

Jenn nodded and Kaya left. Two minutes, then she would have to go out there and be around actual human people. Trying times indeed, so she probably shouldn’t waste what little she had here worrying about that. She could get in a round of Brain Training in that time.

“So you don’t really want to be here much more than I do?” Jennifer had thought she was alone but that voice belonged to another woman. It was deeper and more cracked than hers. Jenn squinted to see a cigarette smoking silhouette next to the window. As her eyes adjusted slightly she saw a face she knew she had seen before, when she was doing her research on this place. Albeit, she was older now than she had been in the pictures Jenn saw.

“Missers Lipcress?” Jenn presumed.

“Missers Smith now, actually,” the woman corrected. “I was a widow for ten years, dear. Had to move on eventually. Or try to at least.”

“Of course,” Jennifer bowed, scratching one of her calves with the other foot. “I-I’m sorry.” This was very awkward. At least when there was a group of people she could hide at the back and just let Kaya or even Tenley do most of the talking. Now she was alone with a strange woman whose attention was all focused on her. Jennifer suddenly felt like a schoolgirl. She couldn’t just make an excuse and leave. She couldn’t go anywhere until she was given permission to by the mistress.

“You’re a shy one, aren’t you?” Missers Smith astutely noticed. “Not really the social type? It’s okay dear. I don’t bite.”

“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting… you.”

“Me neither. Always thought it was better to just let the dead lie. Yet now, here I am,” Missers Smith strode to the middle of the study, taking a deep puff on her cigarette as she sadly shook her head. “Never knew about all this. Me and Sam – we’d split a long time before what happened. Alchemy, you say? Guess he was always keen on old folktales and myths, but I’m sure it was all just academic stuff to him. He was a doctor, dear,” Missers Smith stated, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray on the desk. “No alchemist or warlock or anything of the sort.”

Jennifer twitched, wanting to say something about modern chemistry and medicine having evolved from alchemy, but now felt like it wasn’t an appropriate moment. Instead she asked, “why did you open this place up again?”

“Jon thought it would help me get closure,” Smith said, already lighting up again – a clear indication that plan wasn’t working out too well. “Least that’s what he told me. Really he wants to open the place to everyone – let them pay to spend the night in a haunted house. Just his latest money-making scheme. So he got Simon – sorry, Mortimer – to fix it up as best he could. You and your friends are just another test audience.”

That much Jenn had surmised already. She hadn’t expected there to be any real mystery here, but she was curious now about these books, and about the man found in the cellar and the state of his mind. “Was he – Sam – was he interested in anything else?”

“Guess he would have approved of all the upgrades to the house. He was always into computers and gadgets. Loved showing me all these models of the brain he’d made. Course I could never make sense of any of it.”

“Interesting,” Jenn commented, tilting her head to one side and arching an eyebrow, appearing lost for a moment.

“And why are you here, dear? You’re no ghost hunter.”

“Why…?” Jenn blinked herself back. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re looking at things, searching for answers about them. The others who come here – they already know what answers they want, and so they’ll find them and then they’ll leave. You don’t really believe in anything supernatural at all, do you?”

“No,” Jenn admitted. “I mean, I just don’t really like the word ‘supernatural’ because, well, nature is everything. Anything that affects nature in any way has a part in it. Anything that doesn’t affect nature either doesn’t exist or might as well not as far as we’re concerned. I mean, that’s what I think…”

Missers Smith squinted, “You’re a very odd girl, aren’t you?”

“You’re not the first to say so, Missers Smith.”

“Perhaps you prefer the word ‘paranormal’.”

“Better. There is a lot about nature that’s not understood. That might never be understood. But in answer to your real question, Missers Smith, I’d never believed it was possible for anyone to come back.”

Two minutes had more than passed by now. Kaya began to call with promises to drag the blonde’s butt out of there. “I’m sorry, Missers Smith,” Jenn did a slight curtsey, “I should be with the others.”

“Julia,” Missers Smith said. “Please stop calling me Missers.”

“Sorry ma’am,” Jennifer bit her lip, “Julia. I do have one more question; is it true, what happened to the engineer?”

“Poor Robert. Yes. I’ve no idea what happened, and it seems neither does. He’s been re-educated, but his mind and memory and everything he was before that night – all gone. Like it was just-,” Julia’s face contorted as she struggled finding the right word.

“Erased,” Jenn offered for her. “Thank you, Julia.”

Jennifer left the room with a small smile on her face. It seemed there was a real mystery to solve here after all.

#writing #writeblr #writblr #halloween stories #mystery #horror #sci-fi and fantasy

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sumigakure · 7 years ago

Text

Skyfall

To: @modernart2012

From: @pwnie3

Title: Skyfall

Rating: T

Wordcount: 2896

Prompt: Pacific Rim AU. Preference for MadaTobi, but I’m open to any pairing, romantic or otherwise. Doesn’t have to follow the movie

Warnings: Brief suicidal ideation, character death, excessive use of italics

Summary: Madara wakes up and doesn’t open his eyes, because he knows that if he does he’ll roll over and Izuna won’t be there in the next bed over. He feels like the ground has been torn out from under his feet and now he’s just falling alone into empty sky.

Drop, Category II solo, let’s do this, first blow comes, harness cracks, Izuna, Izuna, Izuna get up, “Kaleidoscope Burst please respond”, Izuna’s down, Izuna’s down, IZUNA–

Madara wakes up and doesn’t open his eyes, because he knows that if he does he’ll roll over and Izuna won’t be there in the next bed over. He feels like the ground has been torn out from under his feet and now he’s just falling alone into empty sky.

It feels strange, to not have Izuna there. Even as a little presence in the back of his head, like the way it feels to talk to someone using two soup cans and a piece of string, is gone. He and Izuna have– had always been notoriously strong ghost Drifters, to the point where they could divine each other’s emotions from across a building.

Tears well up in Madara’s eyes, and he presses the heels of his palms into them. His breath starts to shudder in his chest.

“Madara?” a scratchy voice asks, a hand laying itself on his thigh. “You in there?”

He scrubs at his eyes, then opens them to see Touka.

She looks about twice as bad as Madara feels. Her hair is a rat’s nest, her eyes are bloodshot and the bags underneath are deep enough to run a river through. She smiles at him wanly and runs her other hand over the crown of his head. “We didn’t think you were gonna wake up.”

I wish I hadn’t, he almost says. “How long was I out?”

She takes a deep breath and retracts her hand. “It’s been almost a week. Kaleidoscope Burst took most of the damage, but…”

But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much of the kaiju’s attack the Uchiha brothers’ Jaeger took, it wasn’t enough to save Izuna.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Touka sniffs. “You know those old Mark Twos as well as I do. Flimsy harness couplings and all that, right? If anyone is to blame then–” a sob catches in her throat– “then it’s me.”

“Touka–” Madara starts.

“No, I was supposed to check everything in that conn pod, but who thinks to check on the pins holding in the damn harnesses?” She laughs bitterly, then sobers. “I checked the box without even looking because hey, you’d never had trouble with it before, why would you start now and it’s cost me my husband–” she chokes on her words and devolves into ugly, halting tears.

Madara pulls her close. She twists her hands into his hair, identical to Izuna’s except for the sheer volume of it, and bawls into his shoulder.

After a minute or two, she pulls back and takes a deep breath, then gives another little laugh. “Look at me, Madara. A week without Izuna and I’m already falling to pieces.”

“You think I’m doing much better?” he croaks eventually. “I feel like I just saw him five minutes ago and I’m already in shambles.”

“What a pair we make, huh?”

Marshall Uzumaki lets Madara rest, heal, and grieve for a week before she has him back in the ring for another copilot. She supervises him for every bout and Touka, who’s been reassigned from engineering to the command center since Kaleidoscope Burst’s last drop, calls out strikes as they land.

Like it means anything. All twenty-three of the bouts Madara’s gone in the past hour have ended 4-0 in his favor, and by this point the candidate pool is shrinking back into the audience.

Mito is one of Madara’s oldest acquaintances, and even if he can’t speak to her without losing his temper half of the time, he recognizes the look on her face when she leans over to whisper something into Touka’s ear.

“That will be all for today. Thank you for participating. Madara, come here,” Touka says. Madara steps forward. “We think that maybe a test is in order.”

He levels the two women with the most unimpressed look he can muster. “Did I not just spend the last hour doing tests?”

Mito makes an amused noise. “A different kind of test, Madara. Report to the drop bay in an hour.”

“Oh, hells no.”

Inside the mangled remains of Kaleidoscope Burst’s conn pod– the only intact part of her left– waiting and hooked up to her Pons system, is Hashirama of all people, with his little brother looking annoyed as usual behind him.

Madara gestures to Hashirama, looking straight at Tobirama. “Is this-?”

“Is this the test Mito ordered? Yes.” Tobirama looks all too pleased to be plugging someone else into Hashirama’s head. He spent four years Drifting with his brother before Hashirama screwed up his leg and got the Hidden Leaf, the Senju brothers’ Jaeger, removed from duty. “She wants to make sure your head will still let you Drift at all.”

Madara scoffs. “‘Can I still Drift’, of course I can still Drift! Why wouldn’t I be?”

Hashirama pipes in. “Well, saying that you can Drift is like saying that you can do art. It’s a generalization. Just because you can make ice sculptures doesn’t mean you can fold origami worth a damn.”

“Just because you could Drift with Izuna doesn’t mean that you can Drift with anyone else. Mito wants to make sure you’re physically capable of finding a new copilot before she spends more time on the matter,” Tobirama clarifies. “And seeing as how Hashirama is the easiest Drifter we have on site, he’ll be your partner for this exercise.”

It’s for the sake of his age-old friendship with Hashirama that Madara refrains from making a joke about how Hashirama is easy, and he knows that Madara knows exactly what he’s definitively not doing.

He takes some measure of gratitude that at least it’s Hashirama and not some green cadet that’s never even seen a kaiju. Hashirama is familiar, he was the first person Madara ever Drifted with even though he’s not the one that stuck.

“I’ll be observing your Drift from here just in case something goes wrong.” Tobirama steps back to his sleek control panel– which looks oddly different from the ones in the LOCCENT. “Initiating neural handshake,” he says, getting ready to flip switches. “In five, four, three, two, one.”

Hashirama’s memories rush into Madara’s head. Little brother, Mother is gone, new mother, more brothers, Madara, Tobirama, Madara, Madara, Madara, police academy, the first kaiju taking away Father and Itama and Kawarama, the Jaeger program, why is Tobirama here he should be safe at home, Drift compatible, victory, victory, victory, victory, victory, pain and loss, you’ll never pilot again with a leg like that, Mito, command track, oh god Kaleidoscope Burst please respond–

Madara is thrust violently back into his own body with a jolt and knows that Hashirama just felt the same thing.

“Handshake successful. Try waving hello with your right arm,” Tobirama directs.

It works, as every other command Tobirama gives them does. It goes so well in fact that only Hashirama has to listen to what Tobirama’s saying Madara just follows his lead. Hashirama exists in Madara’s head as a long road he’s compelled to follow no matter where it may take him. He’s similar, in many ways, to Izuna. Bright, happy Izuna who was like the blinding, guiding sun on a summer’s day. Izuna’s wedding was on in the middle of summer, Izuna, Izuna, Izuna-

“Right hemisphere out of alignment,” he vaguely registers hearing before he’s disconnected from the Jaeger.

He comes out of the Drift like waking up from a dream, groggy and absent and with a faraway look in his eyes. All he wants to do is sleep and not think about the report Tobirama will be presenting to Mito and how he can guess exactly what it will say. Is capable of Drifting but chased the rabbit in almost record time. Unfit for duty. End report.

A few days later, Madara– who hasn’t been asked back to the sparring ring and is completely blaming that on the report Tobirama probably filed– is tasked by a newly-busy Touka with delivering a sheaf of Important papers to the R&D department.

The “R&D Department” is actually just three guys in a too-small room with a tiny budget that mostly gets spent on whiteboard markers, takeout, and weed. After Hashirama started Drifting with Tobirama but before Madara and Izuna got a Jaeger of their own, Izuna used to split his time between flirting at Touka in Maintenance and getting high with the R&D team. Madara used to hear a lot of stories about his friends’ crazy theories and that one time they all got crossfaded and woke up ten hours later having forgotten their own names.

But the budget has been cut down even more than usual this year, and so it’s not three guys anymore. It’s just one, and it happens to be the infuriatingly snarky one with white hair and tattoos that shouldn’t look as good as they do.

Tobirama isn’t paying attention when Madara walks in– he’s shoulder deep in a, well, in something, and his white button-down is discarded across the room in favor of the tank top that shows off real, honest-to-God biceps that he didn’t have the last time Madara saw his arms (granted he had been seventeen to the albino’s fourteen at the time, and knew what would happen if Hashirama even thought Madara had a thing for his brother) and also keeps his clothes from getting stained too bad by all the machine oil.

“Hey,” Madara says to get Tobirama’s attention.

The younger man startles, and in his haste to turn around flings a streak of oil in Madara’s face. He hisses and goes to wipe it off, but Tobirama slaps his hands away with a towel. “Don’t do that, you’ll just smear it.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” he demands. “Be blind for the rest of my life?”

Tobirama makes a frustrated sound and kicks his ankle gently to guide him over to a chair. There’s a sound like a metal hatch closing, probably from the machine he was working on. “Sit down, I have something for this.”

A few moments later, Tobirama starts dabbing a wet cloth over the oil-stained portion of Madara’s face. “If this is acid–”

“If I wanted to kill you, Madara, I have other ways. It’s just something I mixed up to remove oil and grease stains,” Tobirama rebuts.

“Why not just wear gloves?” Madara blinks hard and then opens his eyes wide when Tobirama backs off.

“I’m allergic to latex and this facility doesn’t buy anything else.” The younger man lets the awkward air hand between them for a few moments. “So why are you here?”

Madara fumbles with the sheaf of papers. “Touka asked me to bring you these.”

Tobirama finishes cleaning the oil off his arms and then gives the folder a cursory glance, but Touka has always been bad at labelling things. “Do you know what it is?”

“Something about Burst’s specs.” Madara shrugs.

“Oh.” Tobirama’s eyes widen. “It’s notes about her Pons system. I’ve theorized that her previous engineer made some kind of neural processing magnification modification to the Pons system to enhance the combat abilities of the Drift team.”

Madara is no genius, but he did take an AP class or two in high school (one of them with Tobirama, who had no business being a freshman taking senior-level classes). “Based on what evidence?”

Tobirama swiftly makes his way over to one of four desks covered in so many papers it nearly hurts to look at. He rummages around what’s either the world’s most complex sorting system or just a mess, and after a minute he sounds a victorious shout and pulls a thick file from the bottom of a pile and lays it out on the one clean half of a desk he can find.

“These are neural performance records taken from one of your Drifts with Izuna in Burst,” Tobirama says, pointing to one long scanner sheet of paper, then to a second. “These are records taken of Izuna when he was Drifting in Burst with Touka.”

“Wait, what?”

“It was her birthday and she failed the Jaeger program’s physical but they were Drift compatible and I helped him out with giving her the birthday present to end all birthday presents, okay?” he points to a third record. “This is the scan I took of them from their anniversary Drift a few months later, this time at using the system I have here.” He gestures to the piece of machinery he was tinkering with when Madara walked in.

Madara studies the records. “The performance levels are completely different.”

Tobirama nods. “And this is a scan I took of you and Hashirama the other day, compared to the record I took of him the last time we snuck into Hidden Leaf.”

Again, the performance scores are wildly different. “So you want to prove that there’s something up with my Jaeger?”

The younger man nods. “Yes, and there’s just one more scan I need to prove it.”

Madara bobs his head too. “A scan of me outside of Burst.” He gives Tobirama a Look. “Did you tell Touka to send me over specifically with the specs?”

He nods again. “You’ll be Drifting with me this time.”

Madara lets out what’s definitely not a squawk of outrage. “You want me to Drift with you? We don’t even know if we’re compatible!”

“Please. If you can Drift with numbskulls like Izuna and Hashirama, you can Drift with me,” he scoffs. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m almost as easy to Drift with as Izuna or Hashirama.”

This is different, Madara wants to scream. Hashirama is different, Izuna was different. How long has it been, since he tried to Drift with someone who wasn’t his best friend or his brother?

“Just because we can both Drift with Hashirama doesn’t mean anything,” Madara exclaims. Tobirama let out another wordless noise of annoyance, but before he can say anything Madara interrupts him. “Just because a positive magnet connects with a negative magnet does not mean that two negative magnets will connect!”

“Just put on the damn headset and let me get my results.” Tobirama shoves the headpiece at Madara’s chest.

He grumbles. “I hope no-one believes your results.”

Tobirama is wearing a matching headset as he reaches for a button. “Initiating neural handshake in five, four, three, two, one.”

Mother, Hashirama, a big treehouse, loss, learning, top of the class, accelerated learning courses recommended, he’s too young for this class, why is he here, beat them all out, what’s a kaiju?, Hashirama don’t go, ‘Tobirama why are you here”, Drift compatible, Hidden Leaf, success, saving people, killing kaiju, failure, injury, find a new copilot or find a new job, Izuna, Izuna oh God please no–

If Hashirama’s mind is a path and Izuna’s was the sun, then Tobirama’s can only be described as an endless freefall over a cliff into the sea. Being in the Drift feels like Tobirama is his parachute. Through the Drift he knows that Tobirama views Madara like a chained lion, and he can feel the euphoria the other man knows as he sets the lion free.

Madara comes back into his own mind feeling like he can take on the world and win, in a way that Drifting with Izuna had never provided.

When Madara first entered the PPDC, the team he and Izuna took over from– a pair of women who piloted a wonderful Jaeger named Whirlpool Dawn– told him that there was Drifting and then there was Drifting. Maybe, he thinks, this is what they meant.

He looks over to Tobirama, and finds that the albino’s crimson eyes are just as wide and his face is just as flushed as Madara’s own must be. He watches Tobirama’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly.

“I think we need to go talk to Mito,” Madara hears, though despite being aware of Tobirama’s every move he doesn’t know if the words were said aloud or if he just understood Tobirama’s intentions through the Drift.

“I think you’re right,” he replies.

Two months later finds Tobirama and Madara in matching Drift suits and getting ready to test drop for the first time together.

They had argued for a long time about which Jaeger they would pilot. They went back and forth with their reasons; Hidden Leaf was in better condition, but Kaleidoscope Burst was the newer and safer mech, for example. But before they could come to a conclusion (which many figured would never happen at all) the victorious new head of engineering, an early twenty-something called Sarutobi, informed them that they wouldn’t have to decide at all because he’d gone around them and gotten the all-clear from Mito to combine the two Jaegers.

So here they stand, ready to pilot Konoha Burst under the watchful eyes of Touka, Hashirama, and the entire world. What Sarutobi’s done by combining two defunct Jaegers is unprecedented, and even with a hundred different news crews waiting for the results of the test Madara isn’t scared.

He doesn’t have to look or talk to know that Tobirama is putting on his helmet and raring to go, but he does it anyways.

“You ready to rock the world, Skyfall?” he drawls.

“You know it, Lionheart.”

If you enjoyed this piece, why not take a look at other pieces written by the same author on AO3.

#rated: T #Sumigakure Winter Wishes 2017 #Sumigakure Stocking Stuffers 2017 #submission #sumigakure #rank: b #pwnie3

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